Motorsport memories: 25 years since we lost Ayrton Senna

By James Page

| 30 Apr 2019

Classic & Sports Car – Motorsport memories: 25 years since we lost Ayrton Senna

The first reaction was of disbelief that there’d been yet another accident. Rubens Barrichello on Friday, the tragedy of Roland Ratzenberger’s loss on Saturday, the shunt on the grid, and now this.

Then there was the tone of Murray Walker’s voice. Clive James famously said that Walker commentated as if his trousers were on fire, but now it was subdued, solemn, measured.

Other memories come back: the look on Johnny Herbert’s face when the Williams returned to the pits on the back of a low-loader; BBC reporter Steve Rider describing Ayrton Senna’s condition as ‘grave’; the sense of apprehension as the race got under way once more.

And then, that night, a feeling that something irreplaceable had been lost. None of the other drivers on the grid had the stature, the charisma, the force of personality that Senna had brought to Formula One.

Senna won the 1988 Japanese Grand Prix and sealed his first drivers' title

Years afterwards, an online forum included a thread called ‘The Day the Music Died’, in which people noted the moment at which their interest in contemporary motorsport had started to wane.

Although I followed Formula One closely for the next decade or so, without doubt Imola 1994 was mine.

I was 11 years old when Senna claimed his first championship in 1988, and watched as he exited the Suzuka chicane for the final time to win the Japanese Grand Prix.

I can still picture the intensity of his celebrations as he crossed the line to cap a superb comeback drive after stalling at the start.

To my mind, there was something different about Senna, something that placed him on a separate level to his rivals. And it should be remembered that, at the time, those rivals were the likes of Nelson Piquet, Nigel Mansell, Gerhard Berger and, above all, Alain Prost.

Senna at Spa's Bus Stop chicane, captured by this young admirer

The war between Senna and Prost has passed into motor-racing legend, and of course I was very much in the Brazilian’s corner.

At that age, you don’t have the perspective that enables you to appreciate both drivers, to recognise that here was a rare instance of all-time greats going head-to-head at the height of their powers. Senna was my hero, Prost was the bad guy – that was pretty much the strength of it.

In 1990, we went to the Belgian Grand Prix and watched the race from the Bus Stop chicane, surrounded by Ferrari fans. One of them very kindly gave me a poster, and I’m ashamed to recall that for a moment – before I remembered my manners – I was visibly disappointed that it was of Alain Prost. That weekend, I was delighted that Senna dominated throughout.

As I’ve got older, of course, I’ve come to recognise Prost’s qualities more and more. That feeling was reinforced when even I could see that the Frenchman was done a huge disservice in the 2010 film about Senna’s career.

Noel Gallagher once said that the more he found out about his hero, John Lennon, the less he liked him. That hasn’t happened with me and Senna, but over the years I have come to realise that the driving tactics he often employed, and which I defended at the time, were in fact indefensible.

One of the other memories from the 1988 season comes from the Portuguese Grand Prix.

At the end of the first lap, Prost went to overtake Senna, who moved across on him to such an extent that teams had to hurriedly withdraw the pit boards they were hanging out. It caused outrage at the time, but these days probably wouldn’t raise so much as an eyebrow.

Senna went on to win at Monaco in 1990, after a memorable pole lap

And yet the ruthless determination that led him to pull such stunts was also an essential part of his attraction.

It served him particularly well in qualifying, and I don’t care if Lewis Hamilton has recently eclipsed Senna’s record of pole positions – no one will convince me that anyone has ever been better over a single lap.

During the build-up to the 1990 Monaco Grand Prix, the BBC showed onboard footage from Senna’s pole-position lap.

I was downstairs making lunch and Senna was coming through Casino Square by the time I’d run up to the living room and pressed ‘Record’ on our Betamax top-loader. I might not have captured the complete lap, but I kept that tape for years afterwards and can remember every bit of it – the one-handed opposite lock coming out of the Loews Hairpin, and the hesitation on the throttle as a backmarker briefly gets in the way exiting the Swimming Pool section.

In the days before attending a Grand Prix required you to remortgage your house, we’d go to Silverstone to watch Saturday’s action.

Whenever that instantly recognisable yellow helmet appeared, the tension went up a notch: “Senna!” You knew that you were going to see something special – Prost may have been his equal over a race distance but no one was willing to let it all hang out during qualifying in the way that Senna was.

In the rain, too. If you turned on the television and saw that it was going to be a wet race, you knew that nine times out of 10 Senna would win.

Senna scored a famous victory in the rain at Donington Park in ’93

His spectacular style on the track played a large part in my fascination with him, but it helped that he also had a rare charisma out of the car.

There was clearly some conflict between his dedication to motor racing and his love for Brazil.

Over the winter, he’d go home while McLaren’s test drivers flogged around Estoril, Imola, Jerez or wherever, only reappearing as the season neared.

Sometimes, there’d be doubts over whether he’d reappear at all, either due to arguments with the governing body or contractual struggles with Ron Dennis.

It all added to his mystique, the sense that here was man marching to his own beat. You only needed to watch a few of his interviews or press conferences to realise that.

In one, he openly called Prost a coward. In another, he ranted about FIA president Jean-Marie Balestre and the championship-deciding incidents at Suzuka in 1989 and ’90.

And at Jerez in 1990, he spoke movingly and thoughtfully about taking pole position in the aftermath of Martin Donnelly’s dreadful accident.

As such, he often dominated the pages of the specialist press and I devoured everything that was written about him. I was given a copy of Christopher Hilton’s book The Hard Edge of Genius when it came out in 1990, and have bought countless others since.

Senna joined Williams for the 1994 season

Senna was therefore the focal point of my passion for Formula One. When he joined Williams for 1994, it was thought that he was going to be unbeatable. Prost had retired, he was in the best team – a fourth title seemed inevitable.

Then came Imola.

At the moment of Senna’s accident, the television footage was onboard with Michael Schumacher’s chasing Benetton and for a moment I wondered why Murray Walker suddenly exclaimed: “And Senna!”

What he’d seen was the Williams spear off to the right, the feed then switching to a longer shot that showed it hitting the wall and sliding down the run-off area.

This was the first race at which the BBC had its own roving pitlane camera, which it cut to in the aftermath of the accident as the race was stopped.

Other broadcasters did not, and Walker had to keep talking while graphic images of the medical team attending to Senna played out on a screen in his commentary box.

Senna celebrates his fifth and final success at Spa in 1991

It’s hard to believe that it’s all 25 years ago now, but while the memories of that day remain strong, I prefer to remember Senna punching the air at Suzuka, setting that other-worldly pole position at Monaco, or dominating the Belgian Grand Prix.

To a youngster who was captivated by Formula One, he was the ideal racing driver and a unique talent.

No word better sums up his appeal than the one that became his nickname during his three years with Lotus: magic.

Images: Motorsport Images/James Page

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