Mike Hawthorn and Rob Walker


The re-creation of Mike Hawthorn’s Jaguar was a bit of a surprise. Old racing cars have been rebuilt following fatal accidents but usually using bits from the original. This is a calculated reconstruction of a car destroyed on the Guildford bypass on 22 January 1959. The wreckage was taken to Jaguar, broken up and, according to Rob Walker, burnt before being scrapped.
Remaking it seemed almost mawkish until I read how it had been done by my fellow Goodwood Road Racing Club member Nigel Webb, as a tribute to the 1958 World Champion. Opened in 2009 Webb’s private museum is devoted to Hawthorn’s memory and his cars include 774RW the 1955 Le Mans winning D-type, together with much Hawthorn memorabilia. It took ten years to build the Mark 1 saloon, replica of Hawthorn’s road car on loan from Jaguar. Only the original’s badge bar and keys remain. The DVLC refused to reissue the VDU881, the original registration, but Webb persuaded them to auction 881VDU.
Speculation about Hawthorn’s accident persists. How astonishing that the best driver in the world should be killed so inauspiciously. It looked so careless. There were theories about the handling of the Jaguar, about a non-standard throttle control, about the Dunlop Duraband tyres, about the rain-soaked road. None was completely convincing.

On 25 August 1998 Rob Walker talked to Eoin Young and me, on condition that we never revealed exactly what he told us until after his death. We had both known him from racing days; he had been a sort of neighbour of mine in Sutton Veny and Eoin and I visited him at his home in Nunney, Somerset. He was still in good health at 80 but died four years later from pneumonia. In 1959 Rob was driving his Mercedes-Benz 300SL on the same road, at the same time as Hawthorn.
Robert Ramsey Campbell Walker, of Frome, Somerset, garage-owner at Dorking, told the Coroner’s inquest in Guildford Guildhall, that at 11.55 am on that Thursday he was driving his Mercedes car from Somerset towards Guildford. He came along the Hog's Back road, then joined the Guildford by-pass.
He stopped at the link road junction to see what traffic was approaching. He had seen in his mirror a dark green Jaguar coming up behind. It had to stop behind him. He had no notion who the driver was.
Witness pulled away and soon the Jaguar came alongside, about opposite Coombs' filling station. "The driver seemed to equal my speed, turned round and gave me a very charming smile. I recognised Mike Hawthorn and turned and waved back."
Asked by the coroner what his speed was then, witness replied: "I haven't any idea. I was in second gear." The coroner: Are you telling me seriously you have no idea of your speed? Witness repeated that he had no idea. Continuing, he said the Jaguar's speed was increasing all the time. "As he passed me I slackened my speed. There was a great deal of spray around and I did not want to be too close.
“I suddenly saw the back of his car break away slightly when he was 30 to 50 yards away. I was very surprised because I couldn't see any reason for it. I didn't think much about it; it was a most normal thing to happen to him and I expected him to correct it. He did not slow at all.
“My impression is that his speed increased all the time and the car didn't correct at all, but the tail went out farther and farther, and suddenly I realised it had got to a state of no return, when even Mike Hawthorn could not do anything about it.”
Rob told Eoin and me: “I had a telephone call last week but I couldn’t hear who the chap was. ‘You remember me?’ he said. It’s terribly embarrassing when somebody says that. I sort of half did and half didn’t. His accent was somewhere between American and Australian then he said: ‘I’m the policeman who took the evidence from you after Mike Hawthorn’s accident’.”
Rob remembered more about the accident than the policeman had wanted him to. “I think they were a bit suspicious about him at the station. He used to drink with Mike. They knew each other well, because he took evidence on Mike’s father’s accident and he knew Mrs Hawthorn. The first thing he had said to me before the inquest was: ‘What were you doing?’ I said, ‘Well Mike came up alongside. I saw a Jaguar behind me coming down from the Hogs Back onto the Guildford Bypass. And I said I wasn’t accustomed to having Jaguars behind me, so I sort of accelerated on to the Guildford Bypass. He came up alongside and waved and I saw it was Mike Hawthorn. I said we were having a bit of a dice down the road.”
The police officer was aghast. Rob continued: “He said to me, ‘Don’t ever mention that word again in your life. It’s against the law to dice on British roads and if anybody hears you say that, you’ve absolutely had it’. Well, I thought, this is a good man. From then on we along pretty well. Afterwards he obviously realised he’d done me a good turn. He used to borrow a car every weekend from the garage, until I think the big boys got on to what he was doing. The chief of police came and saw me and asked, ‘Does he come over here often,’ so I said oh I’ve seen him once or twice. I didn’t say any more.”

Goodwood tribute: Mike Hawthorn and Lofty England
Rob told us the officer was seconded to royal protection duties before leaving the police and going to America, where he remained until his wife died in 1985. “He was about my age. I said to him ‘I’ll bet you one person who isn’t alive and that’s the gardener who saw the whole thing and guessed the speed.’ He said ‘Well you’re bloody wrong, he is. He’s 90 years old.’”
Eoin asked Rob if the gardener had told the court how fast he was going?
Rob: “Well, you see, one thing the coroner wanted was to get the speed we were doing. He wasn’t being spiteful. Obviously he had to establish some sort of speed so he asked me. I said well when I was driving in the wet I didn’t spend time looking at my speedometer. I said the only thing I can tell you is that I’d just changed into top gear, when Mike passed. In the 1950s going into top gear to most people meant 40 to 50 mph, but in the 300SL I never changed into top under100 mph. Sometimes a bit more. Of course I didn’t tell him that.”

The inquest found the gardener: “He lived up above the Guildford Bypass, looked down and he, I suppose said he was a witness because he claimed, ‘Oh I heard them going down the road - terrible noises they were making, absolutely flat out,’ to which the coroner said, ‘Yes well we don’t want to hear about that, how fast were they going?’ The gardener’s estimate was, ‘Oh, they must have been going at least 80mph.’ It was probably the fastest speed he’d ever heard of. This was absolutely ideal, because if he’d said any slower, nobody would have believed him, and if he’d said any faster they would have said what bloody fools we had been. So 80mph was written into the book and that’s what it always was.”
Rob told us he never opened the newspapers afterwards. “Michael Cooper Evans went through them all when we did a book together, and they’ve lain in that drawer ever since the accident. I didn’t want to look at them. I know some of them said pretty horrible things.
Rob’s policeman friend told him more things he hadn’t known at the time. Apparently somebody had been going to make a film about Hawthorn. This hand throttle that he’d fitted was going to feature as an explanation of the accident. The film makers wanted photographs of it but as a policeman he considered it his duty not to say anything about it. Rob was not sure he didn’t make a bit of money out of it.
“The account of the hand throttle is all written in Chris Nixon’s book Mon Ami Mate. I asked if he (the police officer) had seen the hand throttle, and he said no, he hadn’t. He described what happened, ‘We put the remains of the Jaguar in Coombs’ Garage and we covered it with some sheet. The great mistake was that we didn’t put a guard on it all night. Somebody had been at it by next day.’ I asked did he think the person had removed the hand throttle, and he said yes he thought they had. He said another thing this person removed was Mike’s cap. That was definitely missing. Mike’s cap was very distinctive.”
Rob asked the policeman what had happened to the car. “Jaguar whipped it. They took it very smartly up to Jaguars, and this part I don’t know whether you can say or not because it is obviously very secret. He told me they burnt it.”

Rob discussed the accident with FRW “Lofty” England: “I’ve talked to Lofty about it many times, and he always sticks to the story of those Durabands. They held wonderfully in the wet, but when they did go they gave no warning whatsoever. Lofty said that’s what happened. What Nixon said in his book absolutely complies with what I said at the inquest. I told the Coroner’s court that the car was turned round and facing me, but the throttle was still wide open. I said I could hear the noise of it wide open. This seemed a most peculiar thing to me. But with a hand throttle it would be normal. And of course Lofty England and I completely disagree. Then the mechanic Nixon quotes in the book says that he fitted a hand throttle and somebody else who has interviewed him since says that he says he didn’t. The mechanic says he didn’t. Although Nixon said he told him that he did.”

James Bond's Bentley

Ian Fleming, Studebaker Avanti, supercharged Bentleys and Mercedes-Benzes, and Donald Healey feature in the latest Dove Digital anthology,

The Complete Bentley now available as an ebook THE COMPLETE BENTLEY.

. Fleming appears in connection with Healey, once owned a Studebaker Avanti I road tested for

The Motor

, and he memorably covered the 1930 Le Mans 24 Hours race. The great duel between Bentley and Mercedes-Benz was so seared into Fleming's memory that he re-created it for James Bond.

Individuals who gave their names to cars, Rolls and Royce, Ferrari, McLaren and Healey tended to be clever publicists. Competition driver and Technical Director of Triumph well before Austin-Healey days, Healey gained outright victory in the 1931 Monte Carlo Rally as well as winnning six Alpine Cups, for outstanding performances in the International Alpine Rally.

Healey drove an Invicta in the 1932 Alpine, taking as co-driver a young news agency reporter.

My World of Cars

(Haynes Publishing, 1994) was a biography Healey wrote with Peter Garnier: “On one of the Alpine Trials I did with Invicta, I had Ian Fleming, later of James Bond fame, with me as navigator. At the time, he was with Associated Press, and had been sent with me to report the event. On many subsequent occasions, when I used to cross the Atlantic three or four times a year on the Queen Mary or Queen Elizabeth, we would meet and recall our rally together. We started from Friedrichshaven, where the Graf Zeppelin was based, and one of the awards for a Glacier Cup was a free flight. We returned to Friedrichshaven for a 4am start, when there was no wind. It took 250 men to launch and land it, the only way to bring it down to earth being to fly it to within 50 feet or so of the ground and then release 250 ropes, which were grabbed by the landing party, who pulled the whole thing down on to a big, flat railway truck and made it fast. While in flight, we were able to buy postcards illustrating the Zeppelin, already stamped and franked with its own special postmark. I bought several of these to send home to the family and, when we were flying low over the post office square in Breganz, in Austria, a bag containing our mail was jettisoned, the cards being sent on to their various destinations. Ian, as a very young man on his first foreign assignment, obtained some valuable copy and it started in him an interest in cars that lasted right through his life, prompting him to buy the most exotic he could find. For me the flight was not without a few misgivings, for it was the year following the tragic loss of Britain’s R101 in northern France, on her flight from Cardington to India, with the loss of all but six of the 54 people on board.”

Fleming may have been with AP then, although he was certainly with Reuters on June 21-22 1930. From

The Complete Bentley

: “Ian Fleming, creator of James Bond, and a Commander RNVR in naval intelligence during the Second World War, witnessed Bentley’s fifth Le Mans win. Covering the race on assignment for Reuter’s news agency, Fleming watched the contest between the 6½ Litre Speed Six of Woolf Barnato and Glen Kidston, against the Teutonic splendour of the 7.1 litre SS Mercedes-Benz driven by Rudolph Caracciola and Christian Werner. Fleming was fascinated by the drama of the occasion. Even though it was an unequal struggle, the great white racer with its wailing supercharger and the basso profundo green Bentleys, made a deep impression on the young author. Six of them were ranged against the lone Mercedes until 2.30am when it retired. Fleming replayed the duel in Moonraker, when Bond’s 1930 4½ litre Bentley engaged in a thrilling chase with villain Hugo Drax’s Mercedes. Only treachery led to the Bentley being wrecked. Superchargers fascinated Fleming, and he enjoyed a long friendship with C Amherst Villiers, who engineered them.”

You would have thought that with family money and a good income from the Bond books, Ian Fleming might have acquired a better taste in cars. In 1954 he had an Armstrong Siddeley, nothing wrong with that, my father had one in 1956. There was a Ford Thunderbird in Fleming’s garage at one time, but then took leave of his senses and had a Studebaker Avanti. This was a particularly disagreeable car. Not, perhaps, the worst I drove on the road test staff of

The Motor

(that distinction went to a Fairthorpe Electron) but close. The axle tramp was like a nightmare Morris Minor 1000. It took extraordinary leaps and bounds on acceleration and braking, no matter how reverentially you treated brake and throttle. Everything seemed seriously out of balance. Even though the passage of time has softened Raymond Leowy’s lines, it can be imagined how bizarre the appearance was in 1964.

The family Armstrong Siddeley Sapphire 236.

The Avanti road test was never completed. I had drafted it three weeks before the Studebaker Corporation stopped making Avantis, so it only made the pages of the magazine on 29 January 1964 as Lament for a Road Test That Never Was. It had been a bad time for American car makers; Studebaker was the latest old name to vanish, following Hudson and Packard into history. There had been trouble with the Avanti’s plastics body, so when Studebaker abandoned car production in the United States, retaining only its Canadian assembly plant, the Avanti had to go.

Under “Handling and brakes” I wrote: “Even on dry roads, the Avanti was not a particularly pleasant car to drive because of the change of attitude it adopted when you applied power on a corner. In the wet, the throttle had to be used very sparingly or the back quickly became uncontrollable, the vast power generating copious wheelspin, even in top gear. Alarming, not to say dangerous, even for quite experienced drivers.

The original Avanti report described the understeer (the weight distribution was 59/41) commenting that although twisty roads could be taken at a cracking pace in the dry, “fast bends were all too often taken in a series of jerks as steering lock, throttle and then opposite lock were applied in quick succession.”

The steering was heavy and driving slowly over bumps there was a lot of kick-back. As with another very fast American we tested recently, there seemed to be a case for tyres with better wet grip. And the injunction, contained on a little plate inside the glove compartment, that the tyres were only for “ordinary motoring” did little for the driver’s peace of mind on motorways.”

The “other fast American” was a Chevrolet Corvette Sting Ray, which also features in Eric Dymock Originals to be published at the end of August.

The Zandvoort Four


Jim Clark, Lotus-Ford, 1968
You don’t meet many geniuses. On June 4 1967 I watched four write motor racing history. The death of Keith Duckworth at the age of 72, extinguished the light of the quartet who shone so brilliantly that day at Zandvoort. The others were Jim Clark, Colin Chapman and Walter Hayes.

The Dutch Grand Prix was third race into the 1967 world championship calendar. The British teams had been having difficulty finding a suitable engine and now with the first race of the Lotus 49 they thought they might have one in its new Ford-Cosworth. You couldn’t expect it to win first time out but astonishingly it did, the first of a record-breaking 155 grand prix victories, for what would be the greatest racing engine of all time.

The winning driver Jim Clark was affable, the car’s creator Colin Chapman admirable, Walter Hayes thoroughly likeable, but Duckworth, the engine designer, was perhaps the one you could say was truly lovable.

Colin Chapman (left) with Jim Clark
Shy reserved Jim Clark did not much care for journalists, although he put up with those like me who had known him from before he ever raced. He knew I was unlikely to rush into print with confidences. They were carefully respected even though it meant subduing an urge to tell the world. If I had, I knew I would quickly turn from being a motor racing insider to an outsider.

Colin Chapman was founder of Lotus, and the most innovative racing car designer of his generation. He had not been first to put the engine behind the driver, but he had done it better than anybody else, and understood perfectly why. He exploited every nook and cranny of the regulations, invoking anything not expressly forbidden. He made a driver lie almost on his back to reduce a racing car’s height. Chapman’s pursuit of lightness was obsessive, to the point where everybody knew his cars were fragile, yet everybody wanted to drive them because they were winners. Chapman would give a lucid one-to-one press conference, telling you what he thought you ought to know about racing car design, while looking over your shoulder for somebody more important.

Walter Hayes, head of its public affairs, arranged for Ford Motor Company to pay for an engine that would win the world championship for Jim Clark. A former editor of the Sunday Dispatch, Hayes was a sage. He knew Clark was the world’s greatest driver; he knew Chapman was best car designer. He also knew that he, Hayes, was the world’s best publicist. All he had needed was to find the world’s best engine engineer and inspire him. Hayes did the one-to-one press conference without looking over your shoulder. You got his full attention, eye contact, first name; he knew what you wrote for. He would steer you to the best story. Thoughtful, articulate and utterly in command, he stage-managed designers, racing drivers, teams and was the best spin-doctor the car industry ever had.

Walter Hayes, Ford Public Affairs
Walter’s world collapsed ten months after Zandvoort when Clark died at Hockenheim. Like the rest of us, it had probably never entered his head that Jim Clark would die in a racing car. It was a blow to Chapman too, but he recovered and carried on designing the ground breaking inventive racing cars, taking the rules of motor racing to the brink, pioneering advances like aerodynamic down-force and ground-effect. Unfortunately he took his brinkmanship into business. A court would hear how John DeLorean, Chapman, and Lotus accountant Fred Bushell siphoned off taxpayers’ money intended for DeLorean's ill-fated Belfast car company, when in 1978 Lotus was paid $17.65 million to develop the absurd backbone-framed stainless-steel roadster.

The loot was laundered in a Panamanian registered, Geneva based company. None of it got anywhere near the car and, in the words of the Delorean receiver Sir Kenneth Cork, “went walkabout”. A House of Commons Public Accounts Committee reported in July 1984 that the money was “misappropriated”. A three way payout gave DeLorean $8.5 million, while Chapman and Bushell divided $8,390,000 between them in numbered Swiss bank accounts. Chapman took 90 per cent, but the bulk of the missing millions was never recovered.

By the time of the settlement Chapman was dead. The unfortunate Bushell was jailed for three years and fined £2.25m. Lord Justice Murray told Belfast Crown Court that Bushell had been the brains behind a “bare faced, outrageous and massive fraud”. He also said that had DeLorean not been American and Chapman alive, they would have been given ten year prison terms.

David Keith Duckworth was born in Blackburn Lancashire, went to Giggleswick School and studied engineering at Imperial College, “scraping through” his BSc as he put it. This may have been due in some measure to his dissertation being critical of the course, its organisation, and its methodology. It was not the only time his frankness led to trouble. “I don’t compromise easily. I won’t accept theories that are wrong. I can spot bullshit at 100 yards and I have to say so.”

Keith Duckworth (left) explains an FVA to Ford vice president of engineering, Harley Copp
A deeply analytical engineer, he joined the fledgling Lotus company in 1957 as a gearbox development engineer, but soon recognized Chapman’s shortcomings and left, telling the proprietor that he was not prepared to waste his life developing something that would never work. Instead he set up an engineering company with his friend Mike Costin calling it, a little bleakly perhaps, Cos-worth. They adapted the Ford Anglia 105E engine for Formula junior and swept the board.

The DFVThis led to a four-valve version called FVA (for Four Valve Type A) and when Ford put up £100,000 for a V8 they called it the DFV (for Double Four Valve). It set new standards of power and reliability. Duckworth did press conferences too, scattering aphorisms like confetti: “It is better to be uninformed than ill-informed.” He laughed a lot and pontificated, but would never patronise, beyond perhaps a cheerful “That’s a bloody silly question Eric. You can do better than that,” delivered in rich Lancastrian.

He found it better to be truthful. “If you lie you’ve always got to remember what yesterday’s lie was.” His warmth was genuine, although if he wanted to be evasive over some technicality, he would smile benignly. “Very few straight answers are ever possible. The decisive man is a simple-minded man.” Keith trained as a pilot in the Royal Air Force, but whenever he flew me in his Brantly helicopter, it was always with an injunction that, “This thing is put together by engineers and engineering things always break in the end.” It never did, although a heart attack in 1973 forced him to give it up.

When, seven years later, he relinquished his 85 per cent stake in Cosworth Engineering, its success was already assured. It had reached well beyond motor racing and produced a range of brilliant engines for production cars of Ford, GM, and perhaps as its ultimate accolade, Mercedes-Benz.

The Zandvoort Four were supremely gifted, Keith Duckworth the acme of the articulate engineer. His laughter was the happiest sound ever in a pit lane.
From: The Scotsman, published following the death of Keith Duckworth, aged 72, in December 2005.

Lofty England; Tony Rudd


FRW (Lofty) England of Jaguar
“My most memorable character” used to be a feature in Reader’s Digest. My “most memorables” tended to be engineers or in motor racing. Some were both, like Tony Rudd of BRM, the archetypal articulate engineer. Winning world championships with BRM and becoming Colin Chapman’s trusted adviser were outstanding accomplishments. He managed to convince BRM to flatten out two of its successful V8s, put them on top of one another, gear the crankshafts together and make the H16. Articulate? Read his book, “It was fun!”, published by Haynes in 1993. Great man. Great host. Great family. Jackie Stewart’s tribute at his memorial service was a masterpiece.

FRW England was another “memorable”. I treasure a print of Terence Cuneo’s painting, Pit Stop Le Mans 1953, on which he wrote “Eric – a memento of our good relations. Lofty”. Jaguar was replete with memorable individuals in the 1960s. Sir William Lyons created a unique company culture of loyalty and respect, which included my most frequent point of contact, the press office, under Bob Berry and the irreplaceable Andrew Whyte. I have dedicated our new ebook to the memory of Andrew John Appleton Whyte. It could not have been compiled without him.

Lofty England
Frank Raymond Wilton England (1911-1995) joined as service manager at Swallow Road aged 35. At 6ft 5in “Lofty” England was an apprentice at Daimler’s London service depot in 1927, until his enthusiasm for motor racing took him as mechanic to some outstanding teams. He worked on Sir Tim Birkin’s Bentleys, Whitney Straight’s Maseratis, ERAs at Bourne Lincolnshire and Richard Seaman’s Delage. When Seaman went off to drive for Mercedes-Benz, FRWE, or Lofty, as he was known, joined Prince Bira of Siam who had two ERAs, a Delage, Delahaye and a Maserati. Impressed with how the team was run by Bira’s cousin Prince Chula, Lofty remained until March 1938, joining Alvis as service superintendent. The war took him into the Royal Air Force in which he served as a Lancaster pilot bombing Germany. Afterwards, uncertain of Alvis’s future, he got in touch with Walter Hassan, a friend from Brooklands and ERA days, securing the appointment at Jaguar. His responsibilities as service manager were cautiously understated, since they included responsibility for Jaguar’s motor racing programme. Lofty England’s rationale was that cars with works backing were expected to do well, so he carefully maintained a sub rosa affiliation with private teams and drivers. Goldie Gardner’s 1948 record car with its experimental 4-cylinder engine, Tommy Wisdom’s XK120 and William Lyons’s son-in-law Ian Appleyard’s XK 120 were prepared either by the factory or under its tutelage. While the practice was not wholly secret, it was not made public either. Recipients of advice or practical assistance understood the system. They could acknowledge Jaguar’s polite interest, but they had better not brag about how substantial it was or it would be quickly and quietly withdrawn. England’s department provided this covert support to ostensibly private XK120s at Le Mans in 1950; aluminium-bodied cars sold in the ordinary way and expected to give a good account of themselves. William Lyons ostentatiously maintained his custom of attending the TT motorcycle races in the Isle of Man, lest the firm’s interest in Le Mans was betrayed. It was a clever rehearsal for participation with a works team the following year when the C-type won. Aged 60, Lofty England succeeded Sir William Lyons as chairman and chief executive, but the upheavals of the British Leyland days were far from over and in January 1974 he announced his retirement. He moved to Austria from where he continued to take a keen interest in everything Jaguar.

Text from JAGUAR: All models since 1922 www.amazon.co.uk for Kindles and http://www.waterstones.com/waterstonesweb/products/eric+dymock/Jaguar.

Nick Scheele: Former chief executive of Jaguar, in the Lyons mould.

GIORGETTO GIUGIARO: Motoring Mozart


Who remembers the VW Porsche Tapiro? Prototype on the basis of a 914-6, with engine enlarged by Bonomell Tuning to 2.4 litre and 220bhp @ 7800rpm, quite a lot for 1970.
Giorgetto Giugiaro, motoring Mozart, a talented prodigy. I met him for a one-to-one interview in the early days of Italdesign. He wanted to show journalists his studios and establish himself as Giugiaro, not just an ex-Bertone freelance stylist. He liked to be called Giorgetto, a sort of diminutive of Giorgio. “I was baptized Giorgetto,” he told me. What a charmer, not much English at the time but a highly expressive Italian.
Gullwing doors for the passengers and the engine room.
He already had an impressive portfolio of cars, yet you could tell that he was really more pleased with his real art, his strongly coloured impressionist paintings. His grandfather painted church frescoes and his father did decorative religious art. Guigiaro grew up near Cuneo in north west Italy, polishing his natural artistic talent with studies of technical design. He was ambitious. He loved his rural roots but wanted commercial success.
Styling sketch for Tapiro
Born in 1938, his car sketches in a school exhibition were brought to the attention of Dante Giacosa, Fiat’s great technical director, who hired him at once. Giugiaro was just 17. Talent shows. It was a story Ian Callum of Jaguar would re-write years later.
Made for a motor show. Luggage room over the engine.
Giugiaro didn’t seem to be making progress at Fiat’s Special Vehicle Design Study Department so after three years he went to Bertone. Bert One as Autocar colleagues used to call it. Nuccio Bertone had his 21 year old genius produce the memorable BMW 3200CS in 1961, the Fiat 850 Spider and the Dino Coupe of 1965. After six years there Giugiaro went to Ghia, where his Maserati Ghibli and De Tomaso Mangusto were shown at Turin in 1966. I remember the show. Everybody thought them too fantastic yet they set a standard in sports car design for ten years and more. Ghia-Giugiaro designs were bought by Japan, where cars still looked stodgy, and encouraged he set up on his own in 1968.
Perhaps less of a success. The 1971 VW Karmann Cheetah. Longitudinal rear flat-4 of 1584cc and 50bhp.You almost forget how much he has influenced the shape of cars. I came across an Italdesign archive of 2000, which has long lists, some surprises, yet shows how Giugiaro remained true to the crisp brushwork of his early oils to which, he told me, he would return when he grew up.

Tom Walkinshaw


I met Emerson Fittipaldi and Tom Walkinshaw on a series of races in Brazil 40 years ago. Emerson went on to win two world championships and two Indianapolis 500s. Tom won the 1984 European Touring Car Championship in a Jaguar XJ-S, setting up Tom Walkinshaw Racing (TWR) as the basis for a business empire in Britain and Australia. In the space of six years his Jaguars won three World Sports Car Championships and two Le Mans 24 Hours’ races. He married my sister-in-law. Tom died yesterday Sunday 12 December 2010. Emerson, happily, is still with us.

Both were born within months of one another in 1946; Emerson in São Paulo, Brazil, Tom at Mauldslie Farm, near Carluke, Scotland. Both had turbulent careers. Emerson catapulted to fame through Formula 2 and Formula 1 with Team Lotus, relatively safe in a racing car until the 1990s, when he had a big accident at Michigan International Speedway. Barely recovered, he then crashed his aeroplane, from which he was fortunate to escape with his life although suffering severe back injuries. When I knew him first he was married to Maria Helena, then came Teresa, later still Rossana.

Tom moved into Formula 3, driving a Lotus, then broke his left ankle in a works March. He had a lot of accidents and recuperating in my Putney flat met Elizabeth, still a 17 year old schoolgirl. He was a gritty determined driver in Formula 2 and Formula 5000, and shone brilliantly at the wheel of a Capri in the British Touring Car Championship. In 1976 he formed TWR and won the European Touring Car Championship. His ascent in team management was swift and lucrative. Tom drove hard bargains but you got your money’s worth. He ran squads for several manufacturers, sometimes simultaneously, building up an impressive business empire despite a broad-minded view of racing regulations. In 1983 his Rover Vitesses won all eleven races, only to be deprived of the British Saloon Car Championship for what were either technical infringements or flagrant breaches of the regulations, depending how you read them. Tom read them with the utmost care.

TWR’s crowning achievements were with Jaguar, first with XJ-S in the European Touring Car Championship, followed by the triumphs at Le Mans and the World Sports Car Championships. Tom had a sure touch with people, not only in securing the services of engineers such as Tony Southgate and Ross Brawn, but also when he moved into Formula 1 with drivers Michael Schumacher and Damon Hill. TWR consultancy accomplished production runs of cars for Volvo and created the Bloxham factory that Ford took on for making the Aston Martin DB7.

Tom’s ambitions were boundless but Formula 1 proved his undoing. As engineering director of Jordan he was again scrutinised for technical infringements in 1994. His electronic aids were suspect. Adventures with the Arrows team led to more trouble and the liquidation of TWR. Tom made friends on his way to the top then lost them on the way down. He had set up a number of car dealerships and as chairman of the British Racing Drivers’ Club persuaded it to invest in the Silverstone Motor Group. Innes Ireland and Sir Jackie Stewart were among his severest critics.

Tom is mourned affectionately by Gloucester Rugby Club, which he owned. He was divorced from Elizabeth, with whom he had a son and was married to a Belgian girl. Tomorrow’s obituarists will have a field day. Apologists will claim he was much misunderstood, which is true. He was uncompromising and tough yet capable of surprising generosity of spirit. When Craig married Emma, Aunt Elizabeth flew the newlyweds off in Tom’s helicopter. Craig paid tribute. “I was one of his biggest fans. But you could see how difficult he could be if you weren’t family.”

Aunt Elizabeth Walkinshaw - pilot