Horatio Bottomley was intelligent, passionate – and a merciless swindler. By Christopher Sandford
A century ago, in autumn 1921, a popular English journalist, author, newspaper publisher, financier and maverick politician sued a former business partner for libel.
He lost the case and, as a result, was himself put on trial for fraud. This was not the journalist’s first exposure to the judicial system. Over the years, he enjoyed something of a season ticket to the London bankruptcy court, and had already made and lost a fortune several times.
It sounds a bit like the story of Jeffrey Archer, with a touch of Robert Maxwell thrown in, but it’s actually that of one Horatio William Bottomley. Born in 1860, Bottomley grew up in a Birmingham orphanage and, after a series of menial jobs, found work as a clerk with a firm of City solicitors. He later put his knowledge of English law to good use in his own court appearances.
One contemporary called him intelligent, generous and ambitious, with a charm that could ‘tempt the banknotes out of men’s pockets’. Bottomley went on to use other people’s money to start several newspapers and magazines, including the weekly tabloid John Bull, which survived in various formats until 1964.
A scheme to promote Australian gold-mining shares made him wealthy, even though the mines themselves were often no more than a hole in the ground.
In 1906, Bottomley entered parliament as the Liberal MP For Hackney South. One of his election tactics was to recruit men wearing steel-soled boots to march outside his opponent’s meetings and render his speeches inaudible. Bottomley proved to be a thrilling orator, with a rock star’s command of his audience.
As he spoke, his voice would get louder and become more passionate. He ranted and raved about the injustices done to the ‘common man’, while failing to mention that he was busy stealing his own small investors’ money. By the end of his speeches, his audiences would often be in a state of near-hysteria.
In 1912, Bottomley was successfully sued by one of his mine-stock victims. Unable to pay, and with huge debts, he was bankrupted with liabilities of £233,000 – about £5 million in modern money. He had recently added to his losses: after he’d bribed all six jockeys in a race at Brighton to finish in a certain order, a heavy sea mist had rolled in and the suddenly blinded riders had failed to follow instructions.
Undeterred, Bottomley reorganised his debts and again successfully stood for Parliament, this time as an Independent, in 1918. Soon he began offering the public Victory Bonds at the heavily discounted price of £1 each, promising subscribers the chance to enter in an annual draw for prizes – up to £20,000, he said – from the accrued interest.
The response was overwhelming, and Bottomley would have had his hands full had he ever tried properly to administer the scheme. Instead, he lavished the funds on luxury cars and thoroughbred racehorses, as well as on mistresses, whom he installed in several discreet flats around London.
It all went wrong in the end, and Bottomley stood trial at the Old Bailey in May 1922. Even then, he conducted himself with a certain élan, securing the judge’s agreement to a 15-minute adjournment each day, so that he, Bottomley, could drink a pint of champagne, ostensibly for medicinal purposes. Sentenced to seven years, he emerged to launch himself on the London music-hall stage, but failed to prosper in his new role.
Bottomley died in a charity ward on 26th May 1933, at the age of 73. Long since estranged from his wife Eliza, he was survived only by his speeches, articles and debts.
