On 20th February, 1907 the steamship Berlin left Harwich, England, on an overnight voyage to the Hook of Holland. During the night she ran into a violent storm and, flung against the stone supports of pier as she neared her destination, the ship broke up with alarming speed. Observers could only watch as passengers – men, women, and children – were battered against the rocks in the raging seas.
Among the many passengers lost at sea was Mr Hendrick Spijker, a Dutchman who, with his brother Jacobus, headed the Spyker car company (the spelling changed for the benefit of foreign markets), manufacturers of fine automobiles in a factory at Trompenburg.
The timing of Hendricks death could not have been worse for he was returning to Holland having visited England on a mercy mission, a last chance attempt to stave off a desperate financial crisis that was threatening the brothers. He had, in fact, secured a deal and his partner in such – a Mr Elsworth, sole distributor of Spyker cars in the United Kingdom - was returning to Holland with him to sort out the details. Elsworth, too, was lost on the Berlin.
Jacobus Spijker, aged fifty and now sole director of the company, waited at the Hook in the vain hope that his brother may be found alive, and it was while there that he met a mysterious figure with a strange request: he needed a car to drive from Paris, to Peking.
Charles Godard was, indeed, a bit of mystery man. Of no fixed employment, or abode, he made his living by excelling at the ‘Wall of Death’ motorcycle stunt then prevalent at carnivals and fairgrounds across Europe, and drove occasionally in motor races when he could find someone willing to lend him a mount. A notice that had appeared in the French newspaper Le Matin in early February had, therefore, been right up his street.
The notice was entitled ‘Paris-Peking Automobile – A Stupendous Challenge’ and declared distaste for the sanitised circuit races then becoming the norm in motor sport circles. The challenge put up by the newspaper was an exciting, if not fantastic, one and could be summed up by one sentence towards the end of the lengthy article:
“Is there anyone who will undertake to travel this summer from Paris to Peking by automobile?”
To a man like Godard – an adventurer at heart if ever there was one – the gauntlet was down, and he set about finding a car in which to take part.
The tale of the Peking-Paris (the route was reversed in order to avoid the wet season in the Far East – although the season, as it happened, came early that year!) has gone down in legend, and is shrouded in myth and conjecture thanks to the one hundred years that have passed since then. Many will tell you that the race was ‘won’ by Prince Scipione Borghese, an Italian aristocrat driving a 40hp Itala. This much is true, for Borghese arrived at the French capital some two weeks in advance of his fellow competitors after a journey of over 9000 miles.
Borghese, however, had broken all the rules laid down by the organisers – in particular that concerning the necessity of a convoy through the dangerous and uncharted territory of the Gobi Desert, and streaked ahead on his own, refusing to co-operate in the planned overnight stops or wait for trailing competitors. Indeed, Borghese came across the stricken Contal of Auguste Pons – a three wheeled lightweight machine that proved unable to cope with the conditions from the off – and did not inform anyone that the car, and crew, were broken down irreparably in the desert. Pons, and his co-driver, languished in the unbearable heat of the Gobi for three days and, close to death, were eventually rescued by tribesmen sent on Godards instruction.
Back to our man Godard, and his attempt to find a mount had immediately been successful, the Belgian Mettalurgique marque having offered him a drive. Within a short time Mettalurgique, like many of the initial entrants, withdrew their entries when the true cost of the exercise came to light. Hence Godard turned to Spyker.
Jacobus Spijker, mindful of the publicity that this trek could provide his struggling company, agreed to provide Godard with a car and spares, and to pay the 2000 francs entry fee, and the deal was done before Hendricks body had even been recovered. Jacobus would later admit that, with the benefit of hindsight, he did not expect the Spyker that he handed over to Godard to ever leave Peking – he became convinced it would be sold and the Frenchman never seen again.
His concerns were valid, to a point, for Godard sold most of the spares on the voyage to China, and the remainder when he arrived. He kept, mind you, the case of 24 bottles of Champagne provided by the organisers.
Charles Godard had already served time in jail on account of false pretences in the past, but this did not stop him from getting advance payments from Government emissaries on various stops on the voyage, on the promise that he was awaiting an advance from Spijker back in Holland. Of course, there was no advance due as Spijker had no money, but the ruse was successful on a number of occasions. Unsurprisingly this would lead to Godard’s ultimate downfall.
Godard may have been well versed in financial impropriety, but as a sportsman he was exemplary as the journey would prove. Unlike Borghese he would not resort to underhand tactics – the Italian refused, again against the agreed rules, to share his petrol supplies to the detriment of Godard and his travelling companions - the drivers and crew of a pair of De Dion-Boutons. On more than one occasion Borghese would not hang back in wait for a stricken crew, and on all occasions Godard did so without question or hesitation.
The journey was treacherous, dangerous and difficult in the extreme, as the crew of the Contal had already found. These lands were inhabited by unknown peoples, and were largely unexplored. The recently laid Trans-Siberian railway and accompanying telegraph stations provided guidance and stopping points along the way, but to get lost was routine, to lose time a daily occurrence, and it became ever more clear why the teams had agreed to stay together.
To relate the tribulations of the entire journey would take a lengthy book, such are the many incidences where the aid of local nomads – and their horses – was enlisted to pull the cars across the rough terrain, or where petrol was sought in far flung places that used such a commodity only as a cleansing agent. Then there were the telegraphs sent home by the accompanying two journalists, there to relay the journey to an enthusiastic readership back in France, and the difficulties endured in getting the despatches away time and time again.
There is one incident that must be related, however, a strange passage that involved a meeting with a man considered the very embodiment of Buddha.
A fortnight after leaving Peking the crews of the Spyker and the pair of de-Dions arrived at the city of Urga, to the North West of the Gobi desert.
In truth consisting of three cities – one each under Chinese, Mongolian and Russian rule – Urga was home to the Grand Lama of Urga, a Buddhist Lama whose importance was only just less than that of the Dalai Lama of Lhasa. To his people he was regarded as a living God.
At the time that Godard and his companions arrived in Urga Borghese had passed through, and had been gone more than a day. Having settled as guests of a family named Stepanoff in the Russian City, the Frenchmen were surprised when Madame Stepanoff suggested that they visit the living God.
Mr Stepanoff interjected as his wife explained the importance of the Grand Lama, pointing out that Borghese had pulled all the strings available just a day before, and the living God would not grant him an audience, so he was unlikely to do so for the current visitors.
“Nonsense” replied Madame Stepanoff “The Grand Lama would not see Borghese as he had taken the Chinese Governor out in his motor car. He thought he should have been invited first!”
So it was that the three cars sped across the plain carrying the crews, journalists and the Stepanoff family, to see the living God.
On arrival at the magnificent marble palace the visitors endured a lengthy wait, during which they were informed that the Grand Lama was keen to see them as he had in his possession a motor car, a gift from a foreign deputation, that he had never managed to get going. Would the visitors care to fix it?
Mindful of the time involved the men explained their reluctance, and another wait ensued.
When the Lama did appear it was among a flurry of bowing courtiers, ringing bells and beaten drums, ceremony par excellence. He proceeded to inspect the cars, asking that they be started but preferring not to sit in himself. After seeing the cars running, the Grand Lama instructed that his motor car be brought into the courtyard.
A group of Mongolian servants pushed into view what was, in fact, a showroom dummy – a wooden mock up of an American car displayed in showrooms of the day as window dressing. It had wheels, and a dashboard, and looked like a car, but no engine.
The interpreter passed on the Grand Lama’s request for advice, at which point Cormier, driver of one of the de Dions, replied:
“The best thing I can tell you is to buy another….” And proceeded to launch into his de Dion-Bouton sales pitch! So ended the visit to the living God.
Throughout the journey the raiders met with all manner of locals, and at one point Godard even had a baby in a bundle thrust upon him and the mother vanish into the night. He eventually left it on the doorstep of a Church, unable to care for an infant during such a trek.
When the Spyker suffered from a failed magneto Godard opted to take it to Tomsk – a journey of 1100 miles! – via the Siberian railway, in order that it could be repaired at a renowned engineering college in the city. Although it lost him several days he persisted, and insisted on starting again from the exact spot in which the car had expired, such was his strict adherence to the challenge at hand.
It is sad, then, that his past indiscretions caught up with him, and as such Godard was unable to take the Spyker into Paris after his gallant and courageous journey.
Borghese had arrived in Paris on August 10th in the Itala, but to little fanfare. The exercise had been set by a French newspaper, after all, and the intention was to highlight the superiority of the French motor industry. An Italian, in an Italian car, was not meant to be the first man home.
From Moscow onwards the remaining group, the Spyker and two de Dions, ran on hard road, a luxury they had not experienced for a couple of months, and were feted along the way by the European press.
At the German border Jacobus Spijker was awaiting the arrival of his car, as although he was most likely astonished by the presence of his car among the finishers, he wanted to question why Godard had not taken an advantage over his companions; the Spyker was the faster car and the convoy agreement lasted only as far as Moscow (or earlier, according to some reports.)
When Spijker questioned Godard on this point, he was given the honest answer – Godard, having been thankful of the camaraderie of the de Dion pair, having carried most of their supplies for them through the treacherous stretches on his bigger car, and having agreed to run in convoy this far, was going to see that the finish was a collective affair – the Spyker would enter Paris along with the de Dion-Bouton’s. Jacobus, already mindful of the prestige and publicity this mans tenacity and persistence had brought to his ailing company, accepted the explanation.
Le Matin, the French newspaper that had instigated the challenge, knew nothing of this agreement and were fearful of the Spyker racing ahead from Germany, and entering Paris triumphantly ahead of the French cars.
It was at this point that, in order to ensure that the de Dions took the honours, the managing director of Le Matin instructed that Godard be arrested.
Just before he reached Berlin a pair of German policeman approached Godard and explained that he was to be held in Germany pending extradition to France, on a charge of obtaining money by false pretences in China. The case had already been held, and sentence passed, in his absence. It was, if truth be told, a frame up of the highest order, as sentence could not be passed in this manner, and Godard and his friends took little time in securing a release. It was too late, however, as Godard was out of the race – the object of the arrest had been achieved. The Spyker continued to Paris in the hands of a company driver, Frijling, and Jacobus Spijker returned to Holland in disgust.
Godard made a final attempt to get back aboard his mount on the morning of the triumphant entry into Paris – he had made it back to the camp where the crews were preparing for the symbolic convoy, and climbed into the driving seat he was so familiar with. At this point a group of men, security employed by the newspaper in case of this very event, fought with Godard to get him out of the car, much to the anger and disgust of his travelling companion, du Taillis, who was torn between his friend of the last ten thousand miles, and his loyalty to Le Matin, by whom he was employed.
As the men hauled Godard from the car he turned to du Taillis:
“Du Taillis, old chap, this is nothing to do with you – it is not your business.”
In a show of defiance it was du Taillis himself who drove the Spyker into Paris among the carnival of celebration that surrounded the finish of this most amazing of events, while Godard was detained outside the city perimeter.
What became of our intrepid crews?
Borghese rose to an important position in the Italian government, and fought bravely in the Great War. He became estranged from his wife, Princess Anna Maria, a society hostess who vanished one day when walking her dog in her garden overlooking Lake Garda. The dog was found at a spot where her gloves and bag remained, but the Princess was never seen again.
Borghese remarried some time later and, suffering ill health following a stroke in 1923, died at Florence in March, 1927.
Collignon and Cormier, the de-Dion drivers, continued to work for that company for many years to come, and the latter subsequently took to journalism as a profession.
Pons, the driver of the ill-fated Contal, continued a career as a driver, entering the marathon New York to Paris the next year – another Le Matin organised affair, also entered by Godard – but had to retire before the race left America. He later married an opera singer, and lived quietly into old age.
What became of Godard beyond an ill fated entry into the New York to Paris is something of a blur, although we do know that he did not serve a prison sentence having been ordered to make good some of the money he had been forwarded in China.
Jacobus Spijker would not gain much satisfaction from the great publicity that Godard had brought to Spyker cars, as a few weeks after his cars triumphant entry into Paris the shareholders voted to remove him from the board. A year later, on 1st April 1908, the company went bankrupt, although four months later would be resurrected by a new set of directors. Spyker Cars would continue to build motor cars, and produced aeroplanes during the Great War, until it ceased trading in 1927.
Jacobus Spijker died a few years later, on March 21st, 1932.
The Spyker name was resurrected in 1999 and the company produces a range of high quality cars of which the brothers would have been proud. Quality and excellence in engineering was always a Spyker trademark, and the modern day creations lack none of the flair and style of the original machines. The link is completed via the Spyker F1 team, created from the remnants of Midland/Jordan in late 2006.
Spyker F1 face a long journey in which they will endure highs and lows, troubles and triumphs, and venture into uncharted territory just as Charles Godard did 100 years ago in a car bearing the same name. It is fitting, then, that the last words should go to Jean du Taillis, the Le Matin correspondent who had travelled by the side of Godard throughout their epic trip. Following the arrest of Godard at the German border du Taillis penned the following:
“The brave driver, who had everything but luck, did not drive his car in the entry into Paris, for the moral prestige of Le Matin does not permit the newspaper to receive Godard – the man whose incredible odyssey and marvellous performance is not enough to wash the memory of one or two crafty expedience’s from the minds of people of principle.
I had to fight hard to have the Spyker given the honours due to it. It reached Paris not only without having had any of its parts changed (the famous magneto was not, in the end, replaced), but without any mechanic having been asked in eighty days to check its gearbox or tighten a nut. This car ran with outstanding regularity, and its endurance and power were unsurpassed.
I saved the Spyker from the boycott to which people wanted to condemn it. But I interceded in vain for my companion in distress in the Gobi, whose courage was unfailingly maintained at a point beyond all praise.
Nothing I could do could make the Boss change his mind.”
I would like to think that the spirit of Godard, of du Taillis, lives on in Spyker F1.
--
Copyright - S Turnbull, May 2007
Source acknowledgements:
‘The Mad Motorists’ – Allen Andrews
‘Adventurers Road’ – Tim Nicholson
‘Pekin – Paris’ – Jean du Taillis
‘Le Raid Pekin-Paris’ - Cormier
Written by Steve Tunrbull on Tue, 05 Jun 2007 11:34:37
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