Still in my first season, 1962,
with Jim Spencely as my driver. Having ‘signed’
an entry form as my ‘Parent/Guardian’ for the Easter Monday meeting at Crystal
Palace we duly presented ourselves for signing on and the bike for
scrutineering. There was some debate
between the scroots and ourselves as to whether the nuts and bolts securing the sidecar to the bike
should be lockwired or not, neither Jim nor myself had ever heard of this
before and naturally we objected, in the nicest possible way of course because
upsetting scroots is not necessarily a good thing.
After much discussion and no
resolution apparently in the offing the chief scrutineer eventually to see what
was holding up the queue. Our pet scroot
‘picturized’ as the Yanks say before we could get a word in on our behalf. Further deliberation before the boss
suggested that the ACU Handbook be consulted for a definitive answer. Much page turning and hypothesising later it
was decided that there was no mention of such anywhere in the rules and
therefore our bike should be passed OK.
Further weight was added to our argument in that several other similar outfits
had been passed by other scrutineers without comment, we were unlucky to have
picked who had either got out of the wrong side of the bed that morning or who
was naturally bolshy!
Off we went for practice, neither
of us had been on the circuit before although I had marshalled there on a
number of occasions. At that time the
paddock was between North and South Tower corners on the inside of the circuit,
the start/finish line also between those two bends. First a slight left into
the first right hander then swoop downhill through The Glade which was tree lined
throughout its whole length and invariably a little slippery because of
overhanging trees. I was uncertain as to
whether the straw bales in various places there were to protect the trees from
the bikes or vice versa!
Near the end was a gentle right
leading onto the straight opposite the athletics track and swimming pool before
a fast well cambered right named Ramp Bend which invariably became flooded on
the apex in heavy rain, onto the Annerley Ramp, an uphill fast run with a quick
but slight left/right before the final corner.
It was only after practice when I walked to the bridge over the Ramp
that I was horrified, the whole thing was like a roofless tunnel with steep
banks either side and no run-off at all, the banks were faced with old railway
sleepers all the way up, definitely not a place to have even a moment let alone
an off!
Two races in the afternoon in
reasonable weather for Easter, seem to recall that we ended up mid-field in
both without any scares or mishaps. From
that day I just loved the Palace despite the obvious safety hazards, there was
such a warm atmosphere in the paddock that I always enjoyed racing there so much so that it is still one of my favourite circuits.
Later in the year we did what I
thought were some slightly odd races as Jim had this unaccountable wanderlust
preferring to travel far afield rather than race at the usual southern circuits. Bearing in mind that there were no motorways
apart from the initial bit of the M6 travel was relatively slow as main trunk
roads then passed through many towns with their associated congestion. This lack of fast travel was not helped by
our race transporter as it would be known today, a Bedford CA Dormobile van
with the luxury of a three speed gearbox and accompanying trailer.
At that time it was naturally
uncommon for many crews to travel far from their own areas to race with the exception
of the well known National teams for National/International races. We were an exception and travelled to places
that I had never previously heard of such as Silloth (right up on the
Cumberland coast), Llandow in deepest South Wales (before the first Severn
Bridge was built), Perton or Purton somewhere in the
Worcesteshire/Staffordshire region, Castle Combe and Cadwell Park.
Purton (sic) was a revelation to
me, it was an old wartime RAF airfield which did not seem to have any
maintenance or repairs done
since the cessation of hostilities in 1945.
After just one meeting there my chest was black and blue from lying on
the chair along the start/finish straight.
Well, I say straight in the loosest sense of the word as the post-war
neglect had particularly left that part of the circuit liberally peppered with
an assortment of potholes, ruts and bumps almost worthy of a motocross
venue. Drivers had two options on the ‘straight’,
either hold a straight line risking possible structural damage to the bike as
well as bodily harm to their passengers or attempt to weave between the
obstacles risking potential collisions
with those pursuing similar tactics!
Towards the end of that season I
was to marshal at a Silverstone Bemsee meet on the club circuit, as always I
had slung leathers etc into my sidecar just in case someone needed a last
minute passenger. For those not familiar
with the old Silverstone club circuit it was very simple in layout, startline,
into Copse then the flat out left of Maggots into the acute Becketts then along
the Club Straight, round Woodcote and start another lap.
The only two corners of any merit
for me were the two rights of Copse and Woodcote, especially the former as it
was as demanding and sometimes scary as it ever is today. One extra part was almost an essential on the
bike, well actually in the sidecar nose for the Club circuit, that of an alarm
clock to awaken the passenger at the end of the Club Straight which just seemed
to go on for ever, a bit like the old Norwich Straight at Snetterton.
I was about sign on in the
marshal’s hut when I heard that a driver was unexpectedly short of a passenger
so instead I took myself off to Race Control who tannoyed a message for that
driver. Only a few moments later an
expectant looking face appeared in leathers and I was introduced to Steve from
Dagenham. Having bade my fellow marshals
farewell I followed Steve to the paddock where I was introduced to his parents
and sister, even more importantly to the outfit. It was his first season of racing, his bike was an ex Bill Boddice Manx framed
machine of unknown vintage now fitted with a Triumph engine and BSA RR2T
gearbox.
A good look around showed me one
or two odd things about the bike particularly that there were obvious frame
repairs in odd places but that did not overly bother me. Another odd thing was a petrol tap of the
lever variety at the bottom leading edge of the sidecar wheel arch but more of
that shortly ...
Practice passed smoothly enough
and showed me that Steve was one of the last of the late brakers but I remained
undaunted. Back in the paddock His mum
provided breakfast, a truly magnificent assemblage for which she was
justifiably renowned in the form of a huge chunk of French bread filled with
eggs, bacon, tomatoes, sausage, fried bread and mushrooms, truly a magical
feast!
First race, full grid of thirty,
flag dropped and away we went from about the third row. We had dropped a couple of places into Copse,
it seemed as though the entire grid had bunched up into an almost solid melée
with much paint swapping and hasty avoiding action, all great stuff! Safely through there I eased out for the flat
out Maggots curve, back in again and over the back ready for Becketts. As Steve changed down a couple of gears the
bike spluttered and died, we pulled up safely off line. Above the noise of passing outfits Steve was
shouting something at me and gesticulating towards the sidecar wheel arch,
suddenly the penny dropped. Without
realising it I had managed to catch the petrol tap with leathers somewhere
around Maggots and turned the wretched thing off, hence our unexpected stop.
Tap on again, pull back onto
compression, a few steps and back on board to rejoin the fray, miraculously we
were still not stone cold last as we headed off own the Club Straight. The trip down there this time was even longer
because we had a standing start from Becketts so much so that the alarm clock
was needed more than ever before.
Next lap on the same straight I
was down on the floor pondering the meaning of life when for no reason I
glanced up to my right. To my immense
surprise and shock I actually saw the left top tube of the frame part somewhere
near the middle, immediately I tapped my driver and pointed at the break. He sort of shrugged, smiled and we continued
on our merry way. Having noticed several
odd frame repairs earlier in the day it would be safe to say that my mind was
not at any particular state of ease.
We continued on our way, chequered
flag time and back to the paddock. Steve
seemed pleased with efforts, fuel tap issue notwithstanding and asked if I
would step in for next season as his current ballast was retiring at the end of
the season. Having just witnessed a bike
literally breaking up as we were racing the idea did not appeal to me remotely
and I was just about decline his generous offer with the thought that it was
little wonder that his regular passenger, Geoff, was retiring. Before I could reply he added that he was
having a new chassis built for next season, a JSR by the legendary character,
welder and driver Jack Rooke. That
changed the whole offer so I agreed there and then.
This offer was very welcome as
Jim had told me a few days before that he would be retiring at the end of the
season due to a serious ear problem.
That he had any hearing or other aural problems was news to me, my
enquiry as to the exact nature of this affliction was met with the response
that his wife was insisting, even demanding, that he quit racing for good as
she was not happy that her sitting and dining rooms had been stripped of
wallpaper some five years previously and were still awaiting new
wallpaper. It is only fair to point out
that Jim worked as a builder and decorator!
So that ended my first season of
racing as a passenger still without my father’s knowledge. Enjoyed?
No, absolutely loved it, the biggest buzz ever and the best thing that I
had ever done. Roll on next season ...
