Evelyne and Margarete Gundelfinger: A Childhood in the Files

This is Part 4 of a five-part series on the Sommerfeld family, focusing on Margarete Sommerfeld and her daughter Evelyne,
who spent a decade caught in the Swiss welfare system.
Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here. Part 5 will follow on January 28, 2026.

Introduction

You would think that Georg’s children, born in Switzerland, would be safe from Nazi persecution. They weren’t. We’ll come to Yvonne later, but first we turn to Margarete, the eldest.

Margarete Maria Sommerfeld was born 30 June 1901 in Bremgarten (Canton Bern). We know nothing about her early life. Perhaps she helped her father in his bookstores during and after the First World War, but we really don’t know. The next time we pick up her thread is in 1936 in Geneva.

On 23 October 1936, a Geneva newspaper carried a small blurb:

Fell into a trench
Mrs. Marguerite Sommerfeld, born 1901, residing on chemin de Moillebeau, fell into a trench located across the sidewalk on rue de Coutance. Mrs. Sommerfeld, who is pregnant, did not appear to suffer any injury, but nevertheless stated that she wished to make reservations given her special condition. [i.e. reserved the right to make a claim later]

The “Mrs” is confusing—Margarete was still using her maiden name, unmarried, and already pregnant. The title may have been added for morality’s sake, a polite cover for what was, at the time, a scandal.

Margarete gave birth just over a week later. Little Evelyne Ruth was born on 2 November 1936. (Swiss welfare files spell her name “Eveline,” but she later used “Evelyne,” which is the spelling used here.) But that left one burning question—who was the father? Josef had said that his co-conspirator in the gold fraud, Werner Goldstein, was interested in marrying Yvonne Sommerfeld. But could it have been Margarete Sommerfeld? Could Werner, or even Josef, be the father of little Evelyne? The dates would not seem to line up. Evelyne was likely conceived in early February 1936—when both Josef and Werner were kicking their heels in Swiss prison cells.

The question of Evelyne’s father would eventually be settled two years later when Margarete married Meier Gaston Gundelfinger, who claimed Evelyne as his own.

1938–1940: Marriage, Statelessness, and Separation

On 17 May 1938, Margarete married Gaston in Paris. He was a Jewish Saar refugee, born Meier Gaston Frank in Saarbrücken in 1912. After his father’s death, he took his stepfather’s surname, Gundelfinger, and often used both names—sometimes even hyphenated. Whether Evelyne was truly his child or not, Gaston believed she was—and he stepped up to that responsibility. This marriage, however, would entangle Margarete and Evelyne in decades of bureaucratic uncertainty.

Gaston had fled Germany in 1933, after the Nazis came to power, and settled in France. Under League of Nations arrangements, Saarlanders who left before the 1935 plebiscite had special refugee status. The League even issued identity papers for them. In 1938 Gaston was formally documented in Paris as “a refugee of Saar origin, having acquired no other nationality.” But the legal ground under his feet was shaky. The Nazis considered him German, until they stripped his citizenship that September. The League considered him stateless. The Swiss, meanwhile, wavered—sometimes treating him as a German, sometimes as stateless.

Between 1934 and 1936 Gaston had spent time in Geneva, where he met Margarete. According to family recollections, they met in a casino, and her father encouraged the match. Margarete was already in her thirties, Gaston in his early twenties, and by marrying him, Margarete lost her Swiss citizenship and inherited his uncertain status. Evelyne, legitimized by the marriage, was suddenly drawn into the same bureaucratic trap. For Evelyne, the picture should have been simpler: born in Switzerland to a Swiss mother, she ought to have been considered Swiss. But once Gaston claimed paternity, her status blurred. Given the times, this was not the wisest move, but perhaps Margarete and Gaston thought France was safe. They couldn’t have been more wrong.

The Blitzkrieg invasion of the Low Countries and France in mid-May 1940, and the Nazi occupation of Paris on 14 June, ended any illusion of safety. According to family recollections, Margarete and Evelyne caught the last train out of Paris before the German entry. At the border, Evelyne pretended to belong to another family to slip past customs, then cried out that she was “lost” until her mother reappeared to claim her. It was a desperate ruse, but it worked. Margarete and her daughter made it back to Switzerland—but as stateless refugees, not as citizens.

What we know of Margarete and Evelyne comes to us from a bureaucratic paper trail that runs through Swiss child-welfare offices, refugee aid committees and police files. Each page weighs Margarete on the scales of society and morality, and finds her lacking. While a stateless Jewish refugee might not face direct persecution, as in Nazi Germany, antisemitism still wove its way through Swiss society.

1940: Arrival and Early Assistance

Unlike many refugees who tried to flee Nazi-occupied Europe, Margarete had at least some claim to refuge—she and her daughter had both been born in Switzerland, even if their citizenship was now in doubt. Margarete also had family in Zurich, her parents and sister, as well as some in-laws. She arrived with very few resources and initially stayed with a sick, elderly aunt-in-law, while taking meals at her parents’ home. It was not an ideal situation and she quickly found herself relying on refugee aid. But the system was anything but welcoming. Margarete had no religious affiliation, so didn’t qualify for aid from the Jewish refugee organization. Mother and child both had uncertain citizenship and so didn’t technically qualify for aid from Swiss welfare organizations.

At the urging of several welfare organizations, Margarete sought to regain her Swiss citizenship. She was told to first apply for a German passport or visa. Once that was inevitably rejected—everyone knew she was Jewish—she could use that rejection as proof to reapply for Swiss citizenship. One report noted that, technically, since her husband was expatriated at the time of their marriage, she had not technically lost her Swiss citizenship. And yet, the bureaucracy insisted she apply to regain it anyway. This admission at least allowed the Swiss relief agencies to offer support to Evelyne and her mother. And yet, welfare officials were already starting to question whether Margarete was fit to care for her child.

1940–1941: Strains and First Accusations

By late 1940, the welfare and aid organization reports were sharp and judgmental. Margarete was accused of being sloppy, chaotic and unable to provide proper care for her daughter. The Pro Juventute organization labeled the case as difficult and unworthy of support. Still, in pencil at the bottom of one of their reports was a caveat: ‘And yet the child is still there.’ However undesirable the case might be, there was a young child who still needed support.

Their lives were unsettled—moving from hotels to pensions to family and back again. Margarete tried to earn income by peddling office supplies like carbon paper, as well as embroidery patterns, but earned very little. Evelyne, only four years old, was described as unkempt and ill-clothed. Their situation was precarious and the child welfare authorities began to question whether the little girl might be better placed outside of her mother’s care. For despite her unkempt appearance, several reports described Evelyne as “promising”.

Margarete fought fiercely—for herself and for Evelyne. One report from Pro Juventute noted that in November 1940, they had sought to take Evelyne away from her mother and place her elsewhere, but Margarete resisted strongly. She argued that Evelyne was placed in a nursery (daycare) each day where she was well looked after. The director of the nursery confirmed that Evelyne was brought there 4 to 5 days a week, that Margarete paid the daily fee of 1 franc and that Evelyne settled in quickly, more neatly dressed than before. But the organization refused to offer further support, leaving Margarete and Evelyne in an even more precarious situation.

In April 1941, Margarete sent handwritten appeals begging for the child allowances to be paid early. In one, she noted that she was sick, and asked that her sister, Yvonne, be permitted to pick up the allowance on her behalf. To the Swiss officials, her handwritten pleas were seen not as desperation—but as ‘begging’ and ‘manipulation’. And then, in 1942, something unexpected: a break was offered.

1942-1943: Evelyne at a Holiday Home

In 1942, the child welfare authorities convinced Margarete that Evelyne would benefit from a vacation, something that had been arranged by the Jewish refugee association—so obviously they did step up at some point. Margarete reluctantly agreed, and Evelyne was sent for six weeks to a children’s home in Bäretswil (“Sonnenmätteli”). The director’s reports painted a strikingly different picture from those of Pro Juventute. Evelyne was described as a sweet, cheerful, grateful child, who got along beautifully with the other children. The staff even said they would gladly take her back—without pay.

You would think that such glowing praise for Evelyne would reflect well on Margarete. It did not. The same director who praised Evelyne so warmly had harsh words for her mother, who had visited three times. In the director’s prim opinion, Margarete did not know how to raise the child at all, ‘once again, a case where the child is better off without the mother’.

In the summer of 1943, Evelyne was once again invited to attend a holiday camp from mid-July to mid-August. It would be the last time the records describe her as thriving.

1943–44: The Reports Pile Up

While Evelyne spent her summers at holiday homes, Margarete worked at resolving their stateless status. On 22 January 1943, Margarete was officially granted a divorce from Gaston. She had long hoped that divorcing the stateless ex-German would clear the way for her to reclaim Swiss citizenship. This, she hoped, would free her from the constant oversight of the child welfare agencies. In the meantime, the judgmental reports continued.

In August 1943, perhaps not long after Evelyne returned home, the child welfare agencies wrote a scathing report on Margarete and her daughter. One official noted early in his assessment: “Die Pflege des Kindes ist vernichtend.” / “The care of the child is disastrous.”

According to the report, when Evelyne arrived at the holiday home the previous year (July 1942), she was so dirty she couldn’t stay with the other children until she’d been soaked and washed.

Margarete herself was described as showy, slovenly, and unclean. The writer reluctantly admitted that Margarete clearly loved her child—but in an exaggerated, smothering way. Evelyne, the report claimed, spent most days out on the street—despite earlier reports confirming she attended a nursery four to five days a week. On Sundays, Margarete sometimes gave her three francs and sent her to the zoo, where she stayed until 10 p.m.

One particularly damning paragraph extended the judgment to the entire household:

Earlier, the whole family lived together: Frau Gundelfinger with Eveline [sic], her sister [Yvonne] Sommerfeld with her son Edgar, and Aunt Weiss. They made a terrible racket, disturbing the neighbours. The apartment was dirty; the whole family, slovenly. The children were often out on the street, always with a lot of money. Other children were afraid of Eveline and Edgar and didn’t want to play with them. But because Eveline and Edgar always had so much money, they were accorded a certain respect. The children were described as very easily influenced—especially Eveline.

Yet the supervisors at the holiday colony were, in every respect, very satisfied with her behaviour.

In July 1944, a frustrated official at the Zurich school board wrote to Margarete, citing her failure to respond to previous communications. She was given one last chance to submit the necessary documents for a fee reduction. If she didn’t, the board would charge her the full 360 francs per year—the rate for a foreign student.

The timing was grimly ironic. That same month, on 19 July 1944, Margarete’s attorney, Dr. Max G. Braunschweig, submitted an application for her re-admission to Swiss citizenship—a process that would drag through multiple government channels. A Zurich police report in January 1945 observed: “It is said she divorced merely to regain Swiss nationality and then resume life with her husband; [this] cannot be firmly proven, but she corresponds with him.”

1945: Malicious Slander

While the Swiss bureaucracy deliberated over Margarete’s citizenship request, other branches turned their attention to Evelyne. On 23 January 1945, Evelyne’s teacher, Frau Berletsch, had phoned one of the aid organizations to complain that Evelyne was very neglected and always came to school unwashed and unkempt. According to Berletsch, Evelyne never went straight home after school. She always met her mother at nearby cafes. Although Evelyne was intelligent and had a good report card, the teacher said she had no time for homework. She asked the aid agency to investigate and formally assess the home environment.

The organization moved quickly and sent someone to check on Evelyne. A report dated 24 January 1945 noted that Margarete was very upset at the suggestion that Evelyne went to school ‘neglected.’ She called the report malicious slander and flatly denied the allegations. Evelyne always went to school washed and neatly dressed. After school, Evelyne went to a nursery/daycare centre and every day at 7 pm, Margarete met her in the Second Class waiting room at the main train station. She swore she would never give up Evelyne. If forced, she’d rather flee to France or relinquish the meagre 35-franc subsidy. Her entire life was wrapped up in her daughter. She had no friends. She never went out. She lived only for her daughter. Her re-naturalization application was being handled by attorney Dr. Max Braunschweig and once she became Swiss again, they would not need to concern themselves with her and her child.

One of the concerns expressed by the teacher was that the family was not living near the school and that it was a long commute for Evelyne. But Margarete said that she intended to move back to Zürich/Oerlikon. She vowed to resist—“with hands and feet,” as the German saying goes—any attempt to place Evelyne in a home. They would find an apartment soon enough.

A report from 2 February 1945 noted that Evelyne, even though she was born in Geneva, was stateless. It cited earlier assessments—particularly from August 1943 and January 1945—all of which reached the same conclusion: Evelyne was unwashed, unkempt, and poorly cared for. It would be better, they argued, if she were placed in a children’s home. The girl would have proper care and supervision there. The report writer (it is unclear what organization was sending this) handed the case over to the Zurich Youth Office (Jugendamt der Stadt Zürich).

While yet another agency prepared to assess her fitness as a mother, Margarete was taking legal steps she hoped would finally lift the burden of state oversight.

1945: Deficient Care and a Familiar Return

In March 1945, one report questioned whether, given Margarete’s situation over the previous year, it was permissible for Evelyne to remain in her mother’s care without “suffering serious harm”. Since arriving in Switzerland in the summer of 1940, their living situation had been extremely unsettled with the pair moving over a dozen times. They were currently living in a boarding house where several young men also rented rooms. Several “improper incidents” had occurred in the household, and while they did not involve Margarete, should not occur in the presence of a child. While Evelyne’s dress was “sufficient”, her overall upbringing was deficient and inconsistent. She was known for public impertinence, speaking loudly in the theatre and responding cheekily to her mother. The report grudgingly noted that her teachers had no complaints about her behaviour. The report concluded that:

In summary, it can be said that the new inquiries into Eveline’s [sic] care and upbringing show somewhat better but still not completely satisfactory results. Deficiencies justifying official measures were not observed. Nevertheless, it must be noted that a change of environment would be advisable for the child, with the view that a welfare agency, which cares for Eveline and provides for her, could arrange the child’s placement in a proper family or in a home. This opinion is particularly expressed because of the conviction that the little girl, away from her overly indulgent mother, must eventually be taught obedience.

Nothing came of this report and Margarete was able to keep her daughter. In May 1945, Evelyne returned to the holiday home she had visited each year since 1942. In mid-May, Margarete visited the home but was very displeased. The matron had been away and the staff would not let Margarete see Evelyne. The other children had laughed at Margarete. Evelyne, meanwhile, complained that she was hungry. The visit left Margarete humiliated—but determined. She would not give up her daughter without a fight.

1946: Expulsion, Neglect, and One Last Chance

The following year, on 1 April, 1946, the Zürich agency sent a letter to Margarete at her hotel, saying they understood she and Evelyne were no longer living in the city and that any support money would cease until they had a stable home base in the city. As it turned out, on 19 December 1945, Yvonne had sent a letter to Margarete inviting her and Evelyne to come for a visit over the holidays. It is possible that Evelyne stayed with Yvonne in Clarens beyond the holidays.

On 11 April, Yvonne sent a letter back to the refugee agency stating that Evelyne was living with her and that she had a lovely garden to play in, and that the agency could send the support money to her. This letter likely caused some consternation at the refugee agency. Where was Margarete? What was the living situation of the child?

On 24 April 1946, the Zürcher Hilfe für Emigrantenkinder (Zürich Aid for Emigrant Children) wrote a report to their colleagues in Lausanne. Margarete had been expelled from the Canton of Zürich by the Foreign Police on 20 March. The exact reason was unknown, but the report writer assumed she had led an “improper” lifestyle. According to the Zürich branch, Margarete and the child were living with Yvonne Sommerfeld at Villa Dubochet in Clarens (near Lausanne). The report writer asked if the Lausanne office could visit Evelyne in Clarens and determine if the best solution for the child, who had been neglected while in Zürich, would be placement in a children’s home. The Zürich office had written to the mother repeatedly and told her that their aid would only continue if she found a permanent residence.

On 12 June 1946, the Lausanne branch of the aid organization for emigrant children wrote a reply to the Zürich branch. Margarete was living with her father and sister in Clarens, both of whom made a rather good impression on the Lausanne officials. Neither, however, had any time to look after Evelyne and they had found the child in a completely neglected condition. They had questioned Margarete about her situation and she confirmed that she had been expelled from Zürich for working illegally. She had not been properly registered anywhere and was afraid to send Evelyne to school. The Lausanne officials suggested that Evelyne be placed in a children’s home and Margarete immediately agreed.

One might think that the Sommerfelds’ prestigious address would have reassured the child welfare authorities. After all, they were living in one of the Villas Dubochet—a cluster of luxury properties built between 1874 and 1880 by financier Emmanuel-Vincent Dubochet in Clarens, Montreux. Designed for elite guests who preferred private opulence over hotel society, the villas boasted domestic staff, stables, and manicured gardens. But prestige didn’t equal stability—and it certainly didn’t guarantee care.

Margarete told the authorities that she had met a Swiss man and hoped to marry him at the end of July. He was very fond of Evelyne and intended to take her in immediately after the wedding. The Lausanne office planned to place Evelyne in a children’s home, where she could also attend school, until her mother had remarried and was living under “orderly” conditions. The officials found a home in Chardonne, which would gladly accept Evelyne. The home had the added bonus of being relatively close to her aunt and grandfather in Clarens.

It sounded like Evelyne’s stay in the Chardonne home would be temporary. And yet, by October 1946, Margarete had still not married. It turned out that she needed a residency permit for the Vaud Canton (where Clarens was located) in order to marry. She told the authorities that she would have that in hand shortly from the federal police and hoped to take Evelyne back by mid-December 1946.

It was the closest she came to regaining custody.

1947-1948: The Door Slams Shut

Instead, 1947 brought the final rupture. Reports from Mont-Pèlerin (the home in Chardonne), where Evelyne was placed with Mme. Goldberg, were glowing: Evelyne was thriving, even if behind in her schooling. And yet, Dr. Lise Salin, the examining doctor, classified Evelyne as “ausgesprochen gefährdet” (highly endangered) and insisted: “The child must remain at Mont-Pèlerin and in no case return to her mother.”

A handwritten note at the bottom of the same letter, hammered it home: “Das Kind bleibt im Mont Pèlerin!” (The child stays at Mont Pèlerin!)

From that point on, the files show Evelyne fully absorbed into refugee aid institutions. Margarete’s petitions and plans no longer mattered. On 1 January 1948, Evelyne was no longer a ward of the Zürich Aid for Emigrant Children organization but was transferred to the care of the VSJG (Swiss Federation of Jewish Refugee Aid). She was no longer handled as her mother’s dependent, but as a child refugee under institutional guardianship.

The child welfare and refugee file trail in the Swiss Archives ends in 1948, most likely because the file was transferred to a Jewish aid organization whose records are not preserved in the Swiss Archives. We are then left to piece together bits and pieces from other sources.

1952-53: The Man Who Returned—But Not for Margarete

In 1953, we pick up Evelyne’s trail again—on a passenger manifest bound for Montreal. Listed as “Evelyne Frank, 16, domestic,” she was traveling with Meier Gaston Frank, his Italian wife Giovanna, and their two young children.

For years in the Zürich welfare files, Evelyne’s father was a ghostly figure. Officials noted him only in passing: “presumably living in Algiers, whereabouts unknown, stateless.” Margarete was left to struggle alone, dragging her little girl through boarding houses, welfare hearings, and endless humiliations. But outside the view of Swiss bureaucracy, another life had unfolded.

Meier Gaston Frank—who sometimes used the name Frank-Gundelfinger, after his stepfather—had been ripped away from Margarete and Evelyne in early September 1939. He was arrested in Paris by the French police as a “Saar refugee” and potential “enemy alien” and interned in the French camp at Le Vernet, in the Ariège, at the foot of the Pyrenees.

A year later, in September 1941, he was transferred across the Mediterranean to Djelfa, an internment camp in French-controlled Algeria. Djelfa was notorious among the network of camps in North Africa, housing a mixture of political prisoners, refugees, and foreign nationals. Prisoners were routinely subjected to beatings and forced labour. Gaston himself was reportedly beaten for refusing to work on Saturdays, consistent with his observance of Jewish practice.

His time at Djelfa left a trace in literature. The Spanish writer Max Aub, himself interned there, later fictionalized camp experiences in his writings. One of his characters, “Isaac Guldenfinger,” is almost certainly modeled on Gaston—thinly veiled but recognizable to those who knew him. That fictionalized appearance corroborates both his presence at Djelfa and the brutality he endured there.

Gaston’s path out of Djelfa came with the Allied invasion of North Africa in Operation Torch (November 1942). When American and British troops landed in Algiers, Oran, and Casablanca, the Vichy regime’s grip on the camps collapsed. Many internees were suddenly recast from “enemy aliens” into potential allies. For men like Gaston—fluent in German and French, with firsthand knowledge of Europe—the shift was dramatic. Released from internment, he was able to enlist with the British Army, joining the ranks of those fighting through North Africa and into Italy. Photographs of him in tropical battledress suggest he earned the Africa Star and Italy Star, medals awarded to those who had served in those campaigns. His language skills would have made him a valuable intelligence asset. On the 1953 passenger manifest, he listed his occupation as “clerk,” which may have been accurate—or simply a tidy placeholder for more complex wartime roles.

In 1947, while Margarete was still struggling to find stability in Switzerland, Gaston remarried in Italy. His bride was Giovanna Puzziello, born in 1921 in Naples. They built the ‘respectable’ family life Margarete was denied. In April 1947, Gaston and Giovanna moved to Munich, Germany, where they had two children—G. (born 1948) and V. (born 1950).

That same year, Gaston confirmed in writing to Swiss refugee officials that his German citizenship had been revoked in 1938. On paper, Margarete still held custody of Evelyne. In practice, however, Gaston was positioning himself as the more stable parent—a businessman running Briefmarkenhaus G. Frank, a postage-stamp firm at Bayerstrasse 31 in Munich.

By 1952, the Jewish refugee aid organization was quietly coordinating with Gaston and a Munich court to sideline Margarete and pass custody of Evelyne to Gaston. Evelyne, fifteen, resisted; she even fled once to avoid being sent to Germany, but was eventually escorted across the border and placed in her father’s household. Reports from aid workers—and even from the American Joint Distribution Committee—questioned the ethics of forcing a stateless teenager back into Germany against her will.

Nevertheless, the bureaucratic machinery pressed on. Geneva authorities reissued Evelyne’s birth certificate under Gaston’s surname, and by early 1953 she was equipped with a German passport. Her legal identity shifted in those months—from “Evelyne Sommerfeld” to “Evelyne Frank”—a change engineered to smooth her departure. The documents—passport, visas, certificates—were held back from her, used only to get her on the train and then onto the ship. She would not see them until many years later.

The family traveled to Montreal and settled in Quebec. Gaston made at least one other overseas trip—flying back from London to New York, then on to Toronto with Pan Am. A Voter’s List from 1963 noted that he and Giovanna were living in Laval, on the outskirts of Montreal. Less than 10 years later, in 1972, Gaston passed away in Scarborough, Ontario.

1955: The Woman Left Behind

As for Margarete, a small funeral notice for 1 July 1955, in the Neue Zürcher Nachrichten noted:

Gundelfinger, Margarethe geb. Sommerfeld, geb. 1901, alt Vertreterin, staatenlos. 15 Uhr im Friedhof Oberer Friesenberg.
Translated as:
Gundelfinger, Margarethe née Sommerfeld, born 1901, former sales representative, stateless. 3:00 p.m. at the Oberer Friesenberg Cemetery.

The notice reveals a few quiet truths. She never regained her Swiss citizenship. She likely never saw her daughter again. Though long divorced, she kept the Gundelfinger name—and died just shy of her 54th birthday. One wonders if the loss of her daughter broke her spirit, or if something else was going on. A week after her death, on 5 July 1955, her divorce from Gaston was formally communicated to the civil registry office (Zivilstandsamt). One can only wonder why she fought so hard to acquire the divorce, ostensibly to clear the path for reacquiring Swiss citizenship and yet did nothing with the divorce decree when it came through. Or was it a bureaucratic mix-up? Had some court worker failed to send the necessary paperwork to the civil registry office? Or did she run of out of money or energy?

Conclusion

Evelyne flourished in her new homeland, marrying and having two children and several grandchildren. She passed away in Toronto in 2017. It probably wasn’t the life Margarete had imagined for her—not the country, not the name, not the path—but it was, in the end, a life. Out of all the Sommerfelds, Evelyne’s story may be one of the only ones to end in quiet, ordinary peace.

In the next post, we’ll follow the final threads of this family—that of Yvonne, Margarete’s younger sister—whose story twists into post-war mayhem and makes Evelyne’s story lookordinary by comparison.

Post Script

This family saga unfolded alongside Switzerland’s now-infamous Verdingkinder system, where children from “socially precarious” families were forcibly placed in farms or institutions. While Edgar and Evelyne’s placements were triggered by the family’s nomadic fraud and “moral neglect” rather than simple poverty, they were nonetheless caught in a system designed to strip away familial influence in favour of state-mandated discipline.

Sources

Swiss Archives files – available online
Swiss Newspaper Archives – available online
Ancestry – genealogical documents & photographs
Stephan H. (son of Evelyne) – personal correspondence
Arolsen Archives – dossier on Gundelfinger/Frank family
Stephan H. – Evelyne’s son – personal correspondence and additional documents

Header Image – generated by Gemini AI