What’s there to say about the Goodwood Revival that hasn’t already been written—this year, last year, any year? It’s an event that compels story-telling about the past and present alike, and if you haven’t been lucky enough to go before, once you do you’ll know that it’s all warranted. You go for the recaptured pieces of the halcyon days of bygone eras in an atmosphere far removed from modernity’s other vintage car events: the clothes, the retired war birds dotting the infield, the charming location in southern England, the sounds of cold-starts cutting through the morning fog. Even in the rain, there is nothing that can dampen the mood here, and this reminds you that it’s more than the unbelievable collection of classic cars that fill up the paddocks and parking lots that makes this event what it is. It’s the culmination of all these characters in their period garb, the cars they pilot, and perhaps most of all, the way they do so; this is racing, not parading. To see old open-wheelers spitting plumes of spray behind them on the same day as D-Types get sideways next to Maserati Birdcages is a day that stays with you long after it’s happened in front of your smiling face. This year was my first time going and although I’d read many articles and drooled over even more photos of the event, I’m still having a hard time believing everything that I witnessed.
Walking the tent lines and peering out from below a dripping umbrella, the assortment of machines I saw waiting for their exercise on the circuit was enough to constitute one of the best concours of the calendar, and it was fun to try picking out which costumes were reproductions amongst some authentic vintage race suits and the like, but as I said, the aspect that most moved me was the movement itself. I’ve always heard that the vintage racing in Europe was unlike something I’d be bound to see in the States, and that the competitive level at events like this one was more focused on winning than the insured values of the cars would have one believe. At first I saw a bunch of big dollar signs getting harrowingly close to each other, but after a while I got used to the notion that these people were out here using their cars for what they were meant for, as is so often said but rarely seen.
From pre-war beasts from the likes of Alfa Romeo and Bugatti in their prime competitive years, to vintage Grand Prix legends, the most coveted Italian unicorns to Le Mans-winning British sports cars fielded by Scottish racing teams, seeing the world’s greatest machines of years bygone wound up and wrung out ’round the Goodwood Motor Circuit is something to behold in person.
