Heroes - Remembered

Watching Moss and Surtees at the Festival of Speed was, as always, a delight. But the sight of them reminded me of other British racing legends who were missing from the illustrious grid of drivers assembled for this unique event.

Of course, with drivers and riders of the calibre of Stirling Moss, John Surtees, Tony Brooks, Roy Salvadori, Phil Hill, Sir Jack Brabham, and Jim Redman, plus rally drivers like Richard Burns, Colin McRae, and Michele Mouton the 86,000 spectators were hardly short of star drivers to entertain them. And, if the crowds surrounding the legendary drivers of a former sporting era were anything to go by, they are as popular now as when they were at the height of their careers.

But despite such an impressive cast list my mind drifted back to those great British drivers who would have revelled in the atmosphere of the Festival of Speed: the boyhood heroes that played such an important part in attracting me into motor sport but, unfortunately, died prematurely.

For me, the Festival of Speed captures the essence of grand prix racing at the time when my first idol died in his Jaguar on the approach to the Guildford Bypass. Mike Hawthorn was just 29 and the reigning world champion. At the time of his death my interest in motor sport was limited to racing my Dinky Vanwall

Like Moss whose English record of sixteen Grand Prix wins remained unchallenged for thirty years until Nigel Mansell eventually broke it in 1992. Although his talent was such that he richly deserved to win the world title, Moss never did. And yet he became the best known racing driver this country has ever produced. Even now, if the general public were asked to name a famous British racing driver, the name of Stirling Moss would feature as often as Nigel Mansell or Damon Hill.

While Moss became a household name only true motor racing enthusiasts remember Jim Clark although he was probably the greatest British racing driver of them all. He won 25 of his 72 Grand Prix and the Championship in 1963 and 1965. Unlike Moss who was a supreme technician who could (and still does) adapt his technique to any type of car, Clark had a natural flair which remains unsurpassed.

I had hoped to see him race at Brands Hatch in April 1968. But Clark was contracted to Lotus whose Gold Leaf sponsorship covered Formula Two and the British round of the World Sports Car Championship clashed with the Hockenheim F2 race. It seems almost incredible now that a F1 champion of the status of Michael Schumacher would be prepared to race in a lesser formula to help out his team boss. For the outstanding Scot it may have been a tin-pot F2 race but he was there.

Because of it I was robbed of the chance of ever watching him race and the world of motor racing was robbed of the driver who, at the age of 32, was already the greatest British driver and capable of even better things. As inexplicable as Moss's 1962 accident at the Goodwood Circuit, Clark's Lotus slewed off the Hockenheim track at full speed and into a clump of saplings. The car was destroyed and another of my heroes was dead.

But at least Clark died in a racing car doing what he clearly loved and doing it so brilliantly. The other British world champion of 1962 and 1968 who assumed his place in the heavenly pantheon well before his allotted time and after he had retired from the hazards of competitive driving is Graham Hill. At the time of his retirement he had competed in 176 Grand Prix - a record that stood for another 14 years until surpassed by Riccardo Patrese in 1989. In addition of course, there was that famous victory in the Indianapolis 500 and a less well-remembered win at Le Mans.

The additional sadness when Hill's plane crashed as it returned to Elstree following a test session at Paul Ricard was that motor racing not only lost its most seasoned and charismatic campaigner, but also the 23 year old Tony Brise who was one of the most promising young F1 drivers to have emerged for many years. Again, Graham Hill would have loved the Festival of Speed.

So too would James Hunt who died of a heart attack in 1993. I never met Hunt and yet, like many of my generation, I felt I knew him intimately. The loyal support which the Hesketh/Hunt combination attracted over the '74 and '75 seasons and the euphoria which surrounded their victory over Lauda's Ferrari in the 1975 Zandvoort Grand Prix is hard to explain to anyone who didn't experience it.

There were similarities with the jingoistic Williams/Mansell era but it was somehow purer. The Hesketh, which carried no advertising except for the Union Jack, captured the spirit of the times. The impression was of a throwback to the more cavalier days of Mike Hawthorn and Peter Collins although I have no doubt that, behind the facade, was a very serious and professional team. Hunt in a Hesketh at the Festival would have been a dream combination but one which, regrettably, the Goodwood crowds will never see.