Tim Schenken: A Racing Life from F1 Podium to CAMS
What becomes of racers when the engines fall silent? The innate drive to compete often finds new avenues. Many channel their winning mentality into business, while others remain tethered to the sport, managing teams or even constructing race cars. A select few transition to the media, offering commentary or punditry. Inevitably, some linger on the periphery, lamenting that the sport isn’t what it once was.
Yet, a rare group gives back, acknowledging what motorsport gave them. Tim Schenken stands prominently among them. His professional racing journey boasts nearly 40 Formula 1 starts and factory drives for prestigious names like Ferrari and Jaguar. He also embraced team management, nurturing young talent, and ventured into race car manufacturing. However, in 1984, a desire to return to Melbourne with his family led him to join the Confederation of Australian Motor Sport (CAMS), the governing body for racing in the country. Twenty-five years later, he remains a pivotal figure as the Director of Racing Operations.
Tim and his wife of 35 years, Brigitte, reside near the sea in a stylish modern house, a short walk from Albert Park. Over a meal of seared scallops, red snapper, and cuttlefish at The Stokehouse, a trendy beachside restaurant, Tim, now 65, appears tall and lean, perhaps thinner on top but seemingly maintaining the same weight as the ambitious young racer who arrived in England 44 years prior with little more than dreams.
His father, a chemical engineer, emigrated from Germany to Australia in the 1920s and married the daughter of a politician. Growing up in Melbourne, Tim became captivated by a hillclimb special raced by a school friend’s father. By 13, he had constructed a basic go-kart from a discarded bedframe and a scrap Villiers engine, tearing around local dirt tracks. Once legally able to drive, he’d borrow his mother’s Simca Aronde under the guise of attending barbecues, only to secretly participate in club rallies.
“One Sunday morning at Calder, there was a straight-line sprint that didn’t need a competition licence,” Tim recalls. “But the afternoon had proper circuit races, which did. I didn’t have a licence, of course. When cars lined up at the paddock gate for practice, I just joined the queue in the Simca. Nobody checked, so I went out and thrashed it around. To my amazement, they listed my time and gave me a grid spot for the race. So I raced my mum’s Aronde and actually won a trophy. I hid it in the garage roof. Years later, when my parents sold the house and I was racing in England, I had my brother retrieve it.”
Once Tim secured his CAMS licence, he acquired a race-prepped Austin A30 fitted with a Sprite engine and an alloy crossflow head. He took a clerical position at the Melbourne BMC dealership, allowing him to salvage broken warranty parts and repair them for his race car. “Every lunchtime, I’d walk two blocks to the overseas magazine store,” he remembers. “Hoping Motor Sport, Autosport, or Motor Racing had arrived off the boat. I read them cover to cover, teaching myself everything about European racing.”
“The A30 wasn’t very competitive,” Tim admits. “But in 1964, Rocky Tresise, a rising Melbourne driver, was selling his Lotus 18 to join Lex Davison’s team. I borrowed money from my dad to buy it. Suddenly, I was in a proper racing car and started gaining attention at Calder, Winton, Tarrawingee, and Sandown Park. I also hillclimbed in a friend’s JAP-powered special. It was so light and powerful that I beat all the local 1100 Coopers and won the Australian Hillclimb Championship.”
“Then, completely unexpectedly, Lex Davison called. He was a huge figure, a real hero of mine. He said he was retiring and Rocky Tresise would take over his big single-seaters. He’d seen me in the Lotus 18 and wanted me to drive his Elfin. It felt unbelievable.”
Lex Davison, a four-time Australian Grand Prix winner, was a titan of Australian motorsport. Just a week after his call with Tim, his Ecurie Australie team was competing at Sandown Park. Lex, 41, was in an ex-Denny Hulme Brabham, while 21-year-old Rocky drove an ex-Bruce McLaren Cooper. During Saturday practice, the Brabham crashed violently onto the back straight. Davison succumbed to his injuries hours later.
“Lex’s status in Australia meant his funeral at St Patrick’s Cathedral was attended by hundreds, including Jack Brabham and Bruce McLaren,” Tim recounts. “It was my first funeral, and it was dreadful. His helmet, gloves, and a chequered flag rested on the coffin. I didn’t know anyone, just lingered on the edge, feeling very confused.”
The following weekend, the team was entered for the Australian GP at Longford. Rocky Tresise convinced Lex’s wife, Diana, to let him run the Cooper as a tribute. After a poor start, he was charging through the field on the first lap when he put two wheels on the grass. The Cooper lost control, smashed through a fence, and flipped end-over-end. Both Tresise and a photographer were killed.
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“It was horrific – Lex and Rocky dying on consecutive weekends. It stunned everyone,” Tim says. “The weekend after Rocky’s crash, I was scheduled for my first Ecurie Australie run at Calder in my Lotus 18. The newspapers speculated about a third fatal crash in three weeks. I visited Diana Davison, and she begged me not to race. There was immense pressure not to drive. I couldn’t discuss it with my parents, but all I craved was racing. I was a very confused young man.” Tim did race the Lotus at Calder, but under his own name. The transmission failed on the start line.
“I knew Europe was the next step. I left the Lotus with my father to sell, and my friend Brian Andrews and I pooled our money for passage on a slow boat to Southampton. The fare included a bus to Earl’s Court and two weeks in a bedsit. Arriving in November 1965, my first action was finding the Autosport office. I introduced myself to assistant editor Paddy McNally and convinced him to publish a small note stating the Australian Hillclimb Champion was in the UK seeking opportunities. I waited for the phone to ring, but nothing happened.”
“Brian and I persuaded Graham Warner at the Chequered Flag in Chiswick to hire us as mechanics. Brian was qualified; I certainly wasn’t, but he covered for me. I handled oil changes and simple tasks while he helped with complex jobs. On weekends, I frequented races, networking with people like Nick Syrett (BRSCC) and Grahame White (BARC). Then, someone traded in a rolled twin-cam Anglia race car at the Flag. I convinced Graham to let me rebuild it. He supplied parts, I did the labour in my spare time, and during 1966, I learned the English circuits driving that car.”
“Chas Beattie managed the Flag’s race team – the F3 Brabhams for Chris Irwin and Roger Mac, and the 7-litre Cobra – operating from a railway arch under Stamford Brook station. Paint flakes fell every time a District Line train passed overhead. When the money from my Lotus 18 arrived, I bought an ex-racing school Lotus 22. Chas let me salvage old parts from the bin, and I prepared it for F3 in 1967. I transported it in an old laundry van. Then, at Crystal Palace, one of my welds on the front suspension broke – I was never skilled at welding. I hit the sleepers, ending the Lotus’s run.”
“Formula Ford was emerging, and Selwyn Hayward of Merlyn needed someone for a semi-works car. He’d noticed me driving the old Lotus and invited me to a test at Brands. I ended up with a loaned Merlyn chassis and an engine from Chris Steele. Chas had started his own workshop near the old Aston Martin works in Feltham, and I prepared the car in a corner there. Chas was incredibly helpful, teaching me the importance of pre-circuit preparation: ensuring correct alignment and corner weights. Then, any handling issues at the track weren’t due to fundamental setup problems.”
Tim’s impact on the 1968 racing season was seismic. His immediate dominance in Formula Ford was so complete that by April, Rodney Bloor offered him a competitive F3 seat in a Chevron run under his Sports Motors banner. “I’d race four times a weekend: F3 and FF at Oulton on Saturday, then F3 and FF at Snetterton on Sunday. In FF, I had the optimal car and engine, always perfecting gear ratios for each circuit. The Chevron had initial handling issues, but once I gained confidence, I was competitive.” That intense season saw Tim amass 36 victories, securing both the British Formula Ford and British Formula 3 Championships – an unprecedented and unrepeated achievement. He also won the prestigious Grovewood Award. “I suppose I was the top dog then. We did some European FF races too. At Spa, the old 8.7-mile circuit, for a GP support race. Braking was only really needed for La Source, Les Combes, and maybe a touch at Stavelot. Essentially flat out for over seven miles, hitting 132mph downhill.”
“I also participated in the Monza and Spa 1000Kms races. John Raeburn, another Aussie from the Flag, secured me a drive with him in Andy Cox’s old GT40. At Spa, the ride height was wrong; through fast sections, steering input had no effect, like driving a speedboat. It terrified me. Then it rained – proper Spa rain. We only had slicks; wets were unaffordable. John started. At the end of lap one, Jacky Ickx appeared in a spray plume, flew down the hill, up Eau Rouge, and vanished before anyone else emerged. The rest followed, and after a delay, John gingerly navigated La Source on slicks. We showed him the pit board, he gave a small wave – then spun, hit the bridge parapet, and ended up in the ditch. I’ve never felt such relief.”
“For 1969, Rodney ran what was essentially the works F3 Brabham, the new BT28, painted red and black thanks to minor sponsorship from Guards cigarettes. Our ‘works team’ consisted of an old Ford Zephyr towing an open trailer. We travelled Europe this way, me driving, my mechanic John Schofield terrified in the passenger seat as we towed at 90mph. We considered ourselves professional in F3. Today it seems amateurish, but with the narrow power bands of those 1000cc engines, gear ratios were critical. At Brands Hatch for qualifying, you might use an extra second gear in the first gear slot just for Druids, then revert to a normal first for the race start. You’d qualify using four gears but race using only three. Secrets were closely guarded. Then, at Brands, this tall, blond Swedish kid approached and asked about my ratios. I don’t know why, but I told him. That was Ronnie Peterson. We became friends instantly.”
The 1969 F3 season was legendary. Front battles typically involved Peterson (Tecno), Reine Wisell (Chevron), and Schenken (Brabham), with Emerson Fittipaldi (Lotus) and Howden Ganley (Chevron) emerging mid-season. From numerous wins across Europe, Tim highlights a Crystal Palace race. “Six of us were fighting intensely: me, Ronnie, Reine, Alan Rollinson, Bev Bond, and Roy Pike. Ronnie and I swapped the lead repeatedly. On the crucial final lap, I was ahead by mere feet.”
“I also did the Marathon de la Route at the Nürburgring in a Cologne Ford Capri with Jean-François Piot and Dieter Glemser. A great way to learn the ‘Ring, but a truly insane 84-hour event. Pitstops were limited to one minute maximum, but drivers could stop on track for repairs – unless a single lap exceeded 24 minutes, resulting in disqualification. As cars deteriorated, drivers left pits bulging with spare brake pads and tools. We drove four-hour stints with eight hours off. After nearly 60 hours, we held a six-lap lead. The rear drum brakes were worn to the rivets. Changing shoes would exceed the time limit, so I stopped far from marshals, disconnected the rear brakes, and continued using only the fronts. Eventually, a head gasket failed.”
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“Rodney and I agreed F2 was necessary for 1970. Brabham loaned us a chassis, and Castrol provided funds for an FVA engine. F2 was fantastic then, attracting top F1 drivers like Stewart, Rindt, Ickx, and Siffert – great benchmarks. But it was a tough year with mechanical issues. In June, Piers [Courage] died in the Dutch GP driving Frank Williams’ de Tomaso. I took a deep breath, steeled myself, visited Frank, and asked for the drive. He initially put Brian Redman in for Brands and Hockenheim, but Brian didn’t start either race, so I got the seat for the Austrian GP at Zeltweg. Frank was incredibly passionate and intense, a superb organiser but lacking technical expertise; mechanics essentially ran the cars. He gave no instructions. I just drove. There were no engineers then; drivers decided on rollbar settings, shock adjustments, wing angles. If it rained, disconnecting the rollbar felt sophisticated. Frank needed a Patrick Head; their later partnership was key.”
“My second F1 race was Monza, three weeks later. During Saturday practice, Rindt was killed. Jochen and I were friends from F2, and he was a massive hero of mine. I felt the same confusion and isolation as when Lex Davison died. I’m sure others experienced similar feelings; many drivers died that year. Still, I didn’t lose sleep over it. Drivers inherently believe, ‘It won’t happen to me.’ Believing otherwise would make getting in the car impossible.”
At the end of 1970, Jack Brabham retired, selling his stake to long-time partner Ron Tauranac. Graham Hill signed to drive the new BT34 “Lobster Claw,” while Tim secured a proper F1 drive in the previous year’s BT33. Non-championship races offered opportunities: within seven weeks, Tim finished fourth at the Race of Champions, fifth at the Questor GP (Ontario), ninth in the Spanish GP, and third at the Daily Express Silverstone race. “Initially, I didn’t fully grasp F1. I relied too much on engine power, not carrying enough speed into corners. But at Paul Ricard, my fourth GP, it clicked. Qualifying 14th, I overtook several drivers. With six laps left, having just passed Jo Siffert for fourth and closing on Emerson Fittipaldi for third, the engine failed. Two weeks later at Silverstone, Ronnie, Emerson, and I battled for second until my gearbox broke.”
“Then I scored a point at the Nürburgring. Qualifying on the fifth row, just under 7min 30sec, Jenks noted it as a good effort in the older Brabham. That meant a lot, having avidly read his Motor Sport reports years earlier in Melbourne. Two weeks later, I reached the podium in Austria. Things were starting to come together.” Tim became only the second Australian, after Jack Brabham, to score World Championship points. He remains one of just four, alongside Alan Jones and Mark Webber.
“That autumn, rumours surfaced about Ron Tauranac potentially selling Brabham. I didn’t believe he wouldn’t tell me. Confronting him, I was shocked to learn he’d already sold to Bernie Ecclestone. Bernie offered a two-year contract. Unsure about the team under Bernie, I requested a one-year deal. Bernie refused, unwilling to invest for a year only to lose me. I asked Tauranac for advice. Surprisingly, Ron, despite the deal, spoke critically of Bernie and suggested I talk to John Surtees, who wanted to transition from driving to solely managing his F1 team.”
“So, I met Surtees, accepted his offer, and made a bad decision. It marked the beginning of the end of my F1 career. Describing Surtees without risking legal action is difficult, but for me, he was impossible to work with. My teammate, Mike Hailwood, coped by simply arriving, driving, and leaving. I wanted collaborative work with the team, seeking improvements. But John insisted on controlling everything. He’d announce testing, I’d arrive early, John would drive endlessly, dictate notes, drive more, and finally, just before the session ended, let me drive the car – set up for him, steering wheel high – only to find it unchanged. The team lacked funds. It was incredibly frustrating. Previously, I’d enjoyed good relationships with teams; with Surtees, it felt adversarial. At the British GP, I qualified fifth, faster than Mike. John claimed the timing was wrong and intended to complain. It was just stupid stuff. Others who drove for John share similar stories.”
“Fortunately, sports car racing with Ferrari and F2 drives with Rondel provided sanity. In the Monza paddock before the 1971 Italian GP, an Italian girl approached: ‘If you’re interested in driving for Ferrari, please visit our truck after practice.’ I suspected a prank by Emerson or Ronnie. Eventually, I went over. Ferrari team manager Peter Schetty was agitated; Mr. Ferrari had driven from Maranello and was waiting at a nearby hotel. We went, and in the back of a small restaurant, Enzo Ferrari and I struck a deal for nine long-distance races in the Ferrari 312P. I asked for £2000 per race; he agreed instantly. £18,000 was significant then; Howden Ganley and I had just bought a house for £7500.”
“I was paired with Ronnie due to our similar size and strong rapport. We started with a win at the Buenos Aires 1000Kms and also won the Nürburgring 1000Kms. We secured second places at Daytona, Sebring, Brands Hatch (BOAC), and Watkins Glen, plus thirds at Monza and Zeltweg – the latter after hitting a hare caused a puncture.”
“At Sebring, I nearly hit an airplane. Part of the main runway served as the circuit, while the rest remained active. Entering the runway section, a rear brake hose failed, and I slid under the wing of a plane preparing for take-off. Our only non-finish was Spa. Ronnie, chasing Brian Redman for the lead on slicks, encountered a sudden Spa shower at Les Combes and hit the barriers hard.”
“The night before Daytona, Ronnie suggested a drive on the beach. Driving our rental car onto the sand at about 70mph, we passed right in front of a police car. They stopped us; we had no ID. Back at the station, we joined the drunks in the cells. I proposed they hold me while Mr. Peterson retrieved our passports. They agreed. Ronnie, being Ronnie, sped off, wheels spinning. They chased, couldn’t catch him, and had to radio for a roadblock. He returned sheepishly half an hour later. Now 2 am, we called Peter Schetty, who woke Bill France. Big Bill intervened with the police, securing our release just in time for the 10 am race start. We finished second; without a gearbox issue, we might have won.”
“The 312P was tricky, somewhat nervous due to its short wheelbase. In practice, Ronnie would set a blistering time immediately. I’d then work extensively on balance, eventually matching his time. He’d get back in and replicate his initial lap time. My efforts hadn’t made the car faster, just easier to handle and gentler on tyres. He could achieve the time regardless. He was a natural talent.”
“Ferrari’s 1972 sports car program was smaller, but paired with Carlos Reutemann, we achieved a couple of second places. That year marked my first Le Mans in the long-tailed 312P. Carlos and I led Ickx and Redman from around 10 pm until dawn. Then, despite everything running perfectly, a connecting rod failed.”
“Throughout this period, I continued racing F2. I’d known Ron Dennis at Brabham – he was Graham Hill’s mechanic, Neil Trundle mine. Ron and Neil founded Rondel Racing with borrowed F2 chassis. Even then, Ron emphasized presentation; immaculate cars and transporter. His nicknames were ‘Team Briefcase’ and ‘Team Dream.’ He aimed higher than just being a mechanic or running a small F2 team.”
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Tim spent three F2 seasons with Rondel. In 1971, despite challenges, he finished fourth in the European Championship and won the final 1600cc F2 race in Argentina. 1972 saw Rondel overextend with a four-car team using BT38s and new 2-litre engines, but Tim won at Hockenheim and secured two second places. For 1973, the team introduced its own Ray Jessop-designed car, the Motul M1, with Tim achieving its sole victory at the Norisring.
“For ’73, Ron planned an F1 car. Having fallen out with Surtees, I committed to his project. Funding fell through, and the project became the Token under Tony Vlassopulo and Ken Grob. Then Ron Tauranac developed the Trojan F1 car for Peter Agg, so I joined that effort. It simply didn’t work. We contested nine Grands Prix, always struggling at the back, sometimes failing to qualify. We couldn’t get rear grip. Ron later admitted a fundamental rear suspension design error and flawed aerodynamics. I had to accept my F1 window was closing. I drove once more for Frank Williams (Iso-Marlboro at Mosport) and did Watkins Glen in a disastrous Lotus 76. But sporadic F2 drives and Group 4 racing for Georg Loos kept me going.”
Tim contested Le Mans three times for Loos and won the Nürburgring 1000Kms again with Rolf Stommelen and Toine Hezemans. Driving the formidable 1000bhp Porsche 917/10, he won Interserie races at Zandvoort, Nürburgring, and Hockenheim. “That was a peculiar car. Initially intimidating, it proved surprisingly easy to drive, with immense downforce for its era and lots of grip.”
“In September 1976, I was at Monza for the Six Hours. Brigitte was heavily pregnant; I called home constantly. Loos entered two 934s but only three drivers arrived: Hezemans, Klaus Ludwig, and me. So, I shared one car with Toine and the other with Klaus, finishing first and second in the same race. I flew back to Heathrow that night, rushed to the hospital, and arrived just as my son Guido was born. That was a truly good day.”
“In 1977, a clandestine meeting with BL’s John Davenport in a pub led to the European Touring Car Championship with Ralph Broad’s V12 XJ Jaguar Coupés. Meticulously prepared and very fast, they were also heavy, decelerating ponderously. And they frequently broke. Sharing with John Fitzpatrick, we alternated starting; the co-driver often never needed to suit up. At the Silverstone TT, I spun while leading; later, a stub axle broke, sending me into the Becketts bank. The car needed more funding and development time.”
“Meanwhile, I partnered with Howden Ganley, a friend since F3 days, establishing Tiga Racing Cars. We soon realized our working styles didn’t mesh well in car construction, so I decided to form a racing team. John Hogan of Marlboro had a young driver, Andrea de Cesaris, needing an F3 program. We set up a workshop corner, met with Hogan and Andrea. Hogan asked about costs. Impulsively, I said, ‘Our accountant is finalising figures, I’ll revert.’ Then I asked Howden, ‘What now?’ I ended up calling Derek Bennett (Chevron) and Max Mosley (March) to gauge their season charges, averaged them, and told Hogan, ‘Figures are in. £55,000.’ Hogan agreed and drafted a contract.”
“Howden sustained Tiga for 15 years, producing around 400 race cars across various formulae. Team Tiga ran programs in F3, FF, FF2000, Sports 2000, supporting drivers like James Weaver, Mike Thackwell, Stefan Johansson, and even Eddie Jordan once. Eje Elgh ran an F2 program with us. It was relentless work, 5 am to 10 pm daily, managing up to 20 staff. The English climate, constantly seeing my children with runny noses, wore on me. I longed for Australia. We moved to San Diego for two years (1982-83), managing John Fitzpatrick’s IMSA team. Then the CAMS position opened in late ’83. I took it. It was a system shock – I had no administrative background, and Australian racing lacked consistency then. Applying my 15 years of European experience was initially challenging, but I persevered. Even now, after all this time, it fascinates me. Motorsport constantly evolves; every race brings something new. It’s a perpetual challenge. I wouldn’t know what else to do.”
Tim Schenken reflects on his long career in motorsport, now serving as Director of Racing Operations for CAMS
Tim has served as Clerk of the Course for every Australian F1 GP since Adelaide 1985, making the 2009 Albert Park race his 25th in the role. In 2008, he was appointed Clerk of the Course for Singapore’s inaugural F1 night race, a task involving training approximately 700 local officials with no prior experience. CAMS pioneered structured official licensing, training, and grading. Tim’s responsibilities cover all major Australian race meetings, including the fiercely contested V8 Supercar series, which also competes internationally. His administrative role connects his vast racing experience to modern championships, including overseeing series like the Tim Schenken Supercars link signifies through his CAMS position. “To do the job properly, you can’t be everyone’s friend – especially within the competitive Supercar paddock. You can only hope to earn their respect.” Known for being tough but fair, he appears to have succeeded.
Some argue Tim Schenken was unlucky, his career trajectory potentially altered by the ill-fated move after a promising debut F1 season. “I feel no regret whatsoever,” Tim states firmly. “I never complain about what motorsport has given me. I’m still here. Looking back at grids from those eras, it’s sobering how many aren’t around anymore. My entire adult life has been dedicated to the sport I love. That’s not unlucky. That’s fortunate.”
