The summer of 1976 was the hottest ever recorded in France and it produced the most exquisite champagne in 100 years! It was also a great year for me which had nothing to do with the weather or the champagne!
I had been travelling and working overseas since 1968 but I still had huge difficulty in “settling” down. Eventually I tossed in the advertising job I had in Melbourne and flew back to London to see friends and then go on to the U.S. and Canada for the first time.
English friends let me doss on the floor of their unit for a week or two but after the first week, the novelty of having me cluttering up their unit was irritating them and I sensed I would have to find something for myself. Luck stepped in, as it so often does, when another friend invited me to join him in a drive to Paris and Le Mans. His name was John Cooney and he was a serious car lover. Over a pint in a nearby pub he explained about his trip to France. Ironically, he had just bought a new Citroen, which he planned to ship to Melbourne, when the time came in a few months.
On the second pint he made me an offer “too good to refuse”. A group of his pommy mates had entered a car in the Le Mans 24-hour race. There was five of them and they were very inexperienced amateur race drivers who worked together in the insurance world with Lloyd’s of London. Their race car was a second-hand Lola, which they had only driven for a few hours. ‘Coons’ or ‘Cooney’ was invited by the Lloyds lads to join them and act as their assistant and “go-fer man”. He had always dreamed of going to the famous ‘Le Mans Classic.’ So now here he was with a pass into the pits and trackside action. “Coons” was positive that I would also be given a pass and in fact he needed help as he was very unfit and there was a huge amount of running around to be done. So suddenly, I had the title of ‘assistant helper’.
A week or two later we left London in his Citroen bound for Paris and Le Mans. I hoped to get behind the wheel of his new car, but I don’t think it crossed his mind! So, we bypassed Paris and cruised South through the beautiful countryside.
The Lloyds lads were hard at work when we found them checking the Lola and all the equipment. They had pulled a caravan from London which would act as their ‘office’ and 'home’ where they could sleep and shower when the chance came. The drivers were ranked in terms of ability but I soon discovered they were also ranked in how much money they each had invested in the car.
The race was promoted as “1976 24 Hours of Le Mans” and it was to take place on Saturday and Sunday 12th and 13th of June. The lads had no idea what mid-summer meant in France, but temperatures were being forecast at over 40 degrees Celsius.
“Coons” and I had arrived early on Friday afternoon and we could see how disorganised our Lola team and how inexperienced. Some of
them quietly told me that they expected to be out of the race after 3 or 4 hours. None of them had ever driven for longer than that! It is impossible to describe this race and the city that annually groups around the massive track. It is similar to having 3 giant rock concerts all competing at one time with the noise of helicopters, planes, searchlights and blimps plus Porsche, Ferrari, and Mercedes engines. The start was early afternoon on Saturday with the finish on Sunday afternoon.
As the temperatures climbed, the Lola team appeared more sunburnt and bewildered. A schedule of driving times was agreed on as well as rest times and the Lola was performing well but close to 6pm our car developed a problem and arguments also developed between the mechanics and drivers.
Night fell as the car was fixed. I discovered that Peter Brock had entered a white BMW which had something like a spider’s web painted
on it which looked a bit weird. He was also having trouble with the motor. He was closer to the track than the Brits but only 200 metres away so every few hours I would wander down
to see how he was managing.
Into the race and approaching 11pm. Our Lola was going well. The Brits were
stunned and were getting cranky and even angry as they were scheduled to
drive. One of my jobs was to help the next driver with gloves, helmet, and
water bottles but all I got was abuse for waking them up!
The 12-hour halfway mark screamed by around 2 am and now our Lloyd’s team were totally stuffed. I would shake and yell at the next driver to “wake-up” and “get-up” but they were exhausted!
The Lola was still running well as the biggest obstacle confronted me when I tried to wake the next scheduled driver. He wouldn’t respond at my yelling and shaking and played at being deaf or dead. 6am and nobody to drive! Then in the excitement I had a brain-drain myself! I’d drive! Fuck them! I put on gloves, then found a helmet to fit. Then I recovered; became rational. Of course, I couldn’t drive! I would kill someone in 5 minutes. Our race was done.
Early morning light and breakfast, and suddenly the Lloyd’s lads were pleased with their efforts and their endurance! Delusional! ‘Coons’ told me years later that they never attempted an endurance race again. Peter Brock, just for the record, never
finished this Le Mans. A Porsche team won, but the Sun and the heat was the
big winner. I was too! Thankfully, I still have some photos of me sitting on the
Le Mans race track an hour prior to the start. And thank you John Cooney
for the wild experience!
A few years later and living once again in London, I had a pommy mate who owned a lime green E-Type Jaguar. I owned a silver Jensen Interceptor at the same time. I was going to ship it to Melbourne and eventually sell it. Inevitably, we wanted to find out which was the fastest car. I suspected the E-Type would be due to the sleek lines and aerodynamic advantage it had.
At 4:30am on a calm Autumn night, we lined up, side by side on the M4 motorway, halfway to Bristol. There was zero traffic. We slowly got faster until we reached 120mph. Still side by side, almost slowly, we reached 140mph (225kmph) then 150mph (241kmph) and we still seemed to be glued together! At 155mph, my bonnet appeared to be floating up or flexing. I glanced across and the E-Type was doing the same! Colin was grinning but seemed as tense as I was. We eased up with both of us shaking severely. We agreed that we were seconds from being airborne and dead. I have never again driven that fast and never will!
Less than 2 years later, I had sold the Jensen in Melbourne and never saw it again. There were very few Jensens ever bought into Australia, so I was very intrigued when I read that an owner of a silver Jensen had crashed and died after flying off a country road in Gippsland. Police estimated that the driver was speeding over at 240kmph when the car left the road. It was airborne when it smashed into trees.
I never attempted to find out if it was “my” Jensen, but I suspect that was the case. These two motor car stories are true, but I don’t watch any car racing on television. But I love that 1976 champagne and the memories of being temporarily insane!
John A. Wilson, Gold Coast, February 2021
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