Richard Branson mourns wife Joan Templeman after 50 years: 'She was my world'

Heartbreak rippled across the globe when Richard Branson, the 75-year-old founder of the Virgin Group, announced the death of his wife, Joan Templeman, on November 25, 2025. In a raw, intimate Instagram post, Branson called her his "best friend, my rock, my guiding light, my world." The words weren’t poetic flourish—they were the quiet truth of a half-century partnership that weathered loss, triumph, and the relentless glare of global fame. Templeman, 80, passed away quietly, her family choosing not to disclose a cause of death, honoring her lifelong preference for privacy even as the world mourned.

A Love Story That Started in a London Shop

It began in 1976, in a cluttered bric-a-brac shop on Westbourne Grove in London. Branson, then 26 and barely scraping by with Virgin Records, spotted Templeman—already a mother from a previous marriage—and later wrote he "fell for Joan almost from the moment I saw her." She wasn’t chasing celebrity. She didn’t care about the music business or the headlines. She cared about people. That’s what drew him. And that’s what kept him grounded through the wild ride that followed.

Their early years were anything but glamorous. In 1978, Branson tried to buy an island in the British Virgin Islands for $100,000, despite the $6 million asking price. The realtor, amused or annoyed, left them stranded. Instead of being furious, they laughed—and that moment, according to friends, became a defining one. Their love wasn’t built on luxury. It was built on resilience.

Tragedy, Triumph, and the Quiet Strength Behind the Brand

In 1979, their first child, Clare Sarah, was born—but lived only four days. The grief, Branson has said since, changed them both. "We didn’t talk about it much," he once told a reporter. "But we carried it together." That shared silence became their strength.

They had two surviving children: Holly Branson and Sam Branson. Together, they raised five grandchildren—Etta, Artie, Lola, Eva-Deia, and Bluey—whom Branson proudly called his "grand-dude" squad. Templeman, despite her husband’s fame, never sought the spotlight. She was the steady hand behind Virgin Unite’s humanitarian work, the one who reminded him to listen more than he spoke. "She shaped some of the values behind the Virgin brand," reported Onlymyhealth.com, "but never wanted credit."

A Wedding on Necker, and a Life Built on Simplicity

They married on Necker Island in 1989—a place they’d come to love, and where their children later wed too. It wasn’t a grand ceremony. Just family. A few friends. The sound of waves. Templeman wore a simple white dress. Branson, in a linen shirt. No limos. No paparazzi. Just them.

Even as Virgin Atlantic soared, Virgin Galactic launched, and Branson was knighted in 1999, she remained the anchor. Friends say she’d often show up at his offices with tea and a quiet smile, no fanfare. "She didn’t need to be on stage," said a longtime Virgin employee who asked to remain anonymous. "She was the reason he always came home."

The Final Days and a World Saying Goodbye

Just one day before announcing her death, Branson posted a photo of himself kissing Templeman’s head. "Everyone needs a Joan in their life," he wrote. In July, he’d celebrated her 80th birthday with a heartfelt tribute: "Thank you for standing by me through the highs, the lows, and all those quiet, content, and peaceful moments in between." Now, those moments are over. No funeral details have been announced. No public memorial planned. The family is grieving in private, as she would have wanted. Messages poured in from around the world—from astronauts who flew with Virgin Galactic to small business owners who credit Branson’s ethos to Templeman’s influence.

The twist? Her legacy isn’t in headlines. It’s in the quiet integrity of the Virgin brand. In the way employees say they’re encouraged to "do the right thing, even if it’s hard." That wasn’t Branson’s idea alone. It was hers.

What Comes Next for Branson?

At 75, Branson has spent decades building empires. But the one he valued most—the one built on love, not profit—is gone. He’s hinted at stepping back from public life. "I don’t know what comes next," he said in a rare, unscripted moment last year. "But I know I won’t be the same." Those who knew them best say he’ll keep going—not because he has to, but because she taught him that life, even in grief, is still worth living. With purpose. With kindness. With quiet courage.