Antonin Besse: The Shadow Tycoon of Aden
But Antonin wasn't just about wheeling and dealing. The guy had a zest for life—whether he was smashing a tennis ball on the courts, taking a brisk ride, slicing through the waves, or scaling the nearest peak.
He kept his mind sharp with tunes and tomes, indulging in music and books like nobody's business, all while keeping up appearances that were more European high society than desert trader.
Trying to capture Antonin Besse's life in a few paragraphs? Impossible. The man's story is so rich, so layered, it would take a library of books to get it down. Honestly, I'm baffled there's not been a movie deal yet. So, what you're getting here is just the tip of the iceberg, a peek into the epic that was his life.
Antonin Besse was a bit like a ghost in high society—there but not quite. With business tendrils reaching from the dusty streets of Aden to the bustling markets of Europe and the wilds of Abyssinia, he became a legend in his own time. Wealthier than the big shots like Cowasjee Dinshaw and Paul Riès, he was the guy everyone talked about but no one really knew.
He was a master of keeping things hush-hush, believing that the less people knew about him, the smoother his life would run. Even his inner circle couldn't pin down his past, and the man had more rumours swirling around him than a celebrity tabloid.
Antonin popped into this world on a sunny 26th of June in 1877, right in the heart of Carcassonne, France. Not long after, his clan upped sticks to Montpellier, but tragedy struck and his dad passed away, leaving seven-year-old Antonin with his mum and a brood of six to keep in line. School wasn't really his jam, which might just be why he was chomping at the bit to join the military at the ripe age of 18.
After serving his time and tipping his hat goodbye to the army at 22, Antonin managed to sweet-talk his brother-in-law into lending him some cash. He needed to deck himself out with a trunk and some tropical threads for his new gig at Bardey & Co. in Aden. Yep, that's the same outfit that had Arthur Rimbaud on their books 20 years earlier, and they weren't exactly splashing the cash—Antonin's paycheck was nothing to write home about, either.
He set sail from Marseilles on the 16th of April, 1899, aboard a steamer bound for Aden, ready to tackle his three-year stint with Bardey's head-on. Antonin was no slouch; he'd be up before the roosters at half-past four and wouldn't knock off until 6 in the eve. He got clued up on all things coffee and became the go-to guy on the subject. But, let's just say he and Bardey weren't exactly best mates. So, when his contract wrapped up, Antonin didn't let some small print stop him. He set up shop in Hodeida early in 1902 with a little financial help from—you guessed it—his brother-in-law.
That same year, he zipped back to France to charm a bank into giving him a hefty loan, which let him sort out his debts, set up in Aden properly, and bring his bro Emile over to help with the Hodeida biz. By 1904, though, the bank was breathing down his neck for repayments. Thanks to some slick legal moves by his brother-in-law, they settled up early and for less than the full amount.
Back on French soil in 1907, Antonin's life took a turn for the romantic when he bumped into the lovely Marguerite Hortense Eulailie Godefroid on a train. They hit it off, kept the postman busy with their letters for almost a year, and tied the knot on April Fool’s Day, 1908. Marguerite wasn't just a catch—she was loaded, and not shy about sinking her fortune into the business, which took off like a rocket, increasing turnover by a whopping 750% in the first year alone!
Sadly, the marriage didn't last, but Antonin's heart found its match in Florence Hilda Crowther, who became his wife, partner in crime, and mother to their five kids—Peter, Tony, Ariane, Joy, and Monna. Hilda was the rock in his life, the only one who could meet his sky-high standards without a word of complaint.
Antonin & Florence Besse
Antonin had a bit of a tiff with the Union Club, the local stuffy British hangout that snubbed him for membership. He didn't lose sleep over it, though.
Fast forward to 1914, and Antonin was setting up his headquarters on Aidrus Road, Crater, with a fancy penthouse and all the bells and whistles. He even had to sell it once to clear some debts but leased it back and kept it as his base till the end.
The man didn't stop there. In 1934, he snapped up a down-and-out soap factory, pimped it out with new machinery, and by 1937, he was churning out coconut oil. A year later, he opened a glycerine factory. Talk about having the Midas touch!
This chap was ahead of his time, bringing air-con to Aden, wheeling around in the first motor car, and being the first to enjoy a cold drink from his very own fridge. He had a booming hide business, a truck fleet in Ethiopia that was the envy of the region, and a bunch of businesses under his belt in Aden.
Despite all the success, Antonin never forgot to have a splash in Sharks Bay, claiming it spiced up his swims. According to town gossip, he was never attacked by a shark because, "No sensible shark would ever think of taking on a shark that size." Classic! His life wasn't just about making dough; he gave back big time, though he kept most of it hush-hush.
When Antonin passed away in Scotland on 2nd July 1951, he left behind more than just a legacy of business smarts; he had a whole college at Oxford to remember him by. And that's just scratching the surface of what he got up to. What a legend, eh?
Antonin also had his fingers in the dhow pie, slapping diesel engines into them in '36. He teamed up with Henry de Monfried in '17 to build a dhow, but the government got the wrong end of the stick and snatched it for fear of shady arms deals.
By '41, Antonin's dhow fleet was sailing circles around the competition, especially when he played his ace card—shipping sheep during the monsoon season. He didn't stop at dhows, though; the man had ships, lighters, tugs, and a floating dock to boot.
Then there was the time he was flying back from Mukeiras in '40 when his plane decided to take a nosedive on takeoff. Antonin was in a bad way, all trussed up in a body cast, sweltering in the Aden heat. He had to cool his heels in France for a bit to recover.
