My driving roots were from my Dad and my brother who both raced. I was brought up with and around cars. The day I turned 17, the first thing I did was to go and buy my driving license—it’s what you did back then. You put your money on the Post Office counter, asked for a license and walked away with it. The first car I drove was a grey Mini—it was my Mum’s car, but I drove it all the time. So, for me, it became total second nature to drive a car.
Photo: Pete Austin
These days, it’s unusual to see female drivers or co-drivers in Rally events, they are very few and far between. However, in the 1960s, when I started rallying, there were 14 or 15 all-female driver/co-driver parings. So, things have gone backward as we’ve “progressed” over the years. When I was first taken on by the Rootes Group rally team to compete in the RAC Rally, I had only competed in a few national events in my home country, Ireland. I think I was taken on by the company because they knew I’d be photographed. Their cars, initially Sunbeam Rapiers, were pretty ancient in comparison. Then the little Hillman Imp came along which was much more nimble and a joy to drive—yet challenging. Other entrants and participators of the World Rally events had much bigger budgets and finer cars, but publicity is what the Rootes Group craved. It seemed to me, publicity was all that mattered in those days. Peter Procter was in the Rootes team at the time. He, Paddy Hopkirk and Peter Harper, also team members, were always good to me and helped me. However, Peter Procter, more than anyone, did the most to assist me and help boost my confidence. This was especially true the first time I drove in the Alps. I really hadn’t got a clue —driving on the right side of the road instead of the left was a particular problem, initially. Peter would go out on a recce and tell me to follow him, he’d show me all the lines to take along a particular stage, which was invaluable training for me. He was very kind, but we were living in a different era of competition in those days. It wasn’t unusual for another team member, or indeed a fellow competitor, to give information and assistance to other drivers. There was, more or less, total camaraderie in the sport then. Today it’s all about money; then it was about competing, but not at all costs. I think the biggest amount of money I was ever paid for a season driving contract was £2,000. While we took the driving very seriously, I think we were more of a band of happy amateurs. We still set good standards of driving, don’t get me wrong, but we travelled the rallying world as a cheery group at one with each other. Don’t forget too, the car manufacturers were small businesses then. Unlike today where Ford and General Motors own a number of other makes. Most of the car makers in my day were individual competitors. That all changed in the UK when British Leyland took over a number of carmakers under one umbrella company, which is the trend now. That move changed the competition, the competitors and the budgets.
My life as a rally driver was a little like being on a conveyor belt. I would go and compete at a certain rally for a few days, when that was finished it was on to the next. I didn’t remember too much about anything that took place as I was always looking to what and where I had to be day after day. The thought that all these years later someone would be interested in what I was doing was a crazy notion. However, here we are talking about the old days. I now realize that I should have kept some of the cars I drove and a full diary of events. Who would have thought anyone would be interested in my exploits in the Monte Carlo Rally, the London to Sydney Marathon, or the London to Mexico rally? We did ten big events each year, which seemed to merge into one. I really couldn’t believe anyone would be attracted to what I was doing—hindsight is a wonderful thing! In later years, particularly more recently I’ve come to realize just how valuable both the cars and the memories are. A few years ago, I was able to purchase one of my racing Hillman Imp cars, which I’ve had restored to how I remember it was in my racing days. It’s a lovely thing, and I’ve been able to take it to various events like the Goodwood Revival and compete with it again. Nostalgia is something people seem to crave now, they’re looking back just as much as they look forward. A racing organizers’ dream.
Photo: Peter Collins
As I say, most of my memories are expunged, but there is a rally that is indelibly marked on my mind—the 1974 Safari Rally. This was the first year the rally was run entirely inside Kenya. On the first leg of the rally we were to climb up Mount Kenya. My co-driver was Pauline Gullick and we were driving a Datsun 1800SSS, which belonged to an African importer of Datsun cars. The weather conditions were bad, really bad. It was raining and had been so for some time. In Africa, when it rains the roads are just full of mud, like a quagmire. There was a full entry for the event—some 100 cars or more. The roads were very narrow and it was uphill all the way. The owner of the car said, “You’ll find the road narrows even more as you climb. If you come across cars stuck in the mud, just put your foot down and knock them out of the way. Please, don’t stop to try and help them, just keep going. If you stop you won’t get going again.” I asked if he really meant what he’d said; he said, “Yes.” We drove along the first stage and came across some cars that were stuck in the mud. I kept going as I’d been advised. On several occasions, Pauline remarked how close I was getting to the sides of the other cars, but I had to as the road was very narrow. Further along the stage there were about 16 cars all in a line stuck in the mud. Pauline said, “You’re surely not going to overtake all these?” I said, “Yes, watch me!” We had passed most of the cars when one driver thought he’d stop me by opening his door, whether this was deliberate or not I’m not sure—it seemed so at the time. I simply drove by him taking the door with me! Just because he was stuck I thought he felt I should be too. Eventually, the mud beat us. It was about two feet deep and we were going nowhere. It was pitch black, about 3 o’clock in the morning and we couldn’t go backward or forward. What were we to do? Out of the bushes came a number of natives, they said, “You pay, we push.” In those days we were given “push money,” every team had it to help on occasions such as these. So, foolishly, I paid these men anticipating them to help. They took the money and disappeared. Another bunch of men appeared again saying, “You pay, we push.” Not wishing to get caught a second time, I asked them to hold out their hands. Expectantly, they did as I asked. I marked each one with a cross and said, “When you push, I’ll pay.” It worked, and many of them stayed hanging onto the back of the car for miles and pushing every time we got stuck. I paid them at the close of the stage; we would never have made it without their help. On the same rally, but a different stage, I drove through a small village and the locals surrounded my car. It was quite frightening. I kept revving the engine, but still they stood in front of me. I was at a loss as to how I could get them to move. I had an idea, I wound the window down and said, “Let me show you a little magic.” I got out of the car, opened the bonnet and released the radiator cap. Hot water gushed out all over the place burning those who got in the way—it was the only thing I could think of doing in this quite frightening situation. Thankfully they moved. We went on to finish the rally, only a handful of cars did though. It was a most fatiguing event with very little rest period in between stages. It’s standout things like this I remember, other things just melt away. Run-of-the-mill events hold little or no memories for me.
Photo: Ferret Fotos
I got into circuit racing after someone passed a comment, “Any fool can rally. Racing is the real test.” I was a little upset by this and entered the British Saloon Car Championship, now the BTCC. It was the time of the Super saloons, big engines in small cars, anything goes. I did all this at my own expense as I didn’t get paid start money. I had an ex-Chris Meek Ford Escort, which ran really well and, of course, many remember me driving the Hillman Imp too. I won quite a few races. Circuit racing bored me though. I couldn’t get used to going around and around in the same circle lap after lap—yes, it totally bored me. I think racing drivers have big egos. At circuit races, in the 1960s and 1970s, there used to be crowds of people watching, however, on a rally you’d have a few spectators along the way mostly around the towns and villages. In the main there were very few spectators on rally stages and we were left to drive without too many witnesses other than your co-driver. My thinking was racers were just showing off. It’s probably different in the modern era, now. Today, rally stages are compressed to make them public and spectator friendly, and of course they’re televised, too.
I think rallying requires a greater skill than circuit racing, even today. The terrain, the temperature and the overall ambience changes mile after mile, sometimes hour after hour—it’s not just the same circle. For instance, you can fly over the brow of a hill not knowing what to expect on the other side until you get there. It could be clear, or there could be a car or an animal in the way as you land, keeping you constantly alert. Yes, you recce each stage, but things can change dramatically from the recce to the day you drive the stage. There are many more variables. Winning wasn’t everything to me, I needed more than just winning. It’s a shame the World Rally Championship is, in the main, devoid of women rally drivers and co-drivers these days, but it’s money that talks now.
As told to Mike Jiggle
