Hilton-Jones Bryan

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Biografie:
Bryan Hilton-Jones, 1918-1969
Bryan Hilton-Jones was killed in a motor-car accident outside Barcelona on the last day of 1969. Two of his daughters, Daryl and Nicola, died with him. His wife, Edwina, survived.
Those are the facts behind a tragedy from which no one who knew Bryan will ever completely recover. He was an altogether exceptional man, with a power to inspire affection seldom encountered. He died in the prime of his life, returning from a ski-ing holiday in Andorra. It is almost impossible, a full year after the event, to write about him and still see the typewriter or the words.
Of his brilliant war-time service in the Commandos others have already written. Because of his languages (he had taken a First.in the Modern Language Tripos) and his already legendary fitness, he was seconded from Lord Lovat to take charge of a special Commando Force of Foreigners (Number 3 Troop) who needed someone like him to control them, such was their hatred of Hitler. I did not know him then, but have the best of reasons for knowing all about his training methods: I too have been rushed over the tops to Harlech. I am told that he used to say to new arrivals, in whatever language they happened to know, 'You must drink and smoke as much as you like, of course. The only thing is that if you do the rigours of your life with us will soon ensure your return to your unit.' I can well believe it.
I met him, a young severely wounded civilian, poring over a law book. I asked for him as a Personal Assistant but within a week of his arrival in Dublin I had ceased to be in charge of him, and he had taken charge of me. Totally unfit, tobacco and Scotch my dearest companions, I was introduced to the mountains of Wales. My copy of British Crags and Climbers is inscribed 'Christmas 1952. From Bryan, who is not to blame for any of it.' But he was, and for almost all the happiness of those years.
Our ways parted and he went on to higher things, the management of I.C.I.'s interests in Switzerland and, ultimately, general manager in Spain. By that time he had done nearly all the big standard routes in the Alps and had turned his mind to ski-ing. Needless to say he was almost at once doing the hard, fast or high routes. I possess an enraged description of my friend, skis on shoulder, pointing out the facilities for a quick snack on the Jungfraujoch to a frightened textile director in a bowler hat and blue, chalk-striped suit. On a smaller scale I had been through all that myself.
No one could tire him. Many so-called hard men were glad to fall back a little after the first five or six hours. They could outclimb him (some of them) but never outwalk him. He had a map of Wales in his head and never failed to select the hardest, longest distance between any two Welsh points. It was always worth it; he was the perfect companion.
Now he is dead. Edwina, desperately hurt in the accident that killed him, lives on. Her son Gavin and her daughter Nerys were in another car and are mercifully alive.
Not long ago The Times carried an article on Welsh patronymics, with much light-hearted stuff about Jones the Post or Jones the Cab. We who know and loved Bryan Hilton-Jones knew a different sort of Jones. We knew Jones the Man.
Kevin Fitzgerald
Quelle: Alpine Journal Volume 76, 1971, Seite 329-330


Geboren am:
1918
Gestorben am:
31.12.1969