Doug Nye: From 3 men and a rifle to an army of engineers — my journey through 75 years of racing
Clocking up the miles, Doug Nye has led an almost Jenks-like existence of late, delving into motor racing matters past and present
Our late little bearded mate Jenks obviously features prominently in this issue’s Mille Miglia pages, but I’m also reminded of his regular Continental Notes column, which in many ways fuelled my schooldays fascination with motor sport in general.
“The garden gnome was living a life most readers would just have died for”
In effect the garden gnome was living a life most enthusiast readers would just have died for. At someone else’s expense he would spend months sur le continent, indulging his own passionate interest at weekend races, then gallivanting off to the next one in his issue car while probably taking in a team or factory visit, dropping in on a driver or press friend, or casting his critical eye over a collection or museum along the way.
In Italy he would make a point of parking alongside a railway bridge or level crossing just for the thrill of seeing the Settebello express at close quarters rocketing by flat-strap. In Sicily he described his amusement in seeing a typically stylish autostrada bridge pier under construction… with a plumb-line dangling from its lofty summit consisting of just a thin rope, knotted around a swinging boulder. Practical, effective – and near cost-free. That really appealed to him.
I absolutely cannot match his race coverage – but in recent weeks I’ve spent a great deal of time with head, and hands, and eyes deeply involved almost daily with racing cars, past and present. I use my camera in effect as my excuse for a diary. That’s one of the reasons long-standing commitments usually come back to me as just last-minute jolts – “Oh gawd, did I say I’d do that?”. For me a diary is a record of bygone days, never a reminder of what’s to come. So though I say it myself, I am pretty good at one thing – apologising.
No apologies were necessary, thankfully, for watching ace panel man Stuart Roach and his incredibly talented lads down in the New Forest hand-fashioning and repairing period panels for a friend’s 1950 Frazer Nash Le Mans Rep. Or for getting my hands – and camera lens – into the innards of two stripped-out 1968 BRM P126 monocoques in a Lincolnshire workshop. Or studying just nearby the original-style Austin Maxi-type cable gearchange on a Lotus-BRM H16.
A few days later, in deepest rural Hampshire, it’s a case of having a very patient specialist explain which switch really activates the overdrive in my fake C-type Jaguar when I’ve mistakenly used the light switch and then brought in the car for “overdrive failure” to be investigated. “Doh!!!” With knobs on.
Then there’s the Costin-bodied Lister-Jaguar we’ve been digging down into –discovering with some horror just how thick the filler really was which made the shell look saleable some years back – and how assorted genuine D-type bits had long since been removed and replaced by ‘cooking’ Jaguar kit.
Changing gear it’s up to the delightful new Silverstone Museum for discussions about celebrating this 75th year of the Formula 1 Drivers’ World Championship, then down to Beaulieu and the National Motor Museum to swap some hopefully creative ideas there – admittedly rather more of them incoming than outgoing… Then Goodwood to discuss 2026 plans.
Jenks would present his Continental Notes hand-written; word counts were loose guides
Back then to Silverstone to study current Mercedes-AMG F1 team matters, on a non-disclosure basis I’m afraid but suffice to say we also spent time trackside watching Kimi Antonelli’s first pit-stop practice session. Judging by his subsequent fourth place in Melbourne on his debut that was time well spent. What shook me was the sheer number of personnel present that chilly day – mechanics, engineers, media specialists, a movie crew… and caterers too.
Holy cow – this is such a stark contrast with the dawning days of the Cooper Cars story, three blokes towing a trailer into the Goodwood pits. They ran their test car, then wandered into the infield – with spade and .22 rifle. Why? Rationing was harsh back in 1949-50, so they were nicking some of the Duke’s cabbages and onions, while shooting some rabbits for the pot.
Then I found myself on a British Airways flight to Milan – heading for immensely rare access to Ferrari’s Maranello archives. It’s over 50 years since I first walked through that red brick archway. To don those white cotton gloves and be permitted to leaf my way back through ledger after folder, after notebook after works drawing, after memo after internal report, was a jaw-dropping privilege.
Regardless of how generations of enthusiasts have viewed Mr Ferrari’s apparent public persona, close evidential study of the working practises and standards he plainly set for “his people” just leave one drop-jawed in admiration. As a schoolboy he’d also displayed considerable talents as an artist. Some of his surviving drawings are incredibly proficient. And when it came to promoting his own Scuderia from 1930 forward some of the early publication designs and graphics he oversaw still impress today. Some say The Old Man was just a branding genius. The more time I’ve had the pleasure of studying his work first hand, the more I’m inclined to agree. So what’s next? I really can’t remember.