Sir Stirling Moss obituary: the life and career of a racing legend

Stirling Moss was a devoted Autocar reader, having connections here long before any of the current crew arrived. He understood journalists and (most of the time) liked them, so he’d occasionally ring up to ask for more detail on a story or to comment on what we’d been saying. My wife and I dined at his house a few times, which is why we can say with authority that Lady Susie is a great cook.

Several occurrences will always stick in my memory. One was his instant interest in the Renault Twizy when I took our long termer around to Shepherd Street one evening. Knowing his interest in scooters, tricycles, Smarts and other forms of traffic-busting transport, I reckoned he might like it. He must have been 80ish at the time but he was in that driver’s seat like a shot. A Twizy’s top speed is 51mph and I believe he achieved all of it before reaching the end of his narrow and cluttered inner-London street. I understand he later bought one, and drove about with the (happily diminutive) Lady Susie squeezed in behind. 

Another memory is his generosity at the British Grand Prix at Silverstone one year: Autocar had identified and was entertaining its oldest reader. This man had seen Moss in his first British GP and was a long-time fan. Colin Goodwin had the typically brilliant idea that we should ring Stirling, knowing he’d be at the circuit, to see if he’d come and meet our guest. Ten minutes later Moss was with us, with his arm around our delighted reader’s shoulders for photographs.

It is Moss’s unassuming nature that I’ll always remember best. He always did his best to answer questions: you’ll know that from the frequent radio and TV interviews he gave. Even so, I’ll never forget how he answered what to me was a burning question — even though it was one he must have answered it 1000 times before.

“Stirling,” I asked, “which do you consider was the greater victory, the 1955 Mille Miglia or the 1961 Monaco GP?” He paused for thought, just as if he were being asked this for the very first time. “Well,” he said, “I supposed it would have to be the Mille. Took me longer to do it…”

Perhaps my best Moss driving memory was following him back down the Goodwood Festival hill one year: he’d just driven up it in a Mercedes 300SLR reminiscent of his Mille Miglia winner. I was following in one of Jaguar Heritage’s D-types. I watched the crowd wave only at him, as if he were alone on the track. There was something in his smile, the angle of his head and his languid wave back that said: “Surely this can’t all be for me”. But it was. And rightly so.

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