Roger Hill, Tyrrell’s quiet backbone, remembered with a smile
They sent Roger Hill off to Mr Blue Sky. Not a hymn in sight, just Jeff Lynne’s sunshine coursing through a Surrey crematorium as a room full of racers, old friends and family chose celebration over sorrow for one of Tyrrell’s great constants. Sir Jackie Stewart flew in from Switzerland with son Paul to be there. So did a spread of former teammates, journalists and mechanics who knew that the unassuming New Zealander with the calm voice and engineers’ eyes was, for three decades, a pillar of British motorsport.
Hill died on July 19, aged 84. If he’d been there to hear the tributes, he’d have shuffled, blushed, and tried to change the subject. That was Roger. Modest to a fault; relentless when it came to work. In the years he ran Tyrrell’s cars as chief mechanic, they won 23 Grands Prix, delivered three World Drivers’ Championships and, in 1971, the coveted Constructors’ crown. He was the man behind the man behind the wheel.
Born on November 11, 1940, in New Zealand, Hill started out as a welder and engine tuner with a soft spot for bikes that never left him. In 1965 he jumped on a Busman’s Holiday with five fellow Kiwis to ride and race in Britain — and stayed. There were early stints with renowned speedway tuner Mike Erskine and then with Charles Lucas’s F3 outfit, prepping cars for the likes of Piers Courage and Roy Pike. The break came via Max Rutherford, then Ken Tyrrell’s chief mechanic, who introduced Hill to Ken. No contracts, no drama. A handshake, a job — and, effectively, a life.
By 1969, Hill had replaced Rutherford as chief mechanic. Tyrrell were still running Matras then, and Stewart walked the title that season. What followed required grit: a brief fling with the March 701, then the leap to building Tyrrell’s own car and, in ’71, a double title that set the standard for the small team that punched far above its weight.
He saw it all from the coalface. The horror of losing François Cevert. The shoestring early ’80s. The bruising 1984 disqualification over lead balls in the water tank. But also the ingenuity and the wins — the P34 six-wheeler’s audacity, Jody Scheckter’s victories, Patrick Depailler’s flair, Michele Alboreto’s breakthrough. And the young guns who passed through under his watch: Martin Brundle, Stefan Bellof, Jean Alesi. Hill wasn’t the loudest voice in the garage, but he was often the one people followed.
“He was, in many senses, the effective leader of the team at times, and nothing was too much trouble for him,” said former Tyrrell driver Julian Bailey. Brian Lisles, who became one of racing’s most respected team managers, remembered Hill’s relentless standard: “Physically, he was as tough as nails, although he didn’t look it. He had wonderful mechanics’ eyes — he could spot a problem, a crack, before it caused trouble.”
Hill stepped aside as chief mechanic in 1990 but never really left. He stayed on in various roles until Tyrrell’s final season in 1998, and later put his craftsmanship to use building promotional replica Formula 1 cars. It fit. He was happiest making things right.
Away from the circuit, there was loyalty of a different kind. He married Angela in 1969; they were inseparable until her death from cancer in 2015. He was a “cool dad” to Mark and Karina — Mark you’ll know from TV, and from Antiques Roadshow — and a patient co-conspirator on projects that grew bigger than homework ever intended. Mark tells the story with a grin: tasked at school with designing a train, most kids brought decorated shoeboxes. He arrived with a machine-carved sycamore model with mica windows, made with Dad and Tyrrell fabricator Keith Boshier. He was disqualified. He was also thrilled.
Gardening was his peace. Even when dementia crept in late in life, Hill’s visitors found the same twinkle, the same gentle humour. Old colleagues dropped by the care home and were met with that familiar, quiet cheerfulness — the racer’s spirit intact.
When Stewart stood to speak, the room listened. “Roger Hill was one of the greatest mechanics the sport has ever known,” he said. “He was better at his job than I was at mine.” Coming from a three-time World Champion, it landed like a signature on a career we should talk about more often.
We tend to remember the drivers. Roger Hill reminds you of the hands that built the wins, the eyes that caught the hairline fracture, the mind that steadied a team in the storm. Tyrrell’s story — the triumphs, the heartbreak, the stubborn brilliance — ran through him. On a bright August afternoon, under a song about clear skies, that’s exactly how he was remembered.
In lieu of flowers, supporters can consider Race Against Dementia, a cause close to many in the paddock, at raceagainstdementia.com.
