Winning on demand

Derek Bennett didn’t plan to be a manufacturer, but when his Chevrons started winning, customers started ringing. Eighty years on from his birth, we recall an often overlooked talent

Vittorio Jano, Alec Issigonis, Colin Chapman, Carroll Shelby, Mauro Forghieri, Gordon Murray, Adrian Newey… Some automotive designers have an eternally high profile, but you’ll rarely see Derek Bennett’s name cited in such company. An injustice, perhaps, but the evidence suggests he wouldn’t have wanted things any other way. Born 80 years ago in Manchester, he was a quiet, industrious figure who preferred the lathe to the limelight – a self-taught engineer who was also exceptionally handy behind the wheel.

“Derek and I first met at the Belle Vue speedway track,” says Paul Owens, who became a pivotal cog throughout Chevron’s heyday. “I was 15 and having a practice ride on a speedway bike. I noticed some midget racers in the paddock. I’d seen a few parked in Salford, where I lived, so I wandered over and asked the driver where he was based, and whether I could pop over some time to have a proper look. It was Derek and that was the beginning of a long-lasting friendship.”

Without sufficient money to buy a racing car, Bennett’s solution was to build his own – and he raised cash for that by repairing and preparing road and racing cars from small premises in Frederick Road, Salford. “He was very good at that kind of thing,” Owens says.

“He undertook lots of inventive projects before I knew him: he once made a gearbox in his back garden by digging a hole in the ground and pouring in aluminium that he’d melted on a stove. He was very inventive in that kind of way. Much of his dexterity could be traced to his love of making and flying model aircraft – a hobby he inherited from his mother, who competed successfully. That’s where he learned about wings and creating lift without drag.

“In the early days I began serving an apprenticeship with another firm and, after finishing my daily job, I’d go to Derek’s garage, work from five until seven, then we’d repair to my mother’s for dinner before returning to the garage until about midnight. That’s what we did seven days a week, repairing or preparing road and racing cars. As time went on Derek taught me more and more. We did occasionally go out for drinks together and chase girls, as you do. We even shared a girlfriend at one stage, if memory serves – I think he pinched her from me, but it never affected our friendship. We were colleagues, but very much mates.”

His earliest cars – for the 750 and 1172 Formulae, plus a one-off Formula Junior – were known as Bennett Specials and were for the most part competitive.

“His 750 was quick, although the engine kept breaking,” Owens says. “With the side-valve 1172 it was difficult optimising the compression ratio and gas flow, so he machined the head so that a piston came out of the top and into the head, to create a good throat for the gases to flow. He did his own Formula Junior engine, too. He decided he wanted big valves, but they wouldn’t fit because they’d be too close to the exhaust valve and cylinder. That led him to devise offset valve guides, which Cosworth introduced as a tweak about two years later. Derek had a knack of overcoming problems, but the wider world didn’t always know what he was doing. He just thought logically and got on with things.”

The transition from home-building to full-scale manufacture began slowly, but soon gathered pace. “We’d been repairing a Daimler Dart for racer Brian Classick,” Owens says, “and Derek proposed to Brian that they should perhaps try their hand at Clubmans. Brian agreed and we set about building two chassis. We had engines, gearboxes and four wheels, then kind of perched on a plank of wood to see where the driver needed to sit and where everything else should be. On that basis we were then able to make chassis frames.

“During the build process, a couple of us said, ‘Derek, we can’t enter these as Bennett Specials, we need something more creative’. He wasn’t keen on that type of thing, but one day we popped into a local garage where we used to buy nuts, bolts, fan belts and other bits and bobs we needed. We were standing at the counter and there was a big poster featuring all the UK’s road markings and signs. Among them was one that read, ‘chevron, a distinguishing mark’ – and we said, ‘Chevron – that’s what we’ll call ourselves’. It was the ‘distinguishing mark’ bit that attracted us.”

Bennett had moved between modest premises in Salford and was in School Street when the first Chevron, christened B1, came into being, “We took the cars to Kirkistown,” Owens says, “and Derek was also driving a Brabham BT14 in the Formula Libre race so I was entrusted with shaking down the B1, which made me the first person ever to drive a Chevron. Derek then took over and won the car’s maiden race at a canter. After that, a lot of people were interested in buying replicas and that sparked the move to the company’s spiritual home in Bolton. The School Street premises could only really accommodate two cars… and one of Derek’s friends, Tommy Humphries, used part of the garage to do resprays. When he started you had to leave because of the fumes – although I’m not sure he ever wore a mask.”

Chevron moved into a converted mill and Bennett designed an uprated Clubmans chassis, the B2. “People then began asking whether we could add a roof,” Owens says. “The answer was ‘Not really’, but if people wanted a fixed-head GT then Derek said he’d build one, hence the B4, B5, B6s and B8s. They were all evolutions of each other.

“By then we had six or seven people working with us and were wondering what to do next. Rodney Bloor at Sports Motors was the Brabham agent in Manchester and suggested we make a single-seater. He said he’d get Peter Gethin to drive it and that began another long relationship.” The B7 made its debut at Brands Hatch in October 1967 and Gethin set fastest lap en route to second behind John Miles’s Lotus 41, but lost the place when he was penalised for jumping the start.

In a very short space of time Chevron had morphed from a builder of low-volume club racers into a company with widespread racing interests, similar in nature to Lola (established in 1958) and March, whose foundation was still a couple of years away. The company was a motor racing staple through the 1970s and scored some memorable victories, not least Peter Gethin’s conquest of F1 opposition with a B24 F5000 car in the 1973 Race of Champions at Brands Hatch.

“My favourite Chevron,” says Owens, “was probably the B19 two-litre sports car, which evolved from the B16 Spyder. Brian Redman was leading the 1970 Nürburgring 500Kms in a Spyder when an oil union broke and the car caught fire. We rushed it back to Bolton for repairs, because a fortnight later there was a race at Spa, where Brian had the race of a lifetime with Jo Bonnier’s Lola. They were passing and repassing every lap: they’d pit at the same time, rejoin as one and resume. Then Brian missed a gear and Bonnier had a lead of about eight lengths. We thought that was it, because he’d lost the tow, but on the next lap he came past in the lead having done the same time in a 2.0 Chevron that he’d previously managed in a 3.0 Porsche. On the final lap, Bonnier tried to pass Brian at La Source – and whichever of them won the race would take the title. Both cars spun, but Brian was quickest to select first gear and managed to get across the line – the crowd stood up as one to applaud and I’ve never seen anything quite like it.” Uniquely, every Chevron MODEL would be tested by its creator.

“Many a time Derek was quicker than the regular drivers,” Owens says. “The B16 sports car looked lovely, but was a bit of a dog in the early days, if I’m honest. I drove it a couple of times and it was scary. Anyway, we were testing at Oulton with Tim Schenken and Peter Gethin and they couldn’t get on the pace. Derek jumped in and went about 1.5sec quicker, at which point they realised that – as professionals – they’d better get on with it. Even with the later F5000 cars, B24s and stuff, he would sometimes lap more quickly than the usual driver. That’s how Derek was – just brilliant.”

Eje Elgh has clear memories of the Bennett approach. The Swede came over to the UK in 1977 and, with help from experienced compatriots Ronnie Peterson and Torsten Palm, struck a deal to race one of Bennett’s B38s in the British F3 Championship.

“Ronnie, Torsten and I went to Bolton at the start of the year,” he says, “and it didn’t look anything like a racing car factory – it was just an old brick mill, but inside there was lots of productivity. Dave Wilson and Paul Owens looked after the racing side and disappeared with Ronnie and Torsten to discuss business, which left me to look around on my own. I met Derek very briefly and to me he seemed like a quiet, older gentleman. I only learned subsequently about his background.

“Not long afterwards, I was testing my F3 car at Oulton Park and Derek was there in one of the Ferrari-engined B40 F2 chassis. He had an old helmet, no gloves, thin cotton overalls and I don’t think he wore racing shoes, but the way he drove that car really opened my eyes to his ability. I was super-impressed.”

And how did the B38 feel, for an aspiring young driver? “One word,” Elgh says. “Forgiving. You always knew what would happen and you always had something to work with, because it made you feel confident. That applied to the F3 and F2 cars – and I noticed it again in 2012, when I repurchased my old B38 for the Monaco historic meeting. It allowed me to go faster and faster, even though nowadays I have rubbish eyesight and terrible reactions! It gave me enormous confidence and nothing was ever a surprise.”

Had Elgh considered pursuit of any other bygones? “No,” he says. “Before coming to the UK I was working in my father’s garage and drove in Formula Super Vee. I did some international events, but essentially I was a club racer and couldn’t see myself as a professional.

Then I was taken to England and the B38 transformed my whole life. As a result, Chevron has a huge place in my heart.” Fellow B38 racer Derek Daly was one of Elgh’s rivals in 1977 – and the pair made their F2 debuts simultaneously that season, driving Chevron B40s in Estoril, before graduating full time in 1978.

“The Chevrons were unusual,” Daly says, “because the harder you drove, the faster you went. Nowadays you tend to go more slowly if you push too hard, because you need to be so precise, but Chevrons had a reputation for going faster when you really hammered them across the kerbs and so on. Perhaps they weren’t ultimately as fast as a March over a lap, but over a season it was the best option. The cars were never on edge – Chevron built great, fast, forgiving customer chassis.”

By the time Daly and Elgh came on board, though, Chevron’s days as a successful volume manufacturer were sadly numbered.

“Derek had developed an interest in hang-gliding,” Owens says. “I disapproved, but it was an extension of his interest in aerodynamics and he liked it. He bought a
glider that was basically very good, but had a habit of stalling. He devised a system of Bowden cables and wires to change the wing angles in flight. It worked well, but in March 1978 – while away with my son, who was competing in motocross – I received a message from Derek’s sister, to say that he’d had an accident. Some medical experts came from Manchester to see him in hospital, but nothing could be done. The glider stalled, but there hadn’t been enough space to recover and he hit a hillside. He didn’t have any massive physical injuries, but he was wearing an open-face helmet and caught his temple on a rock.

He hardly had a mark on him. I stayed by his bedside until he died, because he was like a brother to me. I owe my whole career to Derek. I’m lucky to have been fairly successful and, whenever I’ve faced a problem, I’ve always thought, ‘How would Derek have dealt deal with this?’ It’s never done me any harm.” Following Bennett’s death, Chevron had a successful 1978 season – particularly with the B42, in F2. “We weren’t in brilliant shape financially,” says Owens, “and I think we lost a bit of customer confidence without Derek. It was the beginning of the ground-effect era and I was reasonably friendly with Tony Southgate, so asked him to help. He applied some of his F1 ideas to our 1979 chassis, but they didn’t really translate. The cars weren’t actually bad, but we didn’t have money to develop them.”

The only F1 Chevron F1 – the B41 – raced in 1979, too, although it had never been intended for such a purpose. “It was a project for Derek to test, no more,” Owens says. “He wanted to learn what was required to make an F1 car. He felt that was a logical next step.” Ultimately, though, the car was sold to raise much-needed revenue – and it achieved reasonable results in the Aurora British F1 Championship, driven by several of the period’s rising British stars.

“That year,” says Owens, “Paul Brown also designed a Can-Am Chevron for 1980 and it looked promising. We received a cheque for two cars from Paul Newman, but promised not to cash it unless the bank gave us the money to carry on, which it wouldn’t. We gave Paul his money back and closed the company…”

Chevron Racin g Cars was fo rma lly liquidated early in 1980, although the marque remains well represented in historic events. Does Owens think Chevron would have flourished had it not lost its inspiration, a man who never had his own office but preferred to treat the workshop floor as his domain?

“I often wonder what might have become of us,” he says. ”After Chevron closed I carried on in the same premises with Maurer – and most of the guys joined me. Paul Brown did the drawings, too. If you look at the things

Chevron did, then see how my career progressed with Maurer and later Reynard, I don’t see why we couldn’t have carried on doing exactly the same with Chevron.” The original company’s range ran from B1 to the stillborn Can-Am B51. There are gaps within, though: there is no B13, predictably enough, but other numbers are similarly absent.

“There was never a Chevron B11, nor any multiple thereof, and we never allocated chassis number 11 to any series of cars,” Owens says.

“That stemmed from an accident Derek had at Oulton Park in his 1172 racer. He’d been driving car 11 in race 11 and ended up in hospital ward 11 for 11 days. He was lapping somebody at Island when he ran wide and up the banking. He went through an Esso sign and a piece of debris passed straight through his upper body, just missing his lungs. After that he wanted nothing more to do with number 11.”

Following his hang-gliding accident, Bennett survived for 11 days in a coma before succumbing to his injuries on March 22. He was 44.

Simon Arron