High-octane voice of Formula 1 became known for foot-in-mouth ‘Murrayisms’

Murray Walker, who has died aged 97, was for more than half a century the high-octane voice of British motor sport and a consummate exponent of the “pants-on-fire” school of broadcast commentary.

At full throttle, Walker would typically let rip with what he called his “crash, bang, wallop” approach, developed during years of commentating on low-budget motocross and rallycross competitions.

“I reacted excitedly and enthusiastically to their drama, speed and aggression,” he remembered,

“and when I moved fulltime to the more sophisticated tarmac racing I took my whoops, expletives, shouts of amazement and malapropisms with me.”

If he made the trade of motormouth look easy, it was a tribute to his professionalism, passion and skill, because, as one broadcasting executive pointed out, motorracing is the hardest spectacle to describe because so little of what is happening is actually in view at any given moment.

But Walker quickly learned to handle the technical complexities of television coverage and became a master of the sport’s drama, history and politics. He cheerfully confessed to never having read a non-motorsport book or listened to a symphony. “He’s obsessed,” confirmed his wife. “If it hasn’t got an engine, he’s not interested.” Even his lawnmower bore a Ferrari sticker.

As accident-prone as some of his heroes, he frequently bestowed what became known as the Murray Walker Kiss of Death when, having noted how well a driver was doing, the competitor would then retire or crash out of the race. “I don’t make mistakes,” Walker insisted, “I make prophecies which immediately turn out to be wrong.” These gave rise to Walker’s catchphrase: “Unless I’m very much mistaken”, which in turn led more than once to the correction: “I am very much mistaken.”

Then there were the famous foot-in-mouth “Murrayisms”. “The car in front is absolutely unique,” he cried during one televised rallycross event, “except for the one behind it, which is identical!” Newspapers compiled golden treasuries of his gaffes. “And now excuse me while I interrupt myself,” was one example, followed by “Tambay’s hopes, which were previously nil, are now absolutely zero.”

Walker made his name in the 1950s commentating on motorcycle races, and the BBC regarded him as a potential all-rounder. They tried him out on non-sporting outside broadcasts, such as a military tattoo and a rowing regatta on the Serpentine. But in 1957 he found his true metier covering the noisy spectacle of motorcycle scrambling, or motocross, “which not only increased my broadcasting tempo but got me heavily involved in television for the first time”.

When motocross was succeeded by rallycross (with souped-up saloon cars instead of bikes), Formula Ford and Formula 3, Walker was again the man at the television microphone. In 1978 the BBC decided to televise the whole Formula 1 season, a controversial move in the light of highly visible tobacco sponsorship on the cars. Walker took over Formula 1 commentary from the experienced but comparatively sedate Raymond Baxter.

At first this involved Walker watching the race on a Eurovision feed at Television Centre before dubbing commentary on to an edited half-hour of highlights. But it proved such an instant success that it led to Walker’s 24-year career of travelling the world, covering Formula 1 live at 39 circuits in 20 countries, all on top of a demanding “day” job as an advertising executive.

During the 1980s he was paired in the commentary box with the laconic former world champion James Hunt, an arrangement which Walker found increasingly frustrating; he did not admire Hunt’s laid-back approach, dishevelled T-shirted appearance and what he considered his dissolute lifestyle.

Walker’s broadcasting was confined to weekends, while he spent his weekdays earning a steady living. Having left Dunlop for Aspro, he honed his skills as a copywriter extolling the virtues of headache pills, eventually diversifying into Aspro’s subsidiary companies and promoting such 1950s brands as Lifeguard disinfectant and DIP starch.

His commentaries led him to a job with McCann Erickson, then the world’s largest advertising agency, and later to Masius and Fergusson, with which he stayed for the rest of his career.

He presided over many successful advertising campaigns in the 1960s, helping to coin slogans for bird food, Opal Fruits (“Made to make your mouth water”) and a new kind of bubbly perry made from fermented pear juice and aimed at young women (“I’d love a Babycham!”). But he was irritated that the rubric “A Mars a day helps you work, rest and play” had been mistakenly ascribed to him. He retired from the agency in 1983 to be a fulltime freelance commentator, finally retiring in 2000. He was appointed OBE in 1996.

He married, in 1960, Elizabeth Allen, who survives him. –

“He’s obsessed. If it hasn’t got an engine, he’s not interested.” Wife Elizabeth on Murray Walker