THE FUNERAL

        We received much consolation through the kind words spoken and beautiful songs rendered and the presence of so many friends. We were informed that it was the largest funeral that had ever been held in the Heber Stake House.
        There was a large turnout from the Summit Stake. All of the Stake Presidency were present and all the Bishops of the wards of the Stake.
        It was an evidence that Harold, in a short time, had endeared himself in the hearts of the people who knew him, both in Summit Stake as well as in his old home people of Wasatch.
        I wish here to enclose part of the words of the song "Sometime We’ll Understand". They seem to best express our feelings:

Not now but in the coming years,
It may be in the better land,
We’ll read the meaning of our tears
And there sometime, we’ll understand.

We’ll catch the broken threads again
And finish what we here began;
Heaven will the mystery explain,
And then, oh, then we’ll understand.

We’ll know why clouds instead of sun
Were over many a cherished plan,
Why song has ceased when scarce begun
‘Tis there sometime we’ll understand.

God knows the way; he holds the key;
He guides us with unerring hand;
Sometimes with tearless eyes we’ll see,
Yes, there, up there we’ll understand.

Then trust in God, through all thy days;
Fear not, for he doth hold thy hand.
Though dark thy way, still sing and praise,
Sometime, sometime we’ll understand.

        The passing of Harold was the greatest sorrow that ever came into my life. Much because of the conditions under which he was taken. I could hardly help but feel that I missed him more than did anyone else. He was so close to me.
        I try to understand, that he had a dear wife he loved and that she loved him dearly. They I try to understand, "There is no love more deep and pure than a mother’s love." He had a dear mother, and Susie Duke was the mother of his three sweet children. Could anyone miss him more than she?
        Twenty four years have now passed since that fateful day of April 8, 1931. I am thankful that our family is still carrying on and not discouraged.
        I sometimes say to my children, "Remember the example of your brother Harold." I have often wondered, have trials come to us to make us stronger? As we are now better able to talk to people who become discouraged, and who say, "I am through with the church. The Bishop has not treated me right." The people do no appreciate anything you do.
        To tell of my experience, has been one of my best arguments, when talking to such people, to show to them the falacy of becoming discouraged and quitting the church because someone else had been unjust and unkind. I have been so glad that I have had a testimony of the Gospel, during the many years of my life.
        I don’t want to fail because others may fail. I hope I will never be to blame for other people’s failures. If others weaken, the more need is there that I should be strong.
        How foolish it is for one to say, "I am going to quit. No one can drive me." They hurt themselves more than anyone else.
        I feel impressed to copy here a few verses I have taken from Golden Nuggets of Thought. I like these verses very much.

                COURAGE

                They are slaves who fear to speak
                For the fallen and the weak,
                They are slaves who will not choose
                Hatred, scoffing and abuse
                Rather than in silence shrink
                From the truths their needs must think.
                They are slaves who dare not be
                In the right with two or three.

                THE TEST

                The test of a man is the fight he makes
                The grit that he daily shows;
                The way he stands on his feet and takes
                Fate’s numerous bumps and blows.
                A coward can smile when there’s naught to fear,
                When nothing his progress bars
                But it takes a man to stand up and cheer
                While some other fellow stars.

                It isn’t the victory after all
                But the fight that a brother makes.
                The man, who, driven against the wall,
                Still stands up erect and takes
                The blows of fate with his head held high
                Bleeding, and bruised and pale.
                He’s the man who’ll win in the by and by
                For he isn’t afraid to fail.
                It’s the bumps you get and the jolts you get
                And the shocks that your courage stand,

                The hours of sorrow and vain regret,
                The prize that escapes your hands.
                That test your nettle and prove your worth;
                It isn’t the blows you deal.
                But the blows you take on this good old earth
                That shows if your stuff is real
                When things go wrong as they sometimes will.
                And the road you’re traveling seems all uphill;
                When funds are low and debts are high,
                And you want to laugh but you have to sign;
                When cares are pressing you down a bit,
                Rest, if you must—but don’t you quit.

        I know the above poems to contain good advise. Discouragement is perhaps the devil’s greatest tool. This tool I have tried hard to avoid, and to warn my family and friends of it’s terrible grip once it gets hold of its victims.
        While Harold’s body lay at the mortuary in Heber and I was confined to my bed in Provo, I feel that my thoughts and feelings could be described as a continuous prayer that His spirit might lead and guide us on until we might be as worthy and prepared as was the one whose mission here was ended.
        Continually, hour after hour, the following words seemed most impressed upon my mind. "We live for those who love us, whose hearts are kind and true." It seemed to me that the rest of the years ahead would be more sad and lonely. Again, I am thankful that I could go to my Heavenly Father and ask for comfort and consolation.
        During the times of sadness, I loved the green fields, the trees and the mountains, and I got comfort in riding among the cattle we turned upon the hills.
        In remembrance of those occasions, now sacred to memory, I have written the following poem entitled, "Call of the Mountains."

        In a story entitled "Discouragement", it spoke of the tools used by the "Father of Sin". One of those tools was "Jealousy". I have reasons to believe it was jealousy that caused much of the feeling in Woodland when Harold Winterton was Bishop of the Woodland Ward.
        Harold Winterton was a young man, 27 years of age. He had recently moved into the Ward from Charleston Ward of the Wasatch Stake of Zion.
        In the Woodland Ward lived many older people and many of whom had been born there. They had grown up with certain customs and ideas.
        They may have felt that they were being let down when a young man from another district was placed in as Bishop of the ward.
        I heard President Stevens say, "Harold Winterton had, in his travels and experience, picked up ideas and thoughts superior to the ideas and practices of the older people of the ward and they were not prepared to listen to Harold. Harold wanted to see progress in the church."
        Harold may have been a little untactful in trying to put over some of his ideas. He may have been a little outspoken to people with selfish motives. As I have before mentioned, there had not been the cooperation as there should have been between the people living above the church house and those living below. Harold wanted to bring them closer together. He wanted them to work together.
        During all the years that had passed, there had never been a convenient and sanitary culinary water system. People began talking about ways and means to install a water system. Some of those living in the upper end of the valley said it would be better for them to build their own private water line to accommodate those living above the church house. Those living farther down wanted to benefit also from the springs flowing out of the mountain side opposite the home of Alma Carlile. As I remember, the springs were on the land owned by Heber Butters.
        Harold became very much interested in trying to unite the people in building a system that would benefit all. He made special trips to Salt Lake City to learn all he could about the price of pipe and the kind and size of pipe needed, what the people must do in order to get long time loans, etc.
        At one time, when Harold was trying to persuade the upper end people that they should allow all to come in on their property, it was reported that Harold had said, "It looked too much like a dog in the manger proposition if the upper residents tried to keep from the lower people the benefit of the water." One of those men said to me, "I have resolved, that as long as Harold Winterton tries to promote a water system, I will oppose him." He was a man of influence in the ward.
        After Harold’s death, he and other old residents picked it up where Harold had left off, except they wanted something with less red tape, so they bought some old used pipe that had long before been discarded by the Lehi Sugar Company. (If new pipe had been installed, we would have had a better water line with less leaks, and less water shortages.)
        All the trench line was dug with pick and shovel at an agreed price of $2.00 per rod. It was hard for a man