Sportsmanship. The necessary preliminaries having been completed, a little knot of other friendly, but rival, enthusiasts wish the driver the best of
luck, though it often is their record that is ti be attacked. This is one of the things that makes Brooklands what it is, for no man,
however commercially-minded, will not willingly assist another to gain a record.
The starting point for all records is the pneumatic tube stretched across the track from the box, marking the commencement of the mile,
which tube conceals the wiring for the elactric timing. Down to this tube moves the car, and once arrived, the driver is loneliness
personified. Impossible as it is to hear a word above the roar of the exhaust, the attendants' orders are signalled by gestures. An
uplifted arm is dropped, and with a scream the clutch goes home. Forward moves the ignition lever; the second, third, and top gears
are meshed in turn as the revolution counter dial shows the correct engine speed, untill at last the car begins to atain real pace,
and shoots up the home banking. Just as a blur of figures shows in the depot at the home end of the finishing straight, the car flies
down down to the railway straight, and a "clunk" marks where the timing tube is passed. Thenceforward life is indeed worth the living.
The edges of the track blend in one continuous blur, the far horizon remains unnoticed, as straight towards the racing bonnet streams
the grey cement, the driver's head seems to be pressed back by some hidden agency, and the spare goggles' elastic quite hurts his neck.
All sounds die before one continuous roar of the exhaust, the "rev" counter shows 2,800rpm. (its belt probably slips), and the oil gauge
hand is steady at "65."
As the car is turned off the Byfleet banking, the wind catches it full astern, and it leaps forward; up, up go the "revs." to 3,000.
to 3,500, and the machine is really travelling. A shock, and the car mounts the banking, then in a flash comes the depot and two little
blurry figures on a blackboard reading "95"- or is it "85"?- anyhow, there is time for but a glance. Plunging down the bank to the
railway straight, the car steadies into the wind, slows imperceptibly, and becomes more comfortable. A train on the right seems stationary, then up the byfleet banking, a bang, another, and the driver leaves his seat, it seems for ages. Once more the exciting rush to the Vickers shed, with a big shock just after the banking, and a quite decided skid at the corner. Very well, it must be taken less sharply, and the car brought off the far banking earlier.