Sir, I agree almost entirely with the sentiments that you express so ably in the February issue of Motor Sport. It seems to me that for a long time the trend towards shorter race distances for Grande Epreuve events has made the whole thing a farce in comparison with the classic races of the period between the two World Wars,
Surely if the Formula One races were set to a minimum distance of 450 miles and the weight limit of the cars was set to a maximum and a minimum that would prohibit the carrying of too much fuel— hence a necessary refuelling stop and minimum would ensure strength of construction—suspension weaknesses being a big question mark as far as I am concerned—we may bring back some of the spectacle and design both in engine and chassis that would be for strength and endurance as well as speed. Personally I do not go to see accidents—they make me feel sick and tend to put me off. In fact as long ago as the early 50s when Salvadori cartwheeled his Frazer Nash in front of me at Stowe Corner I felt that I wanted to see no more. But a real motor car that looks like a car and not a spider—one that smells and sounds like a racing car when in full frantic flat-out speed—that is a sight that I just have to come and see—I’m not so worried about looking at the drivers now—because in their marked space helmeted flame-proofed advertising gear they all look alike anyway—and inside their little projectiles I can’t even see their arms working.
Plymouth. A. K. Dolton.