The pioneering pair who brought a new glory era to an F1 heavyweight 

Bernie Ecclestone claims Ron Tauranac advised him to sack a young Gordon Murray and keep the rest when he took over Brabham – but instead he (Bernie) chose to do the opposite.

It’s an exaggeration, but the quip at least reflects Bernie’s ‘my-way’ approach as he swept a new broom through Jack Brabham’s New Haw factory in the early 1970s.

Murray reckons Tauranac hired him on a misunderstanding when the South African engineering graduate walked in off the street. Born in Durban in 1946, racing-obsessed Murray travelled to England in December 1969 without a clear plan of how to land a break. Lotus knocked him back, but when he turned up at Brabham by fluke there were design office vacancies. Tauranac might have thought Gordon had formally applied for one of the posts and took him on, perhaps on the basis of the only obvious thing they had in common: like the veteran Aussie, new-age Murray had started out back home building his own ‘special’, a Lotus 7-type racer that he campaigned in South Africa in the mid-1960s.

By the end of 1971, Murray was ready to leave Brabham – only to think again as bright spark Ecclestone offered fresh promise. It had been a tough season, in stark contrast to Jack Brabham’s final Indian Summer of 1970. Tauranac had signed Graham Hill to replace his old partner, but the double champion was way past his best. Sure, Hill scored a final F1 win at Silverstone’s non-championship International Trophy in the ‘lobster claw’ Brabham BT34, but Tauranac was left unimpressed, far preferring Aussie up-and-comer Tim Schenken. But in a thin year of unreliability Schenken wasn’t about to stick around, and didn’t care for what Bernie had to offer. He left for Team Surtees. Oops.

Instead, Brabham turned to promising Argentinian Carlos Reutemann as its new talisman. Tauranac gave him his break at the end-of-season non-championship Victory Race (in which Jo Siffert was killed), then Ecclestone properly picked up the ball for 1972. Tauranac was increasingly a mere employee and that was never going to work, especially when Ralph Bellamy was hired from McLaren to design the BT37. As other new faces arrived, including Lotus veteran mechanic Bob Dance and ex-Rob Walker man Herbie Blash, Tauranac soon departed. But Ecclestone didn’t change everything: Brabham remained Brabham. Why? The company had a profile and reputation built on solid foundations. Pragmatism always beat ego for Bernie – and anyway, ‘Ecclestone’ didn’t exactly sound racy.

Brabham Boss Bernie Ecclestone with Carlos Reutemann

Photo by: David Phipps

The new era, amid continuing transition, started well when Reutemann qualified his white BT34 on pole for his home race in Buenos Aires. But in sweltering conditions and on the same soft Goodyears he’d qualified on, Carlos faded on race day. Still, he scored his first F1 win in a non-championship Brazilian GP at Interlagos.

Hill, retained out of necessity more than merit, gave the BT37 its bow at the International Trophy, before Reutemann broke an ankle in an F2 race. He returned, but in combination with Hill and Wilson Fittipaldi (brother of Emerson), struggled to achieve more in 1972. The team had little to show for the season bar some broken Cosworth DFVs and a deficit of £80,000.

Murray had designed Alain de Cadenet’s Duckhams Le Mans car on the side and was eyeing a job at Tecno when Bellamy left for Lotus. Ecclestone made a typically gut-instinct call to trust his young employee and promoted him, giving Murray a remarkably free hand. Prompted by conversations with Bellamy, Murray came up with the novel triangular-monocoque BT42. From the start, Gordon Murray trod his own path.

John Watson gave the car its debut at the Brands Hatch Race of Champions, only for a stuck throttle to leave him trapped in the wreck with two broken legs. Wattie would be back. Reutemann and Fittipaldi pressed on with a pair of striking BT42s at the Spanish GP, where Brabham also rolled up with F1’s first articulated transporter, converted from a Trust House Forte demonstration unit. Another small landmark in Ecclestone’s quiet revolution.

Ecclestone didn’t change everything: Brabham remained Brabham. Why? The company had a profile and reputation built on solid foundations. Pragmatism always beat ego for Bernie – and anyway, ‘Ecclestone’ didn’t exactly sound racy

The mid-1970s: what a free-wheeling time of F1 innovation, technical diversity and original thinking. Lotus 72, Ferrari 312T, McLaren M23, Tyrrell P34 six-wheeler… Brabham BT44. Entirely subjective, of course, but Murray’s (first) masterpiece was the most striking of a stunning bunch and bristled with its creator’s restless need to break new ground: rising-rate suspension, clean airflow over a heavily swept-back triangular cockpit – and underneath, early experiments with what would become known as ground-effect aerodynamics. Except Murray didn’t fully understand the forces he was playing with in 1974. The V-shaped skirt under the monocoque created an area of low pressure, but harnessing that game-changing downforce would come later – and first via the enemy at Lotus.

The BT44 was born perfectly formed in plain white with subtle pinstripes when it first flew in 1974 – but the lack of sponsorship in F1’s blossoming commercial age was a nagging concern, Ecclestone having lost Marlboro from his hook to McLaren. He fell back on pay drivers (not for the last time) as Richard Robarts and then Rikky von Opel joined Reutemann. At home in Buenos Aires Carlos drove away into the lead, only for his BT44 to splutter low on fuel in the closing stages. Agonising as it was, a churn had been missed amid pre-race fuelling chaos. Reutemann never would win his home race.

The first points-paying victory came at Kyalami – proof the BT44 was as good as it looked.
But consistency from both team and enigmatic, moody driver was not a Brabham strong point and a title challenge remained out of reach. The car was slippery on the fast circuits, Reutemann winning again at the Österreichring and for a third time that year at Watkins Glen. Even better, his new Brazilian team-mate, Carlos Pace, now gave Brabham its first true double-pronged attack. Pace made it a team 1-2 in the US.

Carlos Reutemann, Brabham BT44 leads the race from Clay Regazzoni, Ferrari 312B3

Photo by: David Phipps

The Brabham cocktail gained added vim in 1975 when Ecclestone landed a sponsor worthy of the BT44B’s angular contours. Has a car ever looked better in Martini’s striking blue and red stripes? There was increasing substance behind the style, too. Circumstance and poor reliability robbed Brabham of another 1-2 at the Argentinian season opener, but while the wrong tyre choice cost Reutemann at Interlagos, the ‘other’ Carlos stepped up see off Emerson Fittipaldi for a Brazilian 1-2 – Pace’s only F1 win. Then the Brabhams locked out the front row at Kyalami, only for Jody Scheckter’s Tyrrell 007 to best them in the race.

At this stage, Brabham looked set fair as a title contender – only for a couple of factors to derail the bid. First, Niki Lauda had just got his hands on Mauro Forghieri’s classy Ferrari 312T. Second, Ecclestone distracted Murray with an Italian lump of a project that spoilt not only 1975, but most of the rest of the decade. BT44B development halted as Bernie sealed a deal for Alfa Romeo flat-12 power.

The logic was sound enough. In a ‘garagiste’ era of DFV predominance, it made sense to seek an edge in an alternative – and look what Ferrari was doing with its 12-cylinder. The trouble was the Alfa was only proven in sportscars, scoring an uncontested world manufacturers’ title in 1975. Sure, it had power: 510bhp at 12,000rpm versus 465 for the DFV, 450 for the BRM V12 and 500 for the Ferrari 312. But it was also heavy, thirsty and unreliable. Alfa amounted to a long and winding cul-de-sac for Brabham.

Reutemann won just once in 1975, at the Nürburgring, before the new era dawned at Alfa’s Balocco test track in October with the unveiling of the BT45. This was a departure in more ways than one. Murray set aside his penchant for triangles with a slab-shaped pontooned monocoque, not just to accommodate the flat 12 but also the four fuel cells required to feed it. Its wide track and twin airboxes combined with that livery to make a statement, but at 625kg the BT45 was overweight. Reutemann described it as an “old lady” after his first tests – although the comparison to the bloater F1 breed of today, weighing in at a scale-creaking minimum of 798kg, cannot be passed without mention.

Murray liked the Italians, but was generally non-plussed by their engines: two were rarely the same… As for Reutemann, his patience ran thin – then ran out completely during a DNF-filled 1976. Carlos negotiated a release after the Dutch GP to head straight into post-Niki Lauda-fiery-accident Ferrari. Brabham was all at sea.

A move from New Haw to Chessington broke Jack Brabham’s final link early in 1977 as the BT45 lost a bit of weight, turned from white to red, and gained John Watson, newly high and dry after Penske’s withdrawal. Both Wattie and Pace were contenders in Argentina, only for Scheckter’s new Wolf to snatch the race away. Pace’s blatant jumped start at home in Brazil allowed him a brief lead and he qualified on the front row in Kyalami, so things were looking up… until awful tragedy swept him away. As Watson qualified on pole at the Race of Champions in the revised BT45B, devastating news floored the team: Pace had been killed in a light aircraft accident. Like Stuart Lewis-Evans and Jochen Rindt before him, the Brazilian was among
the few to become truly close to Ecclestone. Had he lived there’d have been no need to hire Niki Lauda, was Bernie’s telling tribute.

For now, Hans-Joachim Stuck took Pace’s seat as Watson stepped up to lead. Pole at Monaco and front row starts at Zolder and Anderstorp should have led to more – indeed, he could have won in Sweden without a Scheckter punt. But the real blow was Dijon in July when he led Mario Andretti’s Lotus convincingly until a misfire cut in a mile from the flag. Second was scant reward for a heartbroken Wattie. To rub it in, he led James Hunt at Silverstone, only for a fuel system malfunction to intervene again.

Brabham needed more than a change of luck. Ecclestone snatched a discontented Lauda away from Ferrari despite his title success, Niki bringing Parmalat backing to replace Martini, while Murray turned to alchemy in the latest quest to uncover that old racing grail: the unfair advantage. But this time it was his turn to misfire.

Niki Lauda, Brabham BT46 leads Carlos Reutemann, Ferrari 312T3

Photo by: David Phipps

The BT46 remains his most fabulous failure. Surface cooling via heat exchangers made from weight-saving dip-brazed aluminium? Genius… had it worked. Its water boiled even on cold English winter test days and Murray hastily fell back on the BT45, then cobbled front-mounted radiators into the BT46. The only surprise was how competitive Lauda and Watson proved in the early rounds. The trouble was Lotus: the Type 78 was one thing, but the ‘Black Beauty’ 79 was a proper game-changer, and Murray knew it. He needed to respond.

The BT46B ‘fan car’ remains F1’s most ingenious and outrageous innovation. Colin Chapman was furious, and so was Ken Tyrrell – especially as he almost had his own, had 008 designer Maurice Phillippe made his fan work. Following tests at Balocco and Brands Hatch, where mechanics covered the rear-mounted fan with a conveniently sized dustbin lid to thwart prying eyes and camera lenses, Brabham rocked up at Anderstorp, kept its powder dry in practice and blew Lotus away in the race. Lauda passed Andretti with laughable ease.

Of course the fan was primarily for cooling – its aero-suction effect was merely a secondary benefit… The governing body moved to ban fans, but it’s crucial to remember the BT46B itself never was. Lauda’s Swedish win stands as a beacon for clever – and legal – F1 innovation. Murray was frustrated that Bernie backed down so easily, withdrew the cars after Anderstorp, and didn’t fight the team’s corner, but as the head of FOCA (Formula One Constructors’ Association) Bernie was already looking at the bigger picture and the ‘greater good’…

Amid the cacophony and distraction – to Ecclestone at least – of the raging FISA/FOCA war and the battle for control of F1, Piquet and Brabham duelled with Williams once more

Back to the drawing board, then. Murray demanded a V12 from Alfa to allow for a true ground-effects contender – and was surprised when the Italians delivered. The BT48 – the BT47 was a stillborn development of the fan car – rolled out a few days before Christmas, featuring the first F1 use of carbon-fibre composite panels, plus brand new sliding skirts and a low-slung wing. Like Chapman’s Lotus 80, it was a step too far and Brabham was forced to row back in 1979, as Watson made way for a young talent fresh from success in British F3: Nelson Piquet was ready to fly – if only the Alfa V12 would let him.

In a season marked by disenchantment, Alfa divorce became inevitable as Murray gladly prepared for a DFV return. Lauda did win a race in the BT48, a non-championship thrash at Imola following the Italian GP. But by Canada the Cosworth-powered BT49 was ready – and Niki had lost interest. He quit after first practice in Montréal, then jetted off to launch his own airline and a new life. As it turned out, he’d be back, with McLaren in 1982, so it’s a stretch to say Piquet’s speed scared him off. But by the end of 1979 it was already clear Ecclestone and Murray had found Brabham’s new muse.

Nelson Piquet, Brabham BT48 Alfa Romeo

Photo by: Rainer W. Schlegelmilch / Motorsport Images

As the new decade dawned, ground-effect missiles on 2000lb springs found their critical centres of pressure. Williams and its Lotus 79-influenced FW07 had emerged as the new force, but Brabham and Piquet gave Alan Jones a hard run for his title in 1980. Piquet won at Long Beach, Zandvoort and Imola, then headed to Montréal with a one-point lead. Scurrilous talk of special fuel swooshed around Nelson’s stunning pole lap, but at the first corner the title rivals clashed and, in the spare car for the restart, Piquet’s challenge went bang with a piston failure. Still, there was always 1981.

Amid the cacophony and distraction – to Ecclestone at least – of the raging FISA/FOCA war and the battle for control of F1, Piquet and Brabham duelled with Williams once more. But instead of Jones, it was old ally Reutemann who emerged as the title threat. Tempers frayed over flexible skirts, minimum ride-height circumventing hydro-pneumatic suspension and lightweight qualifying cars – already a Murray-era Brabham tradition – while form fluctuated with other teams on the merits or otherwise of Michelin vs Goodyear tyres. It was a tumultuous season, which ended in suitably off-the-wall circumstances in the car park of the Caesars Palace casino, Las Vegas.

In blistering heat and facing a one-point deficit, Piquet was on the back foot as Reutemann claimed pole – only to pull his famous disappearing act in the race. What happened to Carlos that day remains a tantalising mystery, but he sailed backwards for whatever reason to a miserable eighth as unfit Piquet fought exhaustion to score fifth and the two points he needed to become Brabham’s first world champion since Denny Hulme in 1967.

Finally, Ecclestone and Murray had the title their 10-year quest deserved. But the best was yet to come. At Silverstone, Piquet had left everyone gasping with the straight-line oomph of the whistling Brabham-BMW BT50 when he gave it a blast through practice. The DFV’s day wasn’t yet spent, but it was numbered – and Brabham was champing to turn up the wick and embrace the turbo revolution.

Brabham BT50-BMW engine detail

Photo by: Motorsport Images