I once met Stirling Moss
Rummaging through some files during a recent house-move I came across some letters dating back to the early 1950s. One, on distinctive green notepaper, was addressed to Francis A.C.Barnard and confirmed an appointment for said Francis to interview the famous racing driver Stirling Moss at his flat in Kensington. This was 1952, when Francis A.C.Barnard was 14-years-old and still at school.
I was interested in two things at that time: becoming a newspaper reporter and motor-racing. I tried to combine the two by cycling to Brands Hatch from my home in Tonbridge and filing inaccurate reports on events viewed from the public enclosures, because I was too shy to try and get into the press box (hardly likely anyway, given that I, like most of my friends, wore school uniform when out).
I also wrote letters to the sports ‘bible’ Autosport, under the guise of Francis A.C.Barnard, and my opinions and complaints were taken seriously, even eliciting an apology for poor organisation by the organisers of the British Grand Prix at Silverstone, an event I had not attended, being too far to cycle and, anyway, unable to afford having only a few shillings in my pocket at any one time.
This, then, was the aspiring newsman who sold the idea of a story about Stirling Moss to the Kent & Sussex Courier. 
The editor was encouraging, seeing perhaps commendable initiative in one so young, and said she would look out for the story. A week or so later, the green letter arrived from the Great Man’s manager, Ken Gregory, agreeing to an interview at Challoner Mansions SW6.
He swung open the door to reveal a red faced school boy
I had only been to London a few times before, to the Festival of Britain and the museums, but never alone, and could not work out the buses, so walked from Charing Cross to Kensington. I often wonder what Ken Gregory made of the sight that greeted him when he swung open the door to reveal a red-faced schoolboy in blazer and grey flannels claiming to be Francis A.C.Barnard.
My recollection of the actual interview is hazy. Stirling Moss answered my questions, I think, with patience and courtesy. They ran along the lines of ‘What’s it like to go fast?’, ‘What was your worst crash?’ and ‘How do you become a racing driver?’ He must have struggled to keep a straight face.
When I finally found myself on the street I realised I had no story angle at all and certainly nothing of interest to the readers of the Courier. I had made a few notes, awed by being in the presence of a hero, and could remember little of anything he had said. But I did submit some sort of report, not a word of which appeared in print. Instead, the Courier ran a story headed TONBRIDGE SCHOOLBOY MEETS FAMOUS RACING DRIVER. My humiliation was complete.
Many years later I was driving my single-seater Formula Ford racing car at a test day at Silverstone. On the back straight I saw, in my mirrors, a scarlet Ferrari approaching fast. I raised my left hand to indicate I had seen him and he should pass on that side. As he thundered past I knew, from the distinctive helmet, that it was Stirling Moss. He raised his hand, in turn, to acknowledge the courtesy, unaware that Francis A.C.Barnard was at the wheel. But at least by that time I knew what it was like to go fast…
