Farewell to a god

"It wasn't like that, really. I was lucky. There had been a similar accident in 1936, and I happened to see a photograph of it the day before the race. As I came out of the chicane, before Tabac, I was aware of something different with the crowd - a different colour somehow. Then I realised that, instead of seeing their faces, I was seeing the backs of their heads. I was leading the race, but they weren't watching me - something down the road was more interesting. And I remembered that photograph..."

I never walk down Curzon Street without thinking of The Steering Wheel, and I never think of motor racing's most celebrated club, sadly long gone now, without remembering June 2, 1979. Although I met Fangio on a number of occasions, it was there, then, that I interviewed him at length, and my heart beats faster at the memory, particularly today, hours after the announcement of his death.

That Saturday morning is clear in my memory all these years on. Fangio was in England to drive a Mercedes-Benz W125 at Donington the following day, and at very short notice I was offered the opportunity of spending a couple of hours with him. Amazing to relate, the very thought made me so flustered that initially I hesitated before accepting. Then I went out to buy a new tape recorder. There was nothing wrong with the one I had, but it seemed appropriate, and, anyway, on this day nothing could be left to chance.

This was not a racing driver, you see. Racing drivers I talked to every couple of weeks, at the Grands Prix. This was Fangio.

Later that day, I came out of the club, into the bright sunlight, my head whirling. There had been no last-minute problems. He had arrived on time, with an interpreter, and seemed, if anything, more shy than I was. He responded to my questions as if he had never heard them before, speaking quickly and quietly, the tempo increasing as he recalled events which gave him particular delight. His eyes, as so many have said, were mesmeric, and there was mischief in them.

Today I have listened to the tape again, with some sadness, of course, but with so much pleasure, too.

"At the Italian Grand Prix, in 1953, my Maserati had a terrible vibration all through practice, and it could not be cured. In every team I drove for, I always made sure of having the mechanics on my side. Very important. Whatever I win, I would tell them, you will get 10 percent. The night before the race, I again complained of the vibration - and on Sunday it was miraculously cured! I have no idea how they did it, but I know Felice Bonetto's teeth fell out during the race...

"I have very good memories of my years with Alfa Romeo. In sentimental terms, the Alfetta 159 was perhaps my favourite car of all, because it gave me the opportunity to win my first World Championship. We had some wonderful races with Ferrari, and I had tremendous respect and affection for Alberto Ascari, who led them for so many years. He and, later, Stirling Moss were without doubt the two rivals I most feared. My team-mate in the Alfa team was Giuseppe Farina. Very fast, but loco, loco...

"When I was with Mercedes there was always peace of mind. I drove 12 Grands Prix for them, with eight wins, a second, a third, a fourth, and one retirement. They were amazingly reliable, those cars. To win with them was easy. The only problems I remember were with the streamlined car in 1954 at the small Silverstone circuit, where they marked out the course with oil drums. Visibility from the cockpit was not good, and I kept hitting them, so I was only fourth. Later that season I had an oil leak at Barcelona, and the following year my engine failed at Monte Carlo. Otherwise, nothing went wrong.

"I must say that 1956, my year with Ferrari, was not happy, no. I never felt comfortable with the team, although I was on very good terms with all the drivers. The team manager I did not like. In my other teams, I always had a mechanic exclusively on my car, but Ferrari had a different system. Halfway through the season I was able to change that, and then everything was much better. I won in England, and at the Nurburgring, but at Monza my steering broke, and my position in the World Championship looked hopeless, for Moss, my rival, was leading. Then Peter Collins, who could also win the title, handed over his car to me, and I finished second to Moss, which gave me the World Championship. Peter was one of the finest gentlemen I ever met in my career. I was desolate when he died.

"People always say that my best race was at the Nurburgring in 1957, and I suppose they are right. After my pit stop, when I was catching Hawthorn and Collins, I beat my own lap record by 24 seconds, and even now I can feel fear when I think of that race. I knew what I had done, the chances I had taken. The Nurburgring was always my favourite circuit, without any doubt. I loved it, all of it, and I think that day I conquered it. On another day, it might have conquered me, who knows? But I believe that day I took myself and my car to the limit, and perhaps a little bit more. I had never driven like that before, and knew I never would again. Aye, that Maserati 250F... not very powerful, but beautifully balanced, a lovely car to drive. I felt I could do anything with it.

"After I retired, I was never tempted to return. I was very tired, very content to stop, and I did not miss it. I loved my 10 years as a Grand Prix driver, but there had been great sacrifices - necessary, if you are to remain on top, but sacrifices nevertheless. In that time, 30 drivers died, and while I never allowed it to influence me, my sadness deepened. Racing is beautiful when you are full of enthusiasm, but when it becomes work you should stop. And by the end of 1957 it was becoming work for me..."

Once, in Brazil, I saw Fangio walk up behind Ayrton Senna, whom he tapped on the shoulder. Ayrton, in the middle of a conversation, swung round, a look of annoyance on his face. Then he saw who it was, and as he put his arms around the old man, the grand seigneur, his eyes were full of tears.