Shunt

by Tom Rubython

  Tony’s verbal pastiche of his Formula Ford days with Hunt could have made a book in itself. Tony’s detached office, set in his remarkable garden, is a treasure trove of motor racing history. I found I had to be very careful when asking Tony for any additional information because the answers that came back were so detailed I felt embarrassed about taking up so much of his time. Men like him are part of the fabric of motor racing in this country, and they should be treasured. It was easy to see why James liked him so much. Of all the people I met outside Hunt’s family, Tony was the person most visibly affected by his friend’s death.

  Also affected was Patrick McNally. Discussing James with Paddy, I saw tears come into his eyes, making it clear how close both men had been to each other.

  In the latter stages of my research, I wasn’t surprised to learn that Professor Sid Watkins had also been a good friend to James and to his two boys, Freddie and Tom. Like attracts like, and Sid regaled me with his many stories about James – from the racetrack to the many fishing visits in Scotland at Sid’s home.

  Many photographers helped me with photos for the book and I hope I have credited them correctly. The process was watched over by Sophia Doe, my picture editor. Keith Sutton and his team at Sutton images were a staple. The late David Phipps, whose photographs now reside in Keith’s archive, was responsible for many of the images in this book. David was a man of the seventies, and his presence was sorely missed in the writing of this book. Rainer Schlegelmilch, an artist with the camera, is undoubtedly Formula One’s top photographer and has been for four decades. Peter Nygaard is Scandanavia’s top sports photographer and helped me a great deal in going through his library, as did Ted Walker of Ferret Photography. Ted’s archive is unique in going far back into British club racing in the sixties and seventies. It is thanks to Ted that a photograph of James in his earliest racing car, the gold-coloured Mini, is being seen for the first time ever. Also thanks to James’ mother, Sue, who kindly allowed me to use an early photo of her son. And lastly, a big acknowledgement to the picture desks of the Daily Express, the Press Association and the Daily Mail, searches of which threw up some very entertaining images – many of which have never before been published.

  There are many racing statistics in this book, both in the narrative and the appendices. David Hayhoe did the brunt of the work, and David is now the first port of call for Formula One authors needing to verify their stats. He also pursues the task of resolutely poring over the text to make sure it matches the information in his tables. Duncan Rabagliati was also immensely helpful, especially in digging into the very earliest days of James’ career. Duncan runs the Formula One Register, which specialises in this sort of thing, and was invaluable in helping us get the stats as accurate as they could be.

  I can’t finish here without thanking my own staff. In the end, there were nearly a dozen of us working on this book as we moved closer to the deadline. Special thanks must go to Carly, for when there were just the two of us in the office. My gratitude extends also to David Peett and Mary Hynes who sold the book to the 2,000 bookshops of Britain and beyond, and to Ania Grzesik who designed it. Kiran Toor, our chief sub editor, knew little about motor racing when we started but quickly became captivated by the subject matter. She ensured that the motor racing chapters were accessible. Kiran is quietly dedicated to her job and, in the end, had read each chapter at least five times.

  I can’t end without thanking John Blunsden, easily Britain’s most experienced motor racing publisher. Whenever I had a sticky problem to solve, John was there to unstick it.

  But, above all, my most sincere thanks and deepest gratitude is to James Hunt, whom I had the privilege of meeting only once at a dusty Brands Hatch paddock in 1970. James had an extraordinary wild side and a personality that was immune to embarrassment, and it allowed him to do what other humans wouldn’t even contemplate. But scratch even a few millimetres below the surface and you expose a very decent man. It has been impossible to write this book without forming a deep bond with James even though he has been dead for 17 years. He was a great human being who, despite his unruly behaviour, brought much joy to the world. Thank you, Wallis and Sue, for that.

  Finally, a huge thanks to the people who spoke to me anonymously. I was desperate for information and many of you came through with it. I’m only sorry I can’t thank you by name.

  The efforts of the people involved in this book were unstinting and I thank you all, although the words that follow – and any errors or omissions – are naturally my responsibility alone.

  Tom Rubython

  Castle Ashby

  Northamptonshire

  15th August 2010

  PROLOGUE

  A very complete sort of person Sir Stirling Moss

  James Hunt was a truly unique personality, and, as Bernie Ecclestone once said, he had “more facets than a diamond.” He was a total non-conformist and a curious mix of wit, intelligence and unparalleled stubbornness. He was always a very determined person and someone who stood firmly behind his actions and beliefs, whether they were right or wrong. Whatever else he may have been, James was not a hypocrite and he was never ever boring. He was a very complete sort of person. On many occasions, he was his own worst enemy: his complex personality, combined with his stubbornness, often meant trouble. But he was so talented in so many ways. And it was because of this talent and because he was such a lovely person and so hugely loyal, that so many people turned out for his memorial service.

  I never raced against James, but over the years he was a man that I grew to know, to like, to trust and to respect; a man whose opinions and friendship I valued greatly. Although it is now almost 18 years since I saw him last, I can vividly remember all the facets of James’ character: James with the big, gorgeous German Shepherd; James the snooker player; James the mickey taker; James the budgerigar and parrot guy; James the fabulous journalist; and James the loving father. It was only at the end of his life that he really settled down to being truly what he was: a lovely person who loved his family.

  I believe that the contribution he made to our sport, through his television commentating and his writing, was enormous. He brought to televised motor racing a dimension that previously had not existed. His explanations and pithy comments, often controversial, brought to the general public an interest and understanding that raised the level of Formula One far above that of mere spectacle. He turned moderately interested viewers into well-informed enthusiasts. He brought in thousands of extra followers and fans to our sport. He actually created something rather than following something.

  That was the good side. For one of my generation, James’ behaviour could also be quite appalling. I was proud to be his friend, but at other times I wished he never knew who I was. I was pretty appalled at the way he would present himself at important events. I never condoned nor saw the funny side of it, but felt it was insulting – particularly, insulting and demeaning to our sport. So that, certainly, was one of his down sides. But somehow, because it was James, one could overlook it.

  Undoubtedly, James was outrageous; he did what nobody else did back then, and it was entirely inappropriate. But even when he was misbehaving at his worst, you were only frightened for him, not of him. Underneath it all, he was a lovely person.

  He used to come round to my house in Mayfair on his bicycle to sit with me and talk, and I remember him above all else as a great man, full of heart. He was just a lovely person to be with.

  Sir Stirling Moss

  Mayfair

  London

  22nd August 2010

  FOREWORD

  This friend of mine by Jody Scheckter

  James Hunt was not the sort of racing driver you could ever forget. Despite the years since his premature death and the end of my own racing career thirty years ago, my memories of James are as vivid now as they were back then, a time when James was flat out moulding the legend that still lives on today.

  The first time I ever heard his name was back in
my fledgling years when James was racing F3, although I don’t remember actually racing against him until we were both in Formula One. “He crashes a lot,” I was told. They called him ‘Hunt the Shunt’ back then, but that was a nick-name that could apply to a lot of us in those early days.

  James’ unique style probably wouldn’t have made it in today’s strictly clinical approach to Grand Prix racing – not just his driving style, but his approach to life in general, a life in which he lived as hard off the track as he did on it.

  Winning the world championship was important to James, not only as a confirmation of his stature as a racing driver and for the financial benefits it brought him, but also for the notoriety. It opened more doors to the high-living playboy life that he enjoyed as a Grand Prix star living in the then tax haven of Marbella in Spain.

  For a time, we lived just down the road from each other and it was then that we first became friends, even though I was the poor neighbour compared to the luxurious surroundings in which James lived, amongst Europe’s jet-set ‘A’ list.

  Compared to James, I was just the simple South African “okey” from the country, but he worked hard after several races, including a particularly memorable German Grand Prix and United States Grand Prix, to show me that there was more to going out in the evening than simply having a good meal in one of my favourite restaurants, the way I usually did.

  I returned the courtesy by showing him a few moves on the track, and he actually came up to me after one noteworthy battle at Paul Ricard to tell me that he had learned a great deal as I kept him behind me by the skin of my teeth. We had a respect for each other on and off the track, and when he was battling for the world championship at Watkins Glen, I had agreed not to block him and let him by a lot sooner than I could have done.

  James was a formidable opponent on the track. I think he could have been even stronger had he not lived such a wild life off it. Racing frequently made him tense and testy, yet the pop star, barefoot hippie lifestyle out of the cockpit probably balanced his scales against the often deadly and more weighty, serious side of being a professional racing driver back in the 1970s.

  I have dozens of memories of James, most of which probably didn’t get past the libel lawyer of this book. Perhaps amongst those that best illustrate his special character is the time he arrived to speak at a very formal Japanese party in his jeans and a t-shirt, and no shoes. On another occasion, soon after our retirement, we were invited to a demonstration event in Dubai. When we arrived, one of the Princes was waiting at the foot of the stairs, but James was too drunk to get down the steps.

  Being world champion, he could usually get away with such bad manners, but more to the point he was usually excused his mannerisms simply because he was James, somebody who lived his life to the full and by his own rules.

  The more you knew James, the more you liked him. I never really knew why we got on so well together, as we were both very opposite in character. Perhaps that was the secret of our friendship.

  There have been few drivers who have left such an impression on our sport as James did, not only as a driver and a person but also in retirement as a popular and often controversial TV co-commentator with Murray Walker until James’ tragic death. He certainly would not fit the image of today’s modern Formula One driver – but then he probably wouldn’t have wanted to.

  Jody Scheckter

  Laverstoke Park

  Hampshire

  7th September 2010

  Preface

  A nonfiction book that reads like a novel

  There are two most important decisions to be made when you decide to write a book, assuming you already have the subject sorted out. These are the title of the book and the dust jacket photo. Without these, a nonfiction book will not be truly successful, however well it is researched and written. When I was discussing titles for this book with my immediate colleagues, David, Kiran, Ania, Mary, Sophia, Rebecca and Chris, one name kept cropping up, and that was ‘Shunt.’ To that, we added: ‘The Story of James Hunt’ and felt very pleased with ourselves.

  John Hogan and Max Mosley were the two people most helpful with my research and both were close friends of James. But I hit a snag when neither of them liked the title of the book. They both gave exactly the same reason, saying they found it slightly “derogatory.” As our intention was that at least 80 per cent of the sales of the book would come from people purchasing it as gifts for their friends and family, a derogatory title was certainly not what we wanted.

  I suppose I was most surprised by Max’s reaction, as it was he who originally coined the nickname ‘Hunt the Shunt’ back in 1969. Then, as now, he had meant it in a humorous rather than a derogatory sense. And so did we. But how would others perceive it? Luckily, everybody liked the photograph we had chosen.

  We produced mock up covers of half a dozen alternative names just in case – but none of them jingled in quite the same way. So, last March, I decided to leave it there and to ponder.

  Later, when another of James’ close friends, Jody Scheckter, wrote his foreword for this book and suggested that the nickname ‘Shunt’ could just as easily have been to himself as to James, I realised that it wasn’t derogatory at all. That was just the way it was in the earliest, rough and tough world of Formula Ford and Formula 3.

  So my apologies to John and Max, without whose help this book would not be half as good, but Jody’s view won out in the end.

  But in reality, as soon as we all sat down to the serious business of the desk research prior to the interviewing and writing process, I soon realised it was the only title to have and, when used in reference to James, was not derogatory at all. In fact, bizarrely, his crashing or ‘shunting’ is what eventually resulted in him getting into Formula One.

  Lord Hesketh, the man who made all of James’ success possible, almost confirms it: “I knew he had this tremendous reputation for crashing cars. The first race I saw him drive for me was at Silverstone in the wet. He actually took the lead, which we’d never done before, indeed we’d never even been near the front of the grid. But although he was leading, it was backwards – because he’d spun – he must have travelled about 40 yards in this way, and then he crashed into the pit wall right in front of me, which I wasn’t very impressed by.”

  That was his first race for Lord Hesketh in 1972. At James’ next and final Formula 3 foray at Brands Hatch, in the support race for the British Grand Prix, he didn’t even make the race and ended up in mid air looping the loop before landing upside down on top of an Armco steel barrier. It’s fair to say the Lord was even less impressed than he had been the first time. In truth, the second accident was in no way James’ fault, but nevertheless he had an uncanny knack of involving himself even in other peoples’ accidents. He defied death twice that weekend, later having a shunt in his road car that put him, his teammate and his girlfriend in hospital for a week.

  In fact, we can easily count seven accidents where James Hunt should have been killed and wasn’t. No other driver of the time defied such odds. The fact that he was able to die peacefully of natural causes shows just what a lottery Formula One racing really is when it comes to life and death. Frankly, when James died at the age of 45 in 1993, he really had no business being alive – no business at all.

  When he had completed his debut, literally wrecking Lord Hesketh’s Formula 3 team, the Lord promoted him to Formula 2. It was something James had been trying to achieve for five years and he had finally achieved it by shunting two cars in quick succession He was promoted to Formula One and left Formula 2 behind when he wrecked his Formula 2 car; a car which went back to John Surtees’ factory for repairs and never emerged again until only recently.

  The following season in 1973, in a new Surtees TS15, Hunt did three races and had two crashes. He failed to start at Pau after destroying the front end in qualifying. With that, the Lord had had enough and decided to enter Formula One.

  Without all the Formula 3 crashes, Lord Hesketh would have und
oubtedly stayed in that formula. Without the Formula Two crashes disabling the car, the Lord may never have entered Formula One seriously at all, and certainly not as early as 1973 – by which time it might have been too late for James.

  So, as it turned out, James Hunt literally shunted his way into Formula One, more than living up to the moniker thrust upon him by Max Mosley all those years earlier.

  And when he finally arrived at Formula One, Hunt suddenly cast off the moniker in the finest possible way. No longer was he an inveterate crasher of cars; he had well and truly lost his knack of getting in the way of other peoples’ accidents.

  But despite the title of this book, crashing race cars is not James Hunt’s legacy. Because of the complicated nature of the man, his legacy is also inevitably a multi-faceted one. Multi-faceted is the best description I can give for James Hunt. Indeed, can there ever have been a more multi-faceted sportsman? I doubt it. Leaving aside his character and personality (such inadequate words when talking about James), he could easily have been a world class competitor at tennis, squash or golf had he decided that motor racing was not for him. Can there ever have been a man in the history of sport who was genuinely good enough to play at the top of such varied sports? Well if there was, I don’t know of him.

  James was also very good-looking, highly personable and immensely charming. He also possessed huge energy levels and extraordinary enthusiasm. He had every good character facet available to a human being. Oh, and don’t forget he was also a highly intelligent and thoughtful man, equal to anyone in the brains department.

  So that’s the good side, but, as everyone knows, there was a bad side. If he hadn’t also had the bad side it’s impossible to estimate what he could have achieved in his life. Could he have been the first retired sportsman to move into politics and become Prime Minister (something Sebastian Coe tried and failed to do)? Yes, he could have. Without his bad side, he could have achieved anything he wanted to, so endowed was he with the natural talents of life.