‘Walt! The clutch. It bites right at the top. Take it down a bit, can you?’
The tall, dark, touslehaired figure in heavily oil-stained white overalls looked on as Tommy ‘Whizzbang’ Wisdom, clad in leather helmet and goggles, steered the SS Jaguar into the garage area of the Brooklands pit lane. ‘Good job I’ve got my dirty boiler-suit on,’ Walter Hassan said with a resigned expression.
‘I would say it is remarkably clean for you!’ Wisdom said, smirking. ‘Come on. Haven’t got all day.’
‘All right, all right. I need two 7/16” spanners, be back in a tic.’ Hassan trotted back into the garage. Returning, he disappeared underneath the righthand side of the car. ‘Hold it steady!’ he called out. ‘My insurers only pay out against professional drivers.’
Wisdom shook his head, ‘Bloody cheek! How comes Bentley employed you for so long!’
‘Well I don’t like to brag,’ Hassan said from under the car. ‘But it might have been something to do with five Le Mans wins.’ He reappeared, pocketed his spanners, wiped his hands and nodded towards the cockpit. ‘Try the clutch now.’
Wisdom studiously engaged gear and increased the revs of the 6-cylinder engine. He rolled the car forward. ‘Much better.’ He said looking up gratefully. Don’t rush off, Walt. I need to have a word afterwards, be back in a few laps. Thanks!’
Hassan wandered over to the pit wall, watching Tommy pushing the SS Jaguar to
