When Duncan Hamilton finally hung up his crash helmet almost the last of the immediate post-war racing drivers retired from the scene. They were a band of enthusiasts different, in many ways, from their modern counterparts. They were unashamedly amatuer in their approach to the sport. In the first place they owned the cars they raced and, as often as not, they prepared them themselves. Though the competitive element was strong and they tried hard to win, the race was only the focussing point of the day's activities.

There were friends to meet, technical information to exchange, stories to tell and almost certainly a party to be enjoyed. Gradually all this changed, and the fine old racing and sports cars were replaced by modern machinery. Not all drivers managed the transition - not all wanted to. The sport was now more for professionals, and to win you needed to be professional in your approach. Duncan managed the transition, and both as a team driver for Jaguars, H.W.M, Ferrari and others, and as a private owner driver, he achieved many successes. These successes were due as much to his sportsmanship, courage and determination as to his great skill.

He survived many serious accidents. Few other people, in any pursuit, would have got up, licked their wounds, and returned to the fray with such vigour and sense of purpose.

Some people are a little larger than life; Duncan is one of them. To any of his naval friends the vicissitudes of his career as a racing driver are merely the continuation of a natural sequence of events; conversely, no one who had known him for the last ten or twelve years would express any surprise to learn that his dog once ate a set of documents and so prevented a fleet from sailing for several days. It would seem quite normal for Duncan to own such a dog. And who else but Duncan could be stopped for speeding in the Cromwell Road while on his way to take part in a television programme on road safety?

The more a man travels the more important his home becomes. Duncan has been fortunate in that his wife Angela is just the right person to be in his home. Her placid nature, her refusal to fuss, and above all her understanding of his wants and ambitions made his career a possibility.

As I have said, the man is slightly larger than life, but don't take my word for it - read this book and find out for yourself.

Earl Howe, London, 1960 - Foreword from 'Touch Wood!'

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