UNROMANTIC HOMECOMING

Manawatu Times, Volume LIV, Issue 6864, 20 March 1929, Page 7

UNROMANTIC HOMECOMING

American-Born Peer ‘DARESAY. I AIN’T WANTED’ United Press Association —By Electrifl Telegraph —Copyright. LONDON, March 18. Nothing more unromantic in the history of the peerage could bo imagined than the homecoming of the. Earl of Egmont from Canada to his family estate at Avon Castle, Hampshire. A newspaper man was the only one at the station to meet him. “Ain’t anybody here from the castle?’’ the Earl asked, as he stepped out at Ring Wood Station. When told no, his hands in his pockets and said, “Well, I daresay I ain’t wanted much here. Where’ll I stay?” The newspaper man conducted him to an hotel. The Earl said, “I want a lot of sleep. I hate people, men and women. I’ve been over-bothered.’’ Asked when he was going to the castle, he said, “Well,'l guess I won’t crowd in with them to-night. I’ll take a shack here until to-morrow.” So saying, ho disappeared into the small hotel.

A CANADIAN RANCHER. FARMING ON THE PRAIRIES. The new Earl of Egmont, farming in a lonely settlement away from the end of steel in Alberta, has his regrets about accepting the title (wrote “The Post’s” Vancouver representative on January 23 last). A very distant kinsman, he was born in lowa, and sent to England to be educated. For thirty years he has farmed on the prairie ,as his father did before him. He is 55 years old, grizzled and lean, brown as an Indian, a typical rancher. Avon castle in Hampshire is the famjily seat of Egmont. There is land in other parts of England and Ireland and shares in forty companies. When the new Earl was interviewed he was dressed in well-worn overalls and sweater, working at the woodpile. His son, aged 14, clad in chapps, windbreaker, Mexican boots and sombrero, was saddling up to look after the cattle, in the foothills of the Rockies, south of Calgary. ‘/I’ve lived in Alberta foT twentynine years,” said tho Earl. “My father lived hero before me. We’ve ranched and raised fair horses and cattle. There is no natural reason why I should not stay here till I die. 1 love the foothills, the ranch, the cattle, the horses. I won’t leave it unless it is absolutely necessary.” , Turning to his son, now the Honourable Frederick George Moore Perceval, he said, ”What do you want to do, Fred?” “I want to stay out here and live with you, Dad,” said tho boy without hesitation. “We’ve bached together since mother died. You taught me to read and write, to shoot and ride. We’ve got a nice I don’t want to leave it.” “Suits me, too, son,” said his father, as the lad swung away and cantered off after the cattle. “You see how ho feels,” said the Earl. “It’s the same with me.. I promised his mother that I would bring him up in the hard clean ways of the Canadian West, so that, if ever the time came for him to succeed to the title he would be possessed of a stout, healthy body,, be a good sportsman, and be proficient with horses and cattle. My elevation to the peerage is no surprise. I’ve known for years that it was likely, and I have been kept in close touch with affairs at Home. My cousin, the ninth Earl, who has died, was married, but his wife predeceased him several years, and there were no children. I married my wife in Montreal seventeen years ago and brought her out West and settled here. Out son was born in 1914; she died when ho was seven. We’ve lived simple lives here, where I am known as Fred, and where everyone round is known to me by their Christian names. It is my natural environment, but, for the boy’s sake, I must go.”