Britons to the Fore

In the roaring, madcap world of Grand Prix auto racing, the power axis is shifting. For years, daring, lead-footed Italians bestrode the field until fiery death picked them off one by one, from Ascari to Musso. Spain's dashing Alfonso de Portago was killed in 1957, and Argentina's five-time world champion, aging (47) Juan Manuel Fangio, announced this summer that he is retiring. Today, dominance in racing belongs to the British, especially to flaxen-haired, temperamental Mike Hawthorn, 29, and balding, easygoing Stirling Moss, 28. The two are battling head-to-head for the world driving championship.

Auto racing has boomed in Britain since the war. On the runways and perimeters of abandoned wartime aerodromes, car-crazy Britons race one another every weekend, and on such tracks, Hawthorn and Moss learned the rudiments of racing.

Contrasts. Though both are sons of old racing drivers, there the similarity ends. Mike Hawthorn drives in devil-may-care style, his husky frame hunched over in the cramped cockpit, a grim scowl on his face. Moody Mike enjoys his cigarettes and whisky, cuts loose occasionally on the trumpet (which he plays with some skill), flies his own plane. He drives solely to win, cares little about how he accomplishes it ("I haven't bloody well got a driving style"). Hawthorn started racing motor bikes as a teen-ager in Farnham, Surrey, where his father ran a garage. Driving for Ferrari and Jaguar since 1953, Hawthorn has gained a reputation for punishing the cars he drives, getting involved in frequent accidents. He has no manager. "Mike couldn't be managed," explained a friend. "One day he is friendly and the next day he will refuse to speak to you."

Moss is quiet and self-contained. He drives with expressionless calm, seated well back from the wheel. Moss seldom smokes, does not drink, keeps himself fit with long hours in a gym. A superb tactician, Moss often tags along in a preceding driver's slipstream, taking advantage of the reduced wind resistance. To Moss, driving is a "kind of poetry in motion--a feeling of rhythm, of perfect balance."

Broken Deadlock. Last week, as a field of 20 roared away from the starting line in the British Grand Prix at Silverstone, Hawthorn and Moss were deadlocked in the championship competition, with 23 points each, far ahead of all other drivers.

Moss got his green Vanwall off in front. But it was not Moss's day; after only 75 miles his engine was smoking, and he was forced to give up. Mike Hawthorn tucked himself comfortably into second position, just behind Britain's Peter Collins in another Ferrari. But then Hawthorn's car began to develop oil-pressure trouble. Hawthorn nursed it carefully, hung on in second place, lost precious seconds when he had to pull into the pits for extra oil. Though he then began to pick up time on Collins' speeding Ferrari, it was too late to catch him.

But Hawthorn's second place gave him six points, and, with a bonus point for turning the fastest lap of the race, a commanding 30-10-23 lead over Moss in the racing world's championship. And with eight points for winning, 26-year-old Peter Collins vaulted over four others to take third place with 13 points, making the world's top three an all-British club.

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