Stuart Wheeler measured himself by the palpable difference he made to the world
People were often caught offguard by Stuart Wheeler’s modesty. On paper, he seemed like a character from a James Bond film. He began life as a professional gambler, winning money in Mayfair clubs from, among others, Lord Lucan, Omar Sharif and, indeed, Ian Fleming. He saw the potential in spread betting, establishing the IG Index, and selling it for £90 million in 2003 – prematurely, as it turned out, for the price went on to rise a further 1,500 per cent. He made what still stands, 20 years on, as the single largest political donation in British history, giving £5 million to the Conservatives when, under William Hague, they were at their lowest ebb.
It could come as quite a surprise to meet the gentle, diffident, stooping figure in the flesh. Stuart, who died last week at the age of 85, was an astonishingly self-effacing man. He gave generously to a number of causes and never wanted anything in return except detailed information on how his money was being used. Asked on live television whether he expected a peerage for his £5 million, he amiably replied that, no thank you, he would decline any such offer if it were made.
He pursued his enthusiasms quietly and politely, but with astonishing tenacity. He backed a number of pro-market think tanks, often sitting in the audience at their events as an ordinary subscriber. He had a particular hatred of torture and donated huge sums to help eradicate the practice. He was an early Eurosceptic, funding the campaign to keep the pound. When David Cameron dropped his promise of a referendum on the Lisbon Treaty, he switched to Ukip, serving as that party’s treasurer. When the referendum itself came, though, he threw his resources behind Vote Leave, rather than the Ukip-backed rival campaign.
Stuart took immense pleasure in entertaining at Chilham Castle, an exquisite Kentish Jacobean mansion where, among other things, he would host annual outdoor performances by the Royal Shakespeare Company. Some of his happiest times as a young man had been spent as a guest at a country house and, when he sold his business, he decided to recreate that atmosphere himself. Chilham became a kind of Blandings Castle, a place of innocent, almost idyllic, pleasure. Eclectic people would congregate there while Stuart, who was latterly very deaf, would potter about grinning, taking palpable delight in his guests’ pleasure. There would be games, usually Racing Demon (“the only card game where women seem to have a natural advantage”). And there would be a wide range of political opinions for, until his dying day, Stuart never lost the belief that he could learn from people with whom he disagreed.
In an age when “party donor” has become almost an insult, Stuart’s story reminds us that there is a fundamental decency and patriotism in choosing to spend your money on good causes rather than on yourself. He measured himself by the palpable difference he made to the world. And, by that metric, he was extraordinarily successful. A gambler to the end, he made a calculated bet on Brexit, and lived just long enough to see it come off. That, for Stuart, was reward enough.