The Race Cars

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On the fourth lap a cylinder cut out;  I thought "plug" and my mechanic agreed, so to the pit we went, there to discover that it was not a plug, but that a huge piece had broken away from one valve and gone through the piston. By this time I was desperate. I told the team chief that the car was going on, cylinder or no cylinder, untill it flew to pieces. This it very nearly did, for though we went surprisingly fast considering that the engine could only use three cylinders, the clutch slipped every time we came to the risefor the home banking, and on four sepatate occasions the clutch shaft, which had a sliding joint, slid out of engagement and had to be rammed home by my unfortunate mechanic, while time did nothing to improve what remained of the engine.
  Meantime, in beautifull order at equal intervals, line ahead, Segrave, Guinness, and Malcolm Campbell went by the Talbot- Darracq's holding a lap speed of at least ninety m.p.h., Vizcaya and Mones Maury in pursuit with the little Brescia Bugattis, but at consiserably less speed, while in the 1,100 c.c. class E.B. Ware's Morgan led Lombard's Salmson and that exceedingly cheery sportsman, A. Frazer Nash, in a G.N.

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For us, struggling along as best we could, the race was full of incidents, as first Kensington-Moir's Aston-Martin, just after passing,
gushed fuel all over the track, the axle having hit the tank, then M. C. Topping who along with J. Leno, in stupendous yellow overalls,
as mechanic, was driving a very tiny Peugeot, got into quite serious trouble, awfull noises and, apparently, a perfect shower of bits
and pieces, giving dire evidence that the engine had had enough of phenominal revolutions for the day. They had started, it seems, with
a temporary lubrication system, in which Leno poured oil down a tub, carried from what had been a crank-case breather to the dash!
Now and then Stead and Brownsort passed, going well with the older type side-valve cars of our team, and exchanged meaning grimaces; an awfull clatter came from a Bleriot-Whippet on occasions; and once I saw Lombard charge the pits, to the considerable detriment of his Salmson's wheels. Friend went by grimly hanging on to the Talbot-Darracq's; other friends we passed doing exciting things with red-hot metal; and for quite a time I had a great fight with Pradier's crippled Charron-Laycock, which was faster than we were before the wind but slower against it, so that we passed and re-passed for lap after lap, and I regret to say, one mechanic put his tongue out at the other.

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The pace was telling none the less. Brownsort was observed to be changing a radiator, and commenting caustically on affairs in general
to his aggrieved pit manager; Davey's car appeared stationary, having seized its camshaft; the team, barring Stead, seemed completely
out of luck. Then my mechanic spotted the underscreen of a car upside down in the ditch below the Byfleet banking, and simultaneously
I saw the ambulance driving away. Deeply intrigued, we came down close to the inner edge to have a look-see, and were appalled to discover that it was one of our own cars, Munday's, which had burst a tyre and crashed. At the time niether of us knew why the car had turned over, which awoke forthwith unpleasant speculations as to the possible cause. Was it the steering, for instance, or had something important broken which might happen to our mount any moment, a thoroughly unsatisfactory train of thought causing involuntary uprising of the hair! Moreover, kind friends made ominous signs with there thumbs whenever we and they passed the wreck.
And so the afternoon wore on. Segrave, followed by Guinness and then by Campbell, whose car had lost a tyre earlier on, came over the finishing line, still in perfect order, though it was five laps before the winner who had averaged 88.2 m.p.h., could be stopped, and then only by frantically waving a bottle at him from the pits. Frazer Nash, having disposed of the Morgan and the Salmson, won the 1100 c.c. class at 71.54 m.p.h. Cheering and excitment was audiable from the pits, the crowd forsook the railings, the sun showed signs of disappearing too, and still we went on going round, the car making extraordinary noises.Our pit packed up, everybody packed up, we went on untill, just when we could see a chance of finishing, they opened the enclosure gates and let turing cars pour accross the course to the exit gates. We stopped: no more notice was taken of us than when we had been going, I became quite certain that I had been sitting on the nut of a shock absorber arm, a thing that had seemed likely for the last hour. I was very black and very thirsty, so was my mechanic. For all the chances of getting a drink it might have been the Sahara, nothing would induce the engine to start again; there we were, entirely alone. Pushing the car to the vacant pit, we left it there, made our way to the paddock, had a good wash and a huge tea. I saw Jarrott who had been a spectator, and explained; he said that we could have done no more, I felt more satisfied.

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Sammy Davis and Kay Don at Brooklands, 1973, BBC archives-


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