In memory of my Great Great Uncle Linton I have made a website where I'm publishing photos, stories and excerpts from his letters. If anyone has a connection to Linton or knows anything more about him please visit my website and contact me.
https://lintonjones.wixsite.com/lintonjones1919

The Box. (A poem dedicated to my Great Great Uncle Linton).

The box was shaped like a treble clef note,
Fragile and old,
Light cardboard with a black paper cover pasted on it,
Pretending to be leather,
Now peeling off.

Unearthed from an attic,
The box and it's precious contents seem more vulnerable,
It is exposed to the world,
And any number of worldly accidents could happen to it,
I want to protect it.

As the box is opened before me,
I smell old rosin,
Weary strings coiled in the corner,
Bow thinned of hair from joyfully making melodies,
However the most enthralling object in the box is the violin itself,
Bare of bridge and strings,
They were taken off when Linton had to leave.

Rothesay Linton Jones,
Those three words mean a lot to me,
He was so much more than a farm hand that stuttered,
Enlisted,
And died at twenty-three,
He was a violinist,
That made the instrument in this batter