THE PREMIER'S SON.

North Otago Times, Volume CVII, Issue 17748, 16 March 1927, Page 3

THE PREMIER'S SON.

A NEBULOUS SOCaALsST,

ROMANTIG AWD LGVABLh. JOURNALIST VlSiTS THE FARM". In the diverting interview which nppears below Mr Ohver Baldwin, the Socialist son of the Premier, ' describes "a pitictical Sociaiistic experiment/'- by which he runs a chicken farm 011 an income of £400 a year which he receives from shares given to him some years ago by his father, states the London TDaily Express,'' in wfiich the interview was publi&lied. "This is an attempt at practical Sociahsm. I have £400 a year from shares w'liich were given to nie some years ago by my father. My partner is a Tory and has ahout £50 a year. He manages the farm, and when I am not speaking publicly I help him. Ouf revenue from eggs, after feeding ourselves and our guests completely, is about^ £20 a year." These words were spolsen to the "Daily Express" representative hy Mr Baldwin on his chicken farm which lies over the Chiltern Hills towards Oxford. "Mr Baldwin was dressed in grey bags, a well cut jacket, woolien socks, carpet slippers, and — he smoked a pipe! His light blue eyes are almost humorous. His soft flaxen moustache turns up, revealing a mouth that is not quite sensuous, not-quite idealistic, and not quite dptermined. His gaze and manner are frank. "When he dislikes what is said to him, he does not answer back sharply. He draws deeply on his pipe." "Do I llke living here?" he sald, in answer t.o a question. "Of course 1 do. You see that little . summer-house at the end of the garden. That's where I reaa and write. I've got a yireless set and a telephone there." His partner a typical public school man, strolled up, and, out of a bag deposited five tiny ducks on tlie ground. The breasts were the .colour of dandelions, and they huddled together in mnte amazement of life. "They ar® three days old," Said Mr Baldwin. "Lovely. Aren't they? The nearer a living thing is to God, the more "beautiful it is. A baby's eyes, or a baby's hand . . ." 1 "Are you married?" asked the "Daily Express" representative. "No," said Mr Baldwin. "I shall not have time." His partner, the Tory, took up one of the ducks. "He will be good eating some day," he said. \ Mr Baldwin drew heavily on his pipe. "I nevef attack my father publicly," he said a few minutes later. "I disagree with him and deplore his polioies and his lack of politics, but I am an obscure Socialist candidate and he is the Prime Minister of Great Britain. I never attack a man who obviously can'F answer back."But do you think he is T " , _ "All wrong," said the Socialist re- . inserting the pipe in his mouth.

"IT ISN'T-DONE." !A young fellow who works about the plac© and serves at table. announced that 'Tuncheon was ready. We walked towards the house, a mosb atractive country establishment of some ten rooms or so . Various cats and goodhumoured dogs converged on us as we went.- The news had spread. "Do you regret the life you have left?" asked the 'Daily Express' representative. . "How could I?" said Mr Baldwin. "The whole business of titles and flunkeyism and money-grubbing makes me ill Of course., my fidends cut me ; they all say, 'It isn't done,' and when I go into some clubs meinbers leave the room. This is the kind of thing I get constantly." He handed me an anonymons postcard. It was in black letters, and read: —

"Don'i you you augih be 1:1 a home?" \ Ivli Baiciwiu • sirhled sweelly, Lnen glanced appraniienoively. at his partne^-, who was carving tlie iomt. "Oh conie on, fchen, " said the partner, vacating his chair "You see," 113 said in expianation, "Oliver likes to do his ov.'ij carving." Conversation was oscoming somewhat difBcult. "What school did you go to?" finally' aslced the "Baily Express" representative. "Eton," said I.Ir Baldwin opsratmg *011 the joint . "Did you like i 0 there ?" . "Hated itl" ' CLARET OR WKISKY r The servant cf all work offered the visiting joura&liso the ehoice of clavet or whisky. He did his jok excellently. He was unobstructive and as efficisnt as tlie servant of a duke. "I spsak constantly," said Mr Baldwin. "I am nursing Dudley — where you paper threw out G r iffitli-B oscsv/e n on the cattle embargo." "Will you carry it next eleciicn?'"Yes," said Mr B&ldwiu. "Would you attack your father m the House?" Mr Olivei Baldwin smilled. "Tliey would fchrow me out of the Eouse in no time," lie said. "But as a matter of fact I would probably give up my seat to some chap who wanted it and go and fight a by-election. You see, I am essentially a propagandist. I speak all over. In the next few week I am speaking at Dudley, Cambridge, .Burt-on-on-Trent, Grimhsy, and a whole week in Lancashire. My fee is _two guineas, but in strike areas where they are poor I refund half of my fee." Mr Baldwin icse from the table and crossed to tlie piano, rummaging among some musical manuscripts. "The. Press," he said, "either garble the reports of my spseches or else ignore me. There is orie big sectiou of the London Press that won't allGW my name to mentioned They ignore me, my books, and my speeehes. Are you fond of music? I put these words to tliis setting." SONG OF FREEDOM. He sat down at tlie piano, an-a In a manly English manner sang a song about people being free. In the writing and in the rendition there was_ a simple kindlmess that was admirable. When it was finished he played and sang an old English song of his own composition, while his partner went out to feed the chickens. "Is this lovely country p'Jace ra keeping with your Socialist ideas " asked the visitor. "Absolutely," was the answer. "We do it on £450 a year. This i,n the way everyone should live. We work we produce,, we feed ourselves, and we entertain our friends' when we have any spave time. Can you sing?" 4 The journalist ■ admitted" that he hummed a little. "Then hum this with me," said the host, and, opening a copy of' Gilbert and Sullivan's "Patience," he led away in a lusfy voice with: — - When I go out of door Of Damozels a seore (All sighing and burning, And clinging and yearning) Will follow me as before. I shall with cultured taste Distinguish germs from paste, And "Higli diddle diddle" Will rank as an idyll If I pronounce it chaste. A most intense young man, A soulful-eyed young man, An ultra poetical, super-aestheticai," out-of-the-way young man. _ "You have a very promising voice,"' said Mr Oliver Baldwin. "That is true," said tlie "Daily Express" representative. An hour later Mr Baldwin escorfed his guest to his motor-car. He liad gathered some autumn leaves and gave them to the visisor to take home with him. "Its a long fight but we're winmng all along the liue," said Mr Baldwin. He puffed meditatively at his pipe as he stood there, a wistful romantic, flaxen-haired* youth of twenty-seven, son of Great Britain's Prime Minister, profagoiiist 'of Socialist doctrines- — strangely loveable, strangely nebulous. , A short distance^ away, where he was attending a sick fowl, the Troy partner waved good-bye.