JIM CLARK & 1965 FRENCH GRAND PRIX. Come for a moment to the mountainous Auvergne country in cen

To describe the circuit in detail,' wrote a contemporary reporter, 'would be something like detailing a "looping the loop" performance. It is all turning and twisting, climbing up and going down.' This was the last of the Gordon Bennett series, and a terrific affair it was, with tremendous cars in the hands of muscular drivers — the machines and the men described in the first chapter of this book. The winner of this dusty, tortuous epic was Thery in a Brasier at a speed of over 48 m.p.h. (Try the same circuit today and see if you can average 3o m.p.h!) To celebrate the sixtieth anniversary of this great race, the Automobile Club d'Auvergne was invited to organize France's senior event in 1965. This club, one of the most enterprising in France, had over the years run numerous races over their own special circuit in the Auvergne hills outside Clermont-Ferrand. But not since that last Gordon Bennett Cup event had the French Grand Prix come to the Auvergne. And that is a pity, for it is the most exciting and beautiful circuit in France -- five miles long, fifty-one corners, three hairpins, and a difference in height of over 600 feet from the lowest valley to the highest hill. This was the last year of the 1 1-2 litre Formula I. Most of the cars were at the height of their development; their drivers understood them and had driven them faster round the circuits of Europe than any earlier Grand Prix cars, in spite of their diminutive engines. But few of the drivers knew this circuit, so that the practice periods were vitally important. During the last session, on a misty, damp afternoon that made the circuit especially treacherous, newcomer Jackie Stewart broke all records in his B.R.M., and looked all set for pole position when the imperturbable Jim Clark, the fastest driver anywhere in the world, went out for the last time in his Lotus, and knocked off a few fractions of a second from Stewart's time. This was one of the most tightly competitive fields ever seen on a Grand Prix grid, and it seemed as if all the constructors had developed the roadholding and engine output of their machines to the final degree of perfection. There were four different makes — Lotus, B.R.M., Ferrari and Brabham -- among the first five on the two front rows. Technically the most fas-cinating was the Japanese Honda, powered by a V12 engine installed transversely behind the driver and inclined at a forward angle. It was the only car still liable to teething troubles, but in the hands of Richie Ginther lapped only 3.1 seconds slower than Clark's Lotus. In fact there was a difference of only five seconds between the first ten cars. So, above all, this was going to be a driver's race — and who could match the peerless Clark, fresh from his triumph at Indianapolis? Perhaps Graham Hill, ex-World Champion; perhaps John Surtees, reigning champion and leading Ferrari driver. The damp, sultry morning had given way to blazing sun. The Prime Minister of France had made a lap of honour before the crowd of a quarter of a million who packed the enclosures and stands. The curtain-raiser Formula III race had been run. And soon after 2.30 p.m., a cloud of blue smoke and the howl of seventeen Grand Prix engines arose from the short straight in front of the pits. M. Jacques Loste of the A.C.F. raised the flag, and as it swept down the pack tore away for the first sharp left-hander less than a hundred yards away. They streamed through, Clark with a white dust mask across his face — reminiscent of those Gordon Bennett drivers of so long ago — on the inside and already in the lead. Then Stewart, hard behind him, then Ban-dini's red Ferrari, and the remainder in a bunch. Bandini had the newer flat-twelve machine and for a while it seemed as if he might catch the flying Scots-man.

Gurney came up to third, Surtees tailing him closely. The squat white Honda, with Ginther working hard, was going very fast; this car would surely be a race-winner one day. In less than a minute they were up to the highest point of the circuit with its marvellous panoramic view across the plain to the north, and then they began the winding descent, much of the way with a steep drop on the outside that deterred over-excited drivers from overtaking. They raced down to the hairpin on the valley floor in one long, sun-drenched, colourful line. Clark had pulled out a lead of a dozen yards, the way he has always preferred — get clear away in the first dozen or so laps, and hold it like that to the end. And it is remarkable how often he manages to do just this. Then steeply up through sharp climbing turns like fighter-pilots battling for altitude, the fat tyres of these strange little whippy four-wheel velocipedes edging over the white verge line and grazing the straw bales. How Nazzaro and Werner, Jenatzy and Earp and the rest of those heroes of the Gordon Bennett Cup would have relished this scene ! Though perhaps they might have thought these miniatures were no machines for really tough racing drivers! Jackie Stewart was showing great form. He hadn't Clark's polish, nor his steadiness of line round the corners, but he was drawing every ounce of power from his B.R.M. and going very fast. He sailed past Bandini on the second lap, to set about Clark. But Clark had seen the danger, knocked a second off his next lap, and held off the B.R.M. assault. Then Gurney, too, took his Brabham past the Italian, and finally Surtees got past his team-mate. At the end of the third lap it was Lotus, B.R.M., Brabham, Ferrari, Ferrari. Bucknum couldn't find enough sparks to keep his Honda going, and once again the Japanese car made an early retirement. Five laps later Ginther brought his Honda in for the last time to its pit. Clark was still putting on the pressure, lapping at close to go m.p.h., hoping for despair or repair among those who might threaten him. Stewart never lost heart. But those who were farther behind were falling out one by one — the veteran Jo Bonnier, Gurney, -one corners on every lap — forty laps in all. This round the first lap, with 'Farmer' Clark already well the opposition.

Siffert in Rob Walker's Brabham-B.R.M. (Jack Brabham designed the 'chassis', B.R.M. the engine), holding off Graham Hill's B.R.M. The ex-World Champion was suffering from clutch slip, and (more personally) a stiff neck from an indis-cretion during practice Innes Ireland with a jammed gearbox. The frailty of these cars would have amazed those old Gordon Bennett racers! Seven cars were out by half time. But the leading Lotus and B.R.M. were going great guns and sounded as if they could last a day. Every few laps Clark knocked a little off the lap record, just to show what he had in hand. Down deep in the valley there was a minor shunt when one driver spun around, and another knocked into him, losing a wheel. But most of the driving was faultless, a superb demonstration on a wonderful circuit of how extremely professional the real pro-fessionals are in Grand Prix racing today. Even Graham Hill, with neck in a rubber support after an accident the previous year, was showing what style really is; though his handicap prevented him from getting among the leaders, and Clark lapped him before the end. Jackie Stewart made one last effort to close the gap, but this was by now too wide. Only a mistake from Clark could give him the lead, and that sort of error just didn't happen. Surtees was still going very fast in third place, his engine stuttering so badly in spite of one quick pit stop that one wondered if Clark could have sailed so clear away if the V8 Ferrari engine had been sparking properly. After 21, hours racing Clark swept round those fifty-one corners for the last time, made his last couple of hundred or so gear changes, and tore past the chequered flag a half minute ahead of the B.R.M. Stewart had driven so superbly from the start. And thus ended in this beautiful setting the 51 st Grand Prix of the Automobile Club de France in a blaze of glory for Britain, in the land that began this magnificent business of motor racing, once dom-inated it, but now alas! seems to have lost all interest.