' Paul Crum'' Very few people can have heard of
Roger Pettiward, an exhibition of whose pictures is being held at Eton on the rourth of June. His drawings in Punch (in whose current dumber ' Fougasse ' analyses with much percipience his merits signed a humorous artist) were his best-known work, but he always Ined them either ' Paul Crum ' or else—as in the one which W,-':ougasse ' reproduces—with an enigmatic squiggle. Very tall, 7Ith red hair and a slow, quizzical drawl, Pettiward was an hatraordinarily lovable and attractive person, half artist and f (in the cant term) man of action. He and I once took 13artin an expedition to a remote part of the world, and clothing could have exceeded the composure and resource `vItIlwhich he faced a series of odd and occasionally alarming Predicaments, which culminated in the -senior members of the expedition disappearing down-river with all the money and supplies, leaving Roger and me stranded in the jungle. He was killed while leading a troop of No. 3 Com- mando in the successful assault on the German coastal batteries flanking Dieppe; I have been told on good authority, and I do not find it hard to believe, that if he had survived he would have been recommended for the Victoria Cross. He was a splendid person,
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