style="font-size:15px;"> The sea rolled and the old Commodore ferryboat carried us out into the English Channel. I felt churned up inside but excited and feeling all manner of conflicting emotions: I wanted to stay with everyone…yet I wanted to go. Although I had previously been away at weekends racing, I’d usually had my family with me, and I had certainly never before been in a situation like this, going to live in another country on my own.
But I was fired by ambition and determined to give it my best shot. Reaching the top for me in those days meant Formula One because I had watched it on television. And if I could not make it to Grand Prix racing, I would still climb as near to the racing summit as I could.
I had my old Volvo estate with me on the ferry and a Hobby caravan, both of which I had bought to live in during the next chapter of my life. And that was it. I would sleep in the caravan – bought cheap on the mainland – and live that way until I could find my feet. That was the plan…
I looked back to the shore. I could see the faces and expressions. Then I could just about make out the shapes and outlines of each one. And then those shapes blurred until all I could see was the Guernsey shoreline. Gradually, the island began to recede from sight and the open sea took over. I tightened my jaw.
As I stood there, on the slow boat crossing over to the English mainland, I thought of the many Guernsey refugees who had fled before the Germans occupied our island during the Second World War. Then it was old folk, children and families fleeing the German soldiers. I am no great historian but I love my home island and I knew England had always been our ‘safe refuge’, a place to grow up and seek opportunities. So, like many before me, I was following a long-established Guernsey tradition. I was seeking my fortune across the sea.
I had always been a big motorsport fan as had most of my family. But none of us had attempted this before. And, contrary to a lot of ill-conceived rumours and tittle-tattle, I was not remotely wealthy. My family was just an ordinary, hard-working, Guernsey clan; indeed, the Priaulx name can be traced back in the history books to the far-off days of William the Conqueror. My mum worked, played the piano and was involved with the church. My dad ran a garage, the family business. He was a real hard-working guy. My granddad, Skip, did the same. And they were both racers. They enjoyed life and did well, but neither was born with a silver spoon in sight. And nor was I.
My granddad raced up and down the beaches in the old days – they used to call it sand racing – tearing around out there when the tide was out. He had a yellow car known as ‘the flying banana’ and as we grew up we loved to hear all the stories. My dad was a fast driver, too – a winner and record-breaker on the hillclimbs. When I was a kid I helped him prepare his cars, dressing up in a set of red racing overalls to do the polishing and spannerwork.
I suppose, because of all that, motorsport was in my blood. I loved skateboards, bikes, karts, motorbikes and anything that moved fast really. I took part in motocross, and went out boating. I grew up outdoors, climbing, running, playing sport and racing around on anything I could lay my hands on. I had a few scrapes, but nothing put me off climbing back on board whatever the vehicle was to have another go. My mum, admittedly, was not always best pleased about that!
I always remember discovering Formula One and getting hooked on it. I recall watching Gilles Villeneuve with my dad and thinking that I’d love to be doing something like that. I don’t think, if I am honest, that I have ever held any ambitions outside of motor racing. I just wanted to race. I loved anything with an engine and a throttle: a motorbike, a car, a powerboat – such machines were a real temptation to me. My gut feeling, as I grew up, was that it was fun and I just wanted to play a bit. But as I started to think more about my future, I realised that maybe I had a bit of talent. I wanted to maximise that and so I had a real burning desire to push myself forwards.
As the boat chugged on, I reflected on all these things. My granddad was a big influence as, too, was my dad. But I think the one thing that drove me to grab my chance to leave Guernsey and seek my fortune came when I saw my granddad lying sick in hospital. At the time I was working for my father at the garage as a sort of car-valet man, salesman, mechanic and general dogsbody. I was doing whatever it took to make money and keep things going. Like all the Priaulx clan I was, and have always been, a very hard-working fellow.
I remembered that my granddad looked so ill and I thought if ever I found myself in that situation I would want to have lived my life to the maximum. I think that was the spark for me, and the really strong feeling to leave the island came there and then. In that way, my granddad was my inspiration. He supported me, and my racing, and he loved it. I had been away to France, to a racing school at Magny-Cours just a while before, so I was really motivated and keen.
A friend of mine, Bill Bristow, had found the caravan for us. I say ‘us’ because Jo, my then fiancée, and me had planned everything: I would go to England first and get established and she would follow later. Jo and I have always been a team and make all our decisions together. She would stay and work to try and build up as much of a financial reserve as she could and then join me. We had no idea how it would work out.
We decided on the caravan because it made sense. We did not have much cash to throw around and I had no job waiting for me. The caravan was 15 years old and I paid something like £1,500 for it.
My dad was very supportive, always 100 per cent behind me. He thought it was the right move to go to the United Kingdom to learn all about circuit racing. He knew I had the speed – from my hillclimb career – and felt the best place to learn would be at a race circuit, or as close as I could get to one. Well, living inside Silverstone in a caravan would be just the ticket! I’d had a bit of a special memory of Silverstone, too, from watching the British Grand Prix in 1987 when Nigel Mansell won following a titanic tussle with Nelson Piquet, his Williams team-mate. He had also won at Brands Hatch in 1986, again after a big battle with Piquet, and because of his determination he has always been one of my heroes.
I also knew Jo would support me, of course. She and dad would always be there on the end of the phone when I needed them. My dad always told me that the Priaulxs were risk-takers – people who wanted to push the boat out as far as possible. My granddad was just the same. He took big risks in business in Guernsey, such as acquiring the Fiat agency in the fifties, and succeeded. So I had to get it together. That meant being in the right place at the right time. I knew it would be no easy challenge.
As I sat on the boat looking back and thinking ahead, I knew that had I stayed in Guernsey I would always have been known as ‘Andy Priaulx – Graham Priaulx’s son’. And I did not want that. My dad was well known for his garage, his work and his racing – he had quite a reputation on the island. But I wanted to be myself, not just another Priaulx.
I knew that when I Ieft Guernsey I would be leaving everything behind me. I would be starting a new life, yet I still felt very sad. I had all the doubts I expected to have, about leaving the family and the family business. My dad had taught me a lot. I knew how to sell, present myself and set up deals.
Take the caravan, for example. You are not really allowed to have a caravan in Guernsey so I had to be careful how I brought it in and used it. Obviously, I was not using it for tourism! I was going the other way. I cleaned and serviced it, made sure the gas worked and hooked it up. I then filled it with supplies and connected it to the Volvo. And my ticket? I had negotiated a deal with the boat company to travel for free, but I had to go on the slow boat that took six or seven hours to make the crossing. But that was just typical of how I did things then. I liked making deals, being decisive and trying to make things happen.
I realised, too, that it was probably a relief for my family, and my dad in particular, to know I had made the decision to go to England. While working at the garage I was also concentrating on phoning teams and finding sponsorship for my racing career. To be honest, the wages I was asking my dad for were too high. I knew that
