Originally posted by Vanwall
But enough of the minutiae! Who has a copy of All arms and elbows and can (hopefully) describe Innes' descent from the Casino?
" . . . I was most surprised when, going up the hill just past the pits, the engine suddenly quit dead and the car very quickly stopped. It felt to me as if the car was just out of fuel on one of the tanks, and I thought it would be worth pushing it up the hill, past the Casino, to coast down the other side and get it going again - for remember, in those days, we had no self-starter.
So I pushed the car all the way up that frightfully steep hill and damned near broke my back doing it.
If I had known how steep the hill was, I would never have tried it. I've been back since and I can barely walk up it on my own, never mind pushing a racing car.
However, there I was, like a half-wit, pushing my guts out to get the car to the top; when I finally got there I was absolutely on my knees. I can't tell you how completely exhausted I was. All the way up, of course, I had a track marshal walking alongside me making sure that none of the crowd gave me a hand, since that would have meant automatic disqualification. I must say my efforts brought the crowd to its feet with delight and I was much encouraged, but even so I could only push the Lotus a couple of yards at a time, then I'd almost have to lie down under the back wheel to stop the thing rolling back down again. I must confess - with eternal gratitude - that the marshal slipped me a chunk of rock halfway up the hill to jam under the back wheel whenever I stopped!
The other thing which kept me going was the voice of a chap named John Dalton, a fellow who used to drive and who is very often around at race meetings. He happened to be at a point on the circuit near where I stopped and kept alongside me all the way up the hill, shouting encouragement and abuse throughout.
Every time I collapsed and lay down, he would shout: 'Come on Ireland, you lazy hound. Get to your feet. Push, man! Push!'
I remember him dancing up and down waving 'the flag', doing his utmost to keep me going. I could cheerfully have slaughtered him at some points, but it was largely due to him that that I did eventually get to the top amid a great round of applause.
Gratefully I leapt into the machine, switched the fuel tanks over, let in the clutch - and nothing happened. Not a spark of life could I get from it. I limped down to the seafront and rolled to a halt again. Maybe it was the heat or something that was driving me mad, but I began to think of pushing the car round the rest of the circuit, waiting at the finish line until the race was over, then pushing the Lotus across to qualify as a finisher.
Whether it was the heat, or love of the marque I wouldn't like to say, but push it to the line I did.
There were only about seven cars running in the race by then, and it seemed worth finishing even last among that lot.
The first hazard I came to was the tunnel leading down to the harbour. It was pitch dark in there as near as dammit and when I considered pushing the car through there with other cars whizzing around, I thought to myself: 'This is going to be bloody dangerous.'
However, I had by then got the picture of the race and figured that I have 'x' number of seconds to get through the tunnel after the last car had passed through. So I waited until the right moment and heaved the dead Lotus forward.
I scampered through the tunnel, literally running with the car, while marshals were shouting and screaming and waving yellow flags, and heaven knows what. I ignored them and trundled down to the harbour. Now there is a gentle rise up to the corner at the Tobacconist's Kiosk, and that very nearly killed me. It was only about thirty yards long, but I can't tell you the agony that was. Once again I had to push it bit by bit and then jam my feet against the railing at the side of the road and hold the car while I gasped for breath. More than once I damned near gave up and let the bloody thing roll back into the harbour, but somehow or other I did manage to reach the finish. I waited for the chequered flag and gently pushed the car over the line, in a pool of sweat."
Looked like real effort of the little Frenchman. 
