This little incident with Peter Clarke changed my life.

Sideways as usual! Roger Clark’s speciality.

Good training for my future TV work. Wrap up well!

Just think! If things had turned out differently, I could have won the Grand National.

Mason the artist, aged 11. My passion for rallying started with my award-winning painting.

Watch out Lord Olivier! I’m ‘the boy’ (second left) in Dickens’ A Christmas Carol.

It’s the way I tell ‘em! A dreadful stand-up comic in Morecambe.

My first little Mini had a hard life.

Water, water everywhere! My Mini-Cooper S at home in the Lake District.

My first navigators’ championship win. Driver Bob Lamb is next to me, then club chairman Leslie Rigg, and the Mayor and Mayoress of Morecambe, no less.

With Bill Willlicombe in his Austin-Healey Sprite, and more water.

We’ll take the high road! Bill and I would soon get completely lost in the middle of Glasgow.

Not a gypsy encampment, but the start of a Lakeland forest stage on my first RAC Rally in 1962.

With Bob Lamb in his Humber Sceptre, starting a rally in Yorkshire.

Rallying in comfort! The sturdy Humber in action on the 1963 RAC Rally.

With Phil Simister in his Cortina on the 1964 RAC Rally.

Just for a change! A road section shot of Bob Lamb and me on the 1965 RAC Rally.

Road rallying with David Cowan in 1968. Please note that the dented front wing had nothing to do with my navigation.

The closed roads of the Circuit of Ireland were a new experience for Tom Beaumont and me in the Volvo PV 544 in 1968.

An appearance on stage with Britain’s tallest man, Christopher Greener. I’m on the right!

Club rallies also had special stages. Here I am in Bob Lamb’s Cortina on the Filldyke Rally.

Roy Mapple and I had an action-packed RAC Rally in 1966. This is one of our more peaceful moments.

Our first international class win. With Bob Lamb on the 1968 Scottish Rally.

Young David Cowan driving carefully in his dad’s new Escort RS on the Welsh Rally.

Fellow Morecambe Car Club member Mike Preston and I went to watch the Targa Florio in Sicily in 1971. This is the first sighting of a Mason cap.

Some glamour at last! Racing driver Gillian Fortescue-Thomas tried her hand at rallying.

With Peter Clarke on the British championship Mintex Seven Dales in Yorkshire in 1971.

A year later and my first trip with Roger Clark in a works Escort on the 1972 Seven Dales.

Guess what? We won!

An unusually bleak bit of Scotland. This is Peter Clarke and me in 1972 on the Scottish Rally.

Mud, mud, glorious mud. The first stage of the 1972 RAC Rally with Roger Clark.

Flat out in the Yorkshire forests on the 1972 RAC Rally with Roger.

I double-checked every bit of paperwork as we held our lead on the RAC Rally.

Service areas are a little more organised these days. In 1972 they were bedlam.

Leaving a stage on the 1972 RAC. I haven’t had time to remove my helmet.

The spoils of victory. We never saw these trophies again – they went to the RAC Club in London.

At last! After our last-minute dramas we finally made it to York and won.

Ford’s publicity machine went into overdrive, with huge posters in the windows of every Ford dealer.

Every new Ford sold had this sticker in the back window.

Prints of this Robin Owen painting were very popular, even appearing as jigsaw puzzles.

Every national newspaper carried this full-page advertisement.

Even my employer, K Shoes, got in on the act.

Oops! HRH Prince Michael of Kent overdid it on the Seven Dales Rally in 1973. You’ll notice I was first out!

Eight

It’s shoe business!

One of the biggest employers in the Lake District in the sixties and seventies was K Shoes Ltd. The company was started by Somervell Brothers in 1842 and, over the years, had grown to become one of Britain’s leading shoe manufacturers. The K brand was very well known, and was, at the time, the only single-letter product name in the world. A short pause here, while you try to think of another one and prove me wrong!

One evening, while perusing the local newspaper, I noticed a job advertised at K Shoes which seemed just up my street, for the company wanted an executive to work in its busy advertising department at its factory in Kendal. I applied and, after interviews and short-listing, I was given the job, sharing an office with assistant advertising manager Chris Stott.

It was good to be back in advertising, and the advertising manager encouraged me to complete my studies, giving me quite a lot of assistance. I soon passed the last of nine papers and was duly appointed a member of the Communication, Advertising and Marketing Foundation. That final paper was one of the most difficult – advertising law. It was necessary to be factual and not waffle (my speciality, as you may have noticed), and I thought I stood little chance as one was expected to quote dates of obscure court cases, concerning suspicious products and bogus advertising claims. I passed this paper with flying colours after a lot of guessing, and my pass surprised me, quite frankly. Mind you, I did notice that another candidate called Mason failed this one paper abysmally. I bet he had a shock when the results were announced.

Shortly after joining K Shoes I was sent off to learn about the footwear industry as part of a training scheme operated by this very professionally run company. I was despatched to spend time in different departments in the factories, travel with representatives on their rounds, and was even sent off to work as an assistant in the company’s own K Shoe Shops for several weeks. I really hated this latter experience and spent most of the time in the London shops where I remember kneeling on the floor in a servile way before a variety of customers, within inches of their smelly hot feet, before climbing ladders to obtain further pairs of shoes, most of which would be rejected after being tried on! The only bright spot in this rather mundane few weeks of my life was when comedian Tommy Cooper entered the shop looking for a pair of size 14 shoes. He tried on a few and then proceeded to stride about the shop trying them out which, of course, had all the other shoppers in stitches. He didn’t buy any.

There were two K Shoe Shops in Oxford Street in London’s West End, and once I was asked by the manager to take 20 pairs of shoes from one to the other. The approved manner of transporting boxes of shoes is to pass a single thick strap around them and carry one bundle in each hand. All was well on my little expedition along the very busy street until I was required to cross the road. There were not as many pedestrian crossings around in those days, so I had to take my life in my hands and dart among the passing taxis and buses, clutching my straps full of shoes in my little hands. I reached the safe haven of a traffic island in the centre of the road, regained my breath, and set off for the next sprint among the traffic.

I do not know why, but halfway through my manoeuvre one of the straps loosened and ten boxes of shoes fell onto the road. Needless to say, all the shoes fell out of their nice grey boxes and scattered all over, the shoe box lids and tissue paper packing material blowing about among the traffic and pedestrians. It was mayhem, but eventually a kindly bus driver stopped, allowing me to gather up all my merchandise and try to repack everything prior to presenting myself to the company’s most senior manager at 324 Oxford Street, pretending nothing had happened.

Apart from the above minor incident, I really liked the work and the people at K Shoes, and collaborated on projects with the advertising manager, Brian Hufton. He and I would often travel in his Hillman Hunter, and I was offered to take the wheel a lot. It transpired that Brian was a nervous passenger but obviously approved of my driving, which was, of course, a little more tempered than when in my Mini-Cooper S. It would be fair to say that Brian enjoyed good food and drink, and we travelled the length and breadth of Britain to put on fashion shows and promotions demonstrating footwear. I certainly learnt to find my way around menus and wine lists, if nothing else!

The K Shoe shows were held in all major cities around the UK in large hotels or small theatres, and we would often be accompanied by a number of models for several days, staying overnight and enjoying the facilities of top class hotels. For a young red-blooded unattached male in his late twenties, these little outings certainly had their attractions, as you might imagine.

It was not only shoe business but also show business for me, as I took to the stage with the lovely models to demonstrate new amazing waterproof suede ‘Aqua Skip’ shoes. They were revolutionary, and I would demonstrate their stain-proof qualities by pouring all sorts of household products, including Ribena, gravy, Worcestershire sauce, cooking oil and even hydrochloric acid over the shoes. I introduced a bit of ‘patter,’ of course, which amused the audience and, more importantly, some of the girls.

Each year K Shoes held an important three day event for all its major customers, mostly independent shoe shop proprietors and buyers from major stores. It was a lavish affair featuring several major attractions, including, on more than one occasion, the band of Her Majesty’s Royal Marines. The tallest man in Britain, Christopher Greener, appeared in one show wearing specially made size 20 K shoes. I went on stage with him, barely coming up to his waist. We made an odd couple for sure! There was music, lights, and effects, and the whole function was held on the upper floors of the prestigious Café Royal in Regent Street, London.

I was asked to perform my K Aqua Skip demonstration, and as I had by then been appointed sales promotion manager, I became involved in all aspects of the shows. This included ensuring that the shallow trays on each catwalk were adequately filled with water, through which models would paddle in their suede Aqua Skips to the music of Singing in the Rain. Are you beginning to wonder where on earth this ‘motorsportish’ biography is going? Don’t worry. It gets better!

At the end of each day I would affix a long hosepipe to a fire hydrant and slowly refill the trays. Until one evening, that is, when most of the participants had departed. I attached one end of the hosepipe to the fire hydrant, and unwound it from the reel affixed to the wall on the top-floor landing. I pulled it to the farthest point, but it may have been a pull too far, as there was a clank and whooshing sound from the landing, and a certain lack of water emerging from my pipe. On return, I found a huge torrent of high pressure water jetting out of the hydrant horizontally. I rushed towards it to try and turn it off, but the jet hit me mid-chest and propelled me across the landing. It was like something from a Norman Wisdom film as I tried to reach the hydrant and was jetted away again. I was eventually joined by another colleague who, when he had finished laughing, turned off the hydrant. By now the torrent had soaked the expensively carpeted landing and stairs of the Café Royal on two floors and, of course, Café Royal staff appeared, one of whom summoned the fire brigade, whose engine sped down Regent Street with blue lights flashing.

I feared for my job, but the K Shoes and Café Royal hierarchy took a very charitable view and considered it an accident. Thankfully, they never asked which handle I had pulled down. There were two brass handles close together: one was marked ‘Lock on hose-pipe,’ the other ‘Release hose pipe.’

Apart from the above, I had some great memories of this part of my life, and enjoyed organising sales conferences in various Lakeland hotels (and sampling all the facilities prior to booking), and on one occasion taking photographs of K Shoes displays in every shoe shop between Lands End and John O’Groats. There was a bit of drama associated with my visit to a small market town in Devon, where the local shoe retailer was next door to a branch of Barclays Bank. It was early evening and my flashing photographic bulbs were noticed by some local worthy, who notified the police that a young man was taking photographs of the bank. More flashing blue lights!

Among the staff in the advertising department at K Shoes was a talented artist by the name of John Watton. He was a gracious, family-loving person who edited the K Shoes magazine, The Eyelet. I was fascinated to learn that he had been imprisoned in Colditz Castle for some years during the war (which, itself, indicated that he was a brave man, having been recaptured after escaping from another prisoner-of-war camp). I have since seen his name mentioned in books about Colditz, and it appears he was involved in preparing passports, uniform buttons, and other items for escapees. He never talked about his experiences, although I persuaded him to give a short talk at the local Carnforth and District Round Table, which I had joined, along with fellow local rallymen Jim Pye and Tony Payne. All John talked about were the lavatorial habits of the different nationalities of prisoners!

Although it may sound as though my work at K Shoes consisted of gallivanting all over the country, I should mention that I was at my desk in Kendal many days, enjoying my journey to and from the town in my Mini-Cooper S, and having the occasional bar snack and drink at lunchtimes in a local country pub with colleagues or, occasionally, with one of the many unattached secretaries that worked in the same building. Our department produced all the K Shoes catalogues and other material, much of which was printed by Kendal’s local newspaper, The Westmorland Gazette. On one occasion I was invited into the print manager’s office and noticed a grey-haired man slouched in the corner puffing his pipe, whilst I discussed our printing requirements with Harry Firth, the manager. At the end of our very short meeting Harry introduced me to his other visitor, Alfred Wainwright, the celebrated fell-walker whose best-selling books were all printed by The Westmorland Gazette.

Through the haze of blue smoke I had a little chat with Mr Wainwright, and asked how much work went into preparing the copy for his popular books, which consisted entirely of reproductions of his hand-written manuscripts and his illustrations. He said something along the lines of “if a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing properly,” and said he felt there was not enough attention to detail from most people today. I suspect Mr Wainwright could be very grumpy and suddenly got the impression that he had had enough of me and I had outstayed my welcome. Anyway, we shook hands and I received a sort of smoky smile. I am glad I met one of the Lake District’s legends, and often thought of him as I rallied at break-neck speeds over famous passes close to his favourite places that he described so well in his genteel way.

Not content with my enjoyable K Shoes work and my regular rallying and other motorsport activities at weekends, I then embarked on yet another project – to take to the stage again. An amateur band known as the Syd Patterson Concept occasionally played at various sales conferences and shows for K Shoes, and the splendid Mr Patterson (a Kendal chiropodist by day) informed me that he had agreed to perform nightly at the Broadway Starlight Room in nearby Morecambe for a summer season. He had seen my performances at the K Shoes events and asked me if I would be interested in compèring and doing a bit of comedy there. Of course I said “yes.”

Morecambe’s reputation as a popular holiday resort was on the wane by the late sixties, and the Broadway Starlight Room was not the most salubrious of venues, I have to tell you. In fact, it was as far away from the famous New York Broadway as you could get. Nevertheless, I turned up and met the other acts and Syd told me what he wanted. One of the acts was a very good young comedian who was a local schoolmaster by day – his stage name was Jim Bowen, and he went on to become a top comedian and famous face on the ITV series Bullseye and other programmes. We got on well and after the shows would often go for a Chinese meal together with some of the other performers, but all of us realised that we were not pulling in the crowds (not that there were such big crowds in Morecambe to pull in, anyway).

There were various guest artists at the Broadway from time to time, but by and large the whole season was a struggle, and I remember one wet evening when there were just eight people in the audience! I reckon half of them had only come in to keep out of the rain while waiting for a bus! Although I did have further small ‘gigs’ to do (one of which was at a strip club), I began to realise that if I must go on the stage, rally stages were less scary!

Whilst I did not know the Lake District as well as Alfred Wainwright, who I mentioned earlier, I certainly knew all the roads and tracks and managed to get round them a lot quicker than he did. There were regular evening rallies as part of the Morecambe Bay championship, with events organised by the Furness and District, Westmorland, Kirkby Lonsdale, and Morecambe Car Clubs, and I managed to win all of them at one time or another. Many full night events also came to the area, including the Jeans Gold Cup from Liverpool Motor Club, the Bolton Midnight, the Keswick, the Preston, the Garstang, and further north the Hadrian (which actually included a section along the famous wall), and in the west the Derwent Rally, which I won with Peter Clarke in an Escort, narrowly beating a very young Malcolm Wilson who was navigating for Keith Thomas in a Ford Cortina Mk2. It was a club stage rally, and Peter and I could be accused of ‘pot-hunting’ but we were using it as a shakedown prior to competing in the RAC Rally a couple of weeks later. Malcolm, of course, went on to great things as a driver in British and World rallies, and for the last 12 years has run the entire Ford World Rally Team from his huge and magnificent headquarters in his native Cockermouth. He never forgets the fact I beat him on that rally, or that I appeared as guest speaker at his local motor club dinner dance at the Moota Motel, with one of the first of my many, many after-dinner appearances. The act did eventually get better, Malcolm.