When plucky private entrants could afford to go GP racing, and how F1 changed with the rise of commercialisation

Silverstone has moved on since the days when post-race entertainment amounted to Eddie Jordan backing a truck and trailer into the paddock and performing with his band, The Robbers. They were brilliant, aided on vocals by the likes of Damon Hill, Johnny Herbert and any other Formula 1 driver collared by EJ. There was no sign of leading musical acts such Christina Aguilera or Justin Timberlake. Not that they were needed. This was F1 letting its hair down in a gloriously impromptu way. 

It was no coincidence that Bernie Ecclestone’s forbidding grey motorhome had long been vacated. The man at the centre of the F1 universe was not noted for being in favour of people having a good time – particularly if he wasn’t getting a cut of the takings. Mr E’s mindset was all about high prices, high fences and keeping people out on the basis that you weren’t allowed onto the turf at Wembley during FA Cup Final day. Admittedly, that does make sense when you see the Monaco grid and the mass migration of self-important B-listers studiously avoiding the nearly famous Martin Brundle. 

It’s a sign of the times. Clicking onto the Silverstone British Grand Prix website recently, I had to scroll some way down a list of ‘Global Artists’ on the lead page before finding mention of a racing driver. Apparently there’s a grand prix on as a warm-up to Glastonbury Northants. 

When I first came to Silverstone to spectate at the British GP in 1967, the cultural highlight was watching John Surtees tuck into a Full English in the paddock cafe on Saturday morning. But to be fair, if you’d said Pink Floyd was on stage post-race in the paddock, I’d actually have given up a restorative pint of Guinness to witness the rising stars of psychedelic rock. The thought of a Pink Floyd gig happening way back then was as unlikely as Fernando Alonso holding a Sunday evening symposium on the wisdom of making the right choices in life.

Rather than join the quaint annual English festival of having a couple of hundred motorists aiming for a single exit to a field, a more suitable post-race alternative in 1967 was to wander the paddock (free access to all) and watch each team load its cars and entire kit into a single transporter – or onto the back of a VW pick-up if you were the plucky private entrant, Bob Anderson. 

In case you’re wondering, a private entrant was a person like you or me who decided it would be fun to go GP racing without being encumbered by a two hundred zillion quid entry fee and a fiscal examination by affluent F1 teams who didn’t want you there in the first place. By today’s standards, poor Bob wouldn’t have made it, judging by the out-of-date road tax disc on the windscreen of the VW.

Anderson is sized up by Pedro Rodriguez at Silverstone in 1967

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When my mate cheekily pointed out the non-payment of vehicle excise duty, Bob said he wasn’t bothered because most of his motoring was done in Europe. It was saving him £19 and 5 shillings (in pre-decimal currency), which was worth having when living off start and (hopefully) prize money while generally enjoying life with his Brabham-Climax BT11. 

We Ulster lads considered Anderson a quiet hero – as you would be after winning the fearsomely fast North West 200 motorbike race and finishing second to no less than Surtees in the Isle of Man Senior TT. A back injury led to Anderson’s switch to cars at the comparatively late age of 29, and he was later voted the most successful F1 private entrant in 1964. 

A couple of weeks after our chat, Bob returned to Silverstone for a mid-week test session. He lost control on the wet track and smashed into an empty marshals’ post, succumbing to his injuries a few hours later. We were deeply saddened by his loss and often ruminated on how Anderson might have struggled as F1 changed out of sight with the advent of commercial sponsorship in 1968. 

Watching this comedy act with us was Clay Regazzoni. He, too, was sitting on the grass with his mates as they enjoyed a drink in the early evening sunshine

That conversation might have come up post-race at Brands Hatch in 1970 as we sat outside the Paddock Bar and watched the antics of Gold Leaf Team Lotus in the scrutineering bay. Jochen Rindt had been denied a British GP win thanks to the rear wing of his Lotus 72 being a fraction too high when measured in the pitlane. Miraculously, the car was later declared legal due, in no small part, to judicious pulling and pressing by the heavy-handed Lotus crew as they pushed the car from the pitlane, through a tunnel and into the scrutineering bay in the paddock. 

Watching this comedy act with us was Clay Regazzoni. He, too, was sitting on the grass with his mates as they enjoyed a drink in the early evening sunshine. A few hours before, Clay had finished fourth in a Ferrari. Not that you would have known it judging by his typically relaxed demeanour. 

Don’t expect to see whoever finishes fourth this year chilling out on the British Racing Drivers’ Club lawn. They’ll be too busy acting as support act on stage to someone likely receiving more in one evening than the average F1 driver earns in a season. Eddie Jordan considered himself lucky not to be charged for temporarily parking his trailer in the hallowed paddock.

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Rindt and the Lotus team managing to squeeze their car through scrutineering provided entertainment for onlookers

Photo by: David Phipps / Sutton Images via Getty Images