Country Roads: The 1957 Coonabarabran Speed Trials

The traditional complaint about American cars is that they're only fast in a straight line.

Well, what if that's all you're looking for?

(Source: Primotipo)

How Leonard got his Pennies
Defeat at Albert Park didn't dim Len Lukey's star in the slightest. The Melbourne-born businessman might've come to racing relatively late – aged 32, having already established Lukey Mufflers at 1142 Nepean Highway in Highett, Victoria – but many a slow start has been made up with some slick gear changes and opportunism. The sheer attitude with which Lukey attacked the racing scene made it clear this was not a man who let opportunities slip by.

Leonard Frank Lukey began his motor racing career in a 1953 Anniversary Mainline ute, which also happened to serve as his runabout on workdays. The ute was probably a better choice for racing anyway, given it was lighter than the sedan, but it came with the perennial utility handling defect – no weight over the rear wheels. Rocking up in 1954 for the inaugural meeting at the new Altona circuit (a swampy, snake-infested road ringing Cherry Lake, south-west of Melbourne), Lukey's inexperience gave him away when he bombed into the Esses at unabated speed and spun... right in front of Stan Jones' expensive new Maybach 2 Grand Prix car.

It's unclear whether the father of the famously combative Alan Jones had a few short words with Lukey, but either way CAMS (the Confederation of Australian Motor Sport, motor racing's governing body), voted to ban utilities from touring car racing shortly after, arguing that they were "inappropriate". Undeterred, Lukey switched to a navy-blue '55 Customline sedan (rego GJL-432), on the theory that neutral handling and V8 power covereth a multitude of sins. If nothing else, the lazy, pig-iron burble of its Ford Y-block would make a thrilling counter-note to the snarl of Holden sixes.

Lukey rounding the hairpin in the Melford Motors Trophy, a 5-lap sprint at Fishermans Bend, 12 February 1956. A lap or so later, while trying to run down Hurst's Delahaye, he ran out of brakes and speared off the track, rejoining chastened but undamaged. Also in the race was Jack Myers, his cream 48-215 sporting a green roof. Screengrab from the Ken Rankine footage linked below.

To make it into a racecar, Lukey turned to another motor industry insider with a taste for racing – Harry Firth. At this stage Harry was known more for his work with small British sports cars (apparently, he built twelve MG Specials during this period... plus a Triumph!), but Lukey knew his talents would apply just as well to a big American saloon. Most of his time was spent tidying up the minor mistakes inherent to a mass-produced vehicle: ensuring the internal clearances right, raising the compression ratio, and getting the oil surge under control. The suspension was stiffened with heavy-duty springs and Armstrong shock absorbers, and he also ported the cylinder heads for better flow and crafted a special high-performance valvetrain. The final touch was a set of Lukey's own high-flow exhaust extractors, which were especially designed to work with a huge pair of two-barrel carburettors adapted from a Ford truck. Harry claimed around 186 kW at 6,000rpm from his tweaked Y-block, which was good for a top speed above 190km/h with the right diff and gear ratios.

The only thing he couldn't do was reduce the Customline's immense weight, which left its cast-iron drum brakes overworked and prone to severe heat fade after just a few laps. Firth replaced them with new drums of his own design (cast locally, with integral fins to aid cooling), and fitted special Ferodo high-temp brake linings that only worked when hot, but braking zones remained the car's biggest weakness.

Still, Lukey started breaking records as soon as he gave the car its debut, at the Templestowe hill climb in Melbourne's outer east on Sunday, 3 July 1955. From there, he quickly set class records at Rob Roy and Hepburn Springs as well, then set the fastest time for a sedan over the quarter-mile (171.5 km/h) at the South Pacific Road Racing Championships meeting at Gnoo Blas, 30 January 1956. He also handily beat Jack Myers, an early iteration of the Holden-vs-Ford rivalry that also happened to play to the eternal bitterness between Melbourne and Sydney.

Lukey soon graduated to a front-engined Cooper-Bristol for Gold Star open-wheel racing, but he still used the Customline to contest the supporting touring car races (as the Cooper's tow car, he had to bring it along anyway!). He saw plenty of success, too, at least until the opening meeting of the new Phillip Island circuit on 15 December 1956. Here Lukey had one of his little mishaps, which this time had big consequences: the car rolled at the Southern Loop, and Lukey himself was lucky to crawl out from behind the wheel alive.

The car would need an extensive stay at the panelbeater's, so Lukey removed its Firth-fettled race engine, souped-up brakes and suspension and installed them in a new Olympia Blue 1956 model, which also became the Cooper's new tow car. Lukey simply picked up where he'd left off, contesting (and not infrequently, winning) his class in hill climbs and the touring car support races at any meeting where he was racing the Cooper-Bristol.

Then, in September 1957, he took it to the most unlikely place imaginable – a nondescript stretch of road cutting through the scrub between the towns of Coonabarabran and Baradine, in rural NSW.

The BP-COR Speed Trials
We've already noted how public outrage over their chicanery had forced the Anglo-Iranian Oil Company to rebrand as British Petroleum. What we haven't really covered were the knock-on effects here in Australia. The local branch of the company had been Commonwealth Oil Refineries, established in 1920 in partnership with the government of Prime Minister Billy Hughes. Now we were in the golden age of Menzies, however, the Party was just itching to offload its share so they could do what Liberals always do, privatise everything. The decision brought a howl of protest from Hughes – his final ever speech to Parliament – but the decision went through and the government's share was sold back to AIOC in 1952.

But the cost of the share buyback was substantial and, coupled with the 1954 rebrand as BP, necessitated an ongoing promotional blitz, one big enough to sustain them through the change and keep their new green-and-yellow signage in the public eye. One idea floated in early 1956 was to sponsor some Australian land speed record attempts – a publicity stunt of course, but one with at least a sheen of substance. BP commissioned one Graham Hoinville (a rally navigator, CAMS administrator and, not least, one of their own employees) to scout suitable locations, and after working through a shortlist he selected a six-kilometre section of dead-straight road linking Coonabarabran and Baradine, just north of the Warrumbungle National Park.

The Coonabarabran Shire Council and NSW Police agreed to the proposal, and arrangements were made to close the road for two days. First prize for the BP-COR Speed Trial was set at £275 (nearly $11,000 in 2024), with profits from the event going towards the construction of homes for seniors in Coonabarabran. The road itself was only 5.5 metres wide (it's not much wider today) and had a pronounced crown, bounded to the east by trees and to the west by the Gwabegar branch railway line and a string of telegraph poles, with additional hazards provided by the small dirt roads accessing the farms. The main industries in this part of the world were forestry and cattle grazing, and indeed the road ran right past the gates of Tipperary Station (not to be confused with the huge one in the Northern Territory): for the day, the spot became known as the Tipperary Flying Mile. Since it had recently been resurfaced there was no central white line and, considering this important, painters were brought in to apply one by hand – all five kilometres of it!

Officials looking exactly as professional as they were. Note the car battery powering the equipment! (Source: Primotipo)

Being at its core a big advertisement, only BP-contracted drivers were selected for the event. The "Racing Cars" category included Lex Davison's Ferrari 500/625, John McMillan's Ferrari 555 Super Squalo, and Len Lukey's immaculate Cooper T23 Bristol. "Sports Cars" counted Derek Jolly's Aussie-built Decca Mk.2 Climax, and Lukey's Olympia Blue Ford Customline. At the last minute it was decided to include motorcyclists as well, and despite the short notice they managed to get Jack Forrest (of Forrest's Elbow fame) and his ex-works BMW Rennsport 500, Trevor Pound (Eric Walsh's BSA Bantam) and Jack Ahearn, with his Manx Norton 350 and a 250cc NSU Sportmax. Sidecars were represented by Frank Sinclair's 1,080cc Vincent and Bernie Mack's Norton 500.

The first day – Saturday, 28 September 1957 – was warm and dogged by strong winds, either caused by or contributing to some nearby bushfires. Ideally, all record attempts would've been held in the cool of the morning for peak engine performance, but media demands meant they had to be held later in the day. That meant the morning was free for last-minute testing, which led to tragedy. Jimmy Johnson (not to be confused with the seven-time NASCAR champion), a Leichhardt garage owner by day, decided to give his MG TC Special one last test run shortly after dawn to check whether a persistent misfire had been sorted. Johnson arrived at the Tipperary Station gates around 6:30am at maximum speed – listening carefully to his engine, but his mind perhaps not fully on the road in front of him. Since the Trials hadn't officially begun the road was still open to normal traffic, and a fuel truck – just a speck in the distance a moment earlier – unexpectedly turned right to enter the Station, just as Johnson arrived on the scene. Johnson went underneath it and was killed instantly. The truck didn't have external rear mirrors, so its driver hadn't been aware of Johnson's advent until it was too late. It was an inauspicious beginning given the event hadn't technically started yet...

Despite the loss of Johnson, the bushfires and the winds – all of which threatened to cancel the event outright – there were still 3,000 spectators in attendance, which is a substantial proportion of the district today, never mind seventy years ago. As the winds were so blustery, motorcycle attempts were postponed until the Sunday. As per Fédération Internationale de l'Automobile (FIA) rules, a record attempt would consist of two runs, one in each direction, which had to be made within one hour. Each run would be timed to the hundredth of a second. Cars would make their attempt over the flying kilometre, while bikes would be measured for a flying half-mile. John Crouch and George Hutchings were the official CAMS observers.

• Class C (3,001-5,000cc): John McMillan set an early benchmark with a pair of runs averaging 152mph (244.62 km/h) in his Ferrari 555 Super Squalo. The Super Squalo was named for its bulging fuel tanks, which did indeed give it a sinister, shark-like appearance, but like any proper Italian car it refused to perform without extensive spanner work first. For reasons unknown, McMillan and his mechanic and been forced to virtually rebuild the car the morning of the trials, so 152mph was a good result given absolutely zero testing. Victorian Ted Gray did his best to beat it in the Tornado 2 Chev, but couldn't get it to run properly and resigned himself to trying again on Sunday.

McMillan's Super Squalo (front), Davison's Starlet (middle) and Gray's Tornado (rear) being wheeled up to the starting line. (Source: Primotipo)

• Class D (2,001-3,000cc): Lex Davison's mount was a champion already, chassis 005, the very Ferrari 500 "Starlet" aboard which Alberto Ascari had won his two World Championships. Since then the car had been rebuilt as a Ferrari 500/625 with a 3.0-litre Monza 750 engine, and sold into Australia for Formula Libre use, meaning Lex had Class D all to himself. In-keeping with established Dunlop practice, he deliberately used half-worn tyres for his runs to minimise losses from overly-deep treads: the result was an average of 155.99mph (249.58 km/h), breaking the Class D record of 143mph comfortably.
• Class E (1,501-2,000cc): Len Lukey set his sights on the existing record of 113mph in his beautifully-prepared Cooper-Bristol. Len and his mechanics fitted a more slender nose to improve aerodynamics, and also sealed in the sides of the cockpit. Although thereby plagued with overheating, Lukey averaged 147.46mph (235.94 km/h) on his runs, which were voted the best of the meet.
• Class G (751-1,100cc): The existing Class F record of 103.5mph would've been Johnson's target had he survived, so in his absence the meeting moved on. Class G was the challenge set before South Australia's Derek Jolly, scion of the Penfold family of Barossa Valley wine fame. His Climax-engined Decca Mk.2 Special was one of only two Australian-built cars (and the only proper sports car) taking part that day. Modified by the fitment of a head fairing, his runs netted a combined 116.75mph (186.6 km/h), setting a new record.

Jolly racing the Decca at Port Wakefield. (Source: Primotipo)

• Class H (501-750cc): Cooper Cars Ltd had made their money (and their name) building small, study cars for Britain's native 500cc formula, which the FIA had recently adopted as Formula 3. The imminent rear-engine revolution was thus not the result of any deep naval-gazing on their part, but simple pragmatism: the cars were powered by motorcycle engines, which used a chain drive to get that power to the rear wheels. Putting the engine in the back just made everything much simpler. Jim Madsen's Cooper was powered by a slightly larger BMW motorcycle engine, however, so he went faster than a true F3 car, 109.97mph (174.8 km/h).
• Class I (351-500cc): Last but not least, Roy Blake climbed aboard a true Formula 3 car, a Cooper-JAP owned by Steve de Bord. Australians weren't shy about racial epithets in those days ("those days..."), but in this case the "JAP" referred its 500cc motorcycle engine, built from the soon-to-be-defunct John Alfred Prestwich Industries. Despite an engine, "about half the size of a Morris Minor," Blake cut the traps at an impressive 102.47mph (164.8 km/h).

As an extra bit of excitement, Len Lukey unhitched his new Olympica Blue '56 Cusso and went to town with it, sealing up every crack with masking tape, enclosing as much of the radiator as he dared, and placing pointed cones over the headlights to eliminate these virtual parachutes. The car was so buttoned up he had to climb in and out via the window, but the result was phenomenal, stopping the timers with an opening run of 130mph (209 km/h)... aided, admittedly, by a tail wind. Even so, the average of his two runs was still better than 123.3 mph (198.4 km/h), of which the official results noted admiringly: "This is the fastest speed yet recorded in Australia by a saloon car." And observers at the time said, if BP's antiquated timing equipment hadn't been on the blink, it might've been even faster.

Lads in Leather
By Sunday, 29 September, the winds had mercifully abated, and the bikes finally got their chance. Jack Ahearn rode three different machines that day, his most notable runs taking the 251-350cc Solo class on his Norton Manx 350 at 125.68 mph (202 km/h), and the 175-250cc class with his NSU Sportmax at 121.25mph (195 km/h). Frank Sinclair took the big 1,200cc Sidecar class with his Vincent HRD at 124.25mph (199 km/h) with Bernie Mack's "newly-acquired" Norton making easy work of the 500cc Sidecar class at 122.22mph (196 km/h). Jimmy Guilfoyle was unlucky after clocking 124mph on his streamlined 350cc BSA Special (BSA meaning Birmingham Small Arms Co.), as gusting winds prevented him making a return run. Trevor Pound (riding Eric Walsh's 123cc BSA Bantam) was equally unlucky, clocking 103mph in one direction but unable to make a return run within the required time due to a faulty magneto.

But the ride of the day surely belonged to Jack Forrest. Born in Wellington, NSW in 1920, he was known to be a brave man who lived large, and briefly held the title of fastest man in Australia. In an effort to raise the gearing of his BMW Rennsport, Jack and his mechanic Don Bain had fitted a larger-section rear tyre. Unfortunately, on his first run along the Tipperary Flying Mile, centrifugal force swelled the tyre so much that it jammed against the swinging arm, melting the rubber, locking the rear wheel and leaving a black skid mark on the road that was still visible over a year later. With the clock ticking and no other tyres available, Baradine garage owner Vane Mills stepped up and vulcanised the spot where the tyre had worn through to the canvas. With this bodged-up rear tyre, Forrest climbed back on his bike and roared through the speed traps at 152mph, despite the BMW developing an almost uncontrollable tank-slapper. Forrest set a new outright motorcycle record of 149mph (239.8 km/h) despite the ruined rear tyre, handling woes and, oh yeah, an encounter with a flock of galahs that left visible damage on the front fairing.

Forrest after the Run: note the galah-divots. (Source: Primotipo)

Bi-State Tornado
The star of the event, however, ended up being Ted Gray and his home-brewed Tornado 2 Chev. A Wangaratta native, Gray had made some headlines in 1946 when he recorded a 73mph average speed (117 km/h) on the trip from Wangaratta to Melbourne to win a bet. In those days the Hume was a simple two-lane country road, a world away from the poor man's autobahn it is today, so Ted must've driven with some attitude to manage that time. But he was probably quite familiar with the route, as his home and motor dealership were in Wangaratta, but at least one account mentions an engineering shop in Little Bourke Street (today the heart of Melbourne's Chinatown).

The original Tornado chassis (retroactively the Tornado 1) had been built by Gray to compete in local Formula Libre events. Typical of the time, it was a real bitza – Lancia stub axles, Peugeot steering rack, even the brake mechanism from a World War II P-51 Mustang – but the centrepiece was of course its engine. A Ford Mercury V8 bored and stroked to more than 5.0 litres, with locally-cast aluminium pushrod heads to replace the side-valve originals and – a first for Australia – fuel injection. This was the responsibility of Gray's partner in crime, Lou Abrahams.

The Tornado 1 made its debut at Gnoo Blas, Orange in January 1955, but its career was cut short before the end of the year. Gray and Abrahams took it to the NSW Road Racing Championship at Mount Panorama that October, and virtually wrote it off in a monster shunt Gray was lucky to escape alive. Rather than try to rebuild the car, they decided to salvage what they could and build something better.

Abrahams got to work on the Tornado 2 while Gray was recovering from his injuries in hospital (a process that took six months). The new car was a conventional ladder-frame design that inherited the original's Peugeot steering, Lancia stub axle and Holden suspension components, the Halibrand diff, Ford engine and gearbox. The P-51 Mustang braking system however was junked in favour of conventional drums-all-round system, built by Paton's Brakes in Melbourne, later a Repco subsidiary. It was clothed in a fibreglass body painted deep blue, with a red ring around the radiator inlet.

The car returned to the track well before its driver, contesting a handful of minor events with Ford power, but late in 1957 Gray and Abrahams replaced the ageing Mercury V8 with a 283ci Chevy small-block, as seen in Chevrolet's post-1955 Corvettes. Exactly how Gray got his hands on a Corvette engine in 1957 is something I'd love to know: Primotipo says it was, "sourced using contacts of Abrahams and Jack Mayberry at Holden," which is good but frustratingly vague. GM-H offered Chevrolets, Pontiacs and Vauxhalls as prestige buys above their bread-and-butter Holdens, but even so Chevy small-blocks couldn't have been thick on the ground at that time. A clue might be the so-called "Carter Corvette", which was a similar project built a year later by Murray Carter: he originally planned to build a Formula Libre car using conventional Holden Grey power, but Melbourne car dealer Boyanton Motors was able to offer him a 283 after a customer ordered one for a power boat, then went bust. However they got their hands on it, the Chevy V8 was an obvious upgrade over the Mercury – lighter, designed for overhead valves from the beginning, and there were plenty of parts on sale in the U.S. if you were looking for more performance.

With the Speed Trials starting on 28 September, however, Gray and Abrahams were left with only a week to adapt the Chevy to the Ford gearbox, fit the fuel injection system and get the whole ensemble running. The car was actually taken off the trailer during the 1,000km tow to Coonabarabran and driven over 300km on public roads to run the engine in! By all accounts it sounded like a Formula 5000 car, which must've stood plenty of hairs on necks along both sides of the Tipperary Flying Mile. Gray fitted the Tornado with a 3:1 final drive ratio and 19-inch wheels, aiming for a speed above 160mph.

Gray and the Tornado beginning their run. (Source: Primotipo)

Sadly, magneto dramas limited the engine to 5,300rpm, well below its intended redline. To compensate, overnight the team lowered the final drive to 2.8:1, and in this spec Ted achieved 157.53mph (253.5 km/h) on the Sunday to take the outright record from Davison's Ferrari. 157mph was faster than any Australian motorist would be able to go for quite some time yet.

There's some controversy over whether the BP-COR Speed Trials counted as genuine Australian record attempts (it will surprise nobody to report there were question marks over procedures on the day), but changes to the FIA's methods in 1983 render it a moot point anyway. As a promotional campaign, however, the meeting was a roaring success, and BP were very proud of what had been achieved, noting in their official release:

As the list of results shows, each of the competitors achieved a performance of which he can be very justly proud and it is obvious that a great deal of painstaking effort and skill was lavished on the preparation of each of the machines.

Also the enthusiasm and willing co-operation of all competitors, despite certain unavoidable difficulties, contributed very largely to the outstanding success of this meeting.

Today
I was recently able to make a pilgrimage out to the Tipperary Flying Mile (this being my neck of the woods, it's not such a long way after all...). I was hoping some of it might've matched up with photos from 1957, but of course, it doesn't. Trees grow, die, and then grow again too fast, and who knows how many times the road's been resurfaced in the decades since then? But it was nice to stare back up the infinite straight and imagine brave men roaring towards me in machines they'd cobbled together themselves, with the driver (or rider) himself considered to be the crumple zone, at speeds never before witnessed in this country. It's difficult to imagine.

The entry to Tipperary Station today. It should feel spooky remembering that a man died on this spot, but in truth it's not unusual for the roads out here to feature crosses. (Own work.)

What I didn't expect was to be equally distracted by the railway line. This section of the Gwabegar line only opened in 1923, after which it was maintained by (among others) one of my great-grandfathers. A fettler by trade, he worked to keep the line humming in the dark days of the 1930s, sometimes necessarily dragging along his young daughter (who I’m sure was an unholy nightmare even at that age). She later told stories of those days her son – my father – who then passed them on to me. So it was nice to take some time and walk a little way along the rails, sidestepping the small pines (the section above Coonabarabran closed in 2005), wondering if this spike or that sleeper had been laid down by my forebear, unlikely though it is. Grandma grew up to love Waratah motorcycles, so she certainly would've taken notice of the record attempts along the road where she used to play, and I'd love to hear her thoughts about it today. Sadly, I never knew to ask her while she was alive.

(Own work.)