1950s Le Mans sensation: how Jaguar took on the competition and blew them away

Lyons was a businessman first and foremost. The selling of thousands of thoroughbred sports cars in America on the back of success in the only European race with cachet Stateside was his focus. He was happy to admit that Bill Heynes – a valued employee since the pre-war SS days and now his Technical Director and Chief Engineer – had been right. When quickly he realised that Hollywood leading man Clark Gable was far from alone in lusting for one, he was sold: Le Mans became Jaguar’s most important showcase of the year.

Three privately entered and mildly modified XK120s were its toes in the water of 1950. That of Leslie Johnson, co-driven by Bert Hadley, ran as high as second for a brief time and was holding third place when its clutch failed after 20 hours. The others, plagued by braking issues, finished 12th and 15th.

Lyons went all in for 1951 – the ‘world’s fastest production car’ really needed to win – by commissioning a Competition version to suit the demands of this race above all others. Only the fabulous 3.4-litre XK straight-six and front suspension was carried over, as Heynes designed a taut spaceframe upon which aerodynamicist Malcolm Sayer draped bodywork only slightly less slippery than it was sensual. Built in secrecy, the C-type caused a sensation – as Jaguar unveilings tended to do.

Stirling Moss – revelling in his first works gig and as proud as punch to be driving a British car that was so “futuristic and potent” – rushed into a lead that he and co-driver Jack Fairman held until a copper oil pipe in the sump fractured and ran the bearings dry just after midnight; a sister car had suffered the same failure. Fortunately, the remainder, opposition already pummelled into submission, was able to reduce its pace and still win, courtesy of Peters Walker and Whitehead–and by nine clear laps having set a distance record despite 16 hours of rain.

But for the shockwaves caused by Moss’s bombshell telegram after the 1952 Mille Miglia – Must have more speed at Le Mans. Stop – there is good reason to believe that Jaguar would have scored a second consecutive win at Le Mans. Instead, rushed alterations – when perfecting disc brakes should have been the priority – proved calamitous: all three cars boiled to death in the first quarter. (A fortnight later Moss won at Reims in a privateer car wearing discs: a world first.)

Scuderia Ferrari was in the Le Mans mix by now, as was Mercedes-Benz. The latter had come, seen and conquered in 1952, but the most competitive (in theory) field yet assembled compensated for their absence from 1953: Alfa Romeo, Aston Martin, Cunningham, Ferrari, Gordini, Lancia and Talbot-Lago all had their eyes on what had become a global prize.

Yet Jaguar blew them all away: first, second and fourth, using fully sorted ‘lightweight’ C-types fitted with Weber carburettors in place of SUs, plus servo-assisted Dunlop disc brakes. Moss again led but would finish second after a delay caused by a blocked fuel filter. The victors were war heroes Tony Rolt and Duncan Hamilton, who brushed aside the discomforting buffering caused by a broken aero-screen to win by four laps.

This same charismatic pairing was to the fore in 1954, too, albeit this time in a Jaguar that had given up all pretence of aping the look of its road-going cousin. The new D-type was a mix of blue-sky thinking by Heynes and Sayer and red-pen accounting: its monocoque centre section and aeroplane-on-wheels shapes and lines were attached to and underpinned by as much of its predecessor as could be repurposed, including an engine which was now dry-sumped.

It lost out that year under a thrilling lightning storm to a thunderous 4.9-litre V12 Ferrari held in check by the heft and deft of Froilán González. The competitiveness (in practice) of this battle – the margin was but a lap – put the pep back in an event in danger of becoming predictable. That in turn would lead to tragedy. Mercedes-Benz returned in 1955 with a cost-no-object prototype, against which the Jaguar lost little; indeed, it was leading in the closing seconds of the first driver stint. But the road past the unprotected pits was narrow, the speeds high and the prize large. Fractional misjudgments in the heat of this battle caused the greatest death toll in motorsport’s history.

The Mercedes-Benz that Moss was sharing with Juan Fangio no less had eked out a manageable lead when at 1.45am it was waved in and withdrawn. Jaguar refused its rival’s request to join them – a decision debated still – and its eventual victory was without joy. Lyons was beginning to wonder whether it was worth it.

Mercedes-Benz withdrew from the sport entirely at the end of 1955; Ferrari knew no other way and raced on; and Jaguar likely felt compelled to return to Le Mans in 1956: two of its D-types were eliminated in a crash on the third lap, and the remainder finished sixth after a long delay because of a cracked fuel line. The race was won by one of its factory-supported privateers instead – and Lyons’ mind was made up: the Browns Lane comps shop was ‘officially’ closed.

Yet the greatest day lay ahead. Edinburgh’s Ecurie Ecosse bettered its remarkable feat of 1956 with a one-two result in 1957, as privateer D-types finished 1-2-3-4-6. The winning car’s engine was in 3.8-litre form and fuel injected.

The old girl was still competitive in mandatory 3-litre form thereafter – Hamilton was running a solid second after more than 20 hours in 1958 when he crashed in the rain and in avoidance – but in truth the extra rpm required came at a cost to reliability; Ecosse’s cars ran as high as second in 1959 and third in 1960 before retiring.

Heynes still had Lyons’ ear and the Experimental Department’s prototype E2A raced at Le Mans in 1960, too, albeit carrying the American colours of Briggs Cunningham’s team. A split fuel injection pipe on the second lap caused it to run lean and doomed it to retirement because of a burnt piston after 10 hours.

There was talk of a return (with a view to winning, that is) and a car was built – but usefully deemed obsolete by the time of its completion in 1966. The harsh (mainly economic) reality was that there was neither the will nor the need to return with the recent past being still current and impossible to repeat. It would take the passing of a quarter of a century and all the forcefulness of the formidable Tom Walkinshaw to persuade a very different Jaguar – Lyons had stepped aside soon after that 1966 merger with BMC – of the continued value of Le Mans and of the need to burnish the marque’s glorious history there.

Wins in 1988 and 1990 resulted – using a V12 stemming from that long-ago abandoned XJ13 project led by Heynes and Sayer.