Lord ‘Bob’ Boothby: Charm, Corruption, Ronnie Kray and a Life of Scandal
To his friends and admirers, Robert John Graham Boothby, commonly known as Lord ‘Bob’ Boothby, was a charismatic figure—a gifted orator and bon vivant with an effortless charm. Yet, beneath this affable exterior lay a deeply flawed man whose life was steeped in scandal, corruption, and dangerous liaisons. Born in 1900 to a prominent Edinburgh banker, Boothby built a successful political career, but it was his hidden dealings with organized crime, sexual indiscretions, and association with the infamous Ronnie Kray that defined his legacy. His story is one of power, privilege, and a double life concealed behind the veneer of respectability.
To his face, the writer, campaigner, and broadcaster Sir Ludovic Kennedy once called his mother’s cousin, Lord Boothby, “a shit of the highest order.” Boothby’s response was simply to laugh, rub his hands, and admit, “Well a bit. Not entirely.” This anecdote perfectly encapsulates the enigmatic Robert John Graham Boothby—charming, self-aware, and morally compromised.
Born in 1900 to an Edinburgh banker, Boothby, known throughout his life as Bob, became a prominent British politician whose charisma, influential friends, and carefully constructed public image kept his indiscretions out of the headlines for decades.
However, by 1964, following the explosive Profumo affair of the previous year, the British press had developed a taste for Establishment scandal. Boothby’s colourful private life would soon come under scrutiny, exposing his tangled web of corruption, illicit relationships, and association with underworld figures like the notorious Ronnie Kray.
A Political Career Overshadowed by Personal Scandal
Lord Boothby began his political career in 1924 as the Unionist MP for Aberdeen and Kincardine East, a seat he held for more than 30 years. While he never rose to high political office, Boothby became a household name, not through his parliamentary work, but through broadcasting. His wit and oratorical skills made him a frequent guest on television and radio, including an appearance on the popular BBC programme This Is Your Life in 1964.
Boothby had been a close ally of Winston Churchill, supporting him during his wilderness years and serving as Churchill’s parliamentary private secretary. During World War II, Boothby was appointed Parliamentary Secretary at the Ministry of Food, where his work on nutrition schemes like the distribution of free milk and “fortified” bread earned public praise. Yet even this success was tinged with controversy—Boothby had significant financial ties to the company producing Vitamin B1 used in the bread, raising eyebrows about his personal gain from government policy.
Despite his affable public persona, Boothby’s personal life was rife with indiscretions. He was a compulsive gambler, frequently in debt, and had a reputation for consorting with both men and women, often from the lower rungs of society. Although he had an affair with Dorothy Macmillan, wife of the future Prime Minister Harold Macmillan, his sexual leanings were decidedly bisexual. His marriage to Diana Cavendish, a relative of Dorothy, was short-lived and unhappy, ending in divorce in 1937 after just two years.
The Krays and Scandal
Boothby’s carefully managed public image began to unravel in the 1960s when rumours of his association with the criminal underworld began to surface. The most damning of these was his relationship with Ronnie Kray, one half of the infamous Kray twins who ruled London’s East End through violence, extortion, and intimidation.
On July 11, 1964, the Sunday Mirror published a tantalizing front-page headline: “Peer and a Gangster: Yard Probe—Public Men at Seaside Parties.” The article suggested a homosexual relationship between a prominent peer and a leading figure in London’s underworld, hinting at wild Mayfair parties attended by both. A few days later, the Daily Mirror followed with a claim that it had a photograph it could not print, showing a peer seated on a sofa with a gangster involved in a protection racket.
The peer in question was Lord Boothby, and the gangster was Ronnie Kray. Alongside them in the infamous photograph was a young cat burglar named Leslie Holt. The photo had been taken at Boothby’s luxurious flat at 1 Eaton Square in Belgravia, and when the story broke, Boothby was holidaying in France. Despite his initial claims of ignorance about the matter, Boothby was soon forced to confront the accusations head-on.
Boothby and Ronnie Kray had developed a peculiar friendship, cemented by their shared taste for young men and lavish parties. Kray, who was openly homosexual in an era when it was still illegal, used Boothby to gain access to London’s upper echelons, solidifying his reputation as more than just a gangster but a man with connections to the Establishment. Boothby, in turn, enjoyed the perks of Kray’s influence, particularly in the gambling clubs owned by the twins, including the infamous Esmeralda’s Barn in Knightsbridge. This gambling den attracted wealthy patrons and artists, including Lucian Freud and Francis Bacon, often drawn into the Krays’ web of power through debts and intimidation.
Boothby’s presence at Kray parties became an open secret in elite circles. These gatherings, often fuelled by sexual excess and criminal activity, were held in various locations, including the Krays’ flat in Bethnal Green and at Boothby’s own residence. It was rumoured that young, working-class men, often referred to as “chickens,” were brought to these parties for the sexual gratification of Boothby, Kray, and their guests. The MI5 files, released in 2015, described these events as “gay sex parties” where Boothby and Kray “hunted” young men.
The Press and the Cover-Up
The scandal reached a boiling point when the Sunday Mirror published its accusations, followed by an article in the German magazine Stern, which named Boothby directly. Faced with the possibility of a full-blown exposé, Boothby turned to his influential friends for help. One of these was the notorious Labour MP Tom Driberg, himself no stranger to scandal. Driberg, who had his own connections to the Krays and similar sexual proclivities, helped Boothby navigate the crisis.
Boothby’s legal defence was handled by the solicitor Arnold Goodman, nicknamed “Mr Fixit” for his ability to quietly resolve high-profile scandals. Goodman advised Boothby to write a letter to The Times, in which Boothby denied all the allegations. In a masterstroke of legal wrangling, Goodman also negotiated a hefty out-of-court settlement of £40,000 from the Sunday Mirror, which was forced to issue a grovelling apology. The settlement was record-breaking for its time, but it also left Boothby vulnerable. Many believed the money went directly to Ronnie Kray, buying his silence and ensuring the gangster had a hold over Boothby for the rest of his life.
The press, having been successfully cowed by the threat of legal action, largely avoided the Krays for years afterward, referring to them euphemistically as “well-known sporting brothers.” The police, too, were hesitant to move against the Krays, who seemed untouchable thanks to their connections with figures like Boothby. However, the Krays’ reign of terror would eventually come to an end in 1969 when they were arrested and sentenced to life imprisonment for the murders of George Cornell and Jack “The Hat” McVitie.
A Legacy of Scandal
Despite the legal victory and public apology, Boothby’s reputation never fully recovered. His involvement with Ronnie Kray and the sordid underworld of London was an open secret that tarnished his public image. Although he continued to appear on television and radio throughout the 1960s and 70s, the shadow of the scandal followed him to the end of his life.
Boothby died in 1986, having lived through one of the most tumultuous and scandal-ridden political careers of the 20th century. His story remains a cautionary tale of the dangers of power, privilege, and the double lives that can be lived in the shadows of the Establishment. While his charm and eloquence allowed him to dodge accountability for decades, the truth about Boothby’s associations, corruption, and personal proclivities eventually came to light—leaving a lasting mark on British political history.
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