By the summer of 1935 German nationalism was reaching its height. The self-styled master race could not countenance defeat in any shape or form – in the political arena, on the battlefield, or on the football pitch or running track. This sense of superiority applied equally to the motor racing circuit, where the sleek silver Mercedes and Auto-Unions were sweeping all before them. Germany not only had the fastest cars, but also the finest drivers – men like Rudolf Caracciola, Manfred von Brauchitsch and Bernd Rosemeyer, the new sensation who, like so many of his predecessors, had risen from the ranks of motorcycling. In their spotless white overalls, the Germans appeared clinical and efficient, and their public came to view them as unbeatable.
The march to power had begun in 1934 when, after Alfa Romeo victories in Monaco and France, Mercedes and Auto-Union had carved up the rest of the season between them, notching wins in Germany, Switzerland, Italy, Spain and Czechoslovakia. They carried on the good work in 1935. Luigi Fagioli won the Monaco Grand Prix for Mercedes; Achille Varzi (Auto-Union) triumphed in Tunis; and Caracciola’s Mercedes won in Tripoli, France and Belgium. Nothing was expected to stand in the way of the silver machines on home soil, and a regiment of dedicated Nazis marched 350 miles (563km) to the Nürburgring in anticipation of another German clean sweep. The line-up was headed by five Mercedes (Caracciola, Fagioli, von Brauchitsch, Hermann Lang and Hans Geier) and four Auto-Unions (Rosemeyer, Achille Varzi, Hans Stuck and Paul Pietsch). The best the Italians could muster by way of competition were three Alfa Romeo P3s, driven by Tazio Nuvolari, Louis Chiron and Antonio Brivio. But even on a circuit with 176 corners, the Alfas’ 265bhp would surely be no match for the Auto-Unions’ 350bhp and the Mercedes’ 400bhp.
Despite the drivers’ preference for starting positions on the grid to be decided by practice times, the organisers insisted on a ballot, which put the crowd favourite, Caracciola, back on the fourth row. Any spectator apprehension was quashed immediately when Caracciola, shooting off almost before the flag had fallen, stormed straight into the lead. Fagioli lay second but before the end of the first of the 22 laps had surrendered that position to the slender figure of Nuvolari who, in his familiar uniform of sky blue trousers and yellow sweater, had steered the Alfa around the outside of the pack in a daring manoeuvre. At the end of that opening lap, Caracciola sped past the pits at 170mph (273.6km/h), followed 12 seconds later by Nuvolari who clocked 150mph (241.4km/h), and Fagioli close up in third. On the second lap it was Rosemeyer’s turn to force his way through the field, relegating Nuvolari to fifth behind Caracciola, Rosemeyer, Fagioli and von Brauchitsch. Soon Chiron passed Nuvolari and moved up to fourth when Rosemeyer had to stop for a wheel change. But by lap five both Chiron and Brivio had retired, with transmission trouble and a broken differential respectively, leaving Nuvolari alone against the might of the Germans.
The situation certainly seemed to appeal to the little Italian, who took the fight to the Germans in inspirational fashion. By oversteering round each corner in a four-wheel drift (a technique which he pioneered), Nuvolari was able to gain precious seconds and work his way back up through the field. By lap ten only Caracciola remained ahead, but even he could not hold off the irresistible Nuvolari who, to the horror of the German crowd, swept past him into the lead. Then came the high drama of the race. At the end of the eleventh lap – half-distance – the leading five cars came into the pits to refuel and change wheels. Von Brauchitsch got away in 47 seconds but in the Alfa pit a pumping device broke and, amid much panic, the refuelling operation had to be completed by hand with a funnel. Excitable at the best of times, Nuvolari went spare and, in his frustration, downed an entire bottle of mineral water, pausing only to swear at his hapless mechanics. The stop took a calamitous 2min 14sec and when he eventually rejoined the race, Nuvolari had fallen back to sixth. It was nothing short of a disaster.
The efforts of von Brauchitsch’s pit crew had hoisted him into the lead from Caracciola, Rosemeyer and Fagioli, but Nuvolari quickly began to make up some of the lost ground and in the course of one lap – the thirteenth – he passed Stuck, Fagioli, Caracciola and Rosemeyer to rise to second place, just 69 seconds in arrears. Von Brauchitsch responded by setting a new lap record of 10min 30sec and by 14 laps had increased his advantage to 1min 26sec. He then appeared to ease off in the belief that victory was a foregone conclusion, and this enabled Nuvolari to make renewed inroads into the lead, cutting it back lap by lap – to 63 seconds, then 47, 43 and, starting the final circuit, 35. Such a lead should still have been sufficient for the German to take the chequered flag in first place, but as he passed the pits he could be seen pointing frantically at his left-side rear tyre. The same tyre had begun to show alarming signs of wear at the start of the previous lap, but Mercedes team boss Alfred Neubauer had overridden his mechanics’ pleas to bring von Brauchitsch in for a tyre change. ‘Brauchitsch will make it,’ he snapped, ‘and so will the tyre. It’s only a question of a few minutes.’ The tyre didn’t make it. Coming out of a corner less than 6 miles (9.7km) from the finish, the Mercedes’ tyre collapsed. Von Brauchitsch skilfully managed to retain control but could do nothing more than grind home slowly on the rim. Nuvolari swept past imperiously to win what the world’s press described as ‘a historic triumph of man over machine’. Stuck was nearly two minutes behind in second with Caracciola, who later complained of having felt unwell during the race, third, Rosemeyer fourth and von Brauchitsch fifth.
The 250,000-strong crowd were stunned by this blow to German supremacy. The loudspeakers, which had been prepared to announce another German victory, remained ominously silent. The organisers eventually conducted a search for the Italian flag, which was then half-heartedly raised but without the accompaniment of the Italian national anthem, for the simple reason that nobody had bothered to bring the record. Except Nuvolari, that is. He always carried a record of the anthem in his suitcase for good luck, so he sent his mechanic to fetch it and the spectators were finally able to listen to the least popular tune in Germany that afternoon. It must have been a bitter pill to swallow, but for Nuvolari it was probably his finest hour. One of motor racing’s strangest races was also one of its greatest.