By the time this column is read, the second anniversary of the passing of Tom Walkinshaw will have come and gone. In my career, I must have shared more drives with him than any other driver. You could say there were two Tom Walkinshaws. In fact, on reflection, there were probably more than that.
If ever you were in trouble, I mean if you had problems like I had when our son was killed, or when I had a “breakdown” when I was in Australia following the death of Matthew, I couldn’t have asked for a better friend. At the end of the 1979 season, I’d been racing for Toyota at Snetterton, Tom ushered me into his caravan after the racing that day and offered me a contract to drive for him full time for the 1980 season. I asked what I would be driving and he told me it was the Mazda. I asked why he wouldn’t be driving it and he simply said he had plans to do other things. He ended the sentence by saying, “One day I’ll be in Formula One.” The deal was that I’d be paid £6,000 for the season, but with Tom there was always a condition. “If you don’t win the championship I’m not so sure I’ll pay you,” he said in his broad Scottish accent.
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