MURRAY WALKER
A personal tribute to the legend of Formula 1 commentary
During a distinguished life and career, he conveyed the joy and passion of grand prix racing to the living rooms of generations of fans. Here, GP Racing contributor Mark Gallagher, who knew Murray since the mid-1980s, pays personal tribute to a wonderful man and a titan of F1 commentary
MMinardi boss Paul Stoddart’s passenger jet, packed full of Formula 1 personnel, accelerates down the runway. Outside the cockpit door a man in his early seventies sits on a tea tray, a stewardess behind him, her legs either side. As the plane lifts and climbs they shoot down the aisle, selfstyled aviation tobogganists accelerating towards the back of the aircraft where the rest of the crew wait to catch them. It’s a hilarious sight, prompting cheers and hoots of laughter from the other passengers.
Murray Walker is laughing like a kid on a swing. Hip replacement or no hip replacement, life is for living. No one could tell the voice of motor racing to slow down.
This was Murray towards the end of his career as a full time F1 commentator. He would head to Bournemouth airport early on a Thursday morning, the only passenger on board when the jet flew up to Coventry to pick up the personnel from Jordan and Arrows before flying on to a European race.
Everyone knew him, and he knew everyone.
‘He was motorsport,’ was Bernie Ecclestone’s summary. The man who built F1 recognised the role Murray played in communicating it, translating the complexities of grand prix racing into something altogether simpler, thrilling and compelling.
The combination of his two-stroke voice and high-revs delivery meant even the most tedious of races was turned into an auditory sensation. From the moment Fleetwood Mac’s The Chain faded away to Murray’s introduction of, “And welcome to…” you knew a treat lay in store. Murray was an Influencer from a different era. No overnight stardom, just half a century of work as a commentator, primarily with the BBC, a life devoted to the sport he loved. He was born into a motor racing family: his father Graham was a works Norton motorcycle racer. Murray’s first love of motorsport came on two wheels, and that never changed.
“If there had been a world championship before the war I think he would have won it in 1928,” Murray said of Graham. “I almost worshipped my father; he was a wonderful man. I very much respected what he did, and I wanted to be like him, subconsciously, and when the war finished, I started racing motorcycles in the fond belief that I would show the old man how a motorcycle ought to be ridden.”
Murray tended to skip over his wartime experiences unless prodded further. Then the stories flowed, although never the full detail of the horrors he witnessed.
He enlisted in 1942, emerging from Sandhurst Military Academy as an officer in the Royal Scots Greys, a historic cavalry regiment which had swapped horses for Sherman tanks. Arriving in Normandy not long after D-day, Murray participated in the ill-fated Operation Market Garden in September 1944, recalling his frustration at being unable to reach the British paratroopers trapped in Arnhem.
He later fought in the Battle of the Reichswald forest, and had the bizarre experience of having his father turn up on the eve of the Allies’ Rhine crossing. Graham had used his media contacts to become a fully accredited war correspondent, finding his son at the front and spending half an hour chatting with him at an ammunition and fuel supply depot.
“I think he just wanted to make sure his little boy was all right,” was Murray’s recollection, before adding, “but I was a quite worried about him being not very far from shot and shell.”
His wartime experiences undoubtedly coloured the rest of Murray’s life. He enjoyed his life, and in the motorsport community found a level of camaraderie reminiscent of military service.
His commentary career began at Shelsley Walsh hillclimb in 1948, the BBC then drafting him in to commentate on Goodwood’s Easter Monday Meeting and Silverstone’s British Grand Prix in 1949. It was always worth remembering that here was someone who had walked the paddocks since the very dawn of the world championship.
He competed on motorcycles, achieving success in scrambling – now known as motocross – then formed a father-son commentary partnership which lasted from 1949 until 1962, an achievement of which Murray was extremely proud.
Described by so many, including former colleague Martin Brundle as a “lovely guy”, Murray’s warm personality stemmed from a happy childhood made possible by loving parents.
Even in his 90s, Murray’s voice would crack with emotion when discussing his father, including Graham’s untimely passing
aged only 66. Murray spoke equally fondly of his mother Elsie from whom he inherited longevity. She lived to see 101.
As the 1960s gave way to the 1970s Murray found himself commentating on a wide range of motor racing, from two wheels to four, including the British Touring Car Championship, lower formula racing and that made-for-tv-spectacular, rallycross. Long before Murray was screaming Mansell, Hill and Senna, it was Martin Schanche, Will Gollop and Jenson’s Button’s father John who were the focus of his excited commentaries.
His post war ‘day job’ was in advertising, an industry he adored. He worked with famous brands, using the power of the English language to excite and attract customers. He clearly loved wordplay. As his career in advertising drew to a close, F1 beckoned, a new chapter opening with the 1976 British GP. For 1978 Murray committed to all the races, but it was 1980 which brought about the famed partnership with James Hunt.
It is hard to imagine a more unsuited pairing. The disciplined ex-soldier would turn up with a set of immaculately hand-written research notes on each driver, team and circuit, only to be greeted by Hunt, unprepared and sometimes hungover, just as they were about to go on air.
Murray related many tales in his highly successful 2002 autobiography Unless I’m Very Much Mistaken, but not everything. On one occasion Hunt was nowhere to be found, forcing Murray to start the race commentary alone – not in itself a major problem as he rather enjoyed cracking on unaided.
When a perspiring Hunt finally reached the commentary box 20 minutes late, it turned out that he had been entertaining one of the drivers’ wives in a motorhome. This being the only time in the weekend when she knew her husband would be busy.
Murray decided that was a story too spicy for the book about his own, well-ordered life.
For someone who enjoyed talking, he found the process of writing an autobiography more difficult than expected. When, in 2001, he was asked how it was progressing he replied that, “it’s not going too well. I have written 60,000 words which sounds like a lot until you realise I have only reached the age of 16 and haven’t even joined the army yet! ’He must have had a patient editor…
The book sold a massive 560,000 copies and preceded a sell-out publicity tour of Australia.
As the Walker-hunt partnership matured they brought us some of the most memorable moments in Formula 1, particularly the era of Mansell-mania – including the infamous tyreexplosion at the 1986 Australian Grand Prix in Adelaide.
It’s doubtful that anyone in motorsport before or since has used the word ‘colossally’, but it was the perfect choice to describe a moment of near-catastrophe which ended Mansell’s hopes of a first world title. This was Murray at his best, conveying the drama and excitement of Formula 1, leaving us on the edge of our seats and sometimes on our knees before the screen.
He put everything into his delivery.
“He doesn’t just commentate with his voice, but with his whole body,” said Hunt.
The raw emotion often came from having known generations of team owners and competitors, from father to son. Through motorcycle racing he knew Jackie Stewart’s father long before sons Jackie and Jimmy made their way in car racing, while knowing Graham Hill led to a genuine fondness for Damon and an appreciation of the difficulties which faced the Englishman on the path to his 1996 world title.
“And look at that!” exclaimed Murray, “And colossally that’s Mansell, that is Nigel Mansell and the car’s absolutely shattered, he’s fighting for control and you can see what’s happened.”
Murray’s commentary on the moment Damon clinched the world championship at Suzuka is well remembered, partly because the ‘lump in my throat’ line is edited. This was not a case of Murray making himself the centre of the story, rather it was about the importance of family and the trials which Hill and his loved ones had endured.
“And Damon Hill exits the chicane. That is his wife Georgie,” he says in the original commentary. “She is seeing her husband become world champion and I’ve got to stop because I’ve got a lump in my throat.”
A line which cemented Murray’s reputation for being not only the voice of motor racing, but in some way everyone’s favourite, slightly emotional uncle.
There were dark days, of course, Murray viewing San Marino 1994 as the low point. The deaths of Roland Ratzenberger and Senna left him to tread a fine line, his tone conveying as much as the carefully chosen words.
His decision to retire from commentary came in 2000 as the result of the Daily Mail calling him out for making an error when he confused the two Ferraris at the German Grand Prix. Stung by the criticism, Murray considered stopping, but ITV’S Head of Sport Brian Barwick persuaded him to remain for one more year.
Murray’s retirement at the 2001 United States Grand Prix was memorable, but this was not to be the last we would see of Murray Walker. Frequent ‘one-off appearances’ for the BBC, ITV and Sky Sports F1 marked a retirement during which he remained close to the sport he loved. He worked into his 90s, including writing a column for this magazine until he was 92.
The gaffes and Murrayisms have been liberally quoted since his passing, but who wants bland perfection? Murray was the classic car of commentating. The odd misfire simply added to the experience.
Although his passing brings a degree of sadness, at the age of 97 he had enjoyed an extraordinary life with three careers and a long, happy marriage to Elizabeth. “I was lucky enough to be at the centre of everything,” he once said.
He sure was.
When Heinz-harald Frentzen won the 1999 Italian GP at Monza for Jordan, the team’s flight back to Coventry was made memorable by Murray making the tannoy announcements.
It was eye-wateringly funny, and included a verdict on the race which could so easily have been applied to his own career. A career which helped to define F1 for legions of fans.
“Sensational!”