Heading east on Wentworth Drive, she lost it completely, over-corrected and went straight off through the rhododendrons

It was Christmas Day, 1968. There was snow on the ground in Surrey and, as usual on that festive day in my parents’ house, the roast turkey was served at lunchtime. I was keeping off the juice because I was entered in the Formula Ford race at Brands Hatch the following day. Yes, however fondly we may recall those old Boxing Day Brands meetings, they certainly made for a miserably stone-cold sober Christmas.

My mother was going on in her usual way, saying that given the chance she could have driven my Formula Ford car faster than I ever had. With my first season in motor racing behind me, the fact that I hadn’t won every race I’d entered in 1968 had brought shame on the name of Dron as far as she was concerned.

She was a very competitive woman, my mother. When I was six years old, we went on a P&O cruising holiday round the Med and I well remember watching her win an underwater swimming competition in the ship’s pool. Lots of teaspoons were thrown into the pool and the idea was for competitors to dive in one at a time and collect as many as possible before coming up for air. One by one, her rivals came up gasping, proudly showing three or four spoons, which were thrown back in each time. She got them all, of course, a great fistful of the bloody things, and she wasn’t even out of breath.

When I was nearly ten, my parents thought it would be good for us all to take a Butlin’s holiday for a change. We went to a classic 1950s Hi-de-Hi type of camp at Mosney in Ireland, which I enjoyed very much indeed. When an over-40s swimming race for ladies was announced over the loudspeakers, my mother was seen sprinting for her costume.

Presenting herself for the race, she had to prove to the happy Redcoats in charge of the event that she was exactly 40 years and one week old. When the starter fired his gun, she took off like an Olympic swimmer. What made the scene all the more remarkable was the rather obvious fact that she was all on her own in that pool. Curiously enough, there wasn’t even one other woman prepared to admit to being over 40. The Redcoat on the public address soon made ‘brave 40-year-old Audrey’ famous all over the camp.

She was quite mad, in a nice way. After that Christmas Day lunch in 1968 she set off from our house to drive to Virginia Water in my father’s BMW 1800. She had no fear of driving on snow, naturally. About 50 yards past Wentworth Club, heading east on Wentworth Drive, she lost it completely, over-corrected and went straight off through the rhododendrons.

I seem to remember that she walked back. It wasn’t that far, as we lived at the end of the third hole of the West course. When I found the car, it was nose-up at 45 degrees to the trunk of a silver birch tree, with the bonnet well stuffed.

That incident came to mind when I attended the recent launch of BMW Park Lane’s new BMW Classic service. It was an informal but very impressive occasion, with star guests including John Surtees, Jackie Oliver and Steve Soper. BMW Classic staff were ready by their computers and, after some entertaining speeches, everybody was invited to step up and enquire about the availability of BMW Classic parts.

As I went forward for my turn, I decided I’d try to stump them with something really difficult. I enquired about a new bonnet for a 1968 BMW 1800 and was amazed to see it flash up on the screen at a very reasonable price. Looking closely at everything on the screen, it was clear that they didn’t have one in stock. I was then told that it could arrive in two or three days from Germany.

That seemed fantastic to me. Needless to say, I don’t require one of those bonnets. My father’s BMW, which I remember so well as a really fabulous car back in those days, was given a new bonnet early in 1969 and was none the worse for my fearless mother’s adventures with it through the bushes of Wentworth Estate. Oddly enough, she didn’t mention the incident again for the rest of her life. She died in 1992, aged 76, and I’m glad also to report that she never again criticised my racing skills – not after Christmas Day, 1968.

TONY DRON

Having started his racing career in Formula Ford, Tony made a name for himself in 1970s Touring Cars and since then has raced an astonishing variety of sports and historic machinery. He is also a hugely respected journalist.