1968 My Monte Carlo Story – Beatty Crawford

My 1968 Monte Carlo Rallye: Character Building!

It all began when I received a phone call from Robin Eyre-Maunsell asking me if I would like to navigate for him in a Hillman Imp. My initial reaction was to jump at the chance, although Robin’s fearsome reputation for putting cars over the edge was a bit off-putting. Robin is a chip of the old block. His father Charles was a charming and debonair gentleman, and always seemed to be smiling at life. He raced and rallied with great aplomb but the adrenaline and red mist often seemed to get the better of him.

He once spun off into the infield at Fisherman’s Bend at Kirkistown and knocked down my brother Esler, who was photographing at close quarters. In those days there wasn’t even a guard rail, only a few straw bales for protection from wayward cars. Fortunately neither suffered any real injury.  I once navigated for Charles on a night navigation event in a Sunbeam Rapier and it was most frustrating because we had to stop every half hour so that he could have a pee because his prostate was giving him trouble! But he was such a charming man that I couldn’t complain.

Robin has inherited those genes and more. Full of enthusiasm and still competing regularly, he has never taken his driving ability too seriously. Despite my misgivings I jumped at the chance and then Robin had the temerity to ask if I would go out for a test drive with me driving. I told you that he was a risk taker. So he came down in an Imp to my parent’s house in Whitehead and we went for a thrash on Islandmagee one Sunday evening in December. There just happened to be some snow and ice on the ground and I found the Imp quite forgiving, compared to the VW which I normally drove. I must have passed since we arranged to meet in Nice in early January to do a recee of the common route.

I was training as a radiologist in the Royal Victoria Hospital and had limited time off, so I flew to Nice while Robin picked up a rally prepared Imp at the factory in Coventry and drove down through France. We were supposed to rendezvous at Nice Airport around lunch time, so by the time 5.00pm arrived and no sign of Robin, I was starting to get a bit frantic. You must remember there were no cell phones. Eventually he arrived with tales of all sorts of woes. Have you ever known a rally car to be ready in time?

First thing we did was find a pension in the mountains just outside Nice and as soon as we were ensconced we headed back down to Nice for a bite to eat and a glass of wine. We didn’t drink much…. honestly. We had a very nice meal and we set off for the pension. We were tootling up the serpentine road when suddenly Robin decided to “have a mow” up through the hairpins with the big drops, you know the sort of place!

But he forgot two things……studded tyres and dry tarmac. He was going great guns and slid around a tight hairpin left with the tail out. I could see a hairpin right looming up. Unfortunately the red mist blinded Robin and by the time he saw the hairpin we were over the edge. Studded tyres + dry tarmac = no grip.

I had no idea how far the drop was since it was pitch black and we had gone straight through a low concrete parapet wall, so we had no lights. Fortunately it was only 10 feet or so and even more fortunately we were both wearing full harness seat belts. But that didn’t stop my glasses taking off on their own trajectory and I am blind without glasses. Apart from that I was uninjured.

Robin wasn’t so fortunate. The steering wheel had been pushed back and something had to give and it was Robin’s wrist.  Now Robin has definitely a stiff upper lip and is certainly not a complainer, but he was definitely in pain.  So there we were in pitch blackness, I was blind so couldn’t search for my glasses and I didn’t know if it was fresh air for hundreds of feet below should I decide to get out the door. Eventually the one armed, barely conscious Robin, found my glasses and they were unbroken so at least I could see. It was late at night, there was no traffic so what does one do? Shout for help of course, so we shouted “au secours” and eventually someone arrived and they helped us climb back up to the road.

Then they found a phone box and called for an ambulance. That is when we fell in with the local mafia, unbeknownst to us. We later found out that the ambulance was delayed because the road below was blocked with the chunks of concrete from the parapet wall which we had demolished as we launched into space. It was a bad accident and could have been a lot worse since the spare wheel, which had been lying in the back, flew out the driver’s door which had burst open upon impact. The door was bent in two against the stone wall which we had just flown over. The wheel must have narrowly missed Robin, who presumably had been violently thrust forward upon impact.

As the ambulance arrived, so did a tow truck. The tow truck people were very nice and helpful and said they would look after the car but they would need the Green Card and registration documents.  We were most grateful and in no fit state even to think or question how they knew where we were and so we gave them all the documents.  I accompanied Robin to the hospital where he was admitted overnight. 

Early next morning I went to see Robin and he was on his way for an X ray, so being a radiologist I accompanied him. First thing I noticed that they were taking X rays in a big open room with no lead lined walls or lead aprons for protection. I hid around a corner every time they took a film and all the radiographers laughed at me. 

I had a look at Robin’s X ray and he had badly broken his wrist (Smith fracture for any doctors reading). An orthopaedic surgeon looked at it, said something in French and produced a long thin metal rod. Robin looked at me aghast and asked me what this was for but I lied and said I wasn’t sure. He soon found out. The surgeon injected local anaesthetic into his wrist, reduced the fracture, pushed the rod through the broken pieces to stabilise them and when they re-X rayed the position was perfect. Was I impressed!!!  Robin was soon allowed out of hospital and then the fun began.

First job was to get the car back to the UK. In the meantime it was obvious that Robin couldn’t drive in the Monte so I suggested that we ask Adrian Boyd to drive. Adrian jumped at the chance. We found the garage where the Imp was located and Robin was presented with a huge bill.  If we didn’t pay they told us that they wouldn’t release the car and they had all the documents. This was the local Mafia scam. They monitored the ambulance and police radios and when they heard of an accident they were first on the spot with a tow truck.

Robin, who speaks excellent French, told them he was going to the police and after a lot of haggling they released the car and the RAC took it back to Belfast on a truck since it was virtually a total wreck. RAC insurance sure made a loss on that deal!

The Rallye

Now with Adrian Boyd at the wheel, we started the 3300 kilometre (2000 mile) route in Dover, one of eight different starting points in Europe.  After 1200 kms nonstop we joined up in Monte Carlo with the other 242 competitors and had a night sleep before we set out on another 1500 kms loop back to Monte Carlo. The top 50 crews then got one more night sleep before setting off on a  620 kms route which included the famous Col de Turini special stage. 

We left Dover at 2.02 am on Sunday morning, January 20, last of the 32 entrants who started in the UK and number 197 in a field of 243 crews.  We went straight on to the ferry to Calais. The first time control was in the centre of Brussels and it should have been an easy drive. I then made a mistake which has troubled me ever since. We ran into thick fog and I didn’t push Adrian hard enough to drive faster. We were on main roads and I didn’t think there would be any problem being on time. We hadn’t done a recce of this part of the route so it was all new to me and I hadn’t reckoned on the rush hour traffic jams in Brussels. To my chagrin we were 8 mins late. In retrospect I’m not so sure Adrian could have gone much faster because once again we were on studded tyres on dry tarmac.

We plodded on all next day, the Imp was only 998cc so it certainly didn’t set the world on fire.  Then in early evening we suddenly smelled oil. Adrian immediately turned off the engine and upon opening the boot discovered oil everywhere.  We now had a bit of luck. We were at the edge of a village and were able to freewheel to where we saw a small garage which was still open even though by this time it was dark. We quickly got the car up on a hoist and discovered that the oil cooler had burst. We had no service crew but we were able to bypass the cooler but this all took a long time since we had to remove the sump guard.

When we checked the oil level it was just touching the bottom of the dipstick. Normally this would be no problem but we were running on synthetic oil, which was a relatively new thing at the time. We didn’t have a spare can and there was no such oil in rural France. We had been told by the Rootes mechanics not to mix normal oil with the synthetic version so we had no option but to drive on and hope we wouldn’t run out of oil. We had lost 16 more minutes at the next control. We had no more service until we arrived in Monaco.

What should have been a relatively easy run to Monte Carlo now turned into a nightmare. We were running last on the road and because we were 24 minutes late many of the time control marshals were in the midst of packing up when we arrived. We couldn’t make up time because if we did we would have penalised for every minute.  Most controls were in the centre of towns and all the crowds of spectators and Gendarmes had gone home, so there was no one to wave us in the right direction. All navigation was on maps, no tulips, and navigating through towns is my worst nightmare. We couldn’t team up with other crews and share navigation so Adrian had to drive with no sleep for two days and nights. It isn’t funny when your driver tells you at 4.00am, while driving down an Alpine pass with huge drops, that he is seeing rocks and people in the middle of the road, particularly when the road is perfectly clear! It was a bloody nightmare.

We were so relieved to arrive in the warm sunshine of Monte Carlo. Never was I so glad to sit down with Ernest McMillen and Brian Metcalfe for a glass of beer and then a good night’s sleep. We did take part in the next section without any more drama but didn’t make the final 50 since we had already lost too much time. Our team mates Andrew Cowan/Brian Coyle finished 22nd, not bad for such an underpowered car. Rosemary Smith was in another Imp and finished a very credible 33^rd. We finished a lowly 74^th but at least we finished and there were only 79 of us. Amongst the 164 retirements was the only other crew from Ireland, John L’Amie and Roy Hamilton.

Vic Elford/David Stone won in a Porsche 911T. Pauli Toivonen (father of Henri) and Martti Tiukkanen took second in a Porsche 911S.  Rauno Aaltonen/Henry Liddon were third, Tony Fall/Mike Wood finished 4th and Paddy Hopkirk/Ron Crellin in 5^th position, all three in the once all conquering Mini Coopers. This was to be the swan song of the 1293cc machines since they were no longer a match for the 2.0 litre Porsches.

On reviewing the entry list, most remarkable was the plethora of other brilliant drivers such as Timo Makinen, Waldegard, Ake and Ove Anderson, Munari, Pat Moss, Mikkola, Piot, Soderstom, Jean-Claude Ogier, Bianchi, Larousse, Trautman and more…..anyone of whom could have won.

As Paddy Hopkirk once told me “ Rallying can be like hitting your head against a stone wall, it’s great when you stop.“ We started by knocking down a stone wall and finished ……..well we finished with a great story to tell.

Post Script. It’s amazing what one finds out on Facebook This is from Robert John Edmund.

 The story of the doomed recce car doesn’t end there. Robin’s father was reported to be not well pleased when the remains arrived back in Belfast and immediately dispatched the car to a local scrapyard (or so the story goes). At lunch time one of the fitters, who also prepared cars for various local Imp competitors, knowing what had happened, headed off to the yard and casually enquired if they had an Imp gearbox and pointed to the car that had just arrived. He stripped the works close ratio box from it, paid and left. Later that day the facts of the matter came to light and an attempt was made to retrieve the gear box but too late. How do I know this? – well the gearbox ended up in what is now my car and I still have it.