sequence, but he wanted to sing it to us for all that. It had been his best birthday and his last. On the morning of the following Sunday, Phil did not answer, and there the Grand Old Man of Gower lay curled in the position of sleep. That long sleep at the end of the day," which he had sung about so often, had come at last. From there, the story is taken up in the words of one of his nephews, Tom Tanner, long since settled in Canada, who wrote "So Uncle Phil has gone on to his last rest- what a lovely death he must have had. I am sure he went to sleep that night with the sweetest of thoughts after so full a birthday there may have lived in Gower many men who were more distinguished than he, but I doubt if there ever lived in Gower, a man who lived a fuller and more natural life than did Phil. He did everything because he loved doing it. He never worried, never worked too hard, never sought after wealth for wealth's sake, but lived as best he could from day to day. He used to sing when I remember him first at the old mill near Hill End with Aunt Ruth I was a youngster of six or seven, and we lived at White Moor. I used to call often, and he would be singing while the old mill ground the meal. Then again when he was hedging he would be singing, as of course would Uncle Joe and father (Isaac Tanner) as they ran the looms and spinning wheels. Would not this world be a lot happier if this simple spirit existed to a greater extent than it does today ? Phil and his type didn't add much to scientific progress, but we need his type to help us to relax our minds so as to enjoy real life It would be right to keep his memory fresh, and I am wondering what Old Phil himself would have liked- a painting in Swansea Museum ? A scholarship for a Gower boy or girl ? A tablet in church ? Hardly any of these. Let's mark his grave by all means, but I am sure Old Phil would best like to think of a Gower Night (as the Scots have a Burns Night) with Gower songs, Gower dances, Gower tales and real Gower fun, and a few serious words from someone who knew him well Phil stood for making people happy, and if the anniversary of his birthday could be spent in that way, I am sure that would please him best." Phil Tanner was borne home with dignity to his native Llan- genydd amidst hundreds of his sorrowing relatives and friends. Newspapers and radio gave tribute in poetry and prose and many silent thousands felt that a breach had occurred with the past that would never be repaired life was less worthwhile than it had been. In this world's goods Phil was a poor man, but he enjoyed such rich- ness that few were his peers. In his closing years he enjoyed certain fees for his singing which were more than sufficient to give him the dignified funeral he desired and deserved. Some months before he died, I happened to make a radio appeal on behalf of aged and lonely ladies, and soon afterwards there came a substantial and anonymous donation-" from an old friend "-whose senile hand-writing was