The spring of 2003 was warm and sunny to a rare degree. Most
of March had been lovely and it was continuing into April. Walking the dogs was
wonderful. The ground was drier than in many a summer, it was warm enough for
long walks in short sleeves, and it was too early in the year to encounter
cattle. Bliss.
The MG racing season started, as usual, in March. Gerry had
been working on the car and wasn’t sure how it was going to perform. As always,
he was anxious about how his blood pressure would fare when he went for his
medical, but it was OK and he got his racing licence once again.
The MGOC had 14 races in the season, and Gerry usually also
competed in the MG Car Club’s Silverstone weekend in July, largely because his
firm held a hospitality weekend there. This year he decided to do a couple of
extra MGCC races, the first being on 5 April. He usually raced under number 24,
but for the MGCC he had to change it to number 7. Might have been thought lucky
as it’s my birthday.
He set off early as usual on 5th. Another lovely day. He
rang me during the morning to say practice had gone well, he was really pleased
with how the car was running and the lads were now all sat in the sun together
chatting. As usual, he would have been going as brown as a berry as the day
went on. How brilliant to be getting a tan in the UK in early April! I asked if
he knew his position on the starting grid, but he didn’t yet. “Ring me back
when you know it.” Even by his own standards, Gerry was fairly buzzing. He said
he had almost called me earlier just to blow me a kiss. I asked him to do it
now. He blew me a kiss down the phone and told me he loved me. We were both
laughing.
He rang back later and said he was in third place in his
class and thought he had a good chance of getting past the person in front to
finish second.
The race started around four on the shorter national
circuit. By the last lap, Gerry had passed the person in front as he had
predicted and was in second place in his class – his best placing ever. He must
have been really excited. They came round the right-hand corner at Copse for
the last time and down towards the gentle curve of Maggots before the next
right-hand corner. The video footage shows four cars dicing for position
towards Maggots, followed by a single car, followed by Gerry. Just before
Maggots, he must have felt faint; he started to pull off to the left and
changed down to third gear. The car hit the wall gently and ran along losing
speed for about 50 yards, clipping the wall twice more before coming to a halt
by a marshals’ post. Gerry was unconscious before the car stopped. The marshal
realised this as soon as he got to the car and raised a hand to indicate
medical help was needed. The medical team were only a few yards away, by Copse,
and the silver Audi was there in around a minute, closely followed by a medical
van. The doctor could see at once that Gerry was blue and unconscious. He had
no pulse. At this stage, there was no telling whether there were accident
injuries or whether the accident was the result of a heart attack. Either way,
they had a few minutes to re-establish heart function before oxygen deprivation
would cause brain damage. The doctor got in the passenger door, administered
oxygen and began heart massage. They needed to get him out of the confined
space of the car before they could do anything more. A spine board was brought
in case of injury and, before they got Gerry out, marshals held sheeting up to
deter sightseers. Gerry was pulled out of the door – they were all surprised at
how tall he was – and laid on the spine board. By this time the defibrillator
was ready. It was used three times – the video footage shows everyone sharply
standing back each time. He was given several shots of epinephrine; a text-book
resuscitation exercise. It was less than ten minutes between the heart attack
and the medical team taking Gerry to the medical centre, and his heartbeat had
been re-established by then. The team thought his chances of recovery were good.
However, resuscitation had taken too long. Also, the excitement of racing
probably meant his brain was using oxygen faster than normal and needed more
than his restarted heart could supply.
The medics didn’t know it, but he was already gone. Whatever
made him Gerry Thorn – that funny, vibrant, witty, warm, loving and very
special man – was already dead. His body, though, lingered for three more
weeks.
