Forty years ago the motoring giants were slain by a Davidian Mini driven by an Irishman. Michael McAleer reports
Imagine a two-seater Smart winning the World Rally Championship (WRC). That was the momentous achievement of two flying Finns and a charismatic Irishman who led a rally revolution in the early 1960s.
Forty years ago these three began to take the world by storm in their bargain basement Minis, creating a sporting persona for a car that was already becoming a cultural icon. By 1964 the Beatles were in their heyday, Grace Kelly was the tabloids' favourite royal having married Monaco's Prince Rainier, and the Mini meant cheap family motoring if not quite sporting appeal.
One of the biggest events on the motoring calendar was the Monte Carlo Rally. It was the big-name feature in a European rally championship that equates with today's WRC and it attracted media attention on a par with the current Monaco Grand Prix.
For the British Motor Corporation (BMC), it was its chance to prove the worth of its "small man's sports car". But up against the likes of a Mercedes 300 SE, Citroën DS 19s, Volvo 544s and a V8 Ford Falcon, the 1,071cc Minis seemed ridiculous. Yet the Mini, with Paddy Hopkirk at the wheel, won the day.
"We drove for four days and four nights all the way from Minsk to Monaco, surviving on Dexodrine to stay awake and stopping only for toilet breaks," says Hopkirk. "In those days the race wasn't about just time. It included several other factors on which you scored points. It was all very complicated - and seemed to involve coefficients and conversion theorems - so when you finished you rarely knew exactly who had won. I was in bed, shattered from driving, when I got a call at 4 a.m. the next morning - we'd won!"
The genial Belfastman became a hero overnight, but he wasn't alone. Hopkirk was team leader of two other motoring legends driving Minis: Timo Makinnen, inventor of left-foot braking, and Rauno Aaltonen who later became a multiple European champion.
The team took the race again in 1965. Then, in 1966, they came in first, second and third, but all three were disqualified over what seemed a rather spurious excuse about spotlights. Two earlier attempts to disqualify the Minis had failed.
The uproar took the event off the sports pages and straight onto the front, with the British media crying foul. But Mini wasn't to be put off, coming back in 1967 with the Monte Carlo victory going to Aaltonen.
There were numerous other victories and construction championship wins - including the Circuit of Ireland in 1964 and 1966 - but Monte Carlo was the pivotal moment in the Mini's sporting history.
So, to mark the occasion, we take to the road to retrace the breathtaking stages of 40 years ago. Having ascended the hair-raising L'Escarne stage, zig-zagging up the mountains, we reach Hotel de Trois Vallees and invite Hopkirk to take the wheel.
Frozen snow lines the edge of the snaking road, with black ice in the shadows. Despite his modesty, it's clear that for Paddy these are run-of-the-mill conditions. He doesn't say it, but reports from the time show that in 1964 these roads were thick with snow and ice.Then it's a high-speed trip down memory lane with Hopkirk in a new Cooper . . . one hand on the wheel, tyres screeching into the narrow corners, to the right sheer rock, to the left a long drop.
Hit one and you dent the car, hit the other and you need a parachute.
Hopkirk weaves the car through the bends dismissing his talent. "There are young boys in Dublin who could do this far quicker than I can." From waist up, he's all poise, no flailing of arms, just smoothly weaving into and out of corners. But down into the foot area he's dancing with the precision of Rudolf Nureyev.
Throughout the short twisting dash he briefs us on the sort of pace notes a navigator would use to describe the bends and twists. Where we would crawl around on tenterhooks, he lists it as an "absolute left", meaning full speed regardless of conditions.
Back at the car park, the septuagenarian's rebellious nature gets the better of him. To stares from several disapproving German publicity managers, he handbrakes the Cooper in the car park, then again in front of the new head of Mini. Later we learn the order had been given: Hopkirk should not be driving journalists. Perhaps he's not as on-message as the rest, but he certainly turns the Mini into a desirable star, the one to tempt you onto the tarmac dancefloor.
That's probably why he was picked as leader in 1964: charisma is not a mark of racing Finns. The relationship between the three seems competitive and polite, but hardly chummy. Hopkirk was the perfect choice for a car with such a personality.
Mini has crossed the generation gap in a way that must make others green with envy, especially VW with its Beetle. There are definite DNA connections between these two - in size, shape, styling and, yes, even desirability. Of course modern technology also makes them so much different.
Driving the modern Mini, you have to switch off the traction and stability control to get the car to loosen up and flick out on corners. Even then it's very well behaved.
On the downward run of the stage, it's a very different story behind the wheel of the older Mini - no air-con, no trip computer, steering wheel angled more like a truck, almost hitting the ground. Within seconds the tail is sliding out as the car leans into corners. Without modern safety gadgetry to pull you back in line, it's up to the driver to swiftly counter-steer.
But there's a sense of unbridled fun with the car that doesn't require terrifying speed. It puts our penalty points system in context - better driving and more fun don't have to equal high performance.
The likelihood of a new Mini winning the WRC seems remote given the concentration these days on outright speed and timing. Yet it still evokes that combination of charisma and sportiness of 40 years ago.
