"Where do Grand Prix Drivers go in the Wintertime?"

There's a question that's been worrying motoring enthusiasts in Britain for quite a year or so now. One minute Messrs. Brabham, Clark, Hill, Stewart and Co. are very much in evidence - enlivening the motoring dinners and dances with which we try temporarily to forget the English winter. And then before the Christmas "empties" have been returned to the pubs the star speechmakers and occasional cabaret turns vanish from the scene. For two months there are rumblings from "Down Under" and then they reappear boastfully tanned and smiling secretively. This year as frost spread over my windscreen and the plumber came round to check the pipes I decided I could stand it no longer. I would venture into the unknown to find out for myself the attractions that lured our aces to Australasia. Now I can tell all. The drivers we see tense, and occasionally testy, during the incredibly crowded European season with a race in a different country every weekend and sometimes even two a week, change character like chameleons when they arrive in the Antipodes. Gone are the urgencies of all the businesses they have to run on the side. Gone is the constant demand which a public-aided and abetted by TV, Fleet Street and the magazine world constantly makes on its heroes. Team managers cannot summon them day and night to test this change on that car, another modification on this car. The 'phones stop ringing. The fan-mail can temporarily be put aside. In short, the men whose 55 races a year can mean as much as 195,000 miles of travelling alone can concentrate on just one race a week and, inbetween time, RELAX. At least, they call it relaxing. To a typewriter jockey who hung up his soccer boots when the studs fell out last year, it is more like a commando course. These GP drivers may not look very big. But, by gosh, they're awfully energetic. And they'll have a go at ANYTHING. Water-skiing is, perhaps surprisingly, their first love. It may not be the coming sport on Loch Ness, but it's a firm favourite with the two Flying Scots, Jim Clark and Jackie Stewart. They could hardly wait to unpack in Auckland before heading for the beaches to try and improve their one-ski take-offs and try the trick skis. And Australia's Frank Gardner a water-baby if ever there was one was there to act as pacesetter. Of course the ski-boats themselves were an added attraction. An impromptu power-boat race on Lake Karapiro would have drawn the crowds any day of the week. Next, you can probably guess, came Golf. I don't know what the pundits at St Andrews would think of some of the strokes pulled by Clark and Stewart and I don't mean golf strokes but they managed to beat Australasia twice: first represented by Frank Gardner and Tony Shelley and secondly by Frank and no less a novice than Jack Brabham himself. Perhaps by this time next year, the divots will have settled back into place -the new geysers which spurted from maltreated bunkers will have run out of steam and Australasia can try again. I'm afraid I have to report yet another defeat for the locals at Cricket. New Zealand driver Chris Amon has now become resigned to the fact that his lawn will be the setting for an annual Test Match between the visiting firemen and an Australasian eleven starring such notables as Kevin Bartlett, Frank Gardner, the Alec Mildren mechanics, NZBC commentator, Bill Bryce, Kiwi ace journalist, Eoin Young, Sydney's Rod Blair, etc., etc. But we from Britain have a secret weapon. We call him Tim Parnell! Gaze across the pits today and you will see an imposing figure whose fast bowling launched from the camouflage of a clump of bushes! would even have made Fred Truman proud. And the coincidence that his wife, Virginia Parnell, was scoring is nothing to do with the fact that he scored 38 not out and won the day for England and its haggis-eating allies. Perhaps the most exciting part of the trip so far, however, has been a morning at a "trotting" stable near Christchurch. In Britain we don't have this particular branch of the betting game "The fastest horse and cart racing in the world" as Jim Clark irreverently put it. But we were anxious to see some during our stay and Mr. Derek Jones, a famous N.Z. trainer, went one better. He persuaded Jim Clark and Richard Attwood to swap their 200-horsepower cars for one-horsepower sulkies-with some hilarious effects. Jim Clark was even tempted into wearing the full jockey's regalia-bright scarlet and white silks, peaked cap, natty breeches and all. "This would cause a sensation at Brands Hatch" was his wry comment. He didn't look quite so natty when he finished a few Ben Hur style laps behind a fierce-looking horse called, appropriately, Regal Scot. I'm afraid the Flying Scot and his near namesake weren't entirely in harmony. "It steers alright -but where are the brakes" was a dust-covered Jimmy's verdict. Top jockeys and drivers have little to fear. Add to these experiences jet-boating, fishing, flying (once in a crop-spraying plane), hunting and shooting and you will see that the visiting drivers have made the most of the wealth of facilities your climate and your own sporting attitudes makes available. And the result of course-has been some splendid motor-racing from drivers at the peak of their physical and mental form. I must concede that you "Down Under" enthusiasts are among the luckiest in the world. Your wonderful weather, your incredible hospitality and your sporting heritage makes this a Winter Sporting paradise for some of the keenest sportsmen in the world. We'll just have to get used to losing our Grand Prix aces to you in the Winter. And content ourselves with playing darts with the plumber!

Article written by Barrie Gill. Every effort has been made to trace the owners of copyright and we apologise to any we have been unable to contact.