Ask Nigel Roebuck: May 12

Dear Martin,

As a driver, Francois Cevert had greatness in him, and he was also one of the most charismatic people I ever met. He was a man of immense natural charm, and upon those close to him, he made an indelible impression. "Ah, Francois..." Jackie Stewart will smile at the mention of him, and his face tells its own tale, the memory of one he came to regard as team mate, brother, son. For everyone at Tyrrell in those days, too, he has a special place.

The surprise which awaited you, on meeting Cevert, was that he was a good fellow, a gentleman in the truest sense. So often folk who seem to have everything are all too aware of it, to the detriment of their personality. Francois had the sort of gypsy good looks to make girls gnaw at the backs of their hands, yet none of the accompanying arrogance which invariably renders such people insufferable. He took a simple delight in life, and his face reflected it.

"He was a classically-trained pianist," Stewart recalled, "and you never saw a man so serene as Francois when he was playing Beethoven or Chopin or Mozart. He had a real passion for music, but an even stronger one for racing. What he wanted most from life was to be France's first World Champion, and I've never doubted he would have done it."

At the time of his death, at Watkins Glen in late 1973, Cevert had been in Fl for three and a half seasons, all of them spent with Tyrrell, all of them as Stewart's team mate. He won only one of his 47 Grands Prix - ironically at Watkins Glen, in 1971 - but finished second 10 times, half a dozen of those behind Stewart.

Jackie he regarded as very much his mentor, and over time he came to model his driving style on Stewart's as nearly as possible. In this era of over-the-kerbs and questionable ethics in Fl, fluency in a racing car is considered boring by some, yet I recall footage, shot from a helicopter, of Stewart and Cevert at the Nurburgring in 1973, the two Tyrrells proceeding in effortless echelon, perfect of line, with no other car in sight. Artistry, it used to be called.

By the middle of that summer, there had been some shift in the driver balance, Cevert coming to believe that, at least on some occasions, he had his team leader's measure, and Stewart tacitly admitting as much to Tyrrell. By now Jackie had resolved to retire at season's end, after which Cevert would take over as number one.

Given those circumstances, a lesser man than Francois might have moaned to the press about 'team orders', implied that, had he been allowed, he could have won this or that race. But Cevert had too much class for that, too much respect for the great driver in the other car. His own time, he felt, was coming. At Watkins Glen, from the beginning of practice to the moment of his accident, he was the fastest Tyrrell driver.

It was an accident of extraordinary violence, at the top of the Glen's daunting uphill esses, taken nearly flat by the bravest and the best. Cevert, having just lapped faster than Stewart, and looking to go quicker still, got into the first part of the corner slightly off line, which put him wrong for the rest of it. He did not lift, and nearly got
away with it, but at the top of the hill his car brushed the guardrail, and all control was gone.

Like Rindt, Peterson, Depailler, Villeneuve, Cevert left a mark on those with whom he worked, so that he is recalled not only with professional respect, but also with fondness. To Stewart he remains, "The most fascinating racing driver I've ever known".

I've no doubts at all that Francois Cevert was good enough to become World Champion. A little story Ken Tyrrell once told me: "The car Jackie won his last championship with, in '73, was 005, and it was a very quick car - he and Francois finished 1-2 on several occasions, ncluding at the Nurburgring - the old Nurburgring. Now you've heard how Jackie helped Francois - he couldn't have done more, told him verything, OK? At that race at the Nurburgring, they went round together, start to finish, first and second - and afterwards Jackie said to me, 'Francois could have passed me any time he liked...'"



Dear Jenny,

No, I don't think DC has given up, either, but I have a lot of sympathy for him, given the state of McLaren-Mercedes this year. It's bad enough for Kimi Raikkonen, but at least he's young, and has time on his side - plus the security of knowing he has a job for 2005.

For David, it must be even more frustrating, for he desperately needs a good, successful, season, in order to impress team owners, so as to get a worthwhile job next year.

That said, his fundamental qualities are well established - let's face it, when he's really on it, he can beat anyone - and I'll be surprised if he's out in the cold at season's end. Apparently, Toyota are not interested in him, but I understand he has possibilities at Williams and Jaguar.



Dear Tony,

I've always said that if I could go to only one race a year, it would be Monza.

Why? Every reason under the sun, really. The circuit itself may not be the greatest (and certainly not as good as it used to be), but everything else about the place - indeed the entire Italian Grand Prix weekend - I adore. First of all, I stay at the Hotel de la Ville in Monza, which is probably my favourite hotel in the world, a place of old-world charm, impeccable courtesy and unequalled friendliness. The restaurant is wonderful - and the track is only a couple of miles away.

As for the circuit, well, it's situated in parkland, and the whole place is steeped in history. I know we're not supposed to care about any of that stuff any more, but if you've loved racing all your life, as I have, it matters, and it always will. I've been to the Italian Grand Prix 30-odd times, which means I've spent four or five months of my life at Monza, and in that time witnessed a great many unforgettable things.

What I mean is this: you go to a Grand Prix at Monza, and you feel you're somewhere important. Modern cookie-cutter tracks, in countries with no racing heritage whatever, just aren't the same, and that's the end of it.