I had been excited ever since we agreed the deal to race a Formula Ford around such a famous circuit and make my international debut.
The track on the simulator was a real challenge and, knowing I was going to be with a new team and in a different car, just added to it all. I felt a good pressure. I know I’m good at learning new tracks and adapting to different cars, I know my pace in the UK is strong and the thought that I could be fighting towards the front at somewhere as iconic as Zandvoort made me feel genuinely optimistic.
The last few days before we left I stayed at home, relaxed and just got myself ready. I didn’t want to overthink anything.
Grace came with me for the whole trip and, as she’s a racing driver herself, she understood exactly what this weekend meant to me. Having her there made a massive difference because she knew when to talk racing and when to tell me to switch off.
The journey over on Thursday felt long, and by the time we arrived I only had about an hour to walk the circuit before it started getting dark. I walked it with Alan, Mum and Grace. The two things that stood out straight away were the banking and the sand. I’d seen the banking hundreds of times on TV and on the simulator, but until you actually walk up it you don’t realise how steep it really is. It gives you a completely different appreciation for the place.
We got back to the hotel late, grabbed something to eat and tried to relax before practice the next morning.
The awning was already set up and, after a few attempts, we finally got signed on and collected the transponder. Nothing ever seems quite as straightforward as it is in the UK, but all I wanted to do was get out on track. There were around sixty-five cars sharing the circuit, made up of older Formula Fords and Formula Ford 2000s, so I knew finding a clear lap wasn’t going to be easy.
The first session was busy from the moment we left the pits. The circuit was unbelievably slippery with oil mixing with the sand and there were even live recovery vehicles coming onto the circuit under waved yellows. Looking in my mirrors and seeing a pick-up truck behind me was definitely something I’d never experienced before.
The car actually felt quite good, but we had an engine misfire and I just couldn’t get the pace I knew was there.
Before the second session we thought we’d cured the problem and I managed a few decent laps before another car dropped so much oil that it became too dangerous to continue. It wasn’t the start to the weekend I’d hoped for, but equally I wasn’t worried. I still felt there was plenty to come.
That evening everyone got together for a barbecue as part of the Marcel Albers Trophy. I also spent some time reading more about Marcel himself. What a driver he was. Standing there knowing the event was held in his memory made it feel like a genuine honour just to be invited, and seeing the banner with his photograph hanging in our awning made me stop and think about the history behind the event.
Saturday arrived and it was finally time for qualifying.
We fitted new tyres and the plan was to follow my teammate John, who had won the event before, but it didn’t quite work out like that. John and Richard Freye managed to get away while I found myself buried in traffic.
Over twenty minutes I overtook twenty-two cars and, despite the misfire returning, I still managed to qualify third on the grid, just half a second away from pole position.
For the first time all weekend I felt everything coming together.
I knew there was more pace in both me and the car if we could just get the engine to behave itself, and I genuinely felt like I was about to show everyone why I’d travelled all this way.
Geoff Page, who had travelled over with us, spent time looking over the engine while we prepared for the race.
Then came the grid walk.
I found that harder than I expected. It was hot, there were lots of people around and everyone wanted a few words. All I really wanted to do was climb into the car and drive. This was my chance.
I was also very aware that this wasn’t our Reynard. It wasn’t Mark and Dave standing on the pit wall and it wasn’t our engine. I kept reminding myself to leave room, don’t take silly risks and look after the car because I’d been trusted with something that belonged to somebody else.
The start was good and by the end of the first lap I was already up to second. The three of us started battling and, honestly, I felt comfortable. I didn’t need to force anything because a top-three finish would put me in a brilliant position for the main race on Sunday. Everything was starting to come together and, despite the misfire still being there, I finally felt like I was showing why I’d come all this way.
Then, coming out of Turn Two on lap four, there was the biggest bang I have ever heard in a racing car. Smoke filled the mirrors straight away and my first thought was simply to get the car off the circuit as quickly as I could because I didn’t know if it was on fire.
I climbed out, looked back at the car and then just stood there waiting for the marshals. At that point I had absolutely no idea what had happened. I knew the engine had stopped, but that was it.
The Dutch recovery team arrived and I climbed into the recovery vehicle with them while they recovered the car. We couldn’t really talk because of the language, so I just sat there with my helmet in my lap and my own thoughts going round and round in my head.
I kept asking myself the same questions. Had I done something wrong? Had I over-revved it? Had I missed a warning light? Had I damaged somebody else’s engine? What was I going to say to the team? We’d travelled all this way, everyone had worked so hard to make this happen and now I genuinely didn’t know what I was going back to.
It felt like a very long journey back to the paddock. Looking back it was probably around forty-five minutes before I got back to the awning, but it felt much longer than that. The more time I had to think, the worse it became.
When I finally arrived back, I could see straight away from everyone’s faces that something wasn’t right. Then I looked at the engine and saw the hole in the side of the block.
I just felt sick.
Dad had gone completely white.
Mum hardly said anything.
I didn’t really know what to do or what to say, so I walked back to the truck and sat there on my own for ten minutes.
Everyone kept telling me it wasn’t my fault. The team were brilliant, the owner was brilliant and Geoff was already looking at what had happened, but it takes a while for your head to catch up with what people are telling you. I believed them, but I still couldn’t stop thinking that we’d travelled all that way and I’d never really had the chance to show what I could do.
We left the circuit and went to the beach for a while. Everyone was trying to help me switch off, but I wasn’t really there. I looked out at the sea, but all I could hear was the bang and all I could see was the smoke. I just kept replaying those few seconds over and over again.
The next morning we packed everything away, said our goodbyes to the team and started another long journey home.
I do feel cheated.
I never really got to show the real me.
For a few laps I finally felt everything coming together. The pace was there, I was comfortable in the car and I honestly believed I could fight for the win. Then it was gone.
At the same time, I did prove something to myself.
I can be quick in a different Formula Ford, with a different team and on one of Europe’s toughest circuits.
Now I’ve raced in Europe, I know what to expect.
I need to go back.
Next time I want to go back with our Reynard, with Mark and Dave beside me, and finish what I started.
