The Cult: David Purley

In the build up to the 2016 Formula One season we're inducting six grand prix stars into The Cult. Next up, the little-known but hugely heroic David Purley. You can read past entries here.

What is a hero? Asking for a friend, of course. I mean, am I a hero? You are not a hero, you are a journalist. Journalists can be heroes. You are a sports journalist. Point taken.

Okay, let's try to whittle this down by picking a profession at random. Formula One drivers – they are sometimes called heroes. Perhaps not the modern day versions: Lewis Hamilton is a brilliantly gifted sportsman, and boy does he have some original ideas regarding hairstyles, but you'd be hard pressed to call him a hero.

There's a better case for the drivers of the sport's glorious (and bloody) past. The sixties and seventies, those are the decades to go digging through if you're looking for someone to class as a hero. Men like Niki Lauda and Mario Andretti – brave bastards who mixed fearlessness with tremendous intelligence. Or Jackie Stewart, a man who faced down the establishment to help pioneer better safety in the sport.

But these are world champions. They are famous, and their hero status comes in part from the fact that every F1 fans knows their name. In contrast, very few people know the name David Purley. And so, generally, he is not thought of as a hero. Purley is a mere footnote in the history of Formula One, a man who started just seven races between 1973 and '77, and who died aged 40 in an aeroplane crash.

But while the name is not widely known, his short F1 career contained perhaps the most heroic act the sport has ever witnessed. A snapshot: Purley plunging his hands into a flaming car, placing his own safety very much to one side and attempting to save the life of a fellow competitor. Doing this alone, the only man who pulled over and rushed towards the fire. Unable to do anything, wandering away with as desolate a look as a man can wear, while Roger Williamson burned alive.

There are plenty of factors you could explore to figure out why David Purley did this: his upbringing, his career before F1, how he viewed the world. You could delve into all of that and summarise why he did what he did that day at Zandvoort. Or maybe we can just call this one here, and say that David Purley was a hero.

I don't know if you'd call Purley a talented driver. Talent is surely a level of ability that goes above the norm, and in this sense he did not stand out. But he did possess two crucial ingredients that elevated him above many of his contemporaries: bravery and money. Purley's father owned the LEC Refrigeration Company, who would later back his efforts in Formula One, so funding was not a big worry. As a young man he joined the army, becoming an officer in the parachute regiment, and saw action in Yemen before eventually buying himself out of the service. Again, bravery and money.

By the late '60s he'd drifted towards motorsport. Of course he had. The combination of youth, disposable cash, and a history in the military made Purley almost too perfect for racing in that era. You can imagine him feeling as though he'd discovered a long-lost family in the paddocks of Britain, and later Europe, kindred spirits and soul brothers. He raced in F3, beating guys like James Hunt on occasion without standing out to the same degree.

But you get the feeling that being part of it – the community, camaraderie and shared sense of doing something very dangerous – was the main draw for Purley. Winning was great and sometimes he managed it, but it was not the absolute reason he was there.

There was obviously some ambition, however, because with his old man's money he was able to find his way into F1 in 1973. He debuted at Monaco in early June, and was back on the grid at the Dutch Grand Prix in late July.

Another British driver was contesting his second race that day: 25-year-old Roger Williamson. And while Purley was a talented amateur having some fun racing grand prix cars, Williamson was considered the real deal. He'd won titles in Formula 3 and was tipped to rise to the top of the sport.

The Zandvoort circuit is located in the costal town of the same name, set in the dunes and cooled by a North Sea breeze. Back then it was a dangerous venue; the British driver Piers Courage had died there in a fiery accident just three years earlier, ending another promising career.

What happened in 1973 was eerily similar. On lap eight of the race Williamson crashed heavily, flipping upside down and sliding along the circuit. The driver was alive, but the car was soon engulfed in flames.

The rest of the field streamed past. It sounds strange to say, but that's just what you do in these situations: you stay on the circuit and trust that the safety team on site will do their jobs.

Unfortunately – tragically, it would turn out – they were woefully under-equipped that day. And so when David Purley pulled up, sprinted to Williamson's car and attempted to save his fellow driver, he did so alone. Given that a man had died in a fiery accident three years earlier, it seems incredible that the marshals were wearing shirts and sports jackets, making it impossible for them to tackle the flames. Purley tried desperately to turn the car over, to give Williamson a fighting chance, but it was all to no avail. He was eventually pulled away, furious, heartbroken, shoulders hunched in desolation. Williamson died in the car.

I don't know what all this did to Purley. I wonder if he questioned the camaraderie, which he more than any other had shown by rushing towards Williamson's car. Where were the others? He had waved at them to stop, but the field streamed past. Could Williamson have been saved if five strong men in fireproof suits had been trying to turn his car over, rather than just one? Did motorsport lose its lustre that afternoon? It must have.

It is no consolation, but you would like to think that Williamson knew someone was there doing everything in their strength to save him. In those desperate moments, you'd like to think Roger knew he was not alone.

Obviously what happened at Zandvoort is why he is remembered. But let us recall him for something more positive.

It starts badly, though. Purley suffered horrific injuries when his throttle stuck open in qualifying for the 1977 British Grand Prix, fracturing his legs, pelvis and ribs. 29 fractured bones in all, plus his heart stopped.

He was fortunate to survive that accident. But, remarkably, he returned to compete in the Aurora British Formula One championship in 1979. It was an incredible feat for a man who'd been so badly injured. He had to be lifted from the car afterwards and soon quit racing for good, presumably having proven all he needed to.

The comeback mentality is endlessly fascinating. Purley had suffered his own horror crash and watched a competitor perish in the flames of his burning car. After all that, to want to return and do it all again, to take the same risks – what for? A hero or a madman. Maybe one and the same.

He was never likely to see old age. After motorsport he took up aerobatics and was killed in 1985, crashing his biplane into the English Channel.

"In [the army], if one saw a burning tank or something, one tried to help the people inside. With Roger's accident it was exactly the same. It was a case of a man needing help." –– David Purley

Words: @jim_weeks / Illustration: @Dan_Draws