Jack O'Ferrall
Former UKGPL Moderators
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« Reply #7 on: June 09, 2008, 12:55:02 AM +0100 » |
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REED, MARQUE, LEARN: THE JACK O’FERRALL STORY
Nurburgring June 8
…Granted: it was cold and raining in the Eifel Mountains as we were driven to the track, with the Schloss Nurburg looming up at us out from the fog. Ian had suffered from a hereditary problem the previous race and had also been unable to practice, which meant that the enormous demands of leading Reed at the Nurburgring would fall on my inexperienced shoulders. However there was a bright spot- not the news that the fog would lift in time for the race, since that always happened, otherwise the place would be ***dy undriveable- it was that Loot’s Roller had passed us on the road. Evidently my stirring sixth at Zandvoort had led to a return of confidence in Reed’s owner, though we were slightly perplexed as to how this could be so. We were met at the entrance by a small man in a dark coat. 'Herr Stanley? Herr Overall?' 'It's pronounced O’Ferrall,' I retorted. He looked at me uncertainly 'You say Overall?' 'O’Ferrall. You must be-' 'My name is Egon,' he said firmly. 'You… You and Herr Stanley are to go on to the Schloss Nurburg. The Herr Gresham has been appointed to the administration, and there is to be a ball. Walk this way.' He proceeded to another car in quite a curious fashion, and we followed. 'The Gemahlin at the Schloss is of extraordinary beauty, perhaps you like to make yourself neat before the ball?' 'That explains why Loot's turned up,' I said to Ian 'Pretty nobility. I wonder if she'll make up for Grace Kelly though.' 'Herr Overall, the young lady in question is of surpassing allure. I do not doubt that your Lord will be quite captivated.' 'She's not Grace Kelly though, Egon, is she?' 'You take the blonde, I'll take the one in the Nurburg. Rowr.'… Hello handsome. Look at that boyish face, look at that sweet smile. I was ready for the minor German nobility and whatever in the way of Wagnerian motor racing they could throw at me. I completed dressing and proceeded to table. We were sat far away from Loot and Tom at the head of the table, who I noticed had already taken a fair few drinks on board. 'I hope Tom's going to be alright,' I said to Ian. 'Me he can drink with, but every time he tries to match glasses with Loot he gets schlossed rather rapidly. Funny enough, I find Loot the easier of the two, I never could sup with Tom Gresham. Look, that's another glass of Liebfraumilch already.' Loot began his speech with the familiar courtesies, and then proceeded to laud Tom as a 'fine example of the breed, a rider, a hunter, a fencer, every manifest inch an honest English gentleman'. It is to be admitted that Tom had never got drunk and stark naked waving his sword in the air singing dodgy songs when there were ladies present. The "Bathtub Song", that began 'Chapman has a lightweight chassis' for example. So as long as the assorted Frauleins and Herren, some of whom were indeed fetching, were to remain, we should be alright. Unfortunately after Tom had made his formal acceptance speech, they left for the ballroom, and the real drinking began. So much for intellectual and philosophical pleasure. One of the dignitaries was trying to praise some of the decoration to me 'Art is truly the third hunger', it was all blurry, had the girls come back? After motor racing and good whiskey, it would be lucky to get two points and fifth. I decided a simple mechanical demonstration of balance and coordination would overawe him, so I stood on the table, which is when I noticed Tom was stood on the table too. He wasn't going to sing? Not all Tom's songs might be appropriate…it might get nasty… 'For safety's sake don't humiliate him!' I decided to encourage him to dance instead 'Come on! 5-6-7-8!!! 5-6-7-8!!' I shouted. He looked somewhat dazed but he smiled and began to shuffle, unfortunately I noticed, too late, that his trousers were around his ankles and he fell over onto the crystal. He had to be taken to hospital.
The pit lane at the Nordschleife is no place to be if you have a bad head, and I wasn't sure what stage the race had got to, was this still the first practice? The Crash’n’Burn mob looked confident, with four drivers they must have been able to spread the load better last night. I thought I'd go for a little gamesmanship at the start, Graham Hill style, so I went up to their Brabham, tapped its front tyre, then gave them a slight knowing smile and went off with a spring in my step. Sort of crawled off, anyway. They didn't appear to notice me. Super-duper. Perhaps if I threw up in their trophy cabinet?
Qualification went cautiously, but I managed to get onto the third row with a sub-9min lap, I wasn't ambitious. There were a few cars strewn about after the first corner, but I'd started even more badly than I usually had and arrived about three seconds later to slalom around them, and off into the green hell! I had a moment approaching Bergwerk and a Cooper passed me as I flirted casually with the grass, then on the second lap a Brabham sped past on the back straight, but I had got into something of a Ring trance when I placed the car poorly on a downhill and went into the fence in second gear. Nothing broken and I reversed back on track easily, but that could have been my race, instead of a dozen seconds on the lap. My pit board kept telling me that I was between 9s and 18s behind, I finished a minute off, Loot should definitely stay away from the races. Fourth though, and Ian was sixth. Phil was Ringmeister, champagne, silly hats and leather trousers for him and Crash’n’Burn. Tom was there at the finish, I wondered if he was going to congratulate me but he looked annoyed. 'What the hell were you up to last night? I got a glass stem in my leg. Loot said it was eerie, same place as Hill. Then he said I was a damn fool and at least Hill had been trying to fondle a stripper, not entertaining fat Germans.' I stumbled that I had been worried that he might sing. 'One chorus of Tomorrow Belongs To Me and that would have been it for you in the racing business,' I mumbled. 'Which one had you and the god Bacchus decided on?' He looked searchingly at me for a moment, then replied 'Sweet Mystery Of Life'.
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