France's magnificent seven F1 heroes of the 1980 South African GP

F1
- Last updated: March 1st 2024

Seven Frenchmen were at Kyalami for the 1980 South African Grand Prix, and three of them ended up on the podium. Matt Bishop looks back at the exceptional Gallic line-up in the race that had everything

Jean-Pierre Jarier Patrick Depailler Alain Prost

From left to right: Patrick Depailler, Alain Prost and Jean-Pierre Jarier on the Kyalami pitwall

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Author

Matt Bishop

If you are anything like me, you are very much looking forward to the 2024 Bahrain Grand Prix. No, the Kingdom of Bahrain is not my favourite place, and the Bahrain International Circuit is not my most beloved racetrack, but I will be fascinated to see whether Max Verstappen will cruise off into the distance, as he did so often last year, and as recent testing has suggested he may again this year. We will very soon find out.

The race will take place on Saturday — yes, Saturday — March 2. Formula 1 grands prix are usually Sunday affairs, but they have taken place on Saturdays quite a few times in the past. So it is that I am reminded of Kyalami (South Africa), which was a much more exciting challenge for F1 drivers then than Sakhir (Bahrain) is for F1 drivers now, and my thoughts turn in particular to the race that took place there almost exactly 44 years ago, the 1980 South African Grand Prix, which was run on Saturday – yes, Saturday — March 1.

As a microcosm of very early-1980s F1, the race had everything. The drivers were heroes. The cars were beautiful. The circuit was magnificent, only 2.55 miles (4.104km) long, made up of just nine turns, none of them chicanes, all of them named appealingly: Crowthorne, a medium-speed third-gear right into which overtaking was tricky but achievable; Barbeque, a faster fourth-gear right; Jukskei Sweep, an almost-flat fifth-gear left; Sunset, a long and open third-gear right; Clubhouse, a tighter second-gear left; the Esses, just that, two good corners, not a chicane, and quickish therefore; Leeukop, a wide medium-speed right-hand almost-hairpin after a steep climb, exited often with glorious power-oversteer; and finally the Kink, just that, taken flat-chat in the early ground-effect era.

Kyalami South African Grand Prix 1980

Nelson Piquet leads the start of the 1980 South African Grand Prix at Kyalami

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Kyalami is situated in subtropical highlands north of Johannesburg, which means that its altitude — 5000ft (1524m) — gave turbocharged engines an unfair advantage over naturally aspirated ones. In 1980 there were only two F1 cars powered by turbocharged engines: the Renaults. They were in any case among the fastest cars in the field that season, so Jean-Pierre Jabouille and René Arnoux effortlessly dominated practice, pole man Jabouille as usual the better qualifier of the two. The Ligiers were also competitive, Jacques Laffite (P4) a little quicker than Didier Pironi (P5). So the front of the grid was very French, although two British teams elbowed their way into the mix: Nelson Piquet qualified his Brabham third, while Carlos Reutemann and Alan Jones were sixth and eighth for Williams. The Ferraris were only ninth (local hero and new world champion Jody Scheckter) and 10th (Gilles Villeneuve).

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On race day Jabouille led easily for the first 61 laps, until a puncture ended his run: was there ever a grand prix driver bar Chris Amon so luckless? Arnoux then took over and won by more than half a minute. Second and third were Laffite and Pironi, making the podium an all-French celebration. Piquet and Reutemann were fourth and fifth, albeit a long way behind, lapped in the case of the Williams man.

I have mentioned four French drivers so far — Jabouille, Arnoux, Laffite and Pironi. But, among the 26 men who qualified for the 1980 South African Grand Prix — yes, 26, please take note, Mario Andretti, Michael Andretti and indeed Stefano Domenicali — there were three more, all exceptional in their way, all of disparate character, all at differing stages of their F1 careers: Jean-Pierre Jarier, Alain Prost and Patrick Depailler. That was how F1 was back then, for, thanks in large part to Francois Guiter, the visionary marketing director of the French oil company Elf (Essence Lubricants France), vast sums of petro-francs were poured into financing the coaching of quick French boys at the Winfield School based at the Magny-Cours circuit. It worked. Now France has only Pierre Gasly and Esteban Ocon in F1, and as recently as 2011 it had no F1 drivers at all. Guess how many French drivers raced in F1 in the 1970s and 1980s. The answer, dear reader, is 29.

Gifted but indisciplined, Jarier had looked as though he was going to drift out of F1 after being fired halfway through 1978 by Günter Schmid of ATS, whose car he had failed to qualify at Monaco. Then, four months later, Ronnie Peterson died of injuries sustained at Monza, and Jarier inherited his Lotus drive for the last two grands prix of the year. At Watkins Glen he qualified eighth, well behind team-mate Andretti, who had taken the pole by a mile, but in the race ‘Jumper’ was a sensation, carving his way through the field to third before he ran out of fuel four laps from the end. He had shown all his old flair, and no-one else had got within 1.5sec of his astonishingly rapid fastest lap. The following weekend, in Montreal, he took the pole and led the first 49 laps, with ease, until he was robbed of victory by a leaking oil cooler. But he had made his point. He was duly signed by Tyrrell for 1979, he bagged two podiums for Uncle Ken that season, and by Kyalami 1980, still racing for Tyrrell, he and his career appeared to be well and truly back on track.

Jarier

"Gifted but indisciplined" — Jean-Pierre Jarier

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Alain Prost 1980 South African Grand Prix

A young Prost in Kyalami, 1980

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For Prost things were different, for Kyalami 1980 was only his third grand prix entry. It would not turn out to be his third grand prix start, however, because in qualifying his McLaren suffered a rear suspension failure at the Esses, causing it to spear off into the guardrail, the impact breaking his left wrist. He was unable to race the following day and he also skipped the next grand prix, Long Beach, returning for Zolder, which race took place two whole months after he had injured himself at Kyalami. In the end he did rather well in F1, I think we can all agree.

So that leaves Depailler, who had raced for Ligier for the first half of the previous year, 1979, and had been in contention for the drivers’ world championship seven races into that season until, ever the daredevil, in early June he had gone hang-gliding near his Clermont-Ferrand home, had been blown by a sudden gust of wind into a cliff face, and had broken both his legs. A month later he had suffered fresh fractures, falling out of his hospital bed, believe it or not. “For a long time there was the possibility of amputation, and I was very frightened,” he was quoted as saying in French media at the time. He raced no more that year and, no longer on the best of terms with Guy Ligier, he left that autocratic Frenchman’s eponymous team and agreed terms to race for Alfa Romeo — whose famous name, absent from F1 for 28 years, had been reintroduced in 1979, albeit only for five grands prix and initially for only one car. For 1980 Alfa meant business, operating a full programme and fielding two cars, one for Depailler and another for Bruno Giacomelli.

Depailler was still in pain from his legs when the 1980 season began — he used crutches to help him hobble around the South American pit lanes and paddocks in January and February — but the Alfas were not yet competitive anyway. In Argentina they qualified 20th (Giacomelli) and 23rd (Depailler), a fortnight later in Brazil 17th (Giacomelli) and 22nd (Depailler). Giacomelli was a quick-ish chap, but he was eight years Depailler’s junior, considerably less experienced therefore, and ultimately never quite as fast. Moreover, Depailler had always been a very astute car developer. In the five weeks between Brazil and South Africa he had duly made a ton of car-developmental recommendations, and the Alfa designers and engineers had incorporated as many of them as they could. Most significant was that the car’s suspension had been redesigned front and rear, and 30kg had been shaved off its previously bulbous bodywork. Depailler’s legs were becoming stronger, too.

Patrick Depailler Brazil 1980

Patrick Depailler became an ever improving figure behind the wheel of the Alfa Romeo 179C

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So, when journalists lounging alongside drivers by the pool at the famous Kyalami Ranch hotel asked him how he thought the Alfas would perform at the weekend, he puffed a Gauloises smoke-ring into the air and said, “Fourth row.” He was as good as his word, qualifying seventh. “South America, I was 65% fit,” he said afterwards. “Now I’m 95%. The mechanics have amazed me with the amount of work they’ve done, and the car now handles like a racing car should.” In the race his V12 misfired throughout but, undaunted, he treated the afternoon as a test session for the next grand prix, Long Beach, necessitating no fewer than nine pit stops, which I believe is a record, eclipsing the stat more usually quoted, which is seven, shared by Prost (at Donington in 1993) and George Russell, Lance Stroll and Liam Lawson (all at Zandvoort last year).

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When the F1 circus flew in to Los Angeles International Airport, at baggage reclaim journalists again asked Depailler where he thought the Alfas would qualify. “Row two, no problem,” he replied. In truth he had always been sensational on street circuits, which in F1 terms in those days meant Monaco and Long Beach, but even so his ambitious prediction was met with media scepticism. The doubters had underestimated his indefatigable derring-do, and he drove a truly spectacular quali-lap, broad-siding here and wall-shaving there, ending up third-fastest. In the race he ran a strong second for the first 18 laps, was then overtaken by Jones after a spirited dice, and thereafter continued to hold a solid third; but his race ended when his rear suspension collapsed, perhaps as a result of his brushing the armco one time too many in his efforts to keep Jones at bay.

Race by race, the Alfa was becoming an ever more decent car, flattered sometimes by Depailler’s heroics though it was, but its reliability remained woeful. At Zolder he qualified 10th and DNF’d (broken exhaust). At Monaco he qualified seventh and DNF’d (blown engine). At Paul Ricard he qualified 10th and DNF’d (broken rear shock absorber). At Brands Hatch he qualified eighth and DNF’d (blown engine again). And at Hockenheim? Ah, Hockenheim. He did not enter that race, and the explanation is a tragic one. He crashed in pre-race testing there, the victim of yet another Alfa suspension failure, at one of the fastest parts of the circuit, the Ostkurve, then a long, long right-hander after a long, long straight. He hit the barrier at an estimated 170mph (274km/h) and was killed almost instantly.

Patrick Depailler 1980

Patrick Depailler at Zolder in 1980

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The Alfa boys missed his joie de vivre, and also his knowhow. Moreover, Giacomelli now looked lost, unassisted by the ageing Vittorio Brambilla, hired for two races, then equally unsupported by young Andrea de Cesaris, drafted in for two more. Even so, little by little, the car was improving — and, at Watkins Glen, the final grand prix of the year, Giacomelli put it on the pole. He made a great start, built a 12-second lead by half-distance, then coasted to a halt, stopped by faulty electrics. After the season he said something that racing drivers rarely say of their team-mates: “Unlike me, Patrick would have won with this car.”

Maybe he would. Perhaps, too, he might have influenced Alfa’s designers and engineers in a way that would have helped them make their 1981 car better than it turned out to be. He was not only brave and fast but also intelligent and technical, after all. Moreover, he knew how to win, having triumphed at Monaco for Tyrrell in 1978 and at Jarama for Ligier in 1979. But he lived to race, and, like his childhood hero, Jean Behra, perhaps he took more risks than others, which meant that although he lived to race perhaps he was also destined to die by racing. On his days off, he would take his Kawasaki superbike out onto the public roads that had formed the fearsome Clermont-Ferrand circuit that had hosted four French Grands Prix in the 1960s and 1970s, and he would ride it hell for leather. Except not for leather, actually, because, if it was hot, he would sometimes ride in shorts. And nothing else.

I am glad I saw him race, as a rapt teenage fan, and indeed I was there to see his very last grand prix, at Brands Hatch in 1980. I wish I had met him, which I did not. We will not see his like again.

Patrick Depailler

Patrick Depailler: 1944-1980

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