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Gentleman Racer

08th December 2017

Next year is the sixtieth anniversary of Graham Hill’s F1 debut. Charming, debonair and the only driver in history to secure the coveted Triple Crown, the man they called “Mr Monaco” was a quintessentially British hero

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A rather melodramatic scene in John Frankenheimer’s 1966 film Grand Prix sees the two-dimensional lead character Scott Stoddard assume heroic stature as he hands his walking stick to his mechanic and folds himself painfully into a racing car for the first time since a supposedly career-ending accident in the Monaco GP.

It seemed implausible at the time. Not so four years later, in March 1970, when real-life racer Graham Hill, already 41 years of age, was physically lifted out of his Lotus-Ford 49B after finishing sixth in the South African Grand Prix, just five months after smashing both legs in what witnesses considered an unsurvivable crash in the US Grand Prix at Watkins Glen.

Hill’s heroism was already widely recognised. Despite coming late to racing – he had not even passed his driving test when, in 1953, aged 24, he splashed out 20 shillings for four laps in a Cooper F3 car at Brands Hatch – his courage and determination took him all the way to the top. Having entered the fray as a mechanic, he made his F1 debut with Lotus in the 1958 Monaco GP and went on to secure two World Drivers’ Championships, in 1962 and 1968. En route, he earned the sobriquet “Mr Monaco”, winning that exceptionally difficult race no fewer than five times – a feat later surpassed only by Ayrton Senna and equalled by none other than Michael Schumacher. To this day, Hill remains the only driver ever to win the “Triple Crown” of motor racing with his victories at Monaco (1963, ’64, ’65, ’68 and ’69), the Indianapolis 500 (1966) and the Le Mans 24 Hours (1972).

Although his race-winning abilities were too rarely matched by the BRM cars he drove from 1960-66, it’s often said of Hill that he lacked the natural talent of his 1967-68 Lotus stablemate Jim Clark, who had won more grands prix than any driver in history before his untimely death in April 1968. Yet Hill proved his mettle in adversity, rallying the team to take that year’s World Championship (an achievement very nearly matched by his son, Damon, following team-mate Ayrton Senna’s fatal accident in 1994). He raced on until 1975, when, at the grand old age of 46, his failure to qualify at Monaco convinced him finally to hang up his famous helmet, painted in the distinctive dark blue and white livery of the London Rowing Club, and concentrate on running his own Embassy Hill team – a prospect wiped out a few months later when his Piper Aztec aeroplane crashed in thick November fog while he was attempting to land at Elstree airfield. This was indeed a tragic twist of fate, given that he had survived some of the deadliest years motor racing has ever seen.

Hill’s will to win was never in doubt – his mood could be fierce – but it was his quick wit and easy, oldfashioned charm that really endeared him to countless fans within and without the racing world (he was even given a minor speaking part in Frankenheimer’s film). As Rosie Bernard, proprietor of the legendary Rosie’s Bar in Monaco, observed: “It’s difficult to say why he was so special, but he had such a charisma, you know, with his cap, his moustache and his sense of humour. He would sit in the sun, enjoying a beer, and when the fans came he would listen to them all and have a joke with everybody. Even the French were charmed by him…”.

In 2018, 60 years after his F1 debut and 50 since his second World Championship, we may recall a universally popular, quintessentially British hero, fondly remembered by millions, and celebrate a life well lived. As he said in his biography, Graham, co-written by Neil Ewart with a foreword by HRH the Prince of Wales, and published months after his death: “While I had been a racing driver I had often said to audiences during speeches and talks, ‘You know the risks, you accept them. If man can’t look at danger and still go on, man has stopped living. If the worst ever happens – then it means simply that I’ve been asked to pay the bill for the happiness of my life – without a moment’s regret.’”

This article is taken from the Goodwood magazine, Winter 2017 issue