DOUG NYE

IGHT NOW I’M REMEMBERING a very important year. It was 60 years ago, the summer of ‘61, still a schoolboy, in my teens, sap rising – remember? Even then I had already spent 10 years entranced by motor racing. What extraordinary years they were for a UK kid. Initially our country couldn’t field a Grand Prix car worth a light in face of Alfa Romeo, Ferrari, Maserati – and their great drivers, “the Continental crecks” as the piercingly cut-glass Queen’s-English tones of BBC or Movietone News commentators, even then