Moss & Jenks: the other years

“Some years ago there was a popular ballad entitled Trees and the last line ran, ‘…but only God can make a tree,’” wrote our man to begin his report of Moss and Jenks, the sequel. “By the grace of God and one of his trees I am able to write the story of my 1956 Mille Miglia.”

Moss had asked DSJ to resume their partnership upon joining Maserati in the wake of the withdrawal of Mercedes-Benz from all motor sport at the end of 1955. But they’d find the Modena manufacturer a “complete opposite” in approach to the finance and organisation of Daimler-Benz. They only sat in their new 350S for the first time the day before the race and noted a “funny smell” at speeds over 120mph.

Starting at 5.54am, the duo faced dreadful weather that flooded their Maserati and left them bedraggled as they left Ravenna. Moss pressed on despite the car’s wandering front end, as DSJ reflected: “This was more than a motor race, we were not racing against Musso or Castellotti or Fangio; it seemed that we were fighting for the mere right to go on living.”

They came close to losing that right on a descent towards the village of Antrodoco. Moss lost control when the big Maserati locked its brakes, broke through a retaining wall and came to rest against a tree that really saved them from a 300ft drop.

Undeterred, they returned for part three in 1957, for what turned out to be the last, tragic Mille Miglia. Maserati had provided an even more monstrous beast, in the form of the 450S. Tipped to repeat their 1955 glory, Moss and Jenks lasted all of seven of the 1000 miles when at 130mph the brake pedal snapped. Only rapid downchanges and Moss’s skill brought the car safely to a halt and they were able to return to the start, Stirling purple with rage. But his heart was softened by the faces of Maserati’s men. “Some just burst into tears,” he said. “Our anger evaporated. We couldn’t take it out on them… just one look at their faces was enough.”