War Letters of a Public-School Boy.

by Henry Paul Mainwaring Jones.

INTRODUCTORY

_These laid the world away; poured out the red Sweet wine of youth; gave up the years to be Of work and joy ...

And those who would have been, Their sons, they gave, their immortality._

RUPERT BROOKE.

In deciding to publish some of the letters written by the late Lieutenant H. P. M. Jones during his twenty-seven months' service with the British Army, accompanying them with a memoir, I was actuated by a desire, first, to enshrine the memory of a singularly n.o.ble and attractive personality; secondly, to describe a career which, though tragically cut short, was yet rich in honourable achievement; thirdly, to show the influence of the Great War on the mind of a public-school boy of high intellectual gifts and sensitive honour, who had shone with equal l.u.s.tre as a scholar and as an athlete.

My choice of the t.i.tle of this book was determined by the frequent allusions made by my son in his war letters to his old school. He spent six and a half years at Dulwich College. His career there was gloriously happy and very distinguished. On the scholastic side, it culminated in December, 1914, in the winning of a scholarship in History and Modern Languages at Balliol College, Oxford; on the athletic side, in his carrying off four silver cups at the Athletic Sports in March, 1915, and tieing for the "Victor Ludorum" shield.

As a merry, light-hearted boy in his early years at Dulwich, his love for the College was marked. It waxed with every term he spent within its walls. After he left it, that love became a pa.s.sion, sustained, coloured and glorified by happy memories. Everybody and everything connected with it shared in his glowing affection. Its welfare and reputation were infinitely precious to him. Like a _leitmotif_ in a musical composition, this love of Dulwich College recurs again and again in his war letters. Every honour won by a Dulwich boy on the battlefield, in scholarship or in athletics gave him exquisite pleasure. The very last letter he wrote is irradiated with love of the old school. When he joined the Tank Corps, stripping, as it were, for the deadly combat, he sent to the depot at Boulogne all his impedimenta. But among the few cherished personal possessions that he took with him into the zone of death were two photographs--one of the College buildings, the other of the Playing Fields, this latter depicting the cricket matches on Founder's Day. In death as in life Dulwich was close to his heart.

Paul Jones was a young man of herculean strength--tall, muscular, deep-chested and broad-shouldered. But he had one grave physical defect. He was extremely short-sighted, had worn spectacles habitually from his sixth year and was almost helpless without them. In fact, his vision was not one-twelfth of normal. Much to his chagrin, his myopia excluded him from the Infantry which he tried to enter in the spring of 1915, and he had to put up with a Commission as a subaltern in the Army Service Corps. His first three months in the Army were spent at a home port, one of the chief depots of supply for the British Army in the field. Eagerly embracing the first chance to go abroad, he left Southampton for Havre in the last week of July, 1915. A few days after his arrival in France, he was appointed requisitioning officer to the 9th Cavalry Brigade--a post for the duties of which he was specially qualified by his excellent knowledge of the French language.

After 11 months in this employment, he was appointed to a Supply Column, and subsequently, during the protracted battles on the Somme, was in command of an ammunition working party. In October, 1916, he was again appointed requisitioning officer, this time to the 2nd Cavalry Brigade.

Though his duties were often laborious and exacting, his relative freedom from peril and hardship while other men were facing death every day in the trenches sorely troubled his conscience. Feeling that he was not pulling his weight in the war and seeing no prospect of the Cavalry going into action he resolved, at all hazards, to get into the fighting line. After two abortive efforts to transfer from the A.S.C., he succeeded on the third attempt, and was appointed Lieutenant in the Tank Corps, which he joined on 13th February, 1917. His elation at the change was unbounded, and thenceforth his letters home sang with joy.

He took part as a Tank officer in the battle of Arras in April, and when the great offensive was planned in Flanders he was shifted to that sector. In the battle of 31st July, when advancing with his tank north-east of Ypres, he was killed by a sniper's bullet. He seemed to have had a premonition some days before that death might soon claim him. In a letter to his brother, a Dulwich school boy, dated 27th July, he wrote:

Have you ever reflected on the fact that, despite the horrors of the war, it is at least a big thing? I mean to say that in it one is brought face to face with realities. The follies, selfishness, luxury and general pettiness of the vile commercial sort of existence led by nine-tenths of the people of the world in peace time are replaced in war by a savagery that is at least more honest and outspoken. Look at it this way: in peace time one just lives one's own little life, engaged in trivialities, worrying about one's own comfort, about money matters, and all that sort of thing--just living for one's own self. What a sordid life it is! In war, on the other hand, even if you do get killed, you only antic.i.p.ate the inevitable by a few years in any case, and you have the satisfaction of knowing that you have "pegged out"

in the attempt to help your country. You have, in fact, realised an ideal, which, as far as I can see, you very rarely do in ordinary life. The reason is that ordinary life runs on a commercial and selfish basis; if you want to "get on," as the saying is, you can't keep your hands clean.

Personally, I often rejoice that the war has come my way. It has made me realise what a petty thing life is. I think that the war has given to everyone a chance to "get out of himself," as I might say. Of course, the other side of the picture is bound to occur to the imagination. But there! I have never been one to take the more melancholy point of view when there's a silver lining to the cloud.

The eagerness to subordinate self displayed in this letter was very characteristic of its author. He was by nature altruistic, and this propensity was intensified by his career at Dulwich and his experience of athletics, both influences tending to merge the individual in the whole and to subordinate self to the side. Death he had never feared, and he dreaded it less than ever after his experience of campaigning.

His last letter shows with what serenity of mind he faced the ultimate realities. He greeted the Unseen with a cheer.

His Commanding Officer, in a letter to us after Paul's death, wrote:

"No officer of mine was more popular. He was efficient, very keen, and a most gallant gentleman. His crew loved him and would follow him anywhere. He did not know what fear was."

From the crew of his Tank we received a very sympathetic letter which among other things said:

"We all loved your son. He was the best officer in our company and never will be replaced by one like him."

A gunner who served in the same Tank company testified his love and admiration for our son and said that all the men would do anything for him; even the roughest came under his spell.

A brother officer who served with Paul in the 2nd Cavalry Brigade, in paying homage to his character, wrote: "He was a most interesting and lovable companion and friend. He never seemed to think of himself at all."

Among the many tributes that reached us were several from the masters, old boys, and present boys at Dulwich College. Several of the writers express the opinion that Paul Jones would, if he had lived, have done great things. Mr. Gilkes, late headmaster of Dulwich, in a touching letter, spoke of the n.o.bility of his character and his high gifts; Mr.

Smith, the present headmaster, testified to his intellectual power, energy and keenness; Mr. Joerg, master of the Modern Sixth, to his sense of justice, loyalty and truth; Mr. Hope, master of the Cla.s.sical Sixth, to his high conception of duty, "his sterling qualities and great ability." From the young man who was captain of the school when Paul was head of the Modern Side came this testimony: "He was one of the finest characters of my time at school; in me he inspired all the highest feelings." One of his contemporaries in the Modern Sixth wrote: "I owe more than I can express to your son's influence over me.

As long as I live I shall never forget him. His spirit is with me always; for it is to him that I owe my first real insight into life."

A well-known Professor wrote: "I felt sure he was destined to do great things; but he has done greater things; he has done the greatest thing of all." Some of these letters are set forth in full in the Epilogue.

Appended is a list of events in this rich and strenuous, albeit brief life:

Born at 6 Cloudesdale Road, Balham, May 18th, 1896.

Entered Dulwich College, September, 1908.

Junior Scholarship, Dulwich College, June, 1909.

Senior Scholarship, Dulwich College, June, 1912.

Matriculated, with honours, London University, 1911.

Appointed Prefect at Dulwich, September, 1912.

Secretary and Treasurer of the College Magazine, 1913-14.

Editor of _The Alleynian_, 1914-15.

Head of the Modern Side, 1913-15.

Member of 1st XV, 1912-13, 1913-14, 1914-15.

Hon. Secretary 1st XV, 1913-14.

Captain of Football, 1914-15.

Won a Balliol Scholarship, December, 1914.

Tied for "Victor Ludorum" Shield, March, 1915.

Joined the Army, April, 1915.

Killed in Action, July 31st, 1917.

All that was mortal of Paul Jones is buried at a point west of Zonnebeke, north-east of Ypres.

PART I

MEMOIR

[Ill.u.s.tration: Paul Jones as an Infant.]

CHAPTER I

CHILDHOOD

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar; Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness.

But trailing clouds of glory do we come From G.o.d, Who is our home.

WORDSWORTH: "INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY."

Henry Paul Mainwaring Jones, born in London on May 18, 1896, was the first child of Henry and Emily Margaret Jones. His grandfather, the late Thomas Mainwaring, was in his day a leading figure in literary and political circles in Carmarthenshire. My own people have been a.s.sociated with that county for centuries. For our son's christening a vessel containing water drawn from the Pool of Bethesda was sent to us by my old friend Sir John Foster Fraser, who in the spring of that year pa.s.sed through Palestine on his journey by bicycle round the world.

At this time I was acting editor of _The Weekly Sun_, a journal then in high repute. Later, at Mr. T. P. O'Connor's request, I took charge of his evening newspaper, _The Sun_. After the purchase of _The Sun_ by a Conservative proprietary I severed my connection with it, and in January, 1897, went to reside in Plymouth, having undertaken the managing editorship of the _Western Daily Mercury_.