Burning rubber

Freddie Sheene, son of former Motogp world champion Barry, remembers tearing up the lawn and helicopter rides from school to his family home in Australia

THIS PHOTO, TAKEN in 1990 when I was just two years old, marks my induction into the world of motoring. We’re astride my older sister Sidonie’s Suzuki quad. Truth be told, I wasn’t actually that interested in bikes as a kid – I only followed my dad on to the track after he died from cancer in 2003. My sister was more into motors back then. That’s not to say I didn’t get a kick out of tearing up the lawn of our home in Broad beach Waters, Queensland, Australia.

My childhood was far from ordinary. Dad was often away with work – the distant sound of his helicopter blades churning overhead reverberates in my memory – so my sister and I learnt to entertain ourselves.

our family homes its in the middle of a network of canals. As kids, we’d zip through the lattice of waterside homes on our jet skis, or, if we had friends round, we’d ferry them around in our motor boats. Weekends spent camping with my mates on the Coral Sea islands were beaten by only one thing: quality time with Dad.

When I was 12, he was flying to the Motogp in Melbourne in his helicopter and picked me up from boarding school en route. With my hand on the throttle – and his on the dual control – we flew to the race, and then followed the coast all the way home. We were back in nine hours, which isn’t bad for a 1,000mile-long school run.

Dad never came home from work without a guest in tow. Fellow drivers and riders Damon Hill, Mick Doohan, Steve Parrish were frequent guests. I remember one scorching summer’s day when he invited The Prodig y over for an afternoon on the jet skis. Few people other than my sister and I can claim to have dampened the original Firestarter.

No one had ever screamed over my dad and so, while I knew he was successful, I’d never realised he was famous. Then I flew to England with him in 2000. When we arrived, we were both blinded by f lashbulbs going off and Dad was whisked from inter view to inter view. Admittedly, we were staying with George Harrison at the t i me , s o the attention shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise. An uncle-like figure, George had helped Dad choose our house in Australia – I still talk to his son Dhani now and again.

Dad never pressured me into the motoring world but when I moved to England a few years ago

I remember one scorching summer’s day when he invited The Prodigy over for an afternoon on the jet skis

I couldn’t keep myself away from the circuits. Nor could my sister. Although I wasn’t racing, I spent much of my early 20s behind the wheel at the circuit at Donington Park, while she was PA to Eddie Jordan at Formula 1. Since then I’ve moved back to our family home in Australia with Mum and set up my own gym business.

Dad’s still around. His memorabilia papers the walls of our house and his winning bikes, which haven’ t been cleaned since he retired, sit in our lounge. When I came back from England, I found out my sister had sold this quad bike for $50. Looking at this photo now I can see that even $50 was a generous price, but to me, the bike’s priceless. — Interview by Robbie Hodges Barry Sheene: The Official Photographic Celebration of the Legendary Motorcycle Champion, by Rich Broadbent, is published by Bloomsbury (£20)