British Grand Prix 1958 - Silverstone

Summer came to Silverstone on Saturday July 19th for the 1958 British Grand Prix, sixth race of the ten events counting for the World Championship. The crowds came too, in their tens of thousands, lining the three-mile circuit to watch the major event in the British calendar. A race made more dramatic by the fight for championship honours. In the paddock, the Vanwalls are the main attraction. And Moss has his favourite number up. The Centro Sud Maseratis have their admirers too. And the two BRMs are readied for Jean Behra and Harry Schell. Fariman's Connaught is fuelled for the 225 racing miles that lie ahead. Let's have a word with Mike Hawthorn and see what he thinks of his chances. Congratulations, Mike, on Reims. You don't happen to have a spare bottle of champagne on you, do you? No, I haven't got it yet. Oh, Mike, a shame. Tell me, what about the British Grand Prix? -What are the chances? -Well... Obviously, because we won the last race, people are saying Ferrari will win this one, but it's a completely different type of circuit. But the Dino has won on this circuit, -here in May. -Yes, it won in May. Actually, I wouldn't be at all surprised if BRM didn't pull off a win here. I know I'm probably wrong, but... That's your tip, anyway. Yes, I think they'll be well up, anyway. Well, anyway, Mike, jolly good luck to you and all the very best. Thank you. Now, let's hear what Stirling has to say. -What are the chances, do you think? -I don't really know. Because, as you may have heard, we've had some valve trouble. And it depends really whether they hold up, I think. If they do, I think it's a very open race, quite honestly. I think that Mike's driving and going very fast now. But you won here several times, Stirling. You're hoping to make this your third British Grand Prix? I'd like to now, but I think it's... that we've got to aim at lapping under 140, which is going to be difficult. Yes, which is the current lap record held by Ferrari. -Ferrari and BRM, isn't it? -And BRM. Well, I hope you're right, Stirling, and lots of luck to you. And still they come. Before the day is over, thousands of cars and coaches will be packed around the circuit. If all the bottles of beer their occupants will drink on this hot day were laid end to end, I wouldn't be at all surprised. Patanè and Appleyard arrive with Sir William and Lady Lyons, to find that Lofty England got there first. Mike Cooper talks to Brian Turl. BRDC Secretary John Eason-Gibson talks to Albert Asher, secretary of the meeting. George Cook with Desmond Scannell, free from the cares and troubles of race organisation. Harold Parker represents the FIA, and Mr Blackburn The Daily Express. With him is George Eyston, a great name in motor racing. Here's yet another great name, Mr Vandervell. The deputy clerk of the course returns from closing the circuit with Lord Howe, the grand old man of British motor racing. The cars parade before the stands, Vanwall number 7 at their head. Its driver, Moss, walks up with Schell and his BRM. John Cooper pushes Brabham's car, number 11, whilst that big man with a small car, Roy Salvadori, is followed by a small man with a large car, Lewis-Evans on Vanwall number 9. A smiling Jean Behra with that familiar checkered helmet walks beside his BRM number 19. Perhaps he heard what Mike said about a BRM winning. Behind him, the bearded Bonnier on his Maserati. Alf Francis pushes the Walker Cooper for Trintignant. And all but hidden behind the bulbous shape of Ivor is the sleeker shape of things to come, Ferraris, bearing the prophetic numbers 1 and 2. One by one, the cars assemble on the grid. Two minutes to go. The front line forms up, Moss, Vanwall number 7, in pole position, with a lap at 106.01 miles an hour. Next to him Schell, BRM, at 105.58. Next fastest, the tiny Cooper of Salvadori. Mike Hawthorn, Ferrari number 2, completes the front row with a fastest lap at 104.95 miles an hour. Four makes of car, three of them British. One minute to go. Of all minutes in motor racing, the most unforgettable. All round the circuit, the crowd is stilled and waiting. At Copse, Maggotts, Becketts, at Stowe, at Club. But the longest wait by far is for the drivers. Into Copse, it's Moss, Collins, Schell, Hawthorn. At Maggotts, Collins takes Moss on the inside, whilst Hawthorn drives past Schell on the outside. And it's Ferrari, Vanwall, Ferrari, BRM, as they sweep down Hangar Straight to the corner at Stowe. At Woodcote, first time round, it's Collins number 1, Moss number 7, Hawthorn number 2, and Schell number 20. Now, race tactics become apparent, as Collins sets out to break the Vanwall team leader. The newfound speed of the Dino 246 emphasises the task that lies before Moss in his championship battle with Hawthorn. Mike, level with Stirling on points at this stage, is content to hold a watching brief in third place. The Vanwall accepts the Ferrari Challenge, and Silverstone sees a high-speed tactical exercise carried out by three of the greatest masters of the art of motor racing. Further back, Lewis-Evans, Vanwall number 9 in sixth place, sets off to catch his teammate Brooks, whose Vanwall number 8 is right off form. By Lap 4, Collins pushes his lap speed up to 103.71 miles an hour to hold his lead over the Vanwall, with the Hawthorn Ferrari third, Schell's BRM is fourth. Here comes the first retirement, as the field roars on its way. Less than 15 minutes from the start, Fairman's drive on the Connaught ends on his eighth lap. "I keep pressing that pedal down there," says Jack, "but nothing happens." Seventeen laps gone, and Moss drives desperately to keep Collins within his sights. As Graham Hill retires the Lotus with overheating. The pace and the day is hot. And within two laps, five more cars go out. Behra brings in the BRM. Transmission trouble is suspected, and not until later do the hounds find the offending hare. On the same lap, Stacey, in Lotus number 18, pulls into the pits. Stacey's overheating problem is soon cured, but not so the Lotus. Whilst Bueb squeezes the "toothpaste tube" Connaught slowly past the pits into the paddock, the Lotus and the BRM are pushed off to keep him company. Just as Allison turns in with the sole-surviving Lotus and Hornsey hopes are dashed. In nine disastrous minutes, all the Colin Chapman cars are out. Beautiful to look at, their performance on this occasion belies their looks. In the meantime, the sound and fury continues unabated round the circuit. Seconds only separate the Ferrari and the Vanwall in second place. Hawthorn lies third, 14.6 seconds behind Moss. Moss's teammate, Lewis-Evans, races in fourth place. Behind him in fifth is Salvadori on the Cooper. Closing up relentlessly, yard by yard, lap by lap, finally to go ahead at Stowe. Six seconds behind Collins, Moss demonstrates the skill and courage that the Silverstone circuit demands with its five corners, three high-speed curves and short straights, all to be taken at speeds varying from 70 to 140 miles an hour. But Collins matches his every move. On the 26th lap, the Vanwall's race is run, and Stirling drives into the dead carpark without the formality of a pit stop. The opposition broken, the two Ferraris can take it easy. But not too easy. For Salvadori drives a magnificent race in third place, and the race is not yet halfway run. In the Ferrari pit, the signal goes out, happy days are here again. All round the circuit, the shirt-sleeved crowd relax... and find time to study the programme, and in the paddock discuss the current form. Always an interesting topic in motor racing. Lap by lap, Collins' triumphant progress is marked on amateur lap charts, as well as by the professionals in the timing box. At half distance, 13 cars remain of the 20 that started, and Collins leads Hawthorn by 27 seconds at a race average of 102.5 miles an hour. Forty-four laps gone. And the Ferrari pit are busy converting the prize money pounds into lira when Hawthorn rudely interrupts the calculations with an urgent call for, "Olio, olio, molto olio!" And molto olio is what he gets. Out on the circuit, Salvadori is 37 seconds behind Hawthorn, and the race returns to life, a procession reverts to a motor race. All eyes are turned to Woodcote. But the Ferrari fires and is away. And Salvadori's Cooper flashes past the pits, still third. Hawthorn is now 67 seconds behind Collins and only 6 ahead of Salvadori, but he rapidly leaves him far behind again. The Ferrari pit hang out the faster sign to Von Trips as the race-long duel for fifth place continues between him and Brabham on the Cooper. Trailing an ominous plume of smoke, the Ferrari slowly but surely overhauls the flying Cooper. At last, Von Trips gets past, leaving Copse. But his lead is short-lived. And Brabham comes round Woodcote ahead once again, as Von Trips goes into the pits. Every dipstick tells a story. And filling up with oil now, even five gallons of it, is like locking the stable door after the prancing horse has bolted. Fifteen laps to go, and Schell gets a tow from the race leader Collins, who has 45 seconds in hand over Hawthorn in second place. Third is the incredible Cooper and the equally incredible Salvadori. As the Von Trips Ferrari is pushed away, team managers urge their drivers onto greater efforts. And Schell responds with a lap of 104.12 miles an hour that lifts him up to fifth. In fourth place, Lewis-Evans gets the hurry signal and sets out upon a Cooper chase that fans the dying embers of the race. All round the circuit, the crowds rise to the two great cars. The tiny Cooper superbly driven by Roy Salvadori, calm and unflurried by Lewis-Evans' efforts to displace him. The laurel wreath awaits the winner, as Collins, secure in first position, drives his last lap. And Hawthorn hurries on in second place, but very well content to let Peter Collins win for the team, whilst he gets a valuable seven points for the World Championship, and poor Stirling gets none. At the finish, the flag is waiting for the victor, Peter Collins, whose brilliant drive brings Ferrari their sixth successive win in the British Grand Prix at Silverstone. Hawthorn is second. In third place, but only just, is Salvadori's Cooper, ahead of Lewis-Evans' Vanwall. To the winner, the laurel wreath, and a barrage of press photographers. But equally gallant losers, like Schell, who, without the elation of victory, show the strain of modern grand prix driving, a welcome drink. Now to the plaudits of the crowd comes Peter Collins to take his prize. Just one of so many that he won in his brilliant, all-too-short career. The slight figure of the courageous Collins takes his leave of the Silverstone scene, gay and smiling as ever, secure in all our memories as one of the truly great. Another race is run, another page is added to motor racing history. And in the warmth of a summer evening, the crowd disperse, content with the stirring deeds of the day. Tomorrow is yet to come.