Paddy Hopkirk's Story

Paddy Hopkirk's Story

Excerpts from Paddy Hopkirk's book: 'The Longest Drive Of All'

Geoffrey Chapman - London Dublin Melbourne 1969

The crew:

Paddy Hopkirk, fellow Irishman Alec Poole and Englishman Tony Nash.

It all began with a telephone call. "Would you like to drive 10,000 miles across the world from London to Sydney, Australia?" said the voice at the other end.

Yes, I would, I know what such an invitation meant: a chance to enter the greatest motor rally of them all, the London to Sydney Marathon.

From the first news of the rally, I had been wondering how I was going to take part, and how much it would cost me. Now I was being asked to drive an Austin 1800 on behalf of British Leyland, the giant motor manufacturers - and it would cost me nothing.

Taking part in this rally would mean a lot of hard work, discomfort and adventures. You may wonder why I looked forward so eagerly to it. The answer is that rallying, racing, anything to do with cars, is my job. I have been driving cars since I was nine (yes I know that's an early age, but I'll explain later how it happened).

This Marathon promised to be one of the most exciting things I had ever done. It would take me on a longer rally journey than anyone had yet attempted. Difficult stretches of road would be met, presenting a real challenge to my skill as a driver. Most of all, it would take me to fascinating places, to meet new, interesting people, I began to plan.......

Rallies are usually up to 3,000 miles in distance. The London-Sydney Marathon was more than treble this distance - over 10,000 miles. It was organised by two newspapers, the Daily Express in London and the Daily Telegraph in Sydney, who asked expert drivers to plan the route. In a rally, the route is not the easiest or shortest way. The planners deliberately choose some rough roads to test the drivers' skill.

Motor manufacturers were very eager to enter their cars for the rally. Such a journey really tests a car, and helps the makers to improve the design.

The first car I drove belonged to a clergyman who lived near my home at Whitehouse, near Belfast, the capital of Northern Ireland. It looked more like a big wheelchair than a car, and was called a Harding. I learned to drive it on a private estate, where there was no traffic, because I was too young to use public roads.

I learned to do almost anything with that old Harding - twist, turn, spin it right round. That was what really gave me the urge to be a professional driver. I was always mad keen on anything mechanical, and can remember how, as a boy, I was always making models or tinkering with car engines.

As soon as I was old enough to ride a motorcycle - 15 in those days - I got one with a sidecar. Two years later, I obtained my car driving licence and had my own car, having saved up to buy it. It was an old Austin 7, which was really a wreck. I rebuilt it, and began driving in earnest. When I attended Dublin University, I began rallying, and entered for the kind of driving tests where you test your skill to drive and reverse at speed around obstacles. That's when I really became a good driver, and it made me start to think about competition driving as a career.

In 1954-55, I won the Hewison Trophy, an Irish rally championship. I entered this at my own expense, driving a car my father bought for me. Soon my name became known in Britain. In 1955, the competitions manager of a car manufacturer jokingly offered me a chance to drive in a big rally. I didn't take it as a joke. I pestered him until he gave me the chance in the next R.A.C. rally, in which I did quite well. From then on, many people asked me to drive for them.

Young people often ask me how to become a rally driver. I think the best way is rather like my own. First, learn to drive really well, then make sure that car manufacturers and competition managers know of your skill with a car. Don't wait for them to find out - you have to push yourself. I am also asked what special qualifications you need to become a rally driver. Firstly, you need a steady temperament. Secondly, you also need to be pretty fit, because rally driving is hard work. Mental fitness, however, is even more important. The final qualification is driving experience on poor roads that have loose gravel surfaces. Scandinavia produces many good drivers because they get plenty of practice in difficult winters, these roads are covered with snow and ice, and the drivers gain experience of skidding.

There are many adventures in rallying. For example, during the Circuit of Ireland Rally in 1966, I came to an unmarked hump in the road. I took it at speed, the car leapt in the air, landed on its nose and went rolling over and over and down the road. The doors and the bonnet and boot lids flew off, but safety belts held me and my co-driver firmly in the car, and we were almost unhurt.

A huge crowd cheered as we set off from London

The rally began with a bang on Sunday, 24 November, 1968. The bang was caused by one of the Australian drivers, "Gelignite" Jack Murray, who let off a huge fire cracker. It was all great fun for the thousands of people, including my wife, Jenny, who turned up at Crystal Palace in London to cheer us on our way.

There were 98 cars in the Marathon, four of them with women crews. The drivers and the 23 different makes of cars represented 15 countries. The cars were adorned with stickers, and driver's names, and of course each had an official number; ours was 51. Some cars carried national flags.

Many competitors, like me, were driving cars for leading motor manufacturers. However, some people were private entrants, who were really brave. They each spent several thousand pounds to take part, with the disadvantage that they did not have a big team of mechanics to help maintain their cars. A particular private entry was the only old car in the rally, a magnificent Bentley open tourer, built in 1930.

The cars left one at a time, at intervals of one minute. The first car left at 3.00 pm. I set off 50 minutes later. The short winter day was already drawing to a close as we threaded our way through the thick London traffic. At one point we found ourselves in the middle of a traffic jam, hardly moving at all. Suddenly a police car next to us sounded its siren and started its light flashing. The traffic seemed to melt away in front of it. The police waved to us to follow them, and away we sped until the road was clear, with at least a dozen other rally cars trailing behind us.

Waiting to board the ferry boat at Dover

After we left London we headed for the port of Dover on the south coast. From there we sailed across the English Channel to Calais, in France. A driver crossing from Britain to France must remember one thing. In Britain, people drive on the left hand side of the road. In France and a great many other countries they drive on the right. It is so easy to forget this. Happily, the only hazard we met on the 180 mile road to Paris was fog.

Beyond Paris our road lay through the Alps, one of the most historic parts of the whole route. The great general Hannibal journeyed that way about 2,200 years ago. He was on his way from Carthage, which was near Tunis in northern Africa, to attack the Romans. He led a large army, supported by elephants, over the Alps. Hannibal and his elephants took months for their journey. We travelled through in a few minutes, thanks to the Mont Blanc tunnel. This 7.5 mile tunnel runs under the highest mountain in Europe (15,781 feet above sea level).

Our next control point was Turin, a large city in Northern Italy situated at the southern foot of the Alps. We reached it well ahead of time, and were able to go to bed and sleep for two hours before starting on our journey again. We, and most of the other competitors, had reserved hotel rooms at every control point.

So far, all was going well for us but Bengt Soderstrom and Gunnar Palm from Sweden, driving a Ford Lotus-Cortina, were not so lucky. A timing chain tensioner, a vital part of the engine, had broken. No spares were available in Turin. At last a garage found a customer with a similar car. He agreed to part with his timing chain tensioner for £100. Normally such a part would cost only a small sum.

Darkness descended again as we left Turin, but the rest of our journey across northern Italy was very fast indeed. We travelled along the autostrada (Italian for motorway) for hundreds of miles at more than 80 miles an hour. To light our way at night and in fog, we had four extra lights, in addition to our normal headlights. Soon we had crossed the Italian border into Yugoslavia, and were on the autoput, the Yugoslav highway. When we reached Belgrade, the capital of Yugoslavia and our next control point, we were able to go to bed for six hours before we set out again - a very welcome rest. In Belgrade we heard of the mishaps that had occurred to some of the others. Peter Harper, an old team mate of mine, now driving a Ford, had a broken water pump. He could not get a spare in time, and had to give up. Another team were also out, when their car left the road and rolled down a bank. Luckily no one was badly hurt.

After we left Belgrade, the road began to twist and turn a bit, because it runs through the mountainous countryside in a part of Yugoslavia called Serbia. We were not worried about losing time, as the next control point, Istanbul in Turkey, was not really very far - even though we had to travel across Bulgaria to get there. We did not see most of the bleak countryside of Yugoslavia and Bulgaria because it was night.

In Bulgaria, the route entered part of what was once the greatest empire in the world. This was the empire conquered by Alexander the Great some 2,300 years ago. All the way across Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan, and even into India, we passed through parts of the territory Alexander once ruled.

Shortly before we reached Istanbul we ran into a violent rainstorm. The wind blew the rain sideways across the road in sheets. We were safe enough, because we had a closed saloon car and a good heater. Later I met Norman Barclay, co-driver of the 1930 Bentley. When I shook his hand it was like gripping a lump of ice. Norman explained that in the Bentley, with its canvas roof and flimsy side-screens, they had very little protection against the driving rain, so that they were all chilled to the bone.

Soon we arrived in Istanbul, Turkey's largest city, a place full of romance and history. The city was first built 2,500 years ago, and then called Byzantium. Later it was renamed Constantinople, after the emperor Constantine, and years later Istanbul, when the Turks captured it. The city itself spans two continents. The oldest parts are situated in Europe. Across the narrow strait called the Bosporus lies Haydarpasa, the Asian part of the city. The Bosporus is part of one of the world's leading waterways linking the Black Sea with the Mediterranean Sea. Russian ships carrying valuable exports sail through the Bosporus during the long winter when Russia's northern ports are blocked by ice.

I missed seeing the beauty of Istanbul, and the ferry crossing, because I was asleep. I slept in a specially designed seat on the passenger side of the car. This folded back into a bed, so that one could lie full length. I used to take off my shoes, wriggle into a sleeping bag, and cover my eyes with a mask to keep out the daylight. We took it in turns to sleep. The third man sat behind the driver. Over the entire Marathon we each averaged about eight hours sleep a day, and as a result we never became seriously tired.

Covered in mud, we headed into Sivas in Turkey

We bypassed Turkey's capital, Ankara, and drove on to Sivas, the next control point halfway across Turkey. Our main driving hazard was from stones hurled at us by small boys. Heavy rain fell on this section, and at Sivas the servicing station was surrounded by thick depressing mud. Graham White, one of the competitors, missed his way while walking through the mud, and fell into an inspection pit. He struggled on to Erzincan, but was really rather badly hurt, and had to be taken to hospital.

At Sivas, with 2,590 miles behind us, the rally began in earnest, because we now faced the first difficult section. It was a stage of only 170 miles, but those 170 miles proved to be a nightmare drive. There were two alternative routes. The northern route climbed over mountains 4,000 feet high, while the southern route ran over lower ground. Our service crew, who had looked at both routes a few hours earlier, advised us to take the northern route.

Dust and darkness all but blinded us as I drove our 1800 hard along the steep, winding track. I call it a track, because the road had a loose gravel surface most of the way, on which it would be all too easy to skid. We soon had a very narrow escape from disaster. I pulled out to pass an MGB sports car driven by Mrs. Jean Denton, an English journalist. The road was running uphill, but there was nothing coming towards us - or so I thought! Suddenly a lorry coming the other way switched on its lights, immediately in front of us. I put my foot down hard on the accelerator and just scraped ahead of the MGB as the lorry swept past.

The fact that our 1800 gripped the road well helped enormously on this stretch. A Porsche, driven by the Pole, Sobieslaw Zasada, overtook us on one uphill climb. Thanks to our good roadholding, we were able to travel faster downhill, and soon overtook him again. One reason for our sluggishness uphill was the poor quality of the petrol we had to use during the Asian part of the rally.

Alec and Tony were making encouraging noises as I slammed our 1800 along, but as we stormed into the Turkish town of Erzincan we were 17 minutes late, the first penalty points we had lost. I screeched to a halt at the control, wheels locked, while Alec, who had the door already open, shot out almost before we had stopped and sprinted to the control desk to have our precious papers stamped before we lost any more valuable time. We found that Roger Clark had made a fantastic time along this stretch, losing only six minutes. Happily, most driver-teams took much longer.

Glad as we were to have completed that stretch safely, we were even more relieved when we heard about the adventures of the Bentley. It plunged off the road halfway to Erzincan. At first, Norman Barclay thought he had died, because he could not hear or see anything. However, he found that his woolly cap had come down over his eyes. He pushed it back, and saw the stars shining. Then he removed the earmuffs he wore to muffle the roar of the Bentley, and heard the sound of a stream nearby. He was alive after all.

Much later, as he and his companions, Keith Schellenberg and Patrick Lindsay, were wondering how to get the car back on the road, some men carrying guns appeared. Their leader spoke no English, but seemed to be offering help, though he kept drawing one hand across his throat in a sinister way. Suddenly police arrived and the men disappeared. "You've had a lucky escape," said the police. "That was Ahmed the Bandit!"

After the rigours of the last stage, it was a relief to cross the Turkish border into Iran, where there are many miles of good roads. Iran used to be a poor country, but since the discovery of oil in the early 1900's, it has become more prosperous. The government has spent a lot of money on improving agriculture, industry, and education, as well as on the roads. Before the time of Alexander the Great, the kings of Persia - the old name for Iran - built many good roads. Alexander's army followed these roads, which greatly speeded the advance.

The Iranian police were very helpful. They closed some parts of the highway to other traffic to let us drive through. We checked in four hours early at the control point in Teheran, the capital of Iran, on Thursday evening, 28 November. This servicing had to be done in the time allowed for each stage. If we got through a section quickly, like this, we had more time to spend on the maintenance of the car. Usually the mechanics met us before the control points. They could the work on the car in the time we had saved, leaving us time to drive up to the control point and "clock in".

At Teheran we were given one of the best presents of the whole trip - some huge tins of pistachio nuts, which formed a very welcome addition to our food supplies. For our meals, we would eat some cans of self-heating soup. The cans are heated by a wick, lit by a match. The soup was followed by tinned meat, and cheese, and to finish off - nuts or fruit.

The next stage was the longest in the history of motor rallying. It ran for 1,200 miles eastwards across barely inhabited deserts of Kabul, the capital and largest city of Afghanistan. There were no check points on this stage, so we could choose our own route. One route lay north over the lofty Elburz Mountains, close to the Caspian Sea, which is the world's largest inland body of water. The other travelled south over a road with a surface like corrugated iron. We chose a shorter but almost unknown route between the two. On this rough and bumpy track, we thought our car would be shaken to bits. We had no trouble, but we passed our team-mate, Tony Fall, stranded with part of his steering broken. We promised to send him help, Rauno Aaltonen from Finland, in another 1800, broke his front suspension, and nearly crashed down a ravine. He tied the broken bits up with steel cable and managed to reach Kabul.

We drove very fast to the frontier, because Tony Nash on the reccy took 2.5 hours to get through the customs. To our surprise, the Iranian and Afghan frontier guards let us by in a few minutes. I have always thought of Afghanistan as a remote, unknown place, and I was surprised to find an excellent road right across the country. Much of it was built by Russian engineers. In spite of the good road, however, we were worried. Where were our mechanics? We had arranged to meet them close to frontier crossing for a service, but there was no sight of them.

As we approached Herat, a city not far from the frontier, big crowds were gathered at the side of the road to cheer or simply to watch. Suddenly, in the middle of the crowd, we spotted our mechanics waving and yelling to attract our attention. They had set out to meet us by taxi from Kabul, and because of the crowd the police had stopped them. We pulled off the road, and they serviced the car right there.

I then asked them to go back down the road to help Tony Fall. We told the taxi driver the road was good. Actually, it was terrible, but if he had known that, he would not have taken them. They did not have to go far before they met Tony. Apparently a car enthusiast had appeared from nowhere, and promptly whisked Tony and the damaged part off to a lonely workshop high in the mountains. There an expert welder mended the part perfectly. That's the strange thing about lonely places. Directly you stop people appear as if from nowhere.

Kabul, lies more than a mile above sea level. The Kabul River flows through the city from west to east. The northern part of Kabul looks very much like the Iranian cities that we passed through. I liked the southern part best. It is extremely old, and its colourful bazaars and decorated mosques are a delight to see.

Far bigger crowds than we met even in Herat, lined the street to greet us in Kabul. People overflowed into the road and ran alongside our car, at times almost forcing us to stop. Many of the men wore long, flowing robes and turbans, while the women covered their heads with veils so that strangers could not see their hair or faces.

Kabul was not only a control point, but also our first official rest halt. After a quick meal at our hotel, we went to bed and slept for about six hours. Manning the control points posed real problems for the promoters of the rally. The rally officials had to keep "leap-frogging" ahead of the cars to get to the control points. They travelled by plane, for speed. The officials we saw in London, flew on to Turin and were there to meet us when we arrived. They then flew on to Istanbul, and to Teheran and Kabul. So we kept on seeing the same people all the way to Australia. Our mechanics also leap-frogged ahead in the same way.

The officials had a difficult job. They had to hand the drivers their control books at the exact moment they were due to leave. If they handed a driver his book a minute early, this would give him an unfair advantage over his competitors. They also had to make sure that nobody took short cuts, or left one of the co-drivers behind to make the car lighter. We had to keep the same crews all the way. This rule put the Bentley out of the rally, because Patrick Lindsay broke his shoulder in the crash, and had to drop out. His two companions got the car going again and drove it to Bombay in India.

We left Kabul early on Saturday morning, 30 November, for a short but very tough section of the rally lay ahead of us. We had one hour to reach Sairobi, a town in the valley about 44 miles east of Kabul. In between, lay the dangerous Lataband Pass, 5,900 feet high above sea level. The road twisted cruelly and wound its way up and down, with a sheer drop at one side. This rough road suited the 1800, and we looked forward to doing fairly well. To our dismay, we found Afghan workmen had levelled the road out, filling in the worst ruts with large, smooth stones, which made it easier for our competitors. Even then, driving over these stones was like driving on slippery marbles. As the cars drove round each bend, clouds of dust rose into the air, almost like fog. The dust got into everything, and made it difficult to see far ahead.

Leaving the cool mountain air of Kabul behind us, we now entered an almost tropical atmosphere around Sairobi. It was impossible to reach the control point on time. Once again, we roared to a halt, brakes and tyres screaming, with Alec leaping out to check us in. This time he was almost swallowed by a huge cloud of dust that came swirling after the car. We were only five minutes late, and were delighted to find that we were equal first with Roger Clark and Lucien Bianchi.

Through much of Afghanistan we had driven over the Hindu Kush, the range of mountains in which Kabul lies. Kush means death, and I imagine the mountains were so named because many people were killed in the high passes.

At the eastern end of the Hindu Kush, past Sairobi, lay another pass - the famous Khyber Pass, in the northwest frontier of the old Indian empire. We recalled the generations of British and Indian soldiers who had fought to guard it, as we sped through the 28 mile long pass, and looked up at the tall, barren peaks.

We came out from the pass into Pakistan. Normally, only a few guards patrol the Afghan and Pakistan border, but when we arrived the border was buzzing with people. The customs post seemed to have grown into a small village. The guards wore their best uniforms and traders sold drinks and souvenirs.

Pakistan was almost like home. Cars drove on the left and nearly everyone seemed to speak some English. Some people threw little notes into our car saying "We like the British". Others told us they had brothers or sisters living in England.

When we reached the important, industrial city of Rawalpindi, we went to a large hotel that Tony Nash remembered from the reccy. Pakistani's eat curry dishes, which are like hot, peppery stews. We feared to eat them since they might upset us, and instead, asked for some sandwiches, which the hotel manager made up, refusing to let us pay.

At Rawalpindi, we heard of yet another adventure which took place in the Lataband Pass. A Rover 2000 driven by a British army crew, broke its rear suspension. To lighten the back of the car, one crew member wrapped himself in a sleeping bag and travelled on the car's kangaroo bar for 3.5 hours. Some journey!

With memories of the Lataband Pass fading rapidly, we pressed on through Pakistan to India. My memories of both Pakistan and India, are of huge crowds gathered by the roadside to watch the rally cars pass by. More than 500 million people live in India, and to us it seemed as they had all turned out to cheer. They were all very anxious to help. When Jim Gavin's Ford Escort needed some urgent repairs, he was told to try the nearest big house. There he was greeted by a maharajah, an Indian prince, who promptly led them to his own well-equipped garage. He had 16 cars of his own there, and a crowd of mechanics. These men quickly got to work on the Escort. The maharajah chatted to Jim and his colleagues, pausing every now and then to shout at his men to make them work harder.

In one place, the first car through, a Cortina driven by Bill Bengry, was stopped by the local ruler, who insisted on riding in the rally car through his territory. In a way, that long drive through India to Bombay, was one of the most hair-raising parts of the journey. The crowds who had gathered to watch us, simply would not get out of the way. If we went too slowly, the crowds just closed in on us till we were almost at a standstill, so we had to keep up a reasonable speed. In the towns, the police used sticks to force people to stand back far enough to let us pass. It was like driving into an endless funnel of people.

When we reached Bombay on Sunday night, 1 December, I was amazed to see the pavements full - not of walkers, but of sleepers. It came as a surprise to us to learn that 200,000 people in Bombay alone have to sleep on the pavements, where they spread their bedrolls each night.

We had in fact reached Bombay six hours early, having completed more than 6,000 miles of the Marathon. There, a special prize was awarded to the car that had lost the fewest points so far. It was won by Roger Clark and Ove Andersson, driving a Lotus-Cortina. They received £2,000 and a handsome silver statue. Our car was placed fourth, but we were quite pleased with our progress.

The plane bringing our mechanics was delayed. Thanks to Alec, we were able to put our car in tip-top shape ourselves, using spare parts that were already in Bombay. Then the rally officials took all our cars away to ship them to Australia in the liner Chusan. They had the cars carefully washed. To prevent disease, the Australians will not allow dirty cars into their country. Altogether 72 cars went to Australia from 98 that started the rally.

Once aboard the Chusan, "Gelignite" Jack Murray was at it again. He is a great water skier, and he badly wanted to ski behind the liner. Perhaps fortunately, the weather was too rough for him to attempt it. I should perhaps explain that Jack got his nickname from his habit, during some of the early Australian rallies, of using gelignite (an explosive) to clear a way through some of the rough tracks. (and blowing up dunnies - webmaster)

We had left England at the beginning of winter. In Australia, in the southern hemisphere, December is a summer month. The Australian drivers teased the others by telling alarming stories about burning hot temperatures in the deserts and impossible roads. Because I had made a reccy of part of part of the route, I only smiled.

When we got to the Western Australian port of Fremantle, we saw a parade of MG cars lined up on the quayside. The local MG club had organised the parade, and the cars took us to nearby Perth, the capital of Western Australia. One sad note was that the Australian customs took away all our food stores, because travellers are not allowed to take food into the country. They also made us remove our sirens and flashing lights, which are illegal there. But all these things were forgotten as we left Perth on 9 December, to the cheers of another great crowd, for the last 3,470 miles.

THE LONGEST DRIVE OF ALL

The longest drive was over - and we had a drink to mark our £3,000 prize

It was teamwork that won the rally, and teamwork that made the whole thing possible. Just in the same way as it's teamwork that wins a game of football or hockey.

The greatest thrill? Seeing so many new places and faces. And as a driver, tackling the Lataband Pass and the Lake King and Australian Alps sections. My only regret is that it will be four long years before the London - Sydney Marathon is held again. When the time comes, I hope to be driving in it.

- Paddy Hopkirk

(by kind permission)

Paddy and crew leave Western Australia for Sydney

On this part of the rally, the cars set off at intervals of three minutes. The reason for this was the conditions of the roads, which were very dusty. Extra time was allowed for the dust to settle. The route lay through the Western Plateau of Australia, which covers two-thirds of the country. We began by going north-east to a place called Youanmi (pronounced You an' Me), then due south to Lake King near the southern coast of Australia.

We kept a sharp lookout for kangaroos as we sped along. I had seen several of these large animals during my reccy. The danger was that one would suddenly bound in front of the car. We were lucky not to hit any, but some drivers did, and their cars were damaged.

The dust was a greater danger than kangaroos. The cars whipped up huge dust clouds that never seemed to settle, except on our windscreen. The worst part was overtaking - trying to see the car in front and making sure nothing was coming the other way. When we slept, we had to wear masks to stop the dust from entering our noses and mouths.

Near Lake King we met with an accident that almost put us out of the rally. I was driving along at about 70 miles an hour when Tony Nash, who was reading the pace notes, shouted: "Slow! Rocks!" I slowed down at once, but it was too late. We rounded a corner and hit what looked like a garden rockery, lying across the road. The crash burst one of the front tyres, and we had to stop to change the wheel. We did this so quickly that we were moving again within three minutes - but there was a terrible noise coming from the front of the car. I found it very difficult to steer. Then, five minutes later, one of the rear tyres blew out, and we had to stop to change that wheel too. After these incidents we finally arrived at the control point 14 minutes late. The delay caused us to drop from fourth place to eighth.

Alec and the mechanics repaired our car at Lake King

Our mechanics, led by Douggie Watts, were waiting at Lake King as we limped in. They immediately went to work on our crippled car. They found that our crash into the rocks had broken the steering rack. The mechanics removed the damaged rack and put in a new one. "You were lucky to get here at all," said Douggie, looking at the broken part.

The next section of the route lay across the Nullarbor Plain, which covers the southern part of central Australia. The word Nullarbor means no trees. It's a good name for this vast, empty desert. Some low shrubs and bushes grow on this largely uninhabited and hot plain. The rainfall is less than 10 inches a year and most of that sinks straight into the ground.

The day we crossed the Nullarbor, conditions were not so bad as the Australians had told us. It was quite cool, which is unusual, I slept most of the way across the plain, while Alec Poole did the driving. We nearly ran into one or two kangaroos who came along to have a look at us. There was a lot of dust, because the road was so dry, but I preferred dust to the slippery mud that rain would have made.

By now the question of who was going to win the rally had become very exciting. Roger Clark, who was leading at Bombay, had some bad luck when his Lotus-Cortina developed engine trouble. He was driving one of several Ford cars in the rally. Ford officials decided that he stood a better chance than Eric Jackson, one of his team mates who was 11th. So they took parts from Eric's car to repair Roger's. Eric had to drop out of the rally, but this is part of team-work: the man with the best chance must go on. Meanwhile, Lucien Bianchi driving a Citroen DS21, was leading, with Simo Lampinen, whom we called the "Flying Finn" because he comes from Finland and drives very fast, close behind him. Although we were still lying eighth, we felt that we had a good chance, as there were many difficult sections to come.

At the end of the Nullarbor Plain, the route ran north, taking us through some mountains called the Flinders Range. There are many dry river beds in the Flinders Range and our route crossed several, at places known as creek crossings. If the river bed still held a little water we had to splash our way through. The weather may change suddenly, and then these dry creeks can become raging torrents. Not long before the rally, two men had parked their Land Rover in a river bed that was as dry as a bone. No rain fell where they were, but up in the mountains there was a thunderstorm. Suddenly a great wall of water rushed down from the mountains, sweeping the men and their car away.

Luckily it did not rain when we reached the Flinders. If there had been really heavy rain, we might never have reached Sydney. As it was, several cars dropped out during this section. The control point at the end of the Flinders Range was Mingary. From the 98 cars that started from London, 61 arrived at Mingary. Several of them were damaged and only just made it to the control point.

Soon after the end of the Flinders, "Gelignite" Jack and his crew, found Andrew Cowan stuck fast in the sand, and sportingly lifted his car clear. Soon afterwards, however, "Gelignite" Jack was himself in trouble. As he was speeding along, something snapped in the back suspension. The first the crew of this was when they saw one of the back wheels bowling merrily along ahead of them, and their 1800 lurched to a halt. A few minutes later another rally car pulled up. "Anything wrong, Gelignite?" asked the driver. Jack, though sure he was out of the rally, joked: "No, we're only adjusting the brakes."

But help came unexpectedly from the air. A passing plane circled them and dropped a message, saying: "Write in the sand if you need help". Jack and his co-driver scrawled a message, saying what part had broken, and the plane flew off. An hour or two later, it returned and dropped a replacement to them! The pilot had landed near a town, driven in, obtained the part from our mechanics, and flown back with it. That's Australia for you. Aeroplanes are very important to people who live or travel in the remote parts of Australia. You have probably heard of the great work done by Australia's flying doctors. After the end of the Flinders Range, we had a comparatively easy stretch across the plains of Victoria and New South Wales. We crossed many large rivers on this stage, including Australia's greatest river, the Murray. Our next control point was at Omeo, a little town in the Australian Alps.

To build a road through the Australian Alps, engineers had to zig-zag up and down the mountainsides. On these winding roads there are hundreds of sharp bends. Rocks often roll down the mountainside and litter the roadway. I found the Australian Alps a difficult section of the Marathon. Omeo lies in the middle of this section. By the time I reached it, my arms were stiff and sore from continually changing gear and spinning the steering wheel to get the car round the hairpin bends. All the drivers lost points on the Australian Alps. For much of the time were driving at night, through thunderstorms, rain, fog and mist.

Some after Omeo, more bad luck for Roger Clark, when his back axle broke. Almost at once he spotted another Cortina, and persuaded the owner to sell his back axle. Just over an hour later Roger was on the road again.

After we crossed the Australian Alps, and just before the last lap of the great Marathon road ran northward up the coast to Sydney, the great city on the eastern coast of Australia, the saddest accident of the whole Marathon happened. Lucien Bianchi was leading, and was all set to be an easy winner. We were approaching Nowra, some 110 miles from Sydney and the last control point but one. Suddenly the road ahead of us was blocked. We screeched to a halt.

There lay Bianchi's Citroen, wrecked. Near it was a Mini, it's engine blazing. The driver, Jean-Claude Ogier, was unhurt, and was desperately looking for a fire extinguisher. Lucien was injured and trapped in the tangled wreckage of his car. The driver of the Mini was also trapped - with flames roaring inches from him. I grabbed the fire extinguisher we carried, and soon had the flames out.

Alec and Tony helped Jean-Claude to try to free the trapped men, while I raced back down the road to a place where there were a lot of spectators. Several of them piled into the 1800, and others leapt into their own cars, and we roared back along the road. Soon a way was cleared. While the other men helped with the wreckage, Alec, Tony and I set off on a double mission - to reach Nowra in time, and to get an ambulance for Lucien. We reached the control point with one minute to spare, and an ambulance was quickly on the way. Lucien soon recovered, but was tragically killed only three months later while practicing for the 24 hour race at Le Mans.

We were all saddened as we set off on the last few miles, but this kind of accident can happen in a rally. I have seen a driver lead all the way - and crash 200 yards from the finish. You see, it takes a great deal of luck, as well as skill, to come out top in rallying. Our sad feelings were forgotten for the moment as we reached Sydney on Tuesday, 17 December. We were the first car to arrive, and we had a fantastic welcome. The people of Sydney had turned out in their thousands to cheer us in. The cheers went on as more cars arrived.

When all the points were totalled, Andrew Cowan, from Scotland, driving a Hillman Hunter, was the winner. He had lost only 50 marks (minutes) all the way from London. His prize was £10,000 and a magnificent trophy. We were second, six marks behind Andrew. Our prize was £3,000. The prize money in rallies is shared among the driving crew and the mechanics who keep the car going along the route. Drivers from Australia, Britain, France, Poland and West Germany were in the first ten - a really international group.

Looking back, I think two drivers instead of three could have made the journey. Yet with three drivers, I think one could go on for ever - until the car wore out! And if we had a team of mechanics as good as the ones who looked after our 1800, I think it would be a very long time before that happened.

Home I A Tale Of Two Cities I How It All Began I The Entrants I The Rules I Timetable I The Route I Their Story I Photo Albums

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Ladies I How They Finished I BMC I Ford I Holden I Other Marques I Site Map I Memorabilia I Credits/About Us I Links

Home I A Tale Of Two Cities I How It All Began I The Entrants I The Rules I Timetable I The Route I Their Story I Photo Albums

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Ladies I How They Finished I BMC I Ford I Holden I Other Marques I Site Map I Memorabilia I Credits/About Us I Links