Driven: A pioneer for women in motorsport – an autobiography. Rosemary Smith
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down her face and she was unconscious, just slumped there and not responding. I had a torch, a scarf and a box of tissues in the car, and instinctively I knew what I had to do. I pulled the flap of skin back in place on her forehead, grabbed a bunch of tissues, put them on the top of her head and wrapped the scarf around the whole lot as tightly as I could.
I was frantic to get help, but when I tried to get out of the car the door was jammed tight. The windows in the Mini then were made of Perspex, but I managed to force my way out and set off down the road in the freezing fog, torch in hand. As always in situations like this, my shoes were left behind, so there I was, covered in blood, stumbling down a country road in the middle of the night, barefoot. Away in the distance I saw a light in a farmhouse, and as I approached dogs started to bark. I banged on the door and a man opened an upstairs window with a shotgun in his hands as he looked down at me.
‘I think I’ve killed my co-driver. I need help,’ I shouted up at him.
‘Women shouldn’t be driving anyway,’ was his muttered reply.
He came down, and when he saw the state I was in he went back into the house for his keys. He didn’t have a car, just a cattle truck. He had been to the mart that morning so the truck was stinking to high heaven and full of cow dung.
We drove back to the car and the farmer banged away at the buckled door with a sledgehammer. We managed to pull the unconscious Delphine out and carried her into the smelly truck. She groaned as we moved her and I was so glad to hear that moan because it meant she was still alive. The farmer drove us to a hospital in Goresbridge, County Carlow, which I remember thinking at the time was a very appropriate name, considering Delphine and I were covered in blood.
When we arrived at the hospital the nurse informed us that all the doctors were at a party and we would have to go to Carlow, 14 miles away. She telephoned to the hospital, telling them to expect us, and there was a doctor and nurse waiting when we arrived. They put poor Delphine on a stretcher so short that her head was hanging over the end; she had lost so much blood, the doctor didn’t think she would live. She was wheeled away to an operating theatre, and as I sat there in a daze a doctor came over to attend to my face. I hadn’t realised it but there was a gash on my cheek and the doctor decided I needed stitches. I think he might have been one of the doctors who had been at that party the nurse had told us about, because the smell of alcohol as he leant over me was potent, although it might have been ether. He began work on my face but he didn’t use any injection or anaesthetic, just sewed me up with what looked like a large carpet needle. It didn’t matter; I was beyond feeling anything anyway.
I lay on the bed in the Accident and Emergency and must have dozed for a while and then woke to find that Delphine was out of surgery. She had 49 stitches across her hairline but she was alive and that was all I cared about. I telephoned Delphine’s husband, Frank, with the bad news. I told him the Mini was a write-off, but Delphine was fine. He didn’t seem to care about the car and said he would come and get me straight away.
Frank arrived in a lovely little Triumph Herald to take me home. When we left the hospital I went to get into the passenger seat and he said, ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ He insisted that I got into the car and drove home from Carlow to Dunboyne in County Meath to my house. It took us four hours and I was shaking from exhaustion and delayed shock. He kept putting his hand on the steering wheel to keep us on the road. Frank knew that if he didn’t make me drive I might never get behind the wheel again.
When we arrived home I was in a terrible state. I had a black eye, there was blood all over my clothes, mostly Delphine’s, and my face was swollen from the stitches. Dad was very calm and told me to have a bath and go straight to bed. The next day after breakfast he said that we were going to Laytown. Once again I went to get in the passenger seat but my father insisted I should drive. He did exactly the same thing as Frank, and to my amazement we were only a mile from the house when I was driving normally without any bother. Any of the accidents I had after that, and thank goodness I didn’t have too many, I did what my father and Frank had told me to do: I just carried on.
Delphine recovered well and after a few weeks she was home and raring to go. She was lucky that she had a very low hairline and with that wonderful hair cascading around her face the scar never showed. Delphine never held the accident against me – she knew she was the one who was navigating and I was just obeying orders – but nevertheless I was relieved that we were still the best of friends. She didn’t let a little thing like a crash into a wall affect her, and with a new boyfriend in tow we were back on the road to do weekend rallies and test drives.
Frank Bigger pushed me to enter rallies with Delphine; he had a high opinion of my driving abilities and also the money to back us. After a number of two-day rallies, we went for the big event: the Circuit of Ireland in 1959. In its heyday, just about everyone with an interest in motorsport migrated to Killarney, County Kerry, at Easter. People came from all over Ireland just to be part of it. Killarney was buzzing and it was nearly impossible to get somewhere to stay.
The Circuit of Ireland differed from many other rallies as it was run over closed roads. The organisers tried to keep the route secret but this was frustrated by the fact that six months before the event advertisements had to be placed in local and national newspapers to let people know that roads in their area would be closed. Three weeks prior to the rally the organisers arrived to tell local residents when and for how long the road would be out of bounds. This didn’t go down too well with some of the clergy as the rally took place at Easter and they were anxious that the parishioners would be able to fulfil their religious duties.
In 1965 a farmer and his wife blocked the road near Croom in County Limerick. When a car halted, the farmer banged the windscreen with a stick and his wife threw a stone at the rear window as the drivers drove away, bypassing the blockade. But that was an exception; generally people were enthusiastic and lined the route all around the country, cheering us on.
The other significant factor in the Circuit of Ireland Rally was that pace notes were banned. In rallying, pace notes are used to describe the route to be driven, the speed anticipated to complete each stage and the turnings and junctions. Without pace notes, what you rely on is instinct, a good car, a good crew and the sheer joy of competing – and if you’re lucky, winning. Nowadays rallies use notes supplied by the organisers, or alternatively, competitors are allowed to make a full reconnaissance as opposed to rallying the stages blindly. Although pace notes were banned, that didn’t prevent some people from cheating and it was very difficult to get around that despite the best efforts of the marshals.
The Circuit is still held today but it is not the same as it is restricted to a short route, mostly in the north of Ireland. In the early days the Circuit was a 1,200- to 1,500-mile event (depending on the chosen route) that encompassed the whole island of Ireland. It became an important event on the rallying calendar, with drivers coming from the United Kingdom and further afield to compete.
The rally went on day and night and was hard going, but I loved it. Cars would leave Belfast on Friday night, although some years they allowed drivers to start from different locations, just like the Monte Carlo rallies, and we were able to set off from Dawson Street in Dublin one year. Typically, the route took us over the Mourne Mountains through Friday night and then down the east coast to finish in Killarney on Saturday evening. On Sunday we drove around the Ring of Kerry, then right up the west coast to Donegal on Monday. On Tuesday we drove east across Northern Ireland to finish in Bangor for the prize-giving.
My faithful Imp (Bill Mansill)
As I have said, the Circuit of Ireland was always run over the Easter weekend, and sometimes there would be snow in the southwest on the Tim Healy Pass. I drove a little Hillman Imp for many of the Circuit of Ireland events and it was perfect for the narrow and twisty road around the lakes and over the mountains. I have driven in the Circuit of Ireland Rally at least eight times, winning the Ladies’ Award on numerous occasions, and was placed high overall many times. In 1968 I was third overall when Roger Clark came first in a Ford Escort, Adrian Boyd second in a Mini Cooper and I drove my faithful Imp.