Nigel Mansell Autobiography

by Nigel Mansell

  I was nearly dead.

  Karting was relatively safe, but at the higher levels you could find yourself travelling pretty fast, so there was always going to be risk involved. Fortunately, I didn’t have too many crashes but my first biggie was quite severe. As I have said, I was a teenager busily working my way through the ranks of the junior British karting scene, when I had a terrible accident at Heysham near Morecambe. It was a great track on Heysham Head, which was even able to attract the Karting World Championship for many years.

  On this particular day, I was doing really well in the race and found myself belting downhill at a fair rate. Unbeknown to me, the steering wheel column had a hairline crack in it and, as I came down this particular descent at approaching 100mph, the column snapped and I slammed into a kerb, the kart somersaulted and I ended up being thrown out of my seat and on to the track. Unfortunately, the bumper of a kart coming down the hill then struck me a glancing blow on the head. I was obviously knocked unconscious and, worse, the impact from the other kart compressed my helmet such that my scalp had been split into a large open wound. I woke up on the operating table at the Royal Lancaster hospital.

  I’m pretty sure the ideal surgical routine is that you don’t wake up on the operating table, but I did. Luckily they’d finished the surgery by then, but I could still sense the needle and stitches going into me. I was lying there confused, thinking:

  What on earth is going on?

  I wasn’t really lucid; I was paralysed. And I later found out I’d been unconscious for a long time. I do remember distinctly how awful the feeling was. I wasn’t in good shape. When I came to the next time, I was in bed in the ward and I had a weird taste in my mouth and my ears felt wet. I touched them and realised there was blood coming out. My nose was bleeding too. It turned out that I had haemorrhaged, so I was bleeding from my ears, nose and throat. In my fleeting moments of consciousness, I knew I wasn’t in great shape but it was all rather hazy – I don’t remember anyone visiting me or anything in detail. Now that’s what I call a ‘bad day at the office’!

  Then, the next thing I knew, I was in this unbelievable deep black hole and there was a little spot of light at the end of this massive darkness, a tiny shard of light and a very small figure at the end of what I suppose was this enormous tunnel. It looked like a stick man in a very childish drawing.

  Then I heard someone’s voice, closer, much closer than the distant stick figure, saying, ‘What else can I do for you, my son, besides pray . . .’ This voice was really echoing around my head and it was actually quite abrasive and annoying. I could still see the little figure at the end of the tunnel and it seemed quite peaceful, but by contrast this nearby voice was so loud and irritating; it was starting to wind me up, yet I was powerless to move. The noise of this voice kept chiming back in, going on and on; it was really annoying me by now and I was thinking, Please! Go away! But it didn’t.

  Eventually, in this dream-like state, I had to say something. I found out later that I momentarily woke up and told the priest – who was praying for me – to get lost. Sorry about that!

  Shortly after this, I sat up again, vomited blood then passed out. This is what severe concussion can do to you – it’s not just a bump on the head. I was asleep for two days after that, but was gradually able to begin my recovery. I had scar tissue in my ears from the bleeding and suffered sporadic bouts of hearing loss for some time.

  I learned a lot about racing that day in Morecambe, not least to always check four things before you go on any grid: steering, brakes, suspension and aerodynamic parts. If other parts fail you might be okay, but if any of those four elements fail, you will have a bad accident. With that crash, as indeed with any others I had during my career, I used to pore over what had happened: was it the kart, was it me, was it a rival making a mistake? I always had to find out why an accident had happened and how to avoid a repeat.

  Obviously, I have thought about that incident with the priest a lot. Clearly, I am not in the habit of telling men of the cloth to get lost, but, comedy aside, I do believe that was a near-death experience. How else can I categorise it? I honestly think that I was drifting off, I was gone. I felt I was going somewhere I had never been before and I didn’t like it. So I fought back to tell whoever it was I could hear talking to go away. Ironically, the priest’s prayers sounding so annoying to me meant I fought back and came away from the light. Maybe that is not a coincidence, I don’t know. It clearly wasn’t my time, but I do believe that incident was me on the very cusp of going for good.

  Eventually, I was well enough to think about kart racing again. You might wonder what makes racers get straight back into the same kart or car again, after a big accident or injury. It’s a fair question. Part of the answer is that, in my opinion, most racing drivers are fatalists. During my whole career, I felt that if it was my time, then so be it. If it was not my time, then I would bounce back. That day in Morecambe I bounced back – it simply wasn’t my time. I believe that everyone has a clock with their time preset and when that time is here . . . I think you can accelerate that time – you can be negligent of yourself and have an earlier departure than you should have – but ultimately I do feel that our own time is predetermined by a ticking clock, which eventually tells us when it is our time to go.

  I should qualify my statement about most racers being fatalists. I must point out that it is a very private topic and I have never discussed this with any other drivers. So I cannot say for sure that they are fatalists. However, I would be very surprised if the majority on the grid did not share my view, especially in the earlier eras of the sport when life-threatening danger was ever-present. Otherwise, they would have needed an inordinate amount of courage to do the job – and I don’t believe courage works like that.

  In my opinion, if you believe you can do your job to a very high standard then, as long as Lady Luck is not totally against you, you might have an accident but you will recover. I think if you are not fatalistic and are in the slightest bit worried about hurting yourself going racing, then you shouldn’t be doing it, because invariably those kind of drivers end up getting hurt. I wouldn’t say fatalism is a comfort blanket, but if you feel like I do then it does dilute the potential for anxiety, which in itself can be very dangerous in a 200mph car.

  Tragically, on two very black days in 1994, Ayrton Senna and Roland Ratzenberger found out to their cost that if Lady Luck, or destiny, is not with you on a racetrack, then there can be terrible consequences, something I will talk about elsewhere in this book. As painful as it is to use another more recent example, the terrible tragedy that happened at Brands Hatch when the fantastic young Henry Surtees was killed in 2009 was, again, a freak accident. For a loose wheel from a crash to come free of its tether then bounce across a track into a group of cars, then hit poor Henry on the head in precisely the place to kill him is so unlucky, so improbable, it is ridiculous. If you had to calculate a mathematical equation to work out the probability of that happening at all, it would be impossible, surely? You see an incident like that and think, How on earth did that just happen? What a lovely young man, a great talent and a terribly sad loss.

  Luckily for me, that day in Morecambe wasn’t my time. That feeling would return on several occasions in my career, when I suffered big accidents that might easily have proved fatal. This is how I viewed my job then and I still hold that view today. Of course, all drivers have their own approach, their own beliefs, and some of us are more religious than others. So I can’t speak for anyone else with certainty. But speaking as a race-car driver and a competitor in dangerous sports, I really do believe in fatalism.

  Anyway, I’ve digressed. Let’s get back to my karting days. I had that big accident at Morecambe, but once I was fit and ready to go again, I was relentless. I was on a mission; I was not going to let anything stop me. Head injury and haemorrhaging? Yup, fix that, stitch me up, helmet back on, bounce back, go again.

  It was a really exciting time. I kept karting, I
kept winning, and by the end of my teenage years I had won seven Midlands championships, one Northern championship, a Short Circuit British championship as well as many other races. Inevitably, questions were starting to be raised about the next step, which traditionally was to go into single-seater racing cars. At the time, the proven strategy was to race in the British Formula Ford series, then graduate to the Formula 3 championship, with the ultimate goal, of course, being a Formula 1 drive.

  My parents were not particularly happy about this new development. They had enjoyed encouraging me in karting, but they were less enthusiastic about single-seaters – primarily because of the safety fears (a parental instinct that I would come to understand more when I later became a father myself and my own boys wanted to go racing). They also knew there was a severe cost implication of stepping up to the higher formulas. My father was wary, too, of the disappointment if I failed, fearing that – perhaps understandably if you look at my background and financial circumstances – the chances of me becoming a Formula 1 driver, let alone winning the world title, were probably slim to zero. Their preference was for me to pursue a career in engineering, keep karting and just enjoy racing as an amateur passion. By now, I was studying at Hall Green College and then I went to Solihull Technical College, later transferring to Matthew Boulton College in Birmingham to study engineering, all supported by a full apprenticeship at Lucas Aerospace. But by then, my racing career was up and running.

  CHAPTER 2

  LUCKY BREAKS IN A YOUNG LIFE

  When I was 17 I met someone who would change my life back then and to this day, and who, thankfully, became my wife. I had seen this lovely young woman called Rosanne around and one day spotted her on my way to college, so I stopped and offered her a lift in my Mini van. She seemed pleased and climbed in, then after about 50 yards, she looked at me and said, ‘I don’t know you, do I? I thought you were someone else!’ From that moment, realising she’d got in the car with a perfect stranger, to the time of writing, we have been together. We have just celebrated our 40th wedding anniversary and are still the best of friends, 45 years on.

  When Rosanne and I first started dating, I really wanted to make an impression. My dad had a second-hand Rover coupé, which wasn’t too old but had very high mileage, so he was able to get a good deal and afford it. This car was his pride and joy. Anyway, I really wanted to impress Rosanne, so one day I said, ‘Dad, can I borrow your car?’ I never asked him for anything as a rule but, amazingly, he relented so, after sorting out the insurance, I headed off for a night out with my new girlfriend in his car.

  I picked Rosanne up and we went to a country pub for a nice drink. When it was time to head home, I needed to reverse out of the car park. The Rover coupé back then had one of those gear levers with a button to press for reverse, so I did that and lifted it up and, to my horror, the entire gear lever came off in my hand! Worse still, a two-foot length of gear linkage also came up and out into the car. I was mortified. Here I was, trying to make a big impression on Rosanne, and I was sitting there trying to shove this linkage back in. She was just giggling and, to be fair, I was too, although all the time I was thinking, My dad is going to kill me!

  We’d spent the evening with a friend of ours who was a mechanic, so I went back in, explained what had happened and he came out to help. I was hugely relieved when he appeared to have fixed the problem, so we eventually got back in the car and tried to drive off again. That’s when I discovered that he’d turned first gear into reverse and reverse gear into first!

  After a lot of lurching backwards and forwards, I eventually got the hang of it and we steadily made our way home in the dark. I really had to concentrate. Then, after a few miles, it started to rain. I put the windscreen wipers on and – I can still see it now – the driver’s-side wiper went, ‘Swish, swish, ping!’ and just flew off into a hedgerow. It was so comical, all we could do was laugh. Then I heard a scratching sound and realised that the wiper arm was now gouging a big arc into Dad’s windscreen. Oh my word, this is getting worse! I pulled over, swapped the passenger’s wiper for mine so I could at least see to drive, and lifted Rosanne’s wiper arm up and away from the windscreen. I dropped her off and got back to my home, backed the Rover coupé close to the garage and went to bed, relieved.

  The next morning, I was up and out early, before Dad. Now, let’s just say Dad could be quite a formidable man when he was annoyed, so I was pleased to have avoided any mishap, and hopefully he wouldn’t notice anything. I came home that night and my mom was waiting for me on the drive.

  ‘Nigel, what on earth did you get up to last night?’

  My first thought was, What on earth has Rosanne said? We didn’t get up to anything! (Although not for a lack of trying, of course.)

  ‘What do you mean, Mom?’

  ‘Have you seen the garage, Nigel?’

  I turned to look at the garage and then did a double take as an awful realisation dawned on me.

  My dad had climbed into the Rover coupé that morning to go to work, he’d put the car in first and, of course, the broken gearbox had flung him backwards in reverse. Worse still, it had caught him off-guard, so he actually put his foot down on the accelerator, slamming the car – his pride and joy – through the garage doors.

  He never let me borrow anything again.

  Thankfully, Rosanne did not dump me after the Rover coupé debacle and what a lucky boy I am as a result. Without Rosanne’s incredible support – then and throughout my career – I am sure things would have turned out very differently for me. She was simply amazing. We continued going out and soon became inseparable.

  While I was studying at college, I was keen to make the step up to single-seater racing but, as I mentioned, my parents were less enthusiastic. I’d joined Lucas Aerospace as an apprentice, so my dad said that if I studied hard and passed all my exams then he would help finance my dream of single-seater racing. This was a real motivation to me and I really got stuck into my studies. I worked at Lucas part-time and did my classes too, with this goal constantly in the front of my mind. By the age of 21, I finally passed all my exams and qualified with ONC and HNC certificates in Engineering, which prompted a promotion at work too. Imagine my disappointment, then, when I told my dad and said I was now ready to start single-seaters, but he turned round and said he could not help me do that after all.

  I have described in previous books how absolutely gutted I was at the time. I was angry with Dad and so demoralised that my dream was apparently going up in smoke. However, with the benefit of my years, and speaking as a dad myself, I have to say he did absolutely the right thing. He said and did whatever was necessary to get me educated; he helped me remain motivated, to stay the course. He knew I was a very gifted practical person but that I struggled with the theory. He knew I needed to really focus. Back then, of course, I was overwhelmingly disappointed and much less philosophical about his change of heart than I am now. So I asked him why. He simply said he could not afford to fund the next step, which to be fair was true. Nonetheless, it created quite a lot of tension at home.

  By April 1975, Rosanne and I were very much in love and committed to each other, so on the 19th of that month we got married. Not long afterwards, we were very excited to buy our very first brand-new car, after our house had flooded and we had some money left over from an insurance payout. Up until that point, buying a new car was out of the question as money was so tight, so this lovely little yellow Mini Clubman felt very special to us.

  One day we were driving to see my grandfather, who lived in the Malvern hills near Worcester. I was very tired from working late nights, so Rosanne was driving, and we were heading down a dual carriageway. I was snoozing on and off when, the next thing I knew, we’d screeched to an abrupt halt as Rosanne slammed on the brakes. Luckily, this car was also the first one we had with seatbelts, so we were both fine. I was startled and half-asleep, and asked, ‘What’s happened Rosanne?’ As I did, there was a really loud banging and, when my eyes
opened fully, I could see a man in plimsoles kicking the front of our car furiously. I squinted and shook my head to make sure I wasn’t still asleep and dreaming, or imagining things.

  I remember this guy’s eyes were really dilated, much wider than normal, and he was really angry, furious. It was very frightening. Then, suddenly, he jumped up on the bonnet and started smashing the windscreen with his fists. At this point, because I’d been asleep, I didn’t even know what had happened, whether we’d hit him or his vehicle and he was cross with us. I just knew that he was extremely angry and was attacking our car. He was going berserk on the bonnet. You can imagine Rosanne’s terror and fright, so I said, ‘Put it in reverse, put it in reverse, quick!’

  However, as soon as we started to back up, he just ran off across the road. Rosanne said we hadn’t hit him, and that he had just walked out into the road and started attacking cars. I got out and looked at the damage. I couldn’t believe the amount of destruction that had been done: the grill was parted and smashed, one of the headlights was shattered, the bonnet was all buckled – our beautiful little Mini was wrecked. I jumped in the car to drive and just caught sight of the man turning up a lane ahead. I speeded up there and pulled off the main road to where he’d been heading, then got out of the car and started trying to track him down. When I finally found him he was attacking a parked car nearby, tearing a wing mirror off, which he then proceeded to throw over a hedge.

  Then from behind me I heard these really strange groaning noises. I turned around and, about 30 yards away from me, there was another guy heading towards Rosanne (who by now had locked herself in the car). This second guy was walking slowly and looked very dazed, not right at all. I thought, Oh my word, we are going to be attacked again! So I ran back to the car and I stood in front of him and said, ‘Don’t you come any nearer . . .’