Phil talked Lomu into becoming a cult hero

PHIL Kingsley Jones, one half of rugby’s supreme little-and-large double act, was fond of summing up his partnership with Jonah Lomu in one colourful sentence.

“We’re an unlikely pair,’’ he’d say. “A tall young Tongan and a short-arsed Welshman.’’

Lomu was eight years old when the horizontallychallenged immigrant from Blaina began work on three fronts, a truck driver by day, a comedian by night and a prop for Mount Wellington RFC on Saturdays. The two latter activities flourished to the point where he could afford to give up trucking.

His coaching ability and the sheer ebullience of his personality made him a big hit with Counties Manukau, a provincial Union based in South Auckland. It was there, in 1989, that he came across a 13-year-old boy who stood head and shoulders above the rest.

Amazonian rain forests have been denuded to meet the demands for all the words written about them but one point tends to be overlooked, that right from the start Jones went out of his way to keep Jonah in the fold.

When the All Blacks dropped him after two matches, the Canterbury Bulldogs offered £150,000a-year to play Rugby League and that was 24 years ago. Jones could have done the deal and taken his cut. Instead, he talked Lomu out of signing.

“I wanted what was best for Jonah,’’ he said. “And what was best for him was not to give up on the All Blacks.’’

Jones had changed the course of history, as the World Cup the following year demonstrated. As Errol Brain, captain of the New Zealand Maori for nine years until 1998, said: “What Phil did for Jonah was ground-breaking. Phil could walk into any clubhouse anywhere in the world and know someone would want to buy him a drink.’’

Jones died in Auckland a few days ago at the age of 72. He is survived by his wife, Verina, daughters Vikki and Rhianon and son Kingsley, the former Wales captain who coached Sale to their first and hitherto only Premiership title.