Derek Bell

Celebrating the 50th anniversary of a seismic victory

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In all the excitement of dashing about these past few months, it is only in the dog days of summer that I have stopped to think about a seismic event that occurred in June 1975. I say that with a heavy dose of irony, but it was a big deal for me.

I cannot believe that it has been 50 years since I won the 24 Hours of Le Mans for the first time. When you are a racing driver - a sportsperson of any description - you are constantly looking forward. You celebrate success, but momentarily. You are already thinking ahead to the next contest, which is how it should be. Don't rest on your laurels and all that.

Having hung up my helmet as a professional driver 20 years ago, my perspective is different. As I have mentioned more than once in this column, I had no great affinity for Le Mans as a young gun. I first raced there in 1970 with Scuderia Ferrari and it was just another race, albeit one that had history. I appreciated that but it was a macho bullring of a place. The race was exhausting, too, not least because there were only two drivers. In addition, you didn’t have cool-suits, power-steering and hot and cold running masseuses on standby. It was hard work.