Seppi would have been at a loss in today’s racing world. The notion of doing F1 alone, racing only 16 or 17 times a year, would have been anathema to him. In a typical season, he would routinely compete in F2, sports cars and Can-Am, as well as running the full grand prix schedule. A weekend without a race was a weekend lost.

In that respect, as in many others, he was very similar to Pedro Rodriguez, whose path he often — physically and metaphorically — crossed. For most of his career Siffert was regarded primarily as a sports car driver; good in an F1 car, outstanding in a Porsche. And the Porsche with which he belongs in my memory is not the fearsome 917, but the open 908 of 1969.

This was one light race car, a mass of tiny tubes and fibreglass, and I remember practice for the BOAC 1000kms at Brands Hatch that year, the way Seppi danced it round to pole position, three seconds inside any other Porsche time. Mesmeric.

Siffert and Rodriguez became team-mates when John Wyer took over the running of the factory Porsches in 1970. If Pedro had the greater natural talent, there was rarely much between them. And they excelled particularly at such as Spa-Francorchamps, places where a driver needed at least two of everything.

The late David Yorke, their team manager, was another who relished conversation of Seppi. “Amazing bloke. A typical day’s testing for him would entail driving all morning, then sinking two platefuls of goulash or whatever at lunchtime, washed down with a couple of steins of beer, then driving again all afternoon.

“Siffert was incredibly single-minded,” Yorke said. “I remember one occasion when Brian Redman came in to hand over to him earlier than expected. Seppi wasn’t even in the pit, but somewhere out the back. When he saw what was happening he ran to the back of the pit to jump over the counter, caught his foot on it, and went sprawling on the road. His overalls were ripped, and his knees torn to pieces, but he never gave them a glance. Hurled himself into the cockpit, and was gone! Amazing bloke…”

By this time Siffert had sadly parted ways with Rob Walker, for a drive with the new March team had been offered. Twice already he had turned down Ferrari, as this would have meant severing his ties with Porsche, but this new offer left him free to drive sports cars for whomever he wished.

The year with March, though, was something to be forgotten. Stewart and Amon were among the others who did battle with the unwieldy 701, and no one had a good word for the thing. Seppi left at the end of the season, joining BRM as team-mate to Rodriguez. Every weekend, it seemed, these two were working together.

Well, not every weekend. Even by Pedro’s standards, Seppi raced a lot. Sixteen races a year, you say? Siffert’s 16th race of 1971 was the Formula Two Eifelrennen at the Nurburgring. On May 2.

At BRM, he was somewhat in the shadow of Rodriguez, who was established there, but everything changed in July, when Pedro was killed in a meaningless Interserie race at the Norisring. Siffert, for once taking a weekend off, was stricken at the news.

At Silverstone he rose to the occasion. Now with the shaken morale of BRM to sustain alone, he put his car on the front row, and if electrical problems dropped him to ninth, for much of the way he ran second to Stewart.

At the Osterreichring came his day of days, for he started from pole, and led all the way, despite a slowly deflating rear tyre for the last 101aps. It was a peerless drive, and there was great rejoicing for BRM, emerging from a dark time.

The final grand prix of the season was at Watkins Glen, where Seppi placed second to Francois Cevert. Everything looked finally to be right with his life. Second time around, he was happily married, and for 1972 there was a new contract with BRM.

He was tired, though, after the most hectic season of his career, and would happily have passed up the Victory Race at Brands Hatch, his 41st race of 1971. It was to be the last of his life.

On a sublime autumnal afternoon Siffert took pole, but got away badly. While BRM team-mate Peter Gethin forged away at the front, he set about retrieving the situation, and after 14 laps was up to fourth, but on the fastest part of the circuit — the run down to Hawthorns — the BRM pitched left into the bank, somersaulted over a marshal’s hut, and exploded.

There was absolute stillness suddenly, and then that thick black smoke which means a fuel fire. Much later the other cars droned slowly to the pits.

Five days later, at Seppi’s funeral in Fribourg, more than 50,000 turned out in respect for their hero, their fighting man, whose coffin was borne past them on the back of a Porsche 917.

A year or two later, someone at Marlboro conceived the idea of special award, to be presented to a driver after each grand prix, in recognition of ‘fighting spirit’. Fittingly, it was named for Jo Siffert.