He was killed in early middle age in a light aircraft in Kenya. His nephew Pyers, a daredevil boxing champion who knocked unconscious a dozen gendarmes and waiters in a Paris restaurant because he questioned the bill, succeeded to the baronetcy, but was killed by a lunatic horse in Kenya in his twenties.
After the Second World War my father, Sir Basil Mostyn, his successor, met a girl at a party who said frivolously: 'Oh, so you're one of the unlucky Mostyns]'
To his puzzlement, she explained that the local Prestatyn witch had cursed us mainline Mostyns for selling Talacre and that the curse would not be lifted until we returned. My father died of a violent cancer in his early fifties, as did my brother five years ago. A tragic coincidence, I am sure, but my brother and I often discussed buying just a hut on the estate to exorcise the curse. I think he would agree that the time has come to do just that.
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