10 - Viva Lewes

Photos by Chloë King
W W W. V i Va L E W E s . C o M
baNger raCiNg
Chloë king goes trackside
I first saw the bangers last August Bank Holiday
with a family friend in his eighties; he loved ‘the
stocks’ as a young man, and was excited to relive the
spectacle. We had a grand day out, the place was
packed, and we left smiling, our ears ringing and
hair smelling.
This time it’s a Wednesday night and although
the ample, grass car park seems half full, the arena
looks half empty. Spedeworth Motorsports, in its
fiftieth year, has regular fixtures in eight tracks
across the UK. The racers meet at Arlington on
Wednesday evenings throughout the summer, and
of their main venues, it’s here that the audience is
‘closest to the action’.
Aside from the ticket price – £12 full, £10 concessions,
and £6 for kids aged 5-14 – passing through
the gate is like going back to a time when everyone
knew how to put things together. On the outdoor
and the sheltered terraces, most people have set
themselves up comfortably in camping chairs, but
being unequipped, I pay an extra quid to sit in the
grandstand.
Round the back is a licensed clubhouse, and takeaway
vans that fill the air with the scent of bangers
and chips. I’m distracted from the sight of a man
gorging on mayo by the sound of the Ministox
driving onto the starting lines. Each race formula
has its own rolling start tune, and every one sounds
like something off a hairy fairground ride or a borderline
children’s TV show from the 70s. The kids
m o t o r r a c i n g
love it, and there are lots of them here.
It turns out this evening’s meet is for the trainees.
There are many different race ‘formulas’ for all
levels of drivers and various vintage and modern
cars, so each week’s programme is slightly different.
The Ministox are reconditioned 1000cc Minis
meticulously sprayed in bright colours, for boy and
girl racers aged 11-16 to ‘cut their teeth’. From the
off, the cars scream round the track to an excited
commentator, and the atmosphere is thick.
After the Ministox come the Rookie Rods: a ‘lowbudget,
non-contact’ formula class of Novas, Fiestas
and Corsas. The flame-haired boy in front of me
is kitted out in full clobber and enjoying the noise,
but it’s a few years yet before he can have a go.
Tonight’s third and final group are the Bangers:
write-offs of course, lovingly resurrected as racers.
Unlike the ‘Nationals’, this racing formula is limited
contact, but even so there’s enough one-on-one
to engulf the track in thick smoke, and when they
crash near the barrier my heart is in my mouth. By
the end of their third race tonight, only a few bangers
drive off unaided. I stand by the entrance to the
pit as the sun sets, watching them rumble off the
track, drivers beaming from ear to ear.
This ritualistic and exhilarating event has retained
the allure of danger, and, it’s clear from the first
that this is a way of life. In an age when cash and
pampering has turned mainstream sports soft,
banger racing remains intoxicatingly real.
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