I'm old, lack useful employment, am tempted towards alcoholism, living tremulously under the wing of the Angel of Death. Once things were different. Not exciting, fruitful or worthy of record, just different.
A friend drives me 90 miles from London towards Thetford in Norfolk. I am to cover motorbike racing at Snetterton for the magazine that employs me. Snetterton circuit, formerly an RAF station, is utterly flat, not at all spectator-friendly. That doesn't matter. My report won't depend on visual activity since I'll see very little of the races; instead I'll infer what happens and then ask questions.
Taking part are Britain's best bike racers of the period, Mike Hailwood (see pic), Phil Read, Derek Minter. The sport is shockingly dangerous and these guys are my heroes. I would pay to see them race if I had to.
As events proceed I compile coded accounts of the races. Each racer has a number and I record their positions lap by lap as they pass by the press box. In between races I slip down to the pits and talk to my heroes.
I joke with Phil Read, a raffish bandanna round his neck. He's helped a novice rider get his first "start" at this meeting. Does Phil expect to share his unlikely winnings? We laugh.
In the last race Mike Hailwood comes off. The sole of his elderly racing boot has torn away from the upper. His damaged toe, wrapped in a bloody bandage, doesn’t seem to trouble him. He too laughs as he explains what happened. Interview over he gets into his two-seater Jaguar with three girl-friends.
Back in the van I scribble the drama then type it up at the office. It’s late Sunday evening, just time for a pint.
A different part of my life.
Wonderful memory, great story.
ReplyDeleteI'm going to repeat Colette's words because it's exactly what I was going type. So here goes, "Wonderful memory, great story."
ReplyDeleteColette/robin andrea: When I got the idea for this post I didn't see it as a story (ie, something with a beginning and an end), rather as a few scattered events which represented the warp and woof of my life as a journalist. But of course the way these events hung together meant they emerged as a story and you were both right. Just as well, really. Not everyone is interested in motorbike racing but a healthy percentage may be capable of following a story in which motorbike racing plays a part.
ReplyDeleteThere is a further point, the contrast in my life then (reacting with the outside world) and now (a contracted existence; depending on memory and invention). It was important to add I wasn't moaning about this difference, that would be futile. Just playing a spotlight on it.
I enjoyed your story very much, RR. (but then I would, wouldn't I?)
ReplyDeleteI have almost the same action shot of Mike H on the Gilera four on my bedroom wall. Great days, great times, great people!
Avus: But I wouldn't want to claim that the "often times" (A phrase launched by my daughter, aged four or five) were necessarily superior. Is it that you resent Johnny Foreigner giving Brits the boot? And if so which Brit would you say matched Valentino Rossi (in his prime) in skill, daring, achievements and charm. Mike H, perhaps, but then not every bike racer has a millionaire father. Even then at routine national meetings Derek Minter used to beat him, even if Minter was way down the grid when it came to charm.
ReplyDeleteI should add that I needed a b&w pic to go with this piece and all I found was this. Needless to say the bike the ever-cheerful Mike rode at Snetterton had fewer exhausts.
Arrived late to this beautiful little tale. Well done. Who else can paint such a vivid picture with so few strokes? The sounds and smells are there. Personalities in a nutshell.
ReplyDeleteedsbath: Just Ed's, no one else's. Hygienic people distancing.
ReplyDeleteI'm amazed more people don't opt for journalism. In my day you needed zero qualifications. Couldn't write, well they fired you. That was fair wasn't it?
The nature of journalism used to be defined as “Power without responsibility – the prerogative of the harlot throughout the ages.” Try as I do I've never been able to figure out this one. All I can say it has nothing to do with financial expectations.
I didn't even know motorbike racing was a thing. It sounds crazy dangerous! It would be super interesting to talk to the people who did it and figure out what attracted them to the sport.
ReplyDeleteWe once lived in Thetford when my Dad was stationed at Mildenhall and we couldn't get Base Housing, back in the 1970's. They had Housing built in Thetford for the American G.I.'s, now it's called The Londer Overspill and a Friend of ours went back to visit and said so much was the same that it was comforting and brought back a flood of Memories. Here everything changes constantly and the only constant IS Change... which erases a lot of Memorable Places except on the Canvas of Memory of those of us Alive to still remember what Was and Is No More.
ReplyDeleteJoe: I like that first sentence; as if you'd just fished motor-bike racing out of a defective loo with a very long stick. And of course you're quite right (Not the loo bit), it is, as I say, fearfully dangerous. When racing cars crash the battered drivers are decently hidden from view; when bikes crash the rider often whirls through the air like a pinwheel, coming to earth with a tangible thump which you, the viewer, feel by inference. I have discussed the morality of watching bike races and it's complicated. I don't want to see crashes but I'm thrilled by close racing. Yet close racing is likely to end in a crash. Whatever, I loved chatting with these guys.
ReplyDeleteBohemian: Alas I never went as far as Thetford. Reckoned it sounded like a word used in a pronunciation test. I did national service in the RAF: then and now air force stations - operative or deserted - continue to thrill me