Italian GP 1949

So Italian drivers have only won the Italian Grand Prix in Formula One cars in 1950, 1951, 1952 and 1966? Not so fast. Fire up the time machine: we are going back to 1949. The Italian Grand Prix, also carrying the title of European Grand Prix. Formula One cars on the grid. Let's see what is being written out of racing history.

Alberto Ascari has won at Monza, lapping even his closest pursuer. The new 1.5-litre Ferrari with two-stage supercharging has survived 504 kilometres on its first major outing, stopped twice for fuel and retained the lead on both occasions. Second is Etancelin in the unsupercharged 4.5-litre Talbot, which has covered the entire distance without stopping. Between those two results lies almost the whole of the present argument over what a Grand Prix car ought to be.

For Italy, this is Ascari’s day: a quarter of a century ago, his father Antonio won here. For the designer, it is a successful test of a new car. But for the man paying to develop racing engines, who must then explain their value to the buyer of an ordinary motor car, Sunday leaves plenty of questions. The fastest car has won. Does that justify the means by which it has been made faster?

The present (1949) first formula - Formula One - permits 1.5 litres with a supercharger or 4.5 litres without one. These limits offer two quite different ways of obtaining power: force more charge into a small swept volume, or draw in the required quantity by making the cylinders themselves larger. Equality on paper does not necessarily produce equality on the circuit. What a supercharged engine can deliver depends on boost pressure, the number of compression stages, charge cooling and fuel. The ratio between the permitted capacities stays the same while the machinery within those limits continues to develop.

Monza asks a great deal of a car. Eighty laps await on the 6.3-kilometre circuit, rebuilt last year; the high speeds turn the race into a prolonged test of engines and superchargers. Before the start, spectators recall how even the winning engine was running far from cleanly over the final ten laps of last year’s race.

The new Ferrari therefore inspires hope, tempered by caution. Even before the race, journalists warn against treating racing designers’ promises as accomplished facts. Whether the new cars will run depends on tests at Monza itself. Ascari and Villoresi are to have two-stage supercharging; the other Ferraris represent the earlier specification. The distinction matters: two stages allow the charge pressure to be raised successively, but bring heat and mechanical loads that must also be dealt with. The words ‘two-stage’ alone say nothing about a car’s ability to last the distance.

Corrado Millanta has been admitted to Ferrari’s inner sanctum, giving us a chance to examine the machinery behind the promises. The 1.5-litre V12 now has four camshafts and a two-stage Roots supercharger built in-house. The upper unit sits centrally at the front of the engine; from it, the mixture enters a common distribution passage and then reaches the cylinders through twelve vertical pipes. The new cylinder-head arrangement retains hairpin valve springs. The sparking plugs sit at the crowns of the hemispherical combustion chambers and, the author notes, are easier to reach. In a race where plug changes repeatedly bring cars back to their mechanics, that is a practical advantage.

The move from the earlier engine’s single overhead camshaft per bank to four shafts changes the valve gear, while two-stage supercharging offers greater scope for cylinder filling. Factory conversation puts the gain at about 75 metric horsepower, giving approximately 305 hp in all. With the car expected to weigh around 550 kg, that means roughly 1.8 kg per horsepower.

The factory account itself leads to the next question: how is that power to reach the road? The earlier lightweight Ferrari already suffered from rear-wheel spin. Its 130-litre fuel tank is at the back, and Millanta estimates the fuel load at about 100 kg - some 18 per cent of the car’s quoted 550 kg. As fuel is consumed, the car becomes lighter, but the load contributed by the tank to the rear axle also diminishes. The driven wheels’ ability to transmit tractive force therefore changes with the fuel load; improved acceleration from lower overall weight is only part of the story. The author explicitly connects this with the need for delicate throttle control.

The work extends beyond the engine: a new chassis has been built for it. Millanta estimates that the wheelbase has grown from 2.16 to approximately 2.30 metres; an automatic limited-slip differential is specified. With the centre of gravity at the same height, a longer wheelbase reduces longitudinal load transfer under acceleration and braking. The differential should restrain the tendency of one driven wheel to spin and prevent the grip available at the other from being used. Smoother bodywork extends aft of the cockpit, with the previous steps in the tail eliminated. At Monza, where power must be spent overcoming air resistance along the long straights, this is a worthwhile change in its own right.

Yet this is an enterprise on nothing like the scale of a large motor manufacturer. Millanta estimates total Ferrari production to date at about 45 cars, stressing that the figure is approximate. The workshops are occupied with racing and sports cars, two-litre V12 road cars and orders for machine tools. New designs are discussed beside the test bench. The test driver, Navone, tries them on a winding two-kilometre road beyond Maranello, while Enzo Ferrari and his staff watch from a tight, paved corner in a village. Mechanics warn the residents, and requests to clear the road are obeyed without argument. Here a racing car is also a neighbourhood concern: people hear it, recognise it and let it pass their front doors.

Back to Monza. Alfa Romeo is absent once again. The main opposition comes from the 1.5-litre Maseratis, principally the 4CLT with two-stage supercharging, and the large unsupercharged Talbots. Other cars are entered, but attention centres on Farina’s Milan: a modified Maserati with a new engine and altered supercharging. Before the race, its bench output is said to exceed 310 hp.

Paul Pietsch supplies more detail of the Milan’s modifications: larger superchargers, different inlet pipes and pistons. The same engine, he reports, has already set a world record in its class in a motorboat. An impressive achievement, but running on water does not answer for the behaviour of a complete racing car. Pietsch describes the other Maseratis as the familiar four-cylinder, sixteen-valve machines with two-stage supercharging, developed further by their individual owners. Cars bearing the same marque arrive at the start in different states of preparation.

Talbot is making a different wager. It lacks the speed of the strongest supercharged cars, but can cover the distance on one load of fuel. A refuelling stop costs more than the seconds spent in the mechanics’ hands: the driver must pull in, stop and accelerate away again. The thirstier car has to gain enough time on the circuit to pay for those losses. Until Sunday, nobody knows how much of a margin the new Ferrari can build, or whether it will retain it after refuelling.

The recent meeting at Lausanne has already warned against ranking cars by power alone. There, on a winding circuit with gradients of up to 7.2 per cent and short straights, Sommer won the Formula Two race in a light, nimble Simca-Gordini. Pietsch reports that he beat the records left by the supercharged cars in 1947; even his average speed was higher than that of Farina, who subsequently won the Grand Prix. The correspondent himself allows for the different distances and the fuel stop in the longer race. The comparison does not establish the two-litre car as universally superior, but it does remind us that on a confined road, speed also depends on weight, agility and the ability to use the available power between corners. Monza sets a different balance of demands.

On Friday and Saturday, the new cars confirm their speed. Ascari, Villoresi, Farina and Sommer occupy the front row. There are 24 cars at the start, four abreast in six rows. The anthems of the seven nations represented ring out over the circuit as mechanics wheel the cars into position. Some 50,000 spectators, ministers in the grandstand of honour, a telegram from the President of the Republic: the tenth European Grand Prix, held here in conjunction with the Italian Grand Prix, retains all the weight of a state occasion.

Yet the public’s attention must be shared even on the same day: an important football match is taking place in Milan. A week earlier, the motorcycle race at Monza itself drew almost 100,000 people by Pietsch’s reckoning - roughly twice the attendance for the automobile Grand Prix. Full stands do not spare motor racing the competition for spectators.

Outside the circuit, the standing of such races is being discussed rather less ceremoniously. Robert Eberan von Eberhorst asks an awkward question: has racing become an end in itself, linked to technical progress merely by force of habit? The calendar is overcrowded, spectators’ attention is dispersed, preparation suffers and the bills remain. The post-war motor industry must give its customers reliability, comfort and useful service while consuming less material, labour and fuel. Grand Prix racing increasingly demands the reverse: more money for ever smaller gains in speed.

At 2.45 pm on 11 September, however, all these arguments temporarily give way to the starting flag. Fifteen minutes late, the race begins, and Ascari immediately takes the lead. Behind him come Villoresi, Farina, Campos and Sommer. Levegh remains at the start: his Delahaye’s engine refuses to run properly. The car is pushed back to the mechanics; by the time they get it away, its position is hopeless.

Ascari sets the measure of the race at once. His second lap takes 2 minutes 6.4 seconds, an average of 178.864 km/h. It will remain the fastest lap of the day. But Sanesi’s record of 2 minutes 0.4 seconds, set in the Alfa last year, is untouched. A fast debut for the new car is not yet grounds for declaring the old standard equalled.

The first three draw clear. Behind them, the race of attrition is already under way: some disappear altogether, others return after repairs. Whitehead changes plugs, then changes them again. Bonetto climbs to fifth, but his race ends on lap 15. From the stands, the precise cause is unclear: a failed water pump or a burnt cylinder-head gasket. Taruffi spends so much time with the mechanics in the second Milan that his visits are difficult to distinguish from one another.

Farina disappears on lap 17. The engine will not pull beyond 6,000 rpm, and he withdraws while running third. The spectators judge the decision harshly: a competitor in such an event is expected to continue as long as he can. For a technical assessment, though, the essential point lies elsewhere. The Milan’s fast practice laps have failed to become a convincing performance over the full distance.

Pietsch adds that the trouble had already dogged Farina during preparation. Inadequate fuel delivery was suspected, and a pump of greater capacity was fitted, without improvement. Even with the larger supercharger and new inlet pipes, the engine still will not reach the required operating speed; changing the pump alone has not been enough.

By lap 20, Ascari leads Villoresi by about 41 seconds. Campos is more than a minute and a half behind, and only the first four cars remain on the leader’s lap. Seven competitors have retired. On lap 28, Ascari refuels for the first time and keeps the lead. Almost simultaneously, Villoresi stops at his pit; his Ferrari is soon pushed aside. A gearbox fault is reported and linked to several missed changes by Villoresi, who has been observed looking nervous through the corners.

Another detail from Pietsch makes this all the more curious: of the two new Ferraris, allocated to the drivers by drawing lots, the slightly more powerful car went to Villoresi. If the account is correct, Ascari’s lead cannot be explained simply by his having been given the better engine. The new design has already demonstrated its speed, but two equally promising cars are offering different evidence of their reliability.

Campos moves into second. Meanwhile, Etancelin brings his Talbot steadily forward as his rivals stop. The Frenchman recovers the time the supercharged cars take from him on the circuit and then hand back at the fuel pumps. His even pace becomes particularly conspicuous against the succession of failures: Rol’s supercharger gives out on lap 31, while others lose minutes or never reappear from the next corner.

By half-distance, eleven cars are out. Ascari has covered forty laps in 1 hour 28 minutes 33 seconds; Campos, who refuelled on the preceding lap, is 1 minute 31 seconds behind. Etancelin is already third. Murray then joins the list of retirements, followed around lap 50 by Rosier. A large unsupercharged engine removes the need to worry about a blower, but not about every other component in the car.

Observers stress the heat and the punishing effect of the long straights. The same jobs recur in the pits: plugs, gaskets and oil leaks, with the Maseratis reported to be losing oil particularly freely. This is now a contest not only between different supercharging arrangements, but between standards of manufacture, assembly and preparation in each individual car.

On lap 55, Ascari takes on fuel again. The stop lasts 43 seconds, and a lead of almost two minutes over Campos allows him to absorb it without losing first place. Soon Campos himself pulls in to the mechanics, climbs out and does not return to the circuit: connecting-rod damage. Etancelin is now second. For the winner, the last need for haste has gone.

Behind him, the contest continues, with the stopwatch increasingly at the mercy of the mechanic’s simple tools. A bolt breaks in de Graffenried’s throttle linkage, and the repair costs him a place to Bira. Then a chassis side member on the Swiss driver’s car is damaged. He has to reduce speed and nurses the Maserati home in fourth. Bira, who topped up with water on lap 65, finishes third. Sommer, after numerous troubles, still works his way back to fifth in the Ferrari with the earlier supercharger.

Ascari completes the race in 2 hours 58 minutes 53.6 seconds, averaging about 169 km/h. Etancelin covers 79 laps to his 80, Bira 77 and de Graffenried 76. Nine cars reach the end, but only six are classified: Taruffi, Claes and Louveau have not met the requirement to complete at least 65 laps.

Ferrari’s victory is beyond dispute. It does not, however, establish superiority over last year’s Alfa. Wimille covered the same 504 kilometres in 2 hours 50 minutes 44.2 seconds, averaging 177.111 km/h. After the opening laps, Ascari has had no need to use everything his car can offer: as his opponents disappear, so does the reason to take risks. Contemporary observers openly describe the race as short of close competition beyond its first third.

Pietsch makes a telling observation at the finish: among the oil-stained cars, the victorious Ferrari looks clean and dry after 500 kilometres. He sees this as evidence of the precision of the engine work, but immediately qualifies his praise: nobody knows what condition the car would have been in had its rivals forced it to give everything. The Alfa representatives present are certain that their car would have won. The winner submits proof of the distance completed; his opponents submit last year’s results and their conviction of superiority.

Von Eberhorst’s discussion of a future racing formula ceases to be an abstract argument. He reminds us that supercharging can be developed further, with higher pressures, several stages and effective mixture cooling. There is no theoretical dead end yet. There is a question of cost and purpose. Free choice of fuel, particularly methanol with its cooling effect, helps extract ever more power from a small engine. Success along that path in racing does not establish its suitability for a car that must fill up at an ordinary petrol pump.

Nor, significantly, does Ferrari itself regard the unsupercharged route as exhausted. During Millanta’s visit, Ferrari speaks of the present formula’s untapped possibilities and argues that the French 4.5-litre cars have yet to show all that can be achieved. The designer, Colombo, confirms that a twelve-cylinder engine of that capacity could be fitted to the new chassis. The conversation suggests about 315 hp, or roughly 70 hp per litre, with the car’s weight remaining approximately the same. The anticipated reduction in fuel consumption should allow a 500-kilometre race to be completed without refuelling.

For the moment, this is a possible car under discussion, not a finished rival to the present Ferrari. Yet it changes the argument considerably: the workshop that has just strengthened its supercharged engine is also considering how to combine that engine’s power with unsupercharged endurance and economy. Colombo has a new chassis in which he intends to fit different engines. For the winter races in South America, two-litre supercharged units of up to 320 hp are being discussed, as permitted by the regulations there. The same design work is to serve several forms of competition. The first formula — Formula One — is central to the enterprise, but far from the sole purpose of its racing car.

Von Eberhorst proposes a different brief for the designer: how much useful power and acceleration can be obtained from a given allowance of fuel? He suggests abandoning limits on engine capacity and minimum weight, adopting a common commercial fuel and dividing cars by seating capacity. A two-seater would receive 12 litres per 100 kilometres, a four-seater 16; unoccupied seats would carry ballast. Lightness should confer an advantage, while excessive consumption should prevent a car from completing the distance.

Even exposed wheels are not sacred to von Eberhorst. Well-cooled brakes and tyres on a racing car solve only part of the road-car designer’s problem, since he must accommodate them beneath bodywork. External shape, visibility, ventilation and access to components could also become matters for competition. If racing is meant to advance motor manufacture, the value of its lessons cannot be judged by engine output alone.

There is tangible support for such reasoning. The report of the International Austrian Alpine Trial, published before Monza, shows small touring cars surviving difficult roads better than many larger ones: in the class up to 1,100 cc, 83 per cent of starters finish, against approximately 66 and 63 per cent in the next two groups. Rain, poor surfaces and gradients of 30 per cent or more make power only one condition of success. Fuel delivery, cooling and tyre grip must be maintained, and the crew must keep to its schedule. This does not prove that a small car is superior everywhere, but it does show why the industry might seek useful lessons far from a Grand Prix.

Equally, the pursuit of speed is by no means confined to expensive 1.5-litre supercharged cars. After Monza, Gardner takes his record-breaking MG, with its 497 cc engine, to 249.307 km/h over the flying kilometre. A narrow, enclosed body and a specialised task give a half-litre car capabilities that cannot be compared with the average speed of a circuit race, but cannot be ignored in a discussion of technical development either. Alongside this are Germany’s Formula Two and sports-car races, circuit records, mechanical failures and the work of small groups of designers.

The report from the revived Solitude circuit puts attendance at the car and motorcycle races at 285,000. In a two-litre Veritas sports car, Kling completes his race at an average of 121.5 km/h. Stuck’s fast opening laps in a light single-seater end in cooling trouble: the author points to thermal difficulties at a compression ratio of 12:1, damage at the sealing edge and a failed water pump. Lang’s car, with an engine prepared for AFM, is completed only an hour before the race, after an already cracked cylinder head has been replaced; its race lasts one lap. In another country and another formula, Monza’s familiar contradiction appears again: spectators are plentiful and ambitions bold, but time and machinery fit to race are scarce.

The international order, meanwhile, is still far from restored. The Frenchman Loyer, who raced at the Nürburgring, faces possible action against his licence: the FIA has not yet recognised Germany’s sporting authority, and the race lacked its sanction. Even within national competition, there is uncertainty over which performances entitle a man to call himself champion: Swiss rules on the counting of races, hillclimbs and participation in sports cars have produced a dispute over the title. The racing world consists of a multitude of events and rules that are not yet fully reconciled.

Monza thus delivers a clear result while leaving the central technical argument open. The new Ferrari can win a Grand Prix with two fuel stops; the Talbot can answer with second place and no stop at all. Ascari has proved his car’s advantage in the race that was actually run. Etancelin has shown how much restrained fuel consumption and mechanical soundness are still worth. When the time comes to choose the next formula, designers will have to decide which of these virtues the rules should reward more generously.

And this is 1949. There was 1947, too.