On one occasion, José arrived in Villecresnes with his cherubic little cousin in tow. Inevitably, as is often the way with siblings, the younger boy was extravagantly fond of the older one. Though ostensibly cousins, the relationship between the two had always been more akin to that between little and big brother, with the junior brother eager to impress his older sibling, sometimes a little too much.
On this particular day, a hot June afternoon, José and Didier arrived at the Villecresnes home of their friend to be met by a sight that dazzled their eyes: Etienne’s brand new racing car with which he intended to contest the French Formula 3 championships. Gleaming in the warm summer sunshine and framed by a rose garden from heaven, this was a scene to ravish the senses. The brother-cousins fell silent. Here was the most beautiful machine they had ever clapped eyes on. Young Didier could not take his eyes off the machine. Avidly discussing the intricacies of handling and aerodynamics, José and Etienne briefly retired indoors. It was all too much for the youngster. Jumping into the cockpit, he wasted no time in firing the machine up. He may have just entered his teenage years but here was a kid who knew exactly how to handle a racing car capable of attaining speeds up to 150mph.
Vroom! Vroom! José and Etienne rushed outside only to see the rear end of a gleaming F3 thoroughbred disappearing out of the drive… The good folk of Villecresnes had never seen – or heard – anything like it! Just what was going on inside the head of this young man? When questioned, Didier would say in that cool, detached way of his that he had simply been unable to resist the chance of sampling the machine first-hand. Boys will be boys, so goes the old saying. Seen from another viewpoint, this was a young man out of control, in need of a firm hand.
The time had come to seek guidance from higher authority. As noted, the family had plenty of friends in just such high places.
‘If you continue in these ways, you will seriously harm your future,’ declared the president of Creteil’s Criminal Court, summoning up the sternest face he could manage. ‘You are only 14 years old and already you have several charges of driving without a licence!’ Didier looked glum.
‘This is a very serious matter!’ Observing what he detected to be the young man’s contrition, the president softened his tone: ‘What do you think about this?’ A pause.
‘I want to be a champion of motorsport!’
All of which was news to Imelda, who never would reconcile herself to her son’s chosen path, not even at the height of his fame. A few more judicious words from the official appeared to have worked the oracle. A period of relative calm ensued. Around the same time, the reformed hellraiser would have his first introduction to organised motor racing.
In conjunction with Ford France, in 1964 fledgling racing magazine Sport-Auto had helped launch an entry-level motorsport category, the aim of which was to provide a stepping-stone for French racing talent into categories such as Formula 3. These were the days before Formula Renault and its structured nursery programme where aspiring drivers could earn their spurs. Using Lotus Sevens, the format pitted regions of France against one another. Potential drivers were invited to write in to Sport-Auto outlining why they deserved a seat in the category. José was one of a lucky few selected to represent Ile-de-France. Rivals included Patrick Depailler (Auvergne) and Henri Pescarolo (Paris). Cheering on his older cousin, Didier would have witnessed some real wheel-to-wheel racing at circuits such as Montlhéry. José’s career would, however, prove to be short-lived. University was calling. It would be another five years before he would be able to resume his career. Nonetheless, his younger cousin had been bitten by a bug, a bite so deep it penetrated his youthful imagination to the point where cars – racing cars – filled his waking as well as his sleeping hours.
Three
The golden child
Adolescence, the bridge between child and adulthood, can be a difficult time for those obliged to navigate its uneven waters, more so perhaps when the child in question has been blessed with precocity. Wherever he went, whatever he chose to do, Didier always seemed earmarked to succeed. A golden child blessed with an array of gifts, the teenager always stood out from the crowd.
Following his legendary brushes with the local police, the young hothead seems to have finally knuckled down into his studies once more. University had always been the goal, at least as far as Imelda was concerned. Securing a good education was a priority.
A pal who attended the prestigious College Mount Thabor at the same time as Didier and whom he had first met in autumn 1965, recalls a friend who exuded his own special aura: ‘He was a brilliant student, calm and poised, always in the top three in tests.’ In particular Didier excelled in maths and science. According to the same friend, had he chosen to, Didier could have easily been a scholar of some repute.
However, his real passion – speed – was never far from his thoughts. For the debonair boy about Paris there really was just a single way to travel – par Vespa. By the mid-sixties, these Italian style icons were all the rage in the French capital. Despite her apparent indignation over her son’s antics, there must have been at least some complicity from an adoring mother, who for better or worse, allowed her son to take possession of one of these little flying machines before he had finished his studies. Engine revving hard, stones flying and dust clouds forming, there was never a moment’s peace at the castle as Didier flew in and out of its courtyard. Delighted friends would gather to cheer the young gallant on. Quiet by inclination, when in control of a car (or motorbike) Didier was just the opposite: flamboyant, daring, a natural-born showman.
Relief that the obsession for four wheels had seemingly subsided was tempered by the realisation that the fixation had merely shifted to two wheels. The long-suffering Imelda would have cause to grumble anew. It was not long before the local constabulary were knocking once more on the castle door.
Imelda was going about her duties on a Thursday afternoon when the unmistakable sound of the Vespa’s 50cc engine broke the peace. Silence. Didier had returned home from school.
‘If anyone asks, I have not moved since school!’
Imelda stopped what she was doing. Looking into the hall, she just caught sight of her son vaulting up the large staircase. Somewhat bewildered, she followed the boy upstairs. Whatever could he mean? Moments later, she found Didier lying on his bed poring over some school textbook or other just as downstairs someone began hammering at the front door. Her son did not so much as even flinch. Imelda hurried downstairs.
‘Yes gentlemen, how can I help you?’ Even as she spoke, she quelled a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach.
‘Ah, Madame. I don’t suppose you have seen a kid riding a motorbike like an alien?’ The two visitors wore the insignia of the motorcycle division of the area police. ‘Impossible to catch! He seemed to turn here…’
The cop peered past the hostess into the interior of the castle. If Imelda had ever hankered after a career on stage now was the time to test her abilities. The villain had turned into this house? Could the detective not have been mistaken? The lady of the house was adamant: she had not seen or heard a thing. All the while, the poor woman was praying the detectives would not wander over to the garage where she knew they must inevitably find the scooter.
Meanwhile, Didier had forged a friendship with the younger Vigoureux brothers, Andre and Antoine. The ‘band of three’ as they were known soon became the talk of the school. Whether it was pulling wheelies or holding impromptu races around the block on their motorcycles, entertainment was never far away from the school gates. A Honda 125cc in rakish black soon replaced the Vespa; more power, more speed.
‘These three were the darlings of the school and their auras grew by the day. But even then it was clear to see that Didier was the most talented of all,’ recalls a contemporary who was just one of many school friends who daily marvelled at these exploits.
Inevitably, the school authorities did not take kindly to the antics of this young daredevil and his cronies. After
a series of warnings, Didier was ‘advised’ to find an alternative school. It would not be the first nor last time. How to explain such transgressions? Teenage exuberance? Whatever the reasons, it cannot have been easy for Imelda, having to walk a thin line between discipline and a natural inclination to indulge this, her only child, a precocious one at that. Had it not been for motorsport, and with it the opportunity to curb some of these wilder instincts, who knows where it might all have led?3
Wherever there was trouble, the leader of the gang was never far away. That much seemed assured. A move to St Aspais de Melun, an exclusive Catholic college on the southern outskirts of Paris, however, did little in the way of checking a nature that seemed innately rebellious.
On one occasion, Imelda found herself driving to the new school at the behest of a very irate headmaster. What had the young rebel done now? A range of possible scenarios rushed through her head. Upon arrival at the school, the anxious lady was greeted by a severe head teacher and a ‘smirking’ Didier. It transpired that the school vending machine had been accepting money but failing to despatch the anticipated fizzy drinks. The disgruntled young customers had turned to Didier. It was not long before the young gallant had discovered how to breach the security of the machine and, in the best traditions of Robin Hood, was soon distributing free drinks to the entire school! Poetic justice or not, suffice to say that the headmaster saw things very differently.
Yet despite these clashes with authority, Didier seemed peculiarly immune to the consequences of his worst excesses. Approaching 16 years of age, with his choirboy looks, his bold and daring exploits on a range of ever more powerful motorbikes, this liberator of school vending machines, a fighter for truth and justice, had all the attributes of a very popular figure within the environs of his new college. With its bent towards technical subjects, Didier was flourishing too in the Melun classroom. By now, the Honda had been replaced with the latest craze from Japan, the Suzuki T20, a six-speed rocket capable of nudging nearly 100mph. Ever the trailblazer, Didier was the first student in the school to own a motorcycle.
Tennis, rowing, swimming – Didier’s sporting prowess was also gaining him admirers. In an interview several years later, he would acknowledge a definite preference for individual over team sports. In the swimming pool, he reigned supreme, recording a best time of just over 57 seconds for the 100-metre freestyle, the French junior record at the time.
Sixteen years of age, wealthy, handsome and with the admiration (and envy) of his peers, the golden child was sailing through life.
Adulation from one’s peers often has the effect of increasing the perceived attractiveness of an individual, popularity being an aphrodisiac as potent as any other. Could this help to explain the turn of events in Didier’s last year at Melun? Until now, his escapades had been predictable: pushing the limits, discovering whether he had it within himself to not only approach, but go beyond those limits. Roaring through the streets of south-east Paris, police in tow, sirens flashing, had been a trial run, a prequel to a future yet vaguely glimpsed.
Decades have passed since the young guy from Boissy set the streets on fire with his T20, but one or two people still remember those epic runs southwards from Boissy to Melun. Driving at an average speed the journey takes approximately 30 minutes. Didier’s record? Eight minutes…
If Imelda thought that her wayward son was at last settling down into some sort of routine she was alas mistaken.
A telephone call from the head teacher, though unwanted, was not entirely unexpected. Imelda dropped what she was doing and headed straight for her car. On the drive down to Melun there had been plenty of time to speculate. Why had the head declined to tell her the reason for the summons? Didier must surely have done something serious. Anxiety gnawing her, it was a nervous mother tremulously knocking on the door of the headmaster’s study some 30-odd minutes after she had left Boissy.
‘Ha! Madame Pironi! I have been expecting you!’
The anxious mother entered the study relieved at least to find no harm had come to her son who stood to one side of the room, every inch the naughty schoolboy. Met by an indifferent look from the young man, Imelda looked expectantly to the head.
‘Your son has surpassed even himself on this occasion,’ announced the teacher through gritted teeth. Imelda felt her heart flutter. ‘Imagine the scandal! Your son, Madame, has become involved with a married woman, here within this high school! The very thought!’
Shaking with rage, the headmaster seemed to be on the verge of a seizure.
Mrs Pironi was stunned. Had she heard that correctly? She looked to Didier for a reaction. Nonchalant as well as indifferent, the mischief-maker shrugged. This she had not expected. For heaven’s sake, her son was just 16 years old! Now she was being told that her Didier – her little man – was conducting an affair with a married woman! It was too much to bear. Choked, Imelda needed to sit down.
For a moment silence reigned, until…
‘Mr Headmaster, really you are worrying my mother too much. Observe!’ As a student ‘in disgrace’, Didier’s interjection had not exactly been expected nor was it particularly welcome. Unconcerned, the young man addressed himself to a very indignant head. ‘It’s no big deal. I behave like a normal boarder. I’ll try to arrange it differently in future.’
Dumbstruck, both adults could only look on as this utterly audacious young buck continued: ‘As for you, Mr Principal, you would be advised to monitor the actions of your staff regarding certain pupils. You haven’t noticed? You, our guardian angel!’
Thus, another educational chapter ended, his dismissal from the school coyly attributed to ‘too much maturity…’
Didier had indeed caught the eye of a member of staff, a certain Madame K, an older, married woman who had, by all accounts, initiated the relationship. The affair had been going on for some time – right under the noses of the school hierarchy. She was not the only teacher either to fall under the golden child’s spell. When Madame Pironi met with Didier’s maths teacher she was disconcerted to find a young lady who could not hide her admiration for a student whom she insisted on describing as ‘awesome…’
It wasn’t only the desires of beautiful women and how to manage them that preoccupied Didier in the dying embers of the 1960s. Another passion was developing during these years, one that took the teenager high into the skies above the city of light.
At the tender age of 16 (on his birthday), Didier obtained his pilot’s licence, becoming at the time France’s youngest registered pilot. The cousins spent many a happy hour at Aerodrome de Lognes, a private airfield a 30-minute drive from Boissy where the family aeroplane was often kept. Flying became a way of life. From light aeroplanes to helicopters, both cousins loved to be airborne and despite their relatively tender years, could both rightly claim to be pilots of some accomplishment.
Having finally finished his studies in economics and engineering, in 1969 José entered the Volant Shell competition, by now a rite of passage for France’s wannabe racers. A picture snapped just moments before José left the pits depicts Didier crouching by the side of his cousin’s car, hands tucked into his bomber jacket, a wistful, contemplative figure. While all around panic ensued, the cousins remained unfazed. Indeed, José’s preparations were a master class of self-control. The contrast between him and his rivals that day was remarkable. After all, as days went, they did not get much bigger than Volant Shell, where victory could lead to a ticket to the big time.
Since its inception in 1963, the likes of Jean-Pierre Jassaud and François Cevert had scooped this much-coveted title, the winner able to count on a full year’s financial backing from the petroleum giant in a suitable category of motorsport. Old pal Etienne Vigoureux had participated in the 1966 event, finishing just behind Cevert and Depailler in what must have been one of the hottest nursery competitions ever.
José’s moment had arrived. Fast and lavishly talented himself, the 25-year-old won the 1969 competition running in fine style.
Formula 3 now beckoned.
And watching the progress of his cousin, drinking in the ambience of this exciting, high-octane world, itching to gain entry to it himself, the blonde, freckle-faced rebel who had not so long ago declared his own ambition to be a ‘champion of motorsport’. Thanks to José’s connections, Didier had been acting as mechanic to the legendary motorcycle ace Claude Vigreux, himself a former winner of Volant Shell. This multi-talented young racer would die in a tragic accident in April 1967. What effect Vigreux’s death had on Didier is unclear, but it did not prevent the youngster from agreeing to partner his pal, Jean-Claude Guénard in the 1970 Bol d’Or, a motorcycle race that lasted 24 hours and magnet to the brave, the reckless and just the plain crazy. Until his mother said ‘non’ Didier and GueGue had been raring to go. Thwarted in this ambition, he yearned to compete more than ever.
Before he could pursue this aim, the thorny question of education arose. Had not José completed his baccalaureate? For their parts, the sisters were adamant: education came first. José had complied with the wishes of Ilva, hence Didier was fully expected to follow suit. Thus, as a new decade dawned Didier’s trajectory, far from lying on the racetracks of France – at Reims, at Clermont Ferrand – lay rather in the lecture theatres and workshops of the University of Paris. Didier duly signed up to study a course in public works engineering. A mix of practical and theoretical challenges lay ahead, but as he was to admit some years later, he had always been a reluctant student, his heart never really in it.
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