Do they know something we don't? These former teachers built a [pounds sterling]180m property empire in the buy-to-let boom. Now, as estate agents smugly predict a housing market recovery, the suburban tycoons are selling up …

0 Comments | Daily Mail (London, England), The, Oct 10, 2009

Byline: by Laura Powell

THIS certainly doesn't look like the stately pile of a billionaire. There's no gold Jacuzzi, no personal tanning salon (like Simon Cowell), no [pounds sterling]16 million private jet (like Sir Philip Green), not even a Rolls-Royce (like Del Boy). The only indication that the owners have a bob or two - as I pull up the gravel drive of an unremarkable suburban house in Boughton Monchelsea, near Maidstone, Kent - is the tired-looking Jaguar X-Type outside.

Even this, however, is parked next to a battered old Land Rover. So battered, in fact, that the wing mirrors are attached with sticky tape. It is hard to believe that this is the home - albeit the second home and office - of Judith and Fergus Wilson, proud owners of a [pounds sterling]180 million property empire.

In fact, their fortune probably peaked at a staggering [pounds sterling]250 million - although that doesn't stop property experts labelling them Britain's first buy-to-let billionaires. They even overtook the Beckhams in the 2007 Sunday Times Husbands And Wives Rich List.

But you couldn't tell from their lifestyles. They haven't holidayed for more than 20 years - 'Why would we want to leave Kent?' - they shop at the local supermarket, and even their choice of biscuits, Rich Tea, is rather humble.

But they are now planning their biggest luxury to date: retirement.

Yes, property prices are up almost 8 per cent since March, and estate agents are urging budding landlords to buy now to cash in on rising rental prices - but the Wilsons have had enough.

And so the couple, who own between 700 and 900 houses - Fergus hasn't counted recently - along the M20 corridor in Kent, are selling their entire portfolio. Which is rather worrying, given that Fergus 'watches property like other men watch the football scores' and that their acumen is so astute that they have made six people millionaires through their advice alone.

SO IS there something they're not telling us? And is the future of the property market rather dicier than we have been led to believe? 'Why we're retiring now is no big secret,' says Fergus, solemnly. 'I'd happily keep going, but Judith tells me I can't rule from the grave, so we have to sell at some point. And right now isn't a bad time to sell.

'The difference between interest rates and rent prices will never be as good as it is now so if we sell, we'll make more profit than we will any other time in the near future.' Fergus, 61, is also adamant that their fortune has stood relatively steady against the recession. In fact, he believes that as their properties appreciate, their wealth is increasing by a mind-blowing [pounds sterling]70,000 a day.

After buying their first houses in 1986, the Wilsons rode the boom until 2003 when they hit their peak and amassed 180 houses in one year - mainly two and three- bedroom properties with neat front lawns and magnolia paintwork.

They finally stopped buying in May, after bagging one final bargain: a detached house in Ashford that no one else would buy because 'it was painted silly colours'.

Now, if they sell their portfolio for the [pounds sterling]180 million asking price, after paying off their meagre borrowing debt ([pounds sterling]45 million) and taxes, they will retire with a cosy nest-egg of around [pounds sterling]100 million. Not bad for a couple who began life with barely two pennies to rub together.

They were so hard up, in fact, that 40 years ago, while he was a student, Fergus slept rough in Greenwich Park. Later, they both worked as maths teachers in a South London comprehensive and survived on [pounds sterling]200 a week. But while they are now set to enjoy the fruits of their labours, Fergus is terrified by the prospect of the empty days ahead of him. As a result, the Wilsons' idea of retirement now sounds like rather a lot of hard work.

For 59-year-old Judith, retirement means a few spare hours to make crab apple jelly, 'and do the things old ladies like to do' in between juggling other business ideas.

Meanwhile, Fergus, a self-confessed insomniac who wakes at 3.30am sharp, wants to direct a handful of property companies, dabble with a television show - a sort of The-Apprentice-meets-Dragons'-Den - and even buy a couple of farms to breed cattle.

Even more peculiar is that Fergus seems more intent on losing money during his retirement than enjoying it.

'I wanted to get rich, but when I did acquire wealth, it didn't really mean anything. I mean, what can you do with it? Everyone is buying houses and we're selling them. So farming is a good option because it eats money!' After spending an afternoon with the 'billionaires', it's not hard to see why they find it so difficult to spend - not only because of their penchant for 38p packets of biscuits and somewhat battered cars - but because they appear to have absolutely no interest in the trappings of wealth.

First, Fergus kindly insists on collecting me personally from Maidstone East station. 'I'll call a taxi,' I say. 'Absolutely not,' he says, adamant.