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Legislative Council - Fifty-Fourth Parliament, Second Session (54-2)
2021-03-17 Daily Xml
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Walker, Mr M.

The Hon. F. PANGALLO (16:03): I move:

That this council—

1. Acknowledges the passing of Mr Murray Walker, OBE;

2. Acknowledges his achievements in the broadcasting of motorsport worldwide;

3. Acknowledges his enthusiastic support and promotion of South Australia, in particular motorsport events, including the Australian Formula One Grand Prix between 1985-95 and as a Roving Ambassador for the V8 Supercars; and

4. Conveys its sincerest condolences to his wife, Elizabeth, and family in the UK on his passing.

'And the Australian Grand Prix is go'. With those words to a worldwide audience of about 200 or 300 million, Murray Walker put Adelaide well and truly on the international map on a balmy Sunday afternoon on 3 November 1985 and so began his indelible love affair with this city and its street circuit, which Murray regarded as the best anywhere in the world.

Murray Walker OBE died in a nursing home in Britain last Saturday, the voice of Formula One falling silent after 97 fabulous and eventful years. It was truly a fulfilling life, and Murray often remarked how fortunate he was to be able to live and work in his passion of motor racing, as a broadcaster, writer and raconteur, for more than 53 years.

This week, the deserved tributes have been flowing thick and faster than a grid of Ferrari Testarossas. 'Legend', 'icon', 'great', 'national treasure', 'inimitable', 'incomparable', 'immortal', 'one of a kind', every epithet imaginable has been used to describe this unique, humble and gifted, gentle man who had no hesitation in taking the micky out of himself. He is in the pantheon of the very best sports commentators to breathe into a microphone—no argument on that score. His trademark shrilling voice of excitement at the start of a race or in describing a high-octane bingle embroiling warring drivers involved was loved the world over.

Australian writer and broadcaster Clive James, who drove on the Adelaide street circuit in a celebrity race, described him this way, 'In his quieter moments, he sounds like his trousers are on fire.' To many broadcasters, making a blunder here and there would be embarrassingly intolerable. Yet, for Murray, his slip-ups were part of the package that made him such a popular figure and no doubt helped Formula One achieve the enormous TV success that shaped the sport's future. He once said, 'I don't make mistakes. I make prophecies which immediately turn out to be wrong.'

He would describe his bloopers as Murrayisms and often dined out on them in speeches in his retirement years. Here are a few snippets, and I can assure you there are enough to fill a TV show certain to have you rolling in stitches of laughter:

Unless I am very much mistaken. And I am very much mistaken.

That one became his signature tune, the title of a book that sold more than half a million copies, along with stacks of T-shirts he happily signed at one of the Adelaide Formula One races. Then there are classics like:

The lead car is unique, except for the one behind it which is identical.

Or:

There's nothing wrong with the car, except that it's on fire.

And:

And now, excuse me while I interrupt myself.

Either the car is stationary, or it's on the move.

He delivered a subtle gem while describing the coloured light sequence at the start of the first Adelaide race, 'That's the international race starter who starts them all.'

Perhaps Murray might have really been having us on all along, pretending to make those bloopers when they were deliberately chosen to propagate the narrative. He was a talented and colourful advertising writer in his previous career, working his way up to be a partner in an international company, Masius.

Graeme Murray Walker OBE was born in Birmingham in 1923. His love of motor sport, especially motorcycle racing, came from his father, Graham, who won many races for the famous Norton company and who was also a commentator. Murray briefly raced bikes until he found the wireless broadcast box a much safer option than tackling the deadly Isle of Man track.

He served in World War II as a tank commander. During a gloomy rain-interrupted Grand Prix at Germany's famed Nurburgring, he dryly told a journalist, while gazing out over the Eifel forests, 'Do you know? I can remember driving across there in a tank.' That was during the bloody battle of the Reichswald in 1945.

Murray once told me motorcycle racing was his true love. He was skilled at any type he put his voice to, including trucks, speedboats, motocross and speedway. He covered more than 350 Grand Prix, 200 Isle of Man TT and senior Manx motorcycling events. Yelling above the noisy din of turbocharged Formula One cars and screaming motorcycles for decades caused him hearing damage but that distinctive tone in his voice rarely wavered. Murray said:

People used to ask me: 'Did you get nervous?' I'd say: 'No, I didn't get nervous, but I certainly got excited.' It's a fast-moving, dramatic, colorful, dangerous sport and your job is to communicate to people sitting at home watching their televisions. And if you can't get excited about what's going on, then you certainly can't expect them to. It was a passion for me, and it genuinely came from the heart.

By the time Adelaide had its first serve of Murray, he had already partnered up with British Formula One champion and renowned womaniser James Hunt. Hunt was Murray's foil or, perhaps, the fool he suffered gladly in their time together. One of the stories from the broadcasting box was Murray excusing Hunt's absence from the microphone to temporarily check out what was going on outside. In fact, Hunt was taking a smoko break, puffing on a joint, which Murray frowned upon but tolerated.

However, until Hunt's death at the young age of 45, they were friends and a formidable partnership that generated some classic exchanges like this one. Murray, 'There is a fiery glow coming from the back of the Ferrari!' to which James Hunt wryly replied, 'No, Murray, that's his rear safety light.'

I was lucky to join Murray once in the Adelaide Channel 9 broadcast box in 1986 when I was Grand Prix editor for the afternoon tabloid The News and moonlighting as a pit-side reporter for 5DN. I was amazed at his prowess in being able to keep talking non-stop for nearly two hours whilst standing and without much information being at hand for him to supplement his commentary. TV coverage was still evolving. Murray did not have the benefit of computer touchscreens spitting out all sorts of data and information or graphics of placings and lap times being flashed up on the screen like they are today.

The knowledge was in his head. He did the timekeeping, the interviewing, the commentating, while another journalist, Mike Doodson, provided him with the lap scoring. That is hard, pressure-laden work when you have to keep hundreds of millions of viewers glued to their screens, craving for updates.

That same year, I commissioned Murray to write a regular column and a feature ranking the best 10 drivers of his lifetime for The News Jubilee Grand Prix magazine, which I edited. Murray prewarned me that it was an impossible task, yet he duly sent his copy on time, crisp, well written and self-deprecating as usual. The opening paragraphs read:

I've done a few difficult things in my time, such as commentating on a motorcycle race for Chinese riders in Macau for one! Before I am waylaid in some Adelaide street by an Andrea de Cesaris fan—

and just to explain that reference, de Cesaris was nicknamed de Crasheris because, much to Murray's annoyance, he kept getting in the way and crashing into other drivers—

I had better start off by making it absolutely clear there is in fact no way anyone can incontestably rank drivers who have competed over an 80 year period—for that's how long grands prix have been held.

Well, he did. Murray gave me 17, not the 10 I asked for, which he said had the X factor and that he could not split. His number one was his childhood hero, the Italian Tazio Nuvolari, and at two, Argentinian Juan Manuel Fangio, who came to Adelaide for the 1986 race. Murray was worshipped by race fans, often ribbed but always highly respected by the stars of Formula One. Here are just some of the tributes, firstly, from reigning world champion Lewis Hamilton:

I remember growing up hearing your voice over the races. You made the sport so much more exciting and captivating.

Three-time world champion Sir Jackie Stewart:

He was very good at making mistakes. He made wonderful mistakes. He so much enjoyed the realisation of his error, he was such a character.

A mistake didn't mean anything wrong for Murray. It was something else to make a joke of.

He also had a popular partnership with former Grand Prix driver Martin Brundle, who paid tribute on social media. 'Wonderful man in every respect,' said Brundle, 'national treasure, communications genius, Formula One legend.'

One of Murray's most famous and moving moments was calling British driver Damon Hill crossing the finish line of the 1996 Japanese Grand Prix to win a coveted world championship cruelly denied him the previous two seasons. 'I've got to stop now because I've got a lump in my throat,' Murray explained. Hill remembered him this way:

He could emote the events that happened in our sport. The shocking moments and the dramatic moments all have Murray's reaction to them, and he made those events stick in your mind forever. And he allowed himself not to be the know-it-all commentator, but the fan who, at times, got overexcited.

However, Murray also instinctively knew when the occasion called for a serious and measured tone, like the horrific crash that claimed the life of one of his friends, Brazilian triple world champion Ayrton Senna, on a black weekend at Imola in 1994, where another driver, Roland Ratzenberger, had died the previous day.

Ironically, it was what he described as a 'hideous and unforgivable' mistake in a race in 2000 that made Murray pull the pin on his own illustrious career. At the start of the Brazilian race the pole sitter, Michael Schumacher, in a Ferrari, went off. Murray said it was Schumacher's teammate, Rubens Barrichello, who was 11 places behind him on the grid. Murray would later say, 'My brain wouldn't let me accept it was Schumacher.'

He copped a vicious blast in a British tabloid and went to his boss at ITV to call it a day. Rather than accede to the harsh attacks, the boss decided to send him on a farewell tour of all the tracks the following year. 'As a result, 2001 was an absolutely magical year for me,' Murray recalled.

I last did a long sit-down interview with him about his extraordinary life and career for Today Tonight in 2013. I was enthralled by his depth of knowledge and his humour and candour. Murray raved about the Adelaide street circuit, and when we had the Grand Prix here he made a point of walking it to get a feel for its twists and turns and also an appreciation of the city he so much enjoyed.

When the V8s roared the city back to life, the organisers invited him back to be an ambassador for the event and the city. He revelled in it, of course, and did a sterling job promoting to the world what we had here.

Even in his final year, Murray still had a special place in his generous heart for Adelaide. He came out with all tank guns blazing in a message of support for the V8 supercars race when Premier Steven Marshall killed off one of the most watched and popular motorsport events in the Southern Hemisphere. Murray, thank you for your invaluable contributions. You will not be forgotten in this state.

Murray is survived by his wife of more than 60 years, Elizabeth. We extend our sincerest condolences to her and to their families. I must end my tribute with a 'Murrayism' about Murray:

That's history. I say history because it happened in the past.

I commend this motion to the chamber.

Debate adjourned on motion of Hon. D.G.E. Hood.

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