Why the first Williams F1 car was named after a toy company

A few weeks ago the Williams Formula 1 team loudly tooted its own trumpet after launching its car early, then sat back with some satisfaction when it turned out to be reasonably quick. It hasn’t always been so in recent years – or even in the distant past.

Indeed, back when the man we know now as Sir Frank Williams was better known in racing circles under the humbler sobriquet of “Wanker Williams”, his first in-house car arrived several months late and didn’t make it through its first race meeting.

It took Frank over a decade to become an overnight success. The modern Williams team was founded in 1977 and won its first grand prix two seasons later; in the years beforehand, Frank was one of those perpetually impoverished figures hovering at the margins, attracting both sympathy and scorn as he ducked and dived to get cars to the grid.

Arriving in F1 in 1969 running a second-hand Brabham for his friend Piers Courage, the former travelling salesman then pieced together a deal to run a new car built by Italian sportscar manufacturer De Tomaso the following season, but that project ran out of steam following Courage’s fatal accident at Zandvoort. Back in hand-to-mouth mode, Williams found money from the French oil company Motul to run March chassis in both F1 and F2 with Henri Pescarolo, while Brazilian newcomer Carlos Pace brought enough funds to compete in a second F2 car.

The 1971 season came disastrously a-cropper because the March cars generally weren’t fast enough. Another attendant risk was Pescarolo; the man who would become known as a safe pair of hands at Le Mans was anything but in a Formula 1 car, and the repair bills mounted up.

For 1972 Williams decided to fight on just one front – F1 – and not waste time with slow off-the-shelf cars. Money continued to be tight: as his future wife, Virginia, described in her memoirs A Different Kind Of Life, profits from the sale of a property she had sold, plus income from her trust fund, ended up burned on the fire of motor racing.

Focusing on just F1 for 1972, money was still tight for Frank Williams (pictured with Carlos Pace)

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Another individual from whom Williams cadged money – and lifts to circuits – was the motoring journalist Mike Doodson, whose recall of the era is quoted in Maurice Hamilton’s book Williams: “During one period when the bailiffs were particularly active, he [Frank] actually conducted business from a call box, inspiring an episode of Minder where Arthur Daley was similarly down on his luck. Strangely, when he informed me towards the end of 1971 that he was building a Formula 1 car, Frank’s major preoccupation wasn’t the money but what name to give it.

“To call it a Williams, he insisted, would be outrageously pretentious: ‘Ken Tyrrell can put his name on his cars because he has achieved so much,’ he said. ‘I will never be as good as that, so come on, Doods, what are we going to call it?’

“My suggestion was Wanker-Ford, a moniker our hero had earned for his hapless management and mounting indebtedness.”

When it became clear the FX3 wouldn’t be ready for the start of the 1972 season, Frank had to go knocking on Max Mosley’s door at March again, soliciting one of the 721 interim cars

Frank duly wangled £40,000 from the Italian model company Politoys on the promise that the new car would bear its name. To design and fabricate what would become the Politoys FX3, Frank turned to providers who could do all the work under one roof: Maurice Gomm’s well-regarded metalworks in Old Woking, where ex-JW Automotive engineer Len Bailey operated a freelance design consultancy.

The injection of funds also enabled Frank Williams Racing Cars to move from Bath Road in Slough to Bennet Road, Reading – bigger facilities but not ones with a flat above, so he briefly took to sleeping on the sofa of his friend Charles Crichton-Stuart’s flat in Harrow (again).

Although Bailey’s credentials included work on the Le Mans-winning Ford GT40, he had never designed a grand prix car before – and he was kept busy with better-paying clients such as his former boss John Wyer, for whom Bailey created the Mirage M6. When it became clear the FX3 wouldn’t be ready for the start of the 1972 season, Frank had to go knocking on Max Mosley’s door at March again, soliciting one of the 721 interim cars (effectively a warmed-over 711 from the previous season). Motul contributed £40,000 provided Pescarolo would drive it. Pace found £10,000 to compete in the 711 Pescarolo had raced the previous year.

Pescarolo's crashes forced Williams' hand with the 721

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Williams would later describe the Politoys as “a baptism of fire”. When Pescarolo shunted the 721 so comprehensively in practice for the French Grand Prix that he couldn’t start the race, the debut of the new car could no longer be put off.

By this point – round seven of the championship at Brands Hatch, in mid-July – former Brabham co-owner Ron Tauranac had also worked on the FX3 but it was some way short of being sorted. The Cosworth V8 spitting chunks of valve out of the exhaust on day one did not help. Only one car was slower in practice, Francois Migault’s Connew (also making its GP debut) but, when it was withdrawn with cracked suspension mounts, Pescarolo started the FX3 from last on the grid.

“Going through Dingle Dell for the eighth time,” went Autosport’s report, “something failed, either the suspension or steering, and the car hit the metal barriers.”

That’s not quite how Frank would remember it. Next time out, at the Nurburgring, ‘Pesca’ shunted the rebuilt March. By the end of the season he’d strung together six consecutive failures to qualify, start or finish through crashes.

“I was naive in those days,” said Williams. “I should have said, ‘Henri, you’re not cut out for this, now fuck off. I’ll keep the sponsorship money from Motul.’”

The sole FX3 chassis was taken to Monza as a spare, then raced by Chris Amon in the non-championship John Player Challenge at Brands Hatch in October, where its engine let go. Frank was by now ready to run up the white flag but a development ahead of the 1973 season stayed his hand.

These were the early days of Bernie Ecclestone mobilising the teams as FOCA (Formula One Constructors’ Association) and bargaining collectively with race organisers for better financial terms. As part of this, FOCA took a fee from promoters for assuring a set number of cars per race and offered subsidised travel and freight – but only for teams making their own cars.

New backing from Marlboro gave Williams fresh impetus with the FX3

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Thus the Politoys enjoyed a second life, albeit with a new name as the Italian company stepped down its financial input. Frank was under the financial cosh again but another old friend, Barry Boardman, now occupied a senior marketing position in the Philip Morris empire. Boardman facilitated a meeting with Marlboro’s Patrick Duffeler, who saw the value of obtaining good publicity through being seen to help a struggling team.

Marlboro-backed driver Howden Ganley came as part of the package, and a second FX3 was built on the promise of sponsorship from the Italian sportscar manufacturer Iso-Rivolta and a budget from pay driver Nanni Galli. The FX3, now in B-spec with revised suspension, was rechristened the Iso-Marlboro.

It quickly became apparent that Williams would have to rely on Marlboro money because Galli’s cheque was always in the post and the Iso-Rivolta cash tap sputtered out.

“Iso forgot to pay after the first 5000 lire,” said Williams. “They got loads of publicity and I got loads more debt.”

Money became critical when Virginia’s parents cut off her trust fund income and the bailiffs began to manifest themselves at Bennet Road, removing anything not secured to the floor or walls

The situation was exacerbated by new technical regulations being introduced early in the season (who’d have thought it?), requiring the fuel tanks to be located in deformable structures. This rendered the FX3s obsolete after the first three rounds and only good for non-championship ‘formula libre’ events: ex-March designer John Clarke produced a revised car, badged as the Iso-Marlboro IR.

Money became critical when Virginia’s parents cut off her trust fund income and the bailiffs began to manifest themselves at Bennet Road, removing anything not secured to the floor or walls. Inevitably the phone was cut off, prompting Frank to adopt his infamous public call box routine.

Down but by no means out, Frank recovered and carried on – and, grudgingly at first, began to apply his initials to cars built in his own workshops, kicking off the chain of FWs that has now reached 47.

The two FX3s were sold into private hands. The very first chassis – taken to a best result in period of fourth in the 1973 Race of Champions – is now back on sale via Fiskens having spent some time in a private collection in the US. Somewhat cheekily, it is described as “a Williams” – what would Sir Frank think?

While it never delivered Williams success, the Politoys FX3 enabled the F1 legend to move towards greater things

Photo by: Motorsport Images