Again, Wales

Edward of Wales patted the sleek chestnut flanks of his favorite hunter, a fleet and mettlesome mount named "Oh, Dear." Vaulting into his saddle he nodded to the Duke of Rutland and set off after the latter's famed Belvoir hounds. A lengthy chase ensued, in which "Oh, Dear" and Edward swooped over many a hazard, galloped at full tilt across the downs of Melton Mowbray, distanced His Grace of Rutland completely.

At length a stiff fence had to be taken. "Oh, Dear" sprang like an antelope, cleared the top bar by a hand, suddenly experienced complete heart exhaustion in the midst of the leap, crumpled down into a formless mass of horseflesh, dead.

For an instant the Prince sprawled at full length--unhorsed by Fate. Then he rushed to summon aid for "Oh, Dear," whose instantaneous death seemed at first incredible.

The Duke of Rutland rode up. Eventually the little that could be done was done. The Prince caught the night express to London, apparently none the worse for his spill. Encore. A day later Wales hunted in the Melton Mowbray country, this time with the famed Fernie hounds. With the pack at full cry, a very nasty hedge with a ditch on either side had to be taken. Lord Stalbridge, Master of the hunt, rode at the hazard, but suddenly pulled up as his horse showed signs of refusing to take the jump. Not so Edward of Wales. He crouched low, urged his mount to clear the first ditch and the hedge--was thrown heavily as his horse fell into the second ditch--fractured his left collar bone.

First aid was administered to him at a nearby hut. His left arm and shoulder were strapped and bound to prevent straining the fracture. Solicitous hands bundled him into a heavy overcoat, buttoned it tightly across his chest, turned up the fur collar about his ears. His chauffeur drove him carefully to Market Harborough station. There he picked up the public telephone instrument with his free hand and called his secretary at York House, London: "I'll be back to dinner, and you'll see that there's very little the matter with me."

Arrived at London, the Prince did indeed partake of dinner--"a dinner of sorts." For some months he has been under the care of Dr. John Weir, noted Scotch homeopathist, who is said to have "mercilessly cut down his usual diet," caused him to abandon "the two extremes of dining, soup and cigars," and restricted him to "four denicotinized cigarets per day" and no wine or spirits until dinner time --all this because Edward has allegedly found himself "growing nervous."

Statistics. Troubled Britons added two more "escapes" to their list of 13 tumbles during the past five years. Anxiously they listened to Court gossips who declared: "During the last illness of Queen Alexandra, the Prince exercised great caution while hunting and chose relatively docile mounts in order that his grandmother might not have her last days troubled by uneasiness for him. He has now given way once more to his passion for riding very mettlesome, powerful horses, which are quite unsuitable for a man of his slight build." The 13 spills: WHEN....WHERE.......HOW

1920....Norfolk..... Hunt

1920....Grafton..... Hunt

1921....Banbury..... Race

1921....Aldershot....Polo

1922....Malmesbury....Drag

(Sprained ankle)

1922....Oxford.......Race

1923....Malmesbury.....Hunt

(Twisted knee)

1923....Larkhill.......Race

1923.....Reading.......Race

1924....Leighton Buzzard...Practice

(Broken collarbone)

1924....Workingham.....Race

(Slight concussion of the brain)

1924....Meadow Brook....Polo

(Cut over the eye)

1924....Toronto.......Hunt