Brace Yourself for the Big Bang
Deep in old mining country near St Day sits a hidden gem that you might not easily see but, on certain Sundays, will definitely hear. BEKAH MAWSON samples the communal chaos at the raceway
For 57 years, United Downs Raceway has been hidden away, lending a periodic hum to the Cornish countryside. Each month drivers from around the country meet at the St Day track to compete in a slew of stock and banger races, but there’s far more to it than that. What I came to find was another world, built on community and creativity, where almost anything goes.
The track’s greeting was a deep smell of gasoline and murmuring engines that you soon learn to ignore. You can plant yourself anywhere around the track, in the stands or on the grass. Spectators brought miniature tents to set up on banks and children climbed up the concrete beams to get a better view of the mechanical mayhem.
Soon enough, drivers were doing a lap of the track, introducing themselves as numbers to watch out for. I knew the concept of banger racing, but I was shocked by the condition of the cars – they were covered in scrap metal, many with pieces hanging off and scraping against the tarmac.
Flags dictated the flow of each race, directed by a group of stewards scattered across the centre of the track all holding different colours. When one rose red the whole race would come to a halt. Drivers would stop almost instantly wherever they were on the track, waiting for a green flag to get them moving again.
Without going so far as to put racer safety at risk, the track was essentially a free-for-all. The races lost all usual conventions and dynamics, drivers could shove and ram into one another as much as they pleased, sending each other crashing into barriers where spectators watched only metres away.
There were moments when the races came to a stop, usually because a piece of metal or a stuck car became an obstacle.
In more extreme cases, the red flag was waved because a car completely flipped over and an engine caught alight. In these circumstances, a somewhat amusing procedure would begin where a custom tractor would arrive to tow cars back to the pit.
The pit was its own realm, somewhere drivers could work on getting their cars back in shape between races but entirely accessible to the public. There were teams everywhere using cranes to hoist up and raise cars, before smashing at them with hammers. At times, it felt louder here than the track itself, spills of oil making iridescent puddles in the mud.
In the pit, I spoke to Caitlin Emery, one of the Ladies 1600 Championship winners. She’s from Exeter, and told me that making the journey for a race is nothing unusual for her family.
Her mother Kristie explained that they’ve travelled around the country for years, not spending a single weekend away from tracks. They’ve gone as far as Ipswich and London. So I am not so surprised when I find out later that another of the racers has come from Cumbria.
I started getting the sense that racing goes far beyond just a hobby for Caitlin, if not for all the drivers. It takes a high level of commitment, not just to get to the races but to pick yourself (and what remains of your vehicle) up between laps and rebuild what’s fallen apart.
Returning from the pit to the track, an announcer revealed that the Junior Banger Race would be next. Tiny kids in huge cars with the windows smashed out and taped up emerged onto the track. Children as young as ten are allowed to compete. The junior racers didn’t hold back, either. They were just as relentless and desperate to win as the adults. Whenever they won a race, they climbed onto a truck that would parade them around the track with their trophy to enjoy their moment of triumph.
A great fog had covered the sky, and by late afternoon a light rain started setting in, but no one’s spirits appeared dampened. Families with small children stayed put and the kids happily continued to roll around in mud as they watched cars fly by.
A single shop offered ear protectors, but it seemed that none of the kids wanted them. They didn’t even seem to notice the noise.
Five hours after I’d arrived, all the races had wrapped up besides one – the King of Crash event. A group of drivers lined up with a simple, single goal: to be the last one standing. No laps, no positions, just crashing into one another and making every effort to keep the car running. The winning car was barely alive by the end, smoke billowing out of every crevice and moving slower than walking pace.
Within minutes of the final event, spectators flooded towards the car park and made their way home, leaving us to watch as trucks carried the remnants of participating cars back to whichever part of the country they came from.
As I left United Downs, that intense feeling of community lingered with me. For a few manic hours, we had all been playing in a place void of convention, but filled with solidarity and resilient creativity.
