That made me feel worse. Each lap seemed to get longer and longer. By the time I got to the end of lap 58, I was delighted to see the chequered flag. Everyone at Ferrari was even happier.
I was pleased for the team as much as anyone else because they had worked so hard. But, to be honest, I thought the best thing I had done all weekend was to qualify third; that had allowed me to stay ahead of trouble in the race. Anyone could have come home third under those circumstances. It was no big deal. But at least it justified a beer or two afterwards. Then I had to jump on a plane back to Europe at midnight. And I never did get to see the two girls.
The buzz I felt after finishing third in Australia had nothing to do with the result. Michael had been waiting for me in parc ferme. I think he said: ‘Good race, well done.’ It was difficult for me to hear exactly because my ears were ringing.
Most drivers use ear plugs while in the car to cut out the engine noise; they also double up as speakers for the radio system. Unfortunately, mine had fallen out during the race. The team had been trying to tell me to speed up because Jacques Villeneuve was in trouble, but the message wasn’t getting through. I could hear a buzzing in my ears every now and again. I knew my engineer was trying to say something but I assumed I had a problem of some sort, so I was going slower and slower – and the more I backed off, the more I was being told to speed up!
After the race, people were talking to me, but I couldn’t hear them clearly. My ear plugs had never fallen out before. It must have happened gradually, because I didn’t notice them go. I was just increasingly aware of the engine; in the end, the noise was unreal. I had noticed other drivers taping the plugs into their ears before the start of the races; I made a point of doing that from then on.
Meanwhile, there had been a noise of a different kind following events on the rostrum in Melbourne. The usual arrangement at the end of a race is for the first three finishers to take their place on the podium and the flags of their respective countries raised behind them, the winner having his national anthem played at the same time. In my case, they put up the Irish flag because I race under an Irish licence, more as a matter of convenience than a political statement. The Irish flag is green, white and orange and it was designed for the whole of Ireland; green for the Republic, orange for Northern Ireland with white for peace between the two. The problem is, the so-called Tricolour has unfortunate connotations in Northern Ireland because it is seen to soley represent the Republic. People in the North have been told for as long as I can remember that the colours are green, white and gold. I had only discovered the proper meaning a year or so ago; it made me wonder if this green, white and gold business had been deliberate misinformation by those who want the Union Flag flown in Northern Ireland.
Anyway, I was not about to get into Irish politics when the officials asked me, before the Australian race, which flag I would prefer: the Irish or the British. I said I didn’t mind. To be honest, I didn’t really care because I was sure I wasn’t going to finish. Ideally, I would have liked a flag with a shamrock; something with no political overtones. The officials had also asked about the national anthem if I won. I thought that was pushing my luck a bit too far but, just in case, I had asked for the ‘Londonderry Air’, a traditional tune which everyone knows, very Irish but completely non-political.
I suddenly remembered all of that when I was on the rostrum. I looked behind me but, from where I stood, I couldn’t make out which flag they were using. Unfortunately, a number of people back home could see the Irish Tricolour all too clearly on television.
My Dad received several telephone calls; there were letters of objection in the Northern Ireland newspapers; all that sort of thing. I had raised the subject with the sport’s governing body, the Federation Internationale de l’Automobile (FIA). They said it was either the Union Flag or the Irish Tricolour. They didn’t appreciate the delicate situation and they didn’t want to know about anything else. So, we had the Irish flag in Australia and, all of a sudden, attitudes softened a few weeks later. I don’t know why; maybe someone at the FIA had a phone call or a letter and the full implication of the Irish question was brought home. Someone said the Irish take these things very seriously. Tell me about it!
I was born and brought up in County Down, Northern Ireland. The best part of my education came from Regent House, a very good school in the market town of Newtownards, about ten miles from Belfast. The majority of boys at Regent House were Protestant and I can remember the day when a teacher asked if we wanted a united Ireland. I had never understood the politics or the economics of the situation; I just thought: ‘It’s one island, it should be one country. Yes, we should have a united Ireland. Why not?’ I can’t remember the exact numbers but quite a few pupils held the same view, which was surprising considering, as I said, this happened to be a largely Protestant school.
It made sense then, and it makes sense now. If you live in Northern Ireland and you are not Irish, then what are you? Saying you are British is not the answer. The front of the ‘British’ passport says ‘The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland’. Strictly speaking, people from the north of Ireland are part of the UK. A number say they are British and hold allegiance to The Queen but – and this is just my personal opinion – The Queen is only a figure head, someone who mainly attracts tourists. And you have to say that she does not bring many visitors to Northern Ireland. I agree with having a Queen but I think the rest of the Royal family and the hangers-on are nothing more than a total waste of money.
I would class myself as Irish in the same way that David Coulthard says he is Scottish. A Scotsman doesn’t necessarily say he’s British even though, in the strictest sense, he has more right to make that claim than someone from Northern Ireland.
Obviously there has been a lot of talk over the years about Northern Ireland losing its links with Great Britain. I’ve heard it said in the North that the people from the South want to come along and take over Northern Ireland because it’s ‘a great little country with a great little economy’.
They must be joking. Northern Ireland is a wonderful place but, when you look at the infrastructure, you can see there’s not a lot going for it. The main industries are heavily subsidised by the British government; we produce very little off our own bat that is financially viable in a big way. If Northern Ireland lost its links with Britain, it would be an economic disaster. The Republic of Ireland has a forward thinking, young government. But it couldn’t cope with the financial burden which would come with the North if we were to have a totally united Ireland. There has got to be some sort of compromise and I’m sure one could be worked out if intelligent, logical people were allowed to get on with it.
In my opinion the younger generation, North and South, are not really bothered about this old fashioned dogma about keeping the two sides apart. I am convinced that if there was better cross-border transport communication – a much-improved train or bus service, for instance – then the flow back and forth would help to heal the divide. Young people are not into the politics. They simply want to live their lives on both sides of the border and better communications would help them do that and strengthen the bond as a matter of course. I should stress that this is a personal opinion, although I would like to think that I am not alone in my views.
The trouble is, people on both sides of the border are hamstrung by minorities living in the past. I find the Reverend Ian Paisley a total embarrassment, a man who has set the Unionist cause back a hundred years. When we went to Argentina for the Grand Prix, I was with some friends when the television news showed Orangemen (Protestants) having a punch-up in Belfast. They wanted to walk down a certain road and the police wouldn’t let them because it would inflame the situation in a sensitive area where Catholics lived. They were shouting and screaming, intent on causing aggravation on the pretext that they had walked down the road for donkey’s years, so why should they change now. My friends wanted to know what the trouble was all about. I said: ‘Don’t