Richard bought Necker Island in 1978. He was twenty-eight, and the island was a barren rock, just under one hundred acres of scrubland. Its only vegetation was a thousand barrel cacti, their red-tipped phalluses saluting the sun, and one solitary palm tree – it was the very image of a cartoon desert island. Where others saw logistical problems, as well as clouds of mosquitoes, Richard saw the natural beauty of the island – its screeching terns, scuttling hermit crabs, and warm, pristine sea. Any problems were viewed as mere challenges to overcome. The island’s Great House was built, ready for our first visit in the summer of 1985. This was the beginning of an annual pilgrimage, a tradition that continues to this day.
I remember the thrill of arriving on this remote island for the first time, nearly forty years ago. The journey to Necker was an endurance test back then, but it filled us with wonder. Were we really flying on a Virgin plane to Richard’s private Caribbean island? First we flew to Newark and checked in to the crew hotel. Though we were jetlagged, we couldn’t resist taking a car into Manhattan for a night out. We were up at the crack of dawn the next morning to catch a flight to Miami or Puerto Rico and on to Antigua, followed by a small onward plane to Beef Island in the British Virgin Islands and finally an hour-long rib ride to Necker. The second day of travelling was interminable, but our excitement just about compensated for our lack of sleep and the stress having to make so many tight connections.
In the early days Necker had a natural simplicity, with two picture-postcard beaches in the south and a craggy shore dotted with turtle nests in the north. A sandy track led from the dock up to the Great House, which had been built from local stone and hardwood to blend into its environment. Necker was nestled within two semicircles of coral reef, as if the island was held in the hands of nature itself.
Our family was growing in 1985. Richard and Joan had had a daughter, Holly, and Lindy had two sons with Bertie, Ned and Jack, and had recently had a baby boy, Otto, with her new partner, Robin Brockway. Lindy, Robin, Otto, Robert and I – and Mum and Dad, of course – were about to set off to stay on Necker for the first time. Travelling with us was a rabble of friends, including Stephen Navin and his brilliant partner Shelagh Macleod, who both worked as lawyers for Virgin, and Simon Draper.
Simon was travelling with his young girlfriend Françoise, the sister of Dominique Taylor, who would later work with me in my gallery, and their six-month-old baby, Julian. Also boarding our flight was Steve Barron, the softly spoken film director who had founded Limelight, a production company that primarily made music videos. He had just finished directing ‘Billie Jean’ by Michael Jackson, ‘Don’t You Want Me’ by the Human League and ‘Promised You a Miracle’ by Simple Minds (for Virgin Records), and he would go on to direct the film Electric Dreams. Also joining us on Necker were Patrick Zelnik, who ran Virgin France, and his wife Carolyn, and Richard Griffiths, who ran Virgin Music Publishing, and his wife Olivia. The Branson family may have been small, but the Virgin family was vast. We were all young and enjoying the creative wave that was sweeping London in the 1980s.
The partnership of Richard and Simon helped Virgin grow at an astonishing rate; Simon’s attention to detail and his knowledge of music combined with Richard’s nose for promotion and his ability to make great deals. There was no fancy head office with a flashy marble reception desk; instead, Richard based himself on his houseboat, which was moored in Little Venice. Simon’s office was in the Virgin Records headquarters in Vernon Yard, a cobbled mews just off Portobello Road. There were other Virgin offices dotted all over London, each run by a trusted director, and as the company became international it established a presence in many European cities, too.
To create a common culture and feeling of team spirit among these scattered companies, Richard organised an annual weekend away for all Virgin employees, regardless of status. Rod Vickery, the company’s commercial manager, would contact the tourist board of the chosen destination and suggest that, if they were to profit from a group of 400 people spending a weekend in their country, Virgin would expect the local police and customs officers to turn a blind eye to the odd bit of recreational ‘smoking’. These crazy trips did the trick. Everyone understood that ‘what happened on away weekends, stayed on away weekends’. Throw in some dangerous activities and some bad behaviour from Richard, and hey presto, the Virgin spirit was born.
***
I remember us gathering in the Upper Class lounge at Gatwick Airport at 8 a.m. In our private area, cordoned off with red ropes, I couldn’t help feeling somewhat fraudulent – as when Andy Warhol had taken us into the Palladium, I knew I didn’t belong to this rarefied world.
‘A glass of champagne, maybe?’ an attentive hostess suggested. We shook our heads, grinning at each other, but then my father piped up. ‘Why not? Just a little one.’ Then someone else said, ‘I can’t let you drink on your own, Ted.’ ‘Oh, happy days,’ replied Dad, and we were off.
I look at Mum and Dad and wonder how they must be feeling. They’re enjoying themselves immensely and talking to everyone in the lounge. My father is more relaxed, waiting for people to approach him before entering into discussion, while Mum is chatting away to the manicurist in the salon about how she juggles work with being a parent and asking the chef how he makes his eggs taste so good. Rather than finding all this effort exhausting, she’s genuinely interested, and her energy seems to increase with each conversation.
I recall a recent study into the qualities needed to be a successful entrepreneur. We’re all fascinated by why certain people rise and others don’t and it seems that the common denominator of successful people is their ability to make decisions quickly and move forward. I wonder how many studies have focused on the role that parental love plays in success – not just on the character of the developing child, but on all those around them as adults. I watch as my parents work their magic.
Mum and Dad showed up for every Virgin shop opening and record launch, openly taking pleasure in their son and his success. Those who do business with Virgin as well as the company’s employees have witnessed this family support. A loved person is trusted. It is an invaluable gift.
I glance up from a magazine every now and then and realise that Mum and Dad are becoming parents to the entire Virgin family. I’m going to have to share them yet again. My throat feels tight at the thought.
‘Don’t be a silly muggins,’ I say to myself. ‘There’s plenty of love to go around – now’s not the time for self-pity.’
Looking out the lounge window, I see the Boeing 747 waiting for us to board: a mighty beast with its tail emblazoned with the red tick of the Virgin logo. A 747 seems too big for any one person to own, let alone my brother. I look around the lounge and wonder if the other travellers are in awe of the plane too, but they all look nonchalant as they read their morning papers and tuck into lavish breakfasts, delivered by a team of eager hostesses in distinctive red pencil skirts, tight white shirts and high heels. Don’t these people have any idea what went into launching the airline and what goes into keeping it going?
By contrast, our party was all too aware of what it took to launch Virgin Atlantic. Nearly everyone had cautioned against the idea, fearing that it might topple the rest of the company. But the more people tried to persuade Richard that the idea of creating a transatlantic airline from scratch was insane, the more stubborn he became. Launching an airline was certainly a risk, but he was convinced that if he could transform the passenger experience of flying, Virgin Atlantic could be profitable.
Everything that Richard owned was mortgaged to lease the plane. Staff then had to be recruited and trained to embed the Virgin culture into every aspect of the flying experience – from the check-in personnel to the pilots, every engagement with passengers had to be genuine and personable. The in-flight entertainment was cool and up-to-date, and food was a vital component – no more artificial-tasting mush, but real bread, apples and choc ices. This kind of service is standard nowadays, but in 1984 it felt revolutionary.
Regardless of the previous month’s heated boardroom discussions, our party was spinning with excitement. None of us had been born into this life of luxury, and the nagging fear that it could disappear at the whim of the bank meant that we relished every second. Working for Virgin demanded ball-breakingly hard work and loyalty, but all this effort was amply compensated for.
This group of excited family and friends had all contributed to the foundations that made the airline possible, though in truth, we didn’t think of it as an ‘airline’ at that point, its ‘fleet’ consisting of one, and then two, ageing planes. We knew Richard wanted to make long-haul travel a pleasure rather than a tiresome necessity, and there was certainly the potential to make Virgin Atlantic profitable, but we hadn’t understood that one of his driving motivations was to disrupt the complacency of British Airways, which had a virtual monopoly on the transatlantic route.
As much as my big brother enjoyed teasing his little sisters at home, at school he was always willing to stick up for the underdog. He hated witnessing his classmates being bullied by unscrupulous masters and power-hungry prefects; unlike those who were afraid to put their heads above the parapet, Richard would happily leap to their rescue. Having good hand-eye coordination and a fearsome competitive spirit meant that he was quite the sporting hero. On the other hand, he was also dyslexic. The masters tried to teach him by rote, beating him in frustration as he failed exam after exam. These memories of his schooldays equipped Richard with the sensitivity to empathise with those being crushed by oppressive hierarchies, and the confidence to defend them.
So here he was, launching his own airline, the David to British Airways’ Goliath, and loving every minute of the challenge. And here we were, giggling like schoolchildren and about to board a Virgin jumbo jet. It was all rather absurd.
‘Another drink, Dad?’
‘Why not!’
A willowy hostess bent down to hand him a gin and tonic, and with a cheeky glint in his eye, my father, now a judge, hoping no one else was in earshot, gleefully exclaimed, ‘Ah, Nessie – thank goodness there’s no justice in this world!’
We were to be guinea pigs preparing Necker for its first paying guests. That meant testing the menus, unpacking crates of paintings, board games, a library of books, surfboards, dinghies and tennis racquets. We were to experience the bar, as well as the spa. We embraced our task with enthusiasm and, in a moment of exuberance, Simon and Robin proposed to their girlfriends: Necker was to hold its first wedding, and a double one at that.
Oh the joy of dressing the dock for the nuptials. Palm fronds were tied to form an arch under which the two brides stood, dressed in their white nighties decorated with sprigs of bougainvillea. Simon arrived by dinghy and Robin on his windsurfer. The wedding rings were made that morning from slices of copper piping, and the four were blessed by a priest from the neighbouring island of Virgin Gorda. After the ceremony, our happiness was complete, as we danced barefoot in the sand by the light of the moon.
***
Summer 2017
Landing on the Red Dock at Necker this summer, everything is the same and yet also subtly different. There’s Richard, welcoming us in his swimming trunks as he did when we first visited the island all those years ago, his mischievous grin as wide as ever. The blond mane that he sported back in 1985, though just as thick, is now silver-white and tousled by hours of kitesurfing. It’s a pastime that not only keeps him as fit as a whippet but provides him with the solitude he needs to focus on his diverse and growing empire. My goodness, he looks good for a man rising seventy.
The island is also home to numerous different breeds of lemur, endangered in their native Madagascar due to deforestation. Groundsmen have draped nets over the palm and banana forests, allowing the lemurs the run of the tree canopy, though many of these gentle animals escape them and play fearlessly among us. To the left are the tennis courts, the sports pavilion, the beach pool and a thatched dining area. Further along the track is another wooden-thatched shack, which houses every toy that might conceivably be needed to enjoy the sea: Hobie Cats, kites, paddle boards, kayaks, flippers and snorkels.
Here, the track forks to the right and Otto, Ludo and Milo, three of Lindy’s five sons, head off with their girlfriends towards Bali Lo, a group of huts nestled around a pool and shrouded in thick tropical foliage. The rest of us walk on up the hill past well-disguised offices, a plant house and a sign offering directions to the spa and the gym.
As the road nears the summit, it forks again. This time my kids – Noah with his wife Honor, and Louis, Flo and Ivo with their partners – peel off to Bali Hi, more Balinese buildings built at the end of Turtle Beach. I walk over the hill with the kids and watch the flamingos, some of which are nurturing tiny grey chicks on their strange mud mound nests. A giant tortoise plods by. He likes having his chin stroked and stretches out his neck in bliss.
By the time we reach the Great House, Mum, who has been driven up the hill in one of the island’s golf buggies, is there to welcome us, along with Joan, her hair blowing in the warm breeze. A clutch of staff offers us an iced flannel, and one of them is holding a large tray of crystal glasses of chilled Moët. We have arrived.
Ned and Jack, Lindy’s two older sons, are both married, Ned to the actor Kate Winslet and Jack to Alexandra Chong, a tech entrepreneur. Kate has two children, Mia and Joe, and Ned and Jack each have a child with their new wives: Bear for Ned and Kate, and Isla for Jack and Alexandra.
Also staying in the Great House are my niece Holly and her husband Freddie, with their two-year-old twins Artie and Etta, along with my nephew Sam, his wife Bellie and their two-year-old daughter Eva-Deia, and the youngest of the clutch, their baby boy Bluey. Lindy and I are single, and Mum has an imaginary friend.
Spending a week every year with my family on Necker Island has given me the opportunity to view forty years of life pass as if watching a stop-motion film, the passing of time so clearly illustrated as the images flip through. At the beginning I can see the small group from our first visit, then friends couple up and, tragically, one or two of them die; babies are born, before growing up, marrying and having babies of their own. The passing time is reflected in the trees multiplying, new buildings dotting the landscape.
There I am, young and newlywed, with no cares about what might lie ahead; then with babies, who are at first mere bundles, but then learn how to walk, swim, play tennis and before you know it are showing off to their partners, leaping in the air on their kiteboards. We reach a point in the film where my parents encourage each other as they struggle to climb the hill to the Great House, then of Dad – Pasha Grandaddy – being carried by his grandsons in a sedan chair. The next image is of us scattering his ashes underneath a cactus on the island’s rugged north coast, as his beloved terns circle and screech overhead. The closing shot is of Richard teaching his grandchildren how to dive. They hurl themselves into the water and swim towards his open arms, with their heads underwater and their little bare bottoms bobbing across the pool.
***
Just three weeks after we left Necker, on 6 September 2017, Hurricane Irma devastated the island, with winds of over 200 miles per hour. The damage was extensive and most of the buildings were destroyed. Miraculously, two days later, the flamingos began to fly back to their destroyed nesting site. Most of the lemurs survived, although some are being treated in a makeshift field hospital set up by their keeper on the island. The giant tortoises have yet to be found.