DAVID EVANS
“They were hooked after just 10 rally cars”
Having shunned team kit in favour of what looked like three table clothes, the three ladies in front of me were beginning to appreciate their sartorial shortcomings as they climbed into a trailer behind a decidedly dusty New Holland tractor.
All in their Seventies, they had little idea where they were going or what they were going to find. Should I intervene? No. But what I would do is direct them to the right side of the street when they got there. Our destination? The increasingly famous forest that sits at the top of Goodwood’s already very famous hillclimb. Or, put a different way, the woods at the top of Lord March’s drive.
Conversation continued about what a great day they’d enjoyed so far; there was general acceptance that branching out from assorted flower shows and Wimbledon was the way forward. Having experienced the lower altitude Festival of Speed favourites, the ladies were heading north because it was next on the list. That it took a tractor ride to get there merely added to the adventure.
Alighting from the trailer (collectively, I suspect, for first time) they took directions and walked into the woods. With a gap between the groups of cars, they lined themselves up on the inside of a right hander and pondered how the cars would “manage on the stones.”
Should I warn them? Yes. Did I warn them? Not a chance.
Every now and then spectating brings this kind of reaction and it’s absolutely brilliant. Momentarily, I did worry that medics might have to be called, if only to return the power of speech. A particularly “wobbly” (their word not mine) RS1800 was first through. They were rooted to the spot. Eyes wide, dust covered, one of them finally broke the silence.
“Good Lord… he’s not going to get very far driving like that!” And so it continued. They were great value and converted to rallying in 10 cars.
That’s FOS for you. It brings these people, folk who would never normally venture out to rally without a banner bearing a line or two about Trump. Or Brexit. Or both.
This year was another superb event, run in stunning conditions. The top of the hill was full of joy and remembrance with the careers of Colin Mcrae and Richard Burns brought back into sharp focus with so many of their cars in action. Seeing Alister and Jimmy Mcrae behind a flat-four clothed in some of those iconic liveries was the icing on the cake.
While his dad had driven down from Lanark, big Al had flown from Perth (the faraway one) especially for the occasion. He was glad he did.
“I’ve not been for four or five years,” he said, “and I can’t believe how it’s grown. It used to be that if you wanted to see the important people you had to go to the bottom of the hill, these days they’re all up here!”
I headed down hill in search of Romain Dumas and the I.D. R. And found them both on the grass at the outside of turn one enduring the liveliest of moments.
Great weekend missing just two things, my father and a mate called H.