Not to worry. Graham often expressed a sincere belief that sponsorship had improved motor racing beyond recognition, and he immediately showed that he was willing not merely to tolerate ‘PR men’, but actively to help them promote his sport. Again, he cooperated fully. When Competition Car folded (bang on schedule), Nigel Roebuck joined me to help with the journalistic workload, and neither of us can remember him complaining about any press release. We took this as a compliment – although, of course, we would never have dared to write anything that might have offended him.
Part of my brief from Embassy’s likeable sponsorship manager, Peter Dyke, was to design with colleagues and arrange the production of all the paraphernalia associated with the sponsorship: various publications, jackets, shirts, hats, luggage, badges, stickers. Graham approved of the stickers and he put one on his new leather-covered briefcase. Then he thought it looked naff, so he peeled it away – and the mock-leather underneath tore off with it. I ran…
I spent some time in the team’s raceshop in Hanworth, a couple of miles south of London Heathrow. The factory had a big vehicle door with in-built personnel access. Whenever Graham drove up outside with Bette, she would make a point of getting to the personnel door first, and she would open it while holding a clenched fist in front of her. If the thumb was pointing up, Graham was in a good mood. Down, and everyone inside had better watch out…
The extraordinary thing was that, despite his unpredictable behaviour, I knew no one in the team whose admiration for him was ever dimmed. The team spirit always seemed strong.
And I saw yet another side to this complex personality at Silverstone the day before the International Trophy in April 1975.
At the age of 46, Graham had resolved to quit racing after Monaco, but had kept the decision to himself. After practice he confided in me and wanted to plot his retirement announcement. We needed secrecy, so we stayed away from the team’s Revcon motorhome and adjourned to his Ford Granada, which was parked behind the pits. I was ushered into the driver’s seat so that I could rest my notes on the steering wheel. As I got in, I saw Eric Morecambe reclining in the back.
It turned out that Graham wanted me merely to compose and mail out a press release: evidently limelight at the moment he retired from the cockpit did not have the old appeal.
I told him that a press release was not good enough for him, and far too impersonal. But he was adamant: he wanted to go out quietly. This was modesty…
But it was not appropriate. I argued with him and, happily, our bespectacled companion in the back seat felt as strongly as I did, and joined in. And, of course, Morecambe made the case for more elaborate arrangements while being very, very funny. After five minutes, we were all laughing, and Graham agreed that I would get Peter Dyke to cough up for a suite at Silverstone during the British Grand Prix meeting for a full-scale media announcement. And then Graham, driving a Lola revamped by his young chief engineer Andy Smallman (the ‘Hill GH1’), finished 11th in what turned out to be his final motor race.