As a new era dawned – the 1970s – Didier in fact longed to join his cousin on the racetracks of France. Instead, he found himself back in the classroom. For now at least, he had to content himself with playing a part in José’s motorsport ambitions, usually in the role of mechanic-cum-travelling companion as his cousin’s F3 career gained momentum. On the Grands Prix circuits, he cheered on the swaggering Lotus F1 star Jochen Rindt who had become a firm favourite. It was not enough. Didier had a raging thirst to do; to compete.
As it stood, a career in motorsport was uncertain, unless of course he could emulate his cousin, unless he too could show his mettle, unless he too could go on and win a competition such as Volant Shell. Could he?
There was only one way to find out…
Four
Leader of the pack
Obtaining a driver’s licence is part of every youngster’s path to maturity and independence. As ridiculous as it might seem, as far as passing his own driving test was concerned, Didier would struggle to achieve this maturation landmark. Had the self-taught young driver developed some bad habits during his ‘bandit’ years? Probably. After all, he had been driving – at considerable speeds – on the highways of south-east Paris for many years prior to taking the test. Reining it all in would prove problematical.
The test day arrived, a cold January morning. Snow falling steadily on the streets of Boissy, Didier set off for this, his second attempt to gain his licence.
Initially, all was well. Joining a faster stretch of road on the outskirts of town, the car quickly accelerated until approaching a set of traffic lights. Anticipating that the lights were about to change to red, Didier applied the brakes, but discovered to his great consternation his instructor about to do the same via his dual controls: Lock up. The car skidded precariously. For a moment disaster loomed. Despite the treacherously slippery conditions, Didier was somehow able to bring the vehicle under control – no mean feat. The colour all but drained from his face and the instructor eventually opened his eyes.
‘Are you OK?’ enquired the pupil, completely unfazed at what had been a very narrow escape. ‘Did you want us to go in the river?’
‘Get out of the car, Pironi! I never want to see you again!’
Shrugging, Didier did as instructed. Had he not, through his own instincts and sharp reflexes, just saved the day? This was some way to show gratitude.
All’s well that ends well; the shaken instructor later relented. Didier got his licence but on the understanding that, ‘he remembers that the public highways are not racetracks!’
Driving licence obtained, the young hustler wasted no time in acquiring a Ford Capri 2600 RS with which he ‘dazzled’ virtually the entire female population of south-east Paris! Didier was back on four wheels.
When not flying around the south-eastern suburbs of Paris on two or four wheels, Didier and José continued to lark around in the skies above the city in the family aeroplane. Flying was another passion the brother-cousins also shared. And where José led, Didier was sure to follow. Indeed, the younger cousin had become used to hearing of his older sibling’s escapades. Naturally, he aspired to follow his example. Perhaps this is where the younger man’s appetite for adventure – danger – began, in the castle’s lounge, listening wide-eyed as José related another audacious tale.
One such story involved an emergency landing in the wilds of Greenland. In February 1971, José and Etienne had been flying a Cessna 310 from Miami along America’s east coast: Atlanta, New York, Labrador, the journey had been going well enough. From Goose Bay in Canada, their next destination was Narsarsuaq, a tiny settlement in southern Greenland. However, the 1,600km journey across Baffin Bay would stretch the endurance of their craft to its maximum capacity. Landing in Greenland would also depend on the capriciousness of the weather in that desolate land. The men set off. It was an adventure, right? Besides, meteorological forecasts checked out. As the plane approached the Greenland coast however, the men were greeted by the sudden kind of violent storm common to this region. Caught in a snowstorm, the plane was forced to take a detour. Fuel now running precariously low, and faced with thousands of kilometres of inhospitable terrain, the situation was becoming serious. Eventually, José was forced to land the plane amid snow and ice. Thanks to his expertise, the manoeuvre succeeded. The French friends and their two American passengers spent a couple of very cold days and nights stranded in the wilderness until help arrived.
Hearing such stories fired Didier’s imagination. He longed for his own adventures. Soon enough the urge to compete became too much to bear. By spring 1972, Mrs Pironi found herself coming under ever more pressure from an increasingly dissatisfied scholar: could he not accompany his friend Jacques in the Grand National race as navigator? Imelda baulked, and with good reason.
The Grand National Tour Auto was an event still in its infancy. Taking place over five days, it consisted of various track and road stages around France culminating at the Paul Ricard circuit in the south. Open to anyone in possession of a national licence, the event attracted a large and eclectic field of competitors. At the top end, professional drivers such as rally ace Bernard Darniche, towards the bottom end an array of amateurs and chancers. Quite a cocktail.
Didier pleaded with a wary mother without whose authorisation he would not be able to compete. So too did Jacques, an older head who promised to do all the driving. Not without misgivings, Imelda finally gave her blessing. The race was on!
Much to Didier’s frustration his older friend turned out to be somewhat of a pedestrian in terms of race driving, caution his watchword. In no time at all the Capri fell down the order. The teenager’s exasperation finally boiled over. Readying themselves for the final stage to circuit Paul Ricard the youngster took Jacques by the arm.
‘Listen, let me take the wheel for the final stage…’
‘But Didier, I promised your mother.’
‘Or I quit!’
On the final leg, the Capri started to claw its way back through the field. Way down the rankings and in a seemingly hopeless position, Didier was determined nonetheless to end with a flourish. Sure enough, the Capri entered circuit Paul Ricard in first place! Even more remarkable, thanks to five days of wear and tear, this was a car without brakes! As impressive as this performance was, it was not good enough to worry the leaders, placings calculated on aggregate times accumulated over the entire five days. No matter. This stage belonged to the Ford Capri and its unofficial, baby-faced driver.
Buoyed by his taste of competitive driving, Didier started to seriously consider a crack at the Pilot-Elf competition coincidentally also held at Paul Ricard – a lucky omen perhaps. Demonstrating remarkable assurance and foresight, he chose to ignore the advice of cousin José, who recommended Volant Shell, the same competition in which he had triumphed three years earlier. Correctly, as it transpired, Didier opted for Elf. Volant Shell was already running out of steam and would cease completely just one year later. By contrast, Elf would play a leading role in French motorsport for decades to come, pumping millions of francs into F1 and many other categories besides. Good call.
There just remained a final, formidable obstacle: Imelda.
One Sunday evening Didier decided to broach the subject. Now in his second year at university, the young man was rightly concerned that his mother would reject the idea out of hand. It was not just a question of money either, as the hefty course fees of 3,000 francs (about £3,000 as of 2017) could easily be met; no, it was the sport itself with its inherent dangers that truly haunted an over-protective mother.
‘Mum, I have to talk to you,’ said Didier quietly.
Imelda sensed what was coming. Mother and son sat down together in the lounge in front of the large, stone fireplace.
‘I know you wish me to be an engineer, but it is not my passion. What I want is to compete. I want to register at Le Castellet driving school.’ Mrs Pironi listened in silence. How could she possibly prevent her son from pursuing his ambiti
on?
‘I promise if I do not succeed I will focus on my studies. Mum, please agree.’ Such was the sincerity of her son’s words, so earnest his countenance, the lady of the house had no option but to acquiesce.
‘Very well. But if you do not win, then you go back to your studies and you never talk about motor racing again. Understand?’
Didier nodded. Imelda could console herself with the thought that Pilot-Elf was a protracted process at the end of which just one racer could claim the title. The winner would invariably be an immensely gifted individual. What odds her son being that man?
The appearance of François Cevert at the castle one morning rather disconcerted Imelda, quite the opposite effect the tall, blue-eyed Adonis usually had upon the female sex. France’s top F1 star dropping by for breakfast was not by any means an unusual occurrence either. Next time it might easily be Jean-Pierre Beltoise popping by for coffee. Thanks to José, French motor racing royalty was already making its way to the castle. How could a young man fail to be enamoured in such an environment?
The topic turned to Pilot-Elf. During the conversation, the Tyrrell star expressed his opinion that Didier had a real chance of taking the title. Imelda immediately paled. Pilot-Elf was a diversion, an opportunity for Didier to finally get this motor racing bug out of his system. But winning? Out of the question! François smiled and bade his hosts ‘adieu’ before heading off to the airport in company with José, where he was due to fly to the United States for a Tyrrell test session.
‘I was particularly troubled,’ writes Imelda, ‘that this opinion had come from a champion of Formula 1, who doesn’t mention his own brother, “Little Charles”, who is also involved in the competition…’
First run in 1971, Pilot-Elf had already garnered a reputation for the quality of its courses. The school is open to all automotive enthusiasts, those who believe driving is a pleasure and those who want to become a racing driver. Thus ran the marketing blurb of the now legendary Winfield race driving school, the organisation charged with running the courses. Although ostensibly aimed at beginners, in truth the competition attracted a broad spectrum of drivers from novices to drivers such as Didier already familiar with a range of racing cars including José’s F3.
Rolling up for the course in his Mercedes created an instant level of distrust among his peers. This kid was just a little too slick, a little too urbane. All of which might have been pardonable of course had the baby-faced Parisian also not been blessed with more than his fair share of talent. One of several hundred hopefuls at the outset, Didier progressed smoothly enough through the peripheral stages of the course.
Interviewed for Martine Camus’ La Flèche Brisée, course tutor Antoine Raffaelli recalled a diligent student, one certainly not prone to flaunting his wealth. In particular, the instructor referred to what he termed the young racer’s ‘incredible casualness…as if his heart beat slower than the others’.
And so the process began: theory and practice. As well as the promise of learning ‘how to take corners at the limit…’ the eagle-eyed Raffaelli and a team of assistants monitored every student. Those who made the grade continued, while for those who did not it was ‘au revoir’.
After each stage, Didier would report to his mother. Usually these calls consisted of proclamations to the effect of how he was already setting the fastest times, that the prize of Pilot-Elf would surely be his. How Imelda must have grimaced.
Come the day of the finals just six hotshots remained out of a field of 200 who had originally registered. Unable to maintain the blistering pace, some drivers such as little Charles Cevert had given up halfway through the course.
The decisive moment had arrived.
Ever the pragmatist, for Didier there were two – and only two – possible outcomes of this day: either he had the talent or he did not. Winning the competition would indicate the former, failure to win clear evidence of the latter. It was a characteristically cool assessment. Should he fail to scoop the top prize this composed student of public works was ready to walk away from motorsport for good. Taking part for its own sake – for fun – was never an option.
And so on a hot October weekend Didier arrived at the circuit for the shootout that would decide his future. It was a beautiful, cloudless day in and around the environs of Le Castellet, home to circuit Paul Ricard some 28 miles east of Marseille. At just 20 years of age, he was the youngest driver to have made the finals, another factor that had not exactly endeared him to his fellow competitors. This Pironi kid seemed just a little too sure of himself.
Confusion reigned on Saturday when several members of the judging panel failed to materialise. As well as racing against the clock, the Pilot-Elf format included input from a panel of judges whose purpose was not only to effectively rubber stamp the results of the time trials, but also to arbitrate if required. More pointedly, their presence added clout and not a little pizzazz. Reigning Formula 1 world champion Jackie Stewart would be a member of a judging panel that included inaugural winner Patrick Tambay, journalist Jabby Crombac and F1 team boss Ken Tyrrell.
When three of the school’s fleet of Renault-Alpine A362 race cars began to be dogged with engine gremlins on a windy Friday afternoon, it signalled the end of an inconclusive day’s work. Pilot-Elf would be decided on Sunday’s results alone.
On Saturday evening, the six finalists retired to the nearby Cadiére Riviera hotel. As well as Didier, five other hopefuls had made it this far, hoping that Pilot-Elf would ignite their own motor racing dreams. Weekdays would find Bernard Mandonato hard at work in the family bakery in Marseille; Pilot-Elf was the 27-year-old’s chance to leave the ovens behind forever. Fellow Marseille resident Gerard Bacle was back for a second crack at the title having been very impressive in the 1971 event. Meanwhile, Gerard Saint-Aubin and Jean-Marc Brunel had literally never so much as even sat in a racing car prior to the competition. The latter had enrolled on a whim, ‘to see how far I could get’. Frédéric Vialle, a 26-year-old accountant from Paris, completed the line-up.
After dinner, the would-be racers took coffee. Tomorrow only one of them would take the prize. What of the others? A life devoted to baking croissants, calculating balance sheets…
While the hopefuls politely chatted amongst themselves something inexplicable occurred. A dark, swarthy figure approached the group. This mysterious form – a ‘mage’ – reputedly possessed of mystical powers including the gift of foresight, was known to haunt the environs of Le Castellet. Pointing a withered finger at young Pironi, the witch fell into a stupor. At the sight of this unholy apparition, one or two competitors sniggered. Some recoiled.
‘It’s you! Tomorrow you will be the winner! You will go on to have a great career, but will never be world champion!’ The mage fixed Didier with a penetrating eye. Typically, the young man did not flinch.
‘One day you will die in competition, by fire!’
With that, the vision left a highly bemused group of young drivers. As haunting as this prophecy had been, it had not unduly disturbed Didier who dismissed the episode as quickly as it had happened. 4
By next morning, focus had shifted to the final. Another lovely day had brought out the crowds who packed themselves into Paul Ricard’s grandstands. Patrick Tambay, winner of this competition in 1971, was on hand to offer advice. Little could he have realised the circumstances under which his own path and that of the young blonde guy would one day cross. Clad in trademark cap, scarf and leather coat, Jackie Stewart had been signing autographs non-stop since his own arrival. Another judge, François Guiter, head of Elf’s motorsport division, thumbed through the programme, his gaze eventually coming to rest on the short biography and picture of one of the finalists, Didier Pironi. Guiter contemplated the image. Something about this young man captured his imagination. Taking his place on the panel, this Svengali of French motor racing had chosen his winner before an engine had even fired up.
Meanwhile, five anxious pilots (plus Didier) awaited. Scheduled to dri
ve ten laps of the 3.3km circuit, the winner would be the driver with the lowest aggregate time. Pilot-Elf had been designed to reward consistency as well as speed.
Under skies of azure blue, Didier drove with characteristic assurance. The judges were impressed, more so when they spied the disarmingly boyish features of this grinning, sun-kissed creature once his helmet had come off. His total time of 15’20.10 (15 minutes and 20.1 seconds) good enough to edge out Gerard Saint-Aubin by just under a second!5 Phew! It had been too close. On his tenth and final lap, the young Parisian had made an extra special effort, making the fastest lap of the day with a superb 1’31.1 – half a second faster than Saint-Aubin’s fastest time. Just as he had predicted he would do to his mother, Didier had saved his best until last.
Photographs of the winning ceremony reveal a jubilant winner. Stewart, Tambay, Crombac and Tyrrell are all assembled squinting in the hot afternoon sun, posing with a young champion whose face is flushed, and hair dishevelled. In the background Mandonato, Bacle, Saint-Aubin and the rest look ruefully on, their own dreams of motor racing stardom now hanging by the proverbial thread.
On this languid, sun-drenched afternoon Didier had not only won Pilot-Elf, he had prevailed in a psychological battle with himself and just as importantly – more perhaps – with his mother. In lieu of their agreement, hereafter Imelda had no other choice but to allow her son to pursue his motor racing ambition, though this most formidable of women would never reconcile herself to a sport that brought her nothing but trepidation, worry and anxiety.
Didier Pironi had just taken his first step on a flight that would take him to places he could never have imagined.
Five
Enter the American
Along with the prestige of winning Pilot-Elf, becoming its official ‘laureate’, came the more tangible reward of a season’s racing in 1973 at the petrol giant’s expense. On offer was a fully funded year in Formula Renault, a tough, junior category of motorsport, which provided highly competitive racing. It was an ideal series for a budding champion to serve an apprenticeship. As 1971 laureate, Patrick Tambay had enjoyed just such benefits the year following his triumph, admittedly with mixed results.
Pironi Page 4