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The Scandal That Shook Britain's Political Establishment
When Jeremy Thorpe, the charismatic leader of Britain's Liberal Party, first met Peter Bessell for dinner at the House of Commons in 1965, neither man could have imagined they would become entangled in what would later be dubbed "The Trial of the Century." The case would feature everything tabloid dreams are made of: power, homosexuality, blackmail, a dead dog, and an alleged murder plot. John Preston's "A Very English Scandal" meticulously chronicles this extraordinary saga that captivated Britain in the 1970s, revealing how the highest echelons of political power conspired to conceal uncomfortable truths. The book was later adapted into an award-winning BBC miniseries starring Hugh Grant as Thorpe, cementing the scandal's place in British cultural memory. Even today, political commentators reference the "Thorpe affair" when discussing establishment cover-ups and the protection of powerful figures.
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The Rise of Jeremy Thorpe: Charisma, Ambition, and Secret Lives
Jeremy Thorpe epitomized British political charm-an Old Etonian who cultivated a distinctive public image with his carefully chosen wardrobe. His signature look included luxurious cashmere overcoats with velvet collars, meticulously tailored suits from Savile Row, and his ever-present brown bowler hat, which became as much a part of his political identity as his policies. This sartorial flair set him apart in the often staid corridors of Westminster, making him instantly recognizable to both colleagues and constituents.
Despite his privileged background at Eton and Oxford, Thorpe demonstrated an extraordinary ability to connect with working-class voters in his North Devon constituency. He possessed what many called a "photographic memory" for faces and personal details, often astonishing constituents by recalling not just their names but their children's ages, occupations, and specific concerns from conversations years prior. This talent proved particularly valuable in his rural constituency, where personal connections meant everything. By 1965, at just thirty-six years old, Thorpe had become Parliament's youngest political sensation, outshining many of his contemporaries, including Peter Bessell, who was eight years his senior.
However, beneath this carefully constructed public facade lay a complex and potentially destructive secret life. During a pivotal dinner in the near-empty Members' Dining Room, Thorpe made a confession to Bessell that would later prove fateful. After Bessell's calculated admission of supposed youthful homosexual experiences, Thorpe let his guard down, declaring, "Peter, we're nothing but a pair of old queens," and confiding that he was "80 percent gay." This admission was extraordinarily dangerous in 1965 Britain, where homosexuality was not only stigmatized but remained a criminal offense punishable by imprisonment, particularly for public figures.
Thorpe's political ambition was legendary within Westminster circles. Upon assuming leadership of the Liberal Party, he shared his vision with Bessell in characteristically grandiose terms: "We'll shake this old party up! I'll lead it as ruthlessly as Lloyd George... Now it's a crusade!" He sought to modernize the party while maintaining its traditional appeal, a delicate balancing act that initially seemed successful. His leadership style combined theatrical flair with tactical shrewdness, making him both admired and feared within party ranks.
Perhaps the most remarkable aspect of Thorpe's character was his ability to compartmentalize his life with clinical precision. He could transition seamlessly from charming a crowd of constituents to calculating political maneuvers in private meetings. This duality reached its most chilling expression when discussing the possibility of eliminating Norman Scott, a former lover who threatened exposure. Thorpe's casual remark to Bessell, "Peter, it's no worse than shooting a sick dog," revealed the depths of his cold pragmatism. This psychological compartmentalization allowed him to maintain his public persona while orchestrating increasingly desperate measures to protect his secrets, ultimately creating a web of deception that would lead to his dramatic downfall.
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The Fateful Relationship: Norman Scott and the Seeds of Scandal
The relationship that would eventually destroy Thorpe's career began innocuously enough with a postcard. In February 1960, after Princess Margaret's engagement to Antony Armstrong-Jones was announced, Thorpe sent a postcard to his friend Brecht Van de Vater (actually Norman Vater, a Welsh miner's son who had constructed a false identity), writing: "What a pity. I rather hoped to marry one and seduce the other."
This postcard would eventually find its way to Norman Josiffe (later Norman Scott), a troubled 19-year-old with a history of petty crime who worked as Van de Vater's stable hand. After a public humiliation and discovering Van de Vater had made fraudulent purchases in his name, Josiffe suffered a breakdown and sought psychiatric treatment. Upon discharge, with nowhere else to turn, he remembered Thorpe's offer of help if he ever had "problems with Van."
Their subsequent relationship was complex and deeply unequal. Thorpe brought Josiffe to his mother's austere house in Oxted, instructing him to use the false name "Peter Freeman." That night, Thorpe sexually assaulted Josiffe despite his pain and fear of alerting Mrs. Thorpe in the adjacent room. In London, Thorpe gave Josiffe 10 to find accommodation in Chelsea, establishing a pattern where Josiffe felt both cared for and controlled as Thorpe's "kept man."
The relationship deteriorated over time, with Josiffe growing increasingly resentful and unstable. After his dog Mrs. Tish was put down, he attempted suicide by cutting his wrists and taking sleeping pills. In December 1962, following a fierce argument, Josiffe revealed his sexual relationship with Thorpe to a friend and threatened to shoot Thorpe before killing himself. This led to police involvement, with Josiffe giving a detailed six-page statement about his sexual encounters with Thorpe. Though a medical examination confirmed recent penetrative sex, the police investigation was quietly buried, with the file sent to Special Branch and MI5.
What makes this relationship particularly significant is how it reveals the power dynamics of the era. Thorpe, the privileged politician, could use his position to both exploit and then discard a vulnerable young man, confident that establishment forces would protect him from any consequences.
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The Cover-Up Begins: Bessell's Reluctant Complicity
When Thorpe showed Bessell a seventeen-page letter from Norman Josiffe to Thorpe's mother detailing their relationship, it marked the beginning of Bessell's reluctant complicity in a cover-up that would span more than a decade. The letter, written in Josiffe's distinctive emotional style, contained explicit details about their intimate relationship and various promises Thorpe had made. Bessell immediately recognized the danger of Thorpe's plan to threaten Josiffe with libel action, warning him of Oscar Wilde's destruction through a similar legal path. He cited specifically how Wilde's hubris in pursuing a libel case had led to his own prosecution and ultimate ruin.
Thorpe dispatched Bessell to Dublin to handle the increasingly problematic Josiffe (who had begun calling himself Norman Scott). The mission was delicate - Scott had been making increasingly public allegations about his relationship with Thorpe at horse stables and social gatherings in Dublin. Rather than following Thorpe's instructions to accuse Scott of blackmail and threaten criminal charges, Bessell found himself taking a more conciliatory approach after meeting Scott and realizing threats would be counterproductive. He gave Scott 5 and convinced him to stay in Ireland, beginning a pattern where Bessell would serve as the intermediary between Thorpe and Scott, often providing financial support to keep Scott quiet. These payments, while initially small, would grow more substantial over time, ranging from 5 to several hundred pounds per instance.
The relationship between Bessell and Thorpe was itself complex and deeply intertwined with financial obligations. Bessell, perpetually in financial difficulties due to his failing furniture business ventures in Cardiff and Bristol, relied on Thorpe to secure loans from wealthy Liberal benefactors. When facing bankruptcy that would force his resignation from Parliament, Thorpe arranged a 5,000 loan from Liberal benefactor Reverend Timothy Beaumont, a wealthy hereditary peer known for his generous support of the party. Later, when this proved insufficient, Thorpe secured another 15,000 - 5,000 more from Beaumont and 10,000 from wealthy Liberal Sir Felix Brunner, whose family had long-standing connections to the party leadership.
This financial dependency created a power imbalance that Thorpe expertly exploited, making it increasingly difficult for Bessell to refuse Thorpe's increasingly desperate requests regarding Scott. The requests escalated from simple monetary payments to more complex schemes involving international travel and elaborate plans to keep Scott away from Britain. As Bessell later reflected in his testimony, he found himself "drawn into a web of intrigue and deception" that went against his better judgment but from which he could see no escape. His business interests in the Caribbean and later move to California were partly motivated by his desire to distance himself from the situation, though Thorpe's influence would continue to reach him even there.
What's fascinating about Bessell's role is how he represents the moral compromises many make in proximity to power - starting with small ethical concessions that gradually escalate until one finds oneself complicit in truly unconscionable acts. His journey from respected businessman and Liberal Party insider to reluctant conspirator illustrates the subtle way in which political loyalty and personal debt can erode moral boundaries.
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From Scandal to Murder Plot: The Desperate Escalation
As Norman Scott's persistent demands for his National Insurance card intensified, Jeremy Thorpe's grip on his carefully constructed public image began to slip. The card, a seemingly mundane document, had become far more than just official paperwork - for Scott, it represented validation of his existence and his relationship with Thorpe, while for Thorpe, it was a ticking time bomb that threatened to destroy everything he'd built.
During a private dinner at the exclusive Carlton Club in London, a conversation between Thorpe and Peter Bessell took a sinister turn. When Bessell, attempting to lighten the mood, half-jokingly asked if Thorpe was considering having Scott killed, the room's atmosphere changed dramatically. Thorpe, dressed in his characteristic three-piece suit, stood up deliberately, took a deep breath, and uttered a chilling "Yes" before crossing to the drinks cabinet and downing a large whisky in one swift motion.
Bessell's initial nervous laughter died when he realized Thorpe wasn't joking. "There is no other solution," Thorpe insisted, his usual political eloquence replaced by cold determination. "If Scott goes to the papers, everything I've worked for is finished." The Liberal leader then proceeded to outline possible murder methods with the same methodical precision he typically reserved for political strategy meetings.
The discussion of disposal methods was particularly disturbing. Thorpe, drawing inspiration from American crime novels and gangster films, suggested several options: weighing down bodies with concrete blocks and dropping them in the English Channel, burial in construction sites beneath new motorways, or his preferred choice - disposing of remains in Cornwall's abandoned tin mines, some of which reached depths of over 3,000 feet. "The acid mine water would destroy all evidence," he noted with unsettling expertise.
The plot moved from theoretical to practical when Thorpe approached David Holmes, a trusted Oxford friend who had become a successful merchant banker. Holmes, who shared Thorpe's upper-class background and sense of loyalty, agreed to help and reached out to George Deakin, a carpet salesman from South Wales. Deakin, in turn, found Andrew "Gino" Newton, a struggling pilot with mounting debts who agreed to carry out the murder for 10,000 - equivalent to over 100,000 in today's money.
The assassination attempt on Exmoor in October 1975 was botched but revealing. Newton lured Scott to a remote location, first shooting his beloved Great Dane, Rinka, before allegedly attempting to shoot Scott himself. The gun supposedly jammed, leaving Scott alive to tell his tale. The choice of location - the isolated moorland of Exmoor - and the killing of Rinka first, suggested careful planning to minimize witnesses and maximize psychological impact.
This escalation from political scandal to murder conspiracy revealed the dark underbelly of power politics in 1970s Britain. It demonstrated how the fear of losing status, reputation, and authority could drive a respected public figure to contemplate the ultimate crime. The case exposed not just individual moral corruption, but the existence of an informal network of wealthy, well-connected individuals willing to arrange violence to protect their interests.
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The Botched Assassination and Unraveling Cover-Up
The botched assassination attempt on Exmoor marked the beginning of the scandal's public unraveling. After shooting Scott's dog Rinka, Newton's gun supposedly jammed, and he fled the scene. Scott immediately blamed "that bloody man Thorpe" when questioned by police. The story broke on October 31, 1975, when the West Somerset Free Press published "The Great Dane Mystery," mentioning an attempted shooting where "the gun jammed."
When Newton was arrested and eventually convicted of shooting the dog, he initially maintained Scott had been blackmailing him over compromising photographs. However, after his release from prison in April 1977, Newton sold his story to the Evening News for 3,000 under the headline "I Was Hired to Kill Scott."
Meanwhile, Bessell had moved to California with his new partner Diane Kelly, trying to escape his financial troubles and involvement in the scandal. When David Holmes visited bearing a book from Thorpe inscribed "Vive les trois mousquetaires!" (Long live the three musketeers!), he convinced Bessell to sign a letter falsely claiming Scott had blackmailed him. Only after signing did Bessell learn the full truth: Newton had been hired to kill Scott for 10,000.
As the scandal escalated in the press, Bessell found himself torn between loyalty to Thorpe and the truth. Despite initially covering for Thorpe, he eventually broke his silence, telling the Daily Mail "I Told Lies to Protect Thorpe." In a BBC interview, when asked about Newton and the dog shooting, an exhausted Bessell finally admitted: "Jeremy persuaded David Holmes to hire Andrew Newton to murder Norman Scott."
On August 4, 1978, Thorpe was arrested at Minehead Police Station and charged with conspiracy to murder-the most serious charges ever leveled against a sitting MP. David Holmes, George Deakin, and John Le Mesurier (who had helped finance the plot) were also charged.
What makes this unraveling particularly fascinating is how it illustrates the fragility of cover-ups. Despite the involvement of powerful establishment figures including the Home Secretary and Metropolitan Police Commissioner, the truth eventually emerged through a combination of Newton's greed, Scott's persistence, and Bessell's guilty conscience.
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The Trial of the Century: Justice or Establishment Protection?
The Old Bailey trial that began in May 1979 was immediately dubbed "The Trial of the Century," attracting unprecedented international media attention and daily crowds of spectators. The proceedings exposed deep fault lines in British society and justice, turning London's central criminal court into a theater of class warfare and establishment privilege.
George Carman, Thorpe's brilliant defense barrister known for his razor-sharp cross-examinations, made two strategic decisions that would prove decisive. First, Thorpe would not testify, as Carman correctly assessed that his client's aristocratic demeanor and potential evasiveness would alienate the jury. Second, the defense would systematically destroy the credibility of prosecution witnesses, particularly Peter Bessell, whose complicated financial arrangements with newspapers had made him vulnerable.
Under Carman's relentless questioning, Bessell crumbled spectacularly. Over three grueling days, he was forced to admit to numerous lies, financial improprieties, and moral failings. The former MP eventually conceded he was "amoral," "a hypocrite," and "a man whose word meant nothing." His testimony became so unreliable that by the end, he was eagerly agreeing with every accusation Carman leveled, destroying his value as a witness.
Norman Scott, while more resilient under cross-examination, was portrayed by the defense as an unstable fantasist. Carman methodically highlighted Scott's history of mental health issues, his numerous failed relationships, and his pattern of seeking financial support from wealthy benefactors. The defense painted him as "a hysterical, warped personality" and "accomplished sponger" who had fabricated the conspiracy for attention and profit.
The appointment of Sir Joseph Donaldson Cantley as trial judge raised eyebrows among legal observers. The 68-year-old judge, known for his Victorian sensibilities and social conservatism, seemed remarkably out of touch with modern Britain. His notorious naivety about sexual matters (court insiders whispered about his late-life marriage at 56) made him an unusual choice for a case centered on homosexuality. His selection by Lord Chancellor Elwyn-Jones, a longtime associate of Thorpe's from Labour Party circles, sparked immediate controversy about establishment interference.
Judge Cantley's summing-up became infamous for its blatant bias. He described the defendants as "men of hitherto unblemished reputation" while dismissing prosecution witnesses in extraordinarily prejudicial terms. He referred to Scott as a "crook," "a fraud," and "a sponger," while describing the chief prosecution witness Bessell as "a humbug" who had "boasted of his dishonesty."
After three days of deliberation, during which the jury requested several clarifications about conspiracy law, they returned not guilty verdicts for all defendants on all charges. The verdict was met with mixed reactions in the packed courtroom.
Outside court, Thorpe proclaimed "complete vindication," but his political career was nevertheless destroyed. Scott's bitter observation that "the Establishment would look after their own" resonated widely with the public, who largely viewed the verdict as evidence of class privilege rather than justice. Newspapers across the political spectrum questioned whether a working-class defendant would have received such favorable treatment.
The trial became a watershed moment in British legal history, exposing how class, education, and social connections could influence justice. While Thorpe, with his Oxford education, political connections, and establishment backing, received every consideration, Scott's working-class background, mental health struggles, and sexuality marked him for contempt from the judicial system. This stark contrast crystallized public perception of a two-tier justice system and contributed to growing demands for legal reform in the 1980s.
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The Aftermath: Broken Lives and Tarnished Legacies
Despite his legal victory, Thorpe's acquittal marked the end rather than the resurrection of his political career. Though he maintained his public composure, the trial permanently damaged his reputation. He found himself socially ostracized, with people literally turning their backs on him at public events. His appointment as Director of Amnesty International was withdrawn after public outcry, and he spent his remaining years largely confined to his wife Marion's Orme Square home.
Diagnosed with Parkinson's disease in the mid-1980s, Thorpe's final ambition was to receive a peerage, but Liberal leaders repeatedly refused-secretly having agreed not to pursue him for the money used to pay Andrew Newton on condition he would play no further part in public life. His 1999 memoir deliberately avoided mentioning the scandal, and despite a brief moment of hope at its launch party, his health continued to deteriorate until his death in 2014 at age 85.
Peter Bessell died of emphysema in 1985, convinced until the end that Thorpe had been protected by an Establishment cover-up involving ministers, security services, and police forces. His privately published book "Cover-Up" detailing these concerns remained largely unsold at his death, though his local California community remembered him fondly for his involvement in Oceanside politics.
David Holmes, abandoned by Thorpe after the trial, faced public humiliation when arrested for homosexual soliciting in 1981. Unable to find work in finance, he managed a roller-disco before sharing his account of the Thorpe affair with the News of the World, confirming Bessell's version of events. Holmes died of cancer in 1990, remembered by his solicitor as "a very nice chap" who had been "taken in by Thorpe's tremendous superficial charm."
Norman Scott, perhaps the most resilient figure in the entire saga, continued living quietly in Devon with his animals. At 75 when the book was published, he had outlived most of his tormentors, a final vindication of sorts for the man whose credibility was so thoroughly attacked during the trial.
The scandal's aftermath reveals how even when legal justice fails, there can still be consequences. Thorpe escaped prison but lost everything that mattered to him-his career, his reputation, and ultimately his health. The establishment protected him from legal consequences but couldn't shield him from the court of public opinion.
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Legacy: How the Thorpe Affair Changed Britain
The Thorpe scandal marked a pivotal moment in British political and social history. It occurred during a period of transition, as the 1967 Sexual Offences Act had only recently decriminalized homosexuality between consenting adults over 21. The case highlighted the lingering prejudices and hypocrisies surrounding homosexuality in British society.
For the Liberal Party, the scandal was devastating. After years of building momentum under Thorpe's charismatic leadership, the party found itself tainted by association. Though David Steel attempted to rebuild the party's reputation, the Thorpe affair cast a long shadow that contributed to the party's struggles throughout the 1980s.
More broadly, the scandal eroded public trust in political institutions and the justice system. The widespread perception that Thorpe had escaped justice through establishment connections reinforced cynicism about whether there was one law for the powerful and another for ordinary citizens. Judge Cantley's blatantly biased summing-up became infamous, later brilliantly parodied by comedian Peter Cook who captured the public sentiment that justice had not been served.
Perhaps the most significant legacy was how the case exposed the mechanisms of establishment protection. The revelation that police had buried Scott's initial complaints, that the Home Secretary had intervened to help Thorpe, and that even the Metropolitan Police Commissioner had assisted in portraying Scott as mentally unstable revealed a system designed to protect the powerful at the expense of truth.
Yet the scandal also marked the beginning of the end for such establishment cover-ups. The persistence of Norman Scott, the eventual honesty of Peter Bessell, and the tenacity of investigative journalists demonstrated that even the most powerful figures could no longer count on absolute protection. In this sense, the Thorpe affair represented a crucial step in Britain's journey toward greater transparency and accountability in public life.
The story remains relevant today as we continue to grapple with questions about power, privilege, and justice. When we see modern scandals involving powerful figures, we can trace a direct line back to the Thorpe affair and the ways it changed how the public views the relationship between power and accountability. As Preston's book brilliantly illustrates, this very English scandal revealed very universal truths about human nature, ambition, and the corrupting influence of power.
