ttalion, Tank
Corps, called at our house in London, and told us a great deal about
Paul from the standpoint of the men in the battalion. Mr. Phillips, a
young craftsman of high intelligence, spoke with intense affection of
our son, whom he knew almost from the first day Paul joined the Tanks.
He said: "Lieutenant Paul Jones was sociable and most considerate. He
was a grand officer and treated his men like brothers. He would never
ask the men to do what he would not do himself. The result was that we
would all have done anything for him. There are a few rough chaps in
our battalion--men who know the guard-room--but even these yielded
gladly to his influence, and liked him very much. No officer in the
battalion was so loved and respected by the men. One day last summer,
when a number of Tanks had assembled in a wood, our whereabouts were
discovered by the Germans, who at daybreak simply peppered the place
with shells. The order was given to go to the dug-outs. Lieut. Jones,
aroused from sleep, came out half-dressed, but he was as cool as if he
was on parade, and insisted on every man going into the dug-outs
before he himself would take shelter. His merry spirits made him a
great favourite with us all. My own relations with him were
particularly cordial, because I was a Welshman and an athlete."

It was comforting to have these accounts at first-hand of our son's
unalloyed happiness in the last seven months of his life. Countless
brave men, gifted and simple, eminent and obscure, have sacrificed
their lives in this War, none with more complete self-surrender than
Paul Jones. In War as in Peace, he bore himself like Wordsworth's
"Happy Warrior."

Whose powers shed round him in the common strife,
Or mild concerns of ordinary life,
A constant influence, a peculiar grace;
But who, if he be called upon to face
Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined
Great issues, good or bad for humankind,
Is happy as a Lover; and attired
With sudden brightness, like a man inspired.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Whom neither shape of danger can dismay,
Nor thought of tender happiness betray,
Who, not content that former Worth stand fast,
Looks forward, persevering to the last,
From well to better, daily self-surpast:
Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth
For ever, and to noble deeds give birth,
Or he must fall, to sleep without his fame
And leave a dead, unprofitable name--
Find