THE night got off to a dire start Peter Frost had been told it was a bad taste party. Turning up in tacky 70's gear, the new vet discovered he had been had. No one else was in fancy dress.

"Can you castrate my bears?" asked a tall, determined young woman in the kitchen, and Peter groaned at another wind-up.

The city kid had come to the country to start his new career in the Lakeland he loved, only this was not what he had in mind.

Since childhood on an Edinburgh housing estate, where his playground was the street, Peter cherished the thought of getting a farm by meeting the right farmer's daughter. Becoming a vet was his only chance.

Here he was, first job, and a pawn in prankster territory.

Iona Gordon-Duff-Pennington was, in fact, serious. She really did have bears and an 84-roomed Muncaster Castle heritage, with Pennington family links going back to 1208.

"The castrating bear bit has to be the most bizarre chat-up line ever," admits Peter.

Instead of finding a farm by the back door, Peter, who had always gone for "the simplest things in life" got himself a stately home and noble wife.

He had always disliked double-barrelled names, but the day he married Iona, became Peter Frost-Pennington, keeping alive the 800-year-old family name.

"The only thing I farm now is tourists," he quipped, 80,000 of them in 2002.

"I married Iona because I loved her, not for this," explains Peter, throwing out a hand at the cash hungry castle and a lifestyle which leaves him with little family life and no time for veterinary work."

He played football in the road. His three kids romp in 70-acre grounds and have turned round and said: "We are not like you, dad!"

"It's a bit like the Hovis ad and when I were a lad'," admits Peter.

"There are huge perks and advantages to living here. The down side is that it is all-consuming. Iona and I are determined to keep Muncaster going. Our children might turn around and say they don't want it. That's up to them."

Theirs were the first Pennington offspring to attend the local primary school. The castle they took on came minus gilding and was collapsing around their ears.

"We were in a pickle. People perceived us as rich. On paper we were. In reality we definitely were not.

"It would have been easier to let it all go and see the castle become a hotel, or country club. We would have never needed to work again.

"We chose to fight tooth and nail to keep it and not let it fall into complete rack and ruin."

Off-loading family silver was crucial. Peter said it was difficult to see his mother-in-law Phyllida, who had inherited the estate from her father Sir William Pennington-Ramsden, sell her jewels.

"We asked about National Lottery money and were told no chance. Pennington women don't take kindly to the word no, and Iona was determined to fight. We got two-and-a-half million from the Millennium fund."

So far, Peter and Iona have spent £5 million, and have plans which will cost as much again.

"We wanted to honour history, but take the place forward and make it relevant to the 21st century," he said.

"Heating was a priority. When we were hosting events like a Valentine's bash, we had to ask guests to wear thermals. The castle was freezing and had one downstairs loo, in a cupboard."

When Peter arrived to work in a Broughton-in-Furness veterinary practice, he gave himself two years before heading back north of the border. He already knew and loved the isolated West Coast, and its people, and looked forward to exploring the fells.

Before that, he had spent six months with Antipodean cousins, in an old prospecting town, panning for gold. He relished the Aussie lifestyle and could have happily stayed.

"It was so relaxed and laid-back. They just cut the crap. It is strange, by comparison, to now finding myself in a virtual feudal set-up.

"I'm now described as aristocratic. Of course, I'm not. I could live in a council house in the back streets of Liverpool. I would make it, wherever I was dumped."

Peter and Iona were married within two years of the bear castration line.

"She took a while to decide," he says.

"Iona is a very plucky, determined, headstrong lady and is the unsung heroine in the whole of this saga.

"I am perceived to be the owner and boss around here. I tend to be the one who meets people while Iona's outside rodding the drains in old jeans.

"I simply married the girl I loved, who happened to come with complications!"

The Grade I listed building, its 70 acres of garden, an estate spanning 1,800 acres with fell and foreshore thrown in, three farms and a number of houses are now Peter's responsibility. He says he works for his mother-in-law and wife and, if people think he's lucky, they should think again.

Practicality new roof - and innovation - vole trail walk hand-in-hand in the survival of Muncaster.

When the Prime Minister's aides asked during the summer if Tony Blair could bring his family round for a visit half-an-hour later, Peter said no. They had a wedding party booked, and he didn't want to impinge.

An alternative time was sorted, and Peter tried to follow instructions to treat the Blairs like any other visitors.

The kudos mattered.

"It was good to prove that close to Sellafield, we don't actually glow in the dark and have two heads."

The Prime Minster chose West Cumbria as a holiday destination in the aftermath of the county's devastation during food-and-mouth, a subject close to Peter's heart.

He became a DEFRA ministry vet for virtually the whole of the crisis, often working punishing long spells without getting home, dealing with up to 40 cases a day.

In the worst shift, he took out 600 head of cattle and 1,600 sheep.

Amid the horror, Peter vented his frustration and despair in a poem Into the Valleys of Death, an emotional outpouring at the mass sacrifice of animals he cherished.

Prince Charles was only one of the many it touched and Peter was invited to recite it at London's Royal Albert Hall.

"The countryside I love is bleeding to death. Mr Blair, please help," he pleaded.

Peter resisted the temptation to use the Blairs' visit for political ends. He says he wants to find money to work for people on "his side of the hills".

"There is a lot of deprivation here. We are portrayed as the radioactive dustbin. I hope a lot of what we do at Muncaster helps paint a different picture.

"I can't say whether we are getting it completely right. History will have to be our judge!"

January 16, 2003 10:30