The sad story of Frank Kilfoyle's final Southern Cross Rally appearance

By Ian Richards

I was befriended by Frank Kilfoyle as a young 18 year old navigator who had shown some promise in Victorian events navigating for David Bond. In 1974 Frank asked me to navigate for him. We competed in one ARC event, the Akademos, in May, finishing second 1 point behind the Bond/Shepheard XU1. We were in a Datsun 180B SSS, probably the one used by Watson/Beaumont in the VRC the previous year.

One chilly winter’s night in Melbourne Kilf announced that our Southern Cross car had arrived from Japan. We headed down to Hartwell where Bruce Wilkinson had his Datsun dealership. This was the first Datsun 710 in Australia, fresh from the Japanese workshops, all kitted out ready for competition. Under the bonnet was the new and untested twin-cam engine. Let’s take it for a spin! Bruce and at least one of his mechanics, perhaps the inimitable John Boshua, got together a makeshift service crew and we agreed to meet them at Buxton, the other side of the famous Murrindindi Forest. It was somewhat surreal!

We headed out through Lilydale and Yarra Glen to Kilf’s favourite practice road, Mount Slide, used in later years in Rally of Melbourne and perhaps better known for Neal Bates’ rollover in the Corolla (year?). Once we hit the gravel it was “on”. Kilf had a very aggressive driving style, especially on a road that he knew so well. It was rather different to Kilf’s driving in the 180B, perhaps because of the style of road. This was a brand new car, brand new tyres, and he threw it up Mount Slide like a man possessed. I was transfixed, certainly not afraid, but just in awe at the car control and confidence. Kilf decided he liked the car and how it handled. It was quick, but there was something not quite right. Kilf the engineer could hear something, a small rattle under the bonnet, so we backed off as we headed across through the Murrindindi Forest to Buxton. There we found our service crew and they soon had the rocker cover off and decided that something was lose, but it was not yet terminal. We headed back to Hartwell down the highway. Over the coming weeks the twin-cam engine was replaced by the regular single-cam engine and the twin-cam engine did not appear in an Australian competition 710 that year due to reliability concerns.

In the four months leading up to the 1974 Southern Cross Rally Kilf and I went out many weekends testing the 710, usually as a zero car on various rallies. It was a fun time. Sometimes Kilf was “having a go” and other times he was just meandering along. The aim was to be totally comfortable in the car and to continue to test and develop its reliability. I guess I became more blasé about the speed of the car and Kilf’s obvious car control, but I never really remember being as much in awe as I was on that first run up Mount Slide. That is, until we actually started the Cross.

A few days before the Cross the cars were loaded onto the Southern Aurora, the overnight train to Sydney, and we took sleeping compartments. The other team members, Harry Kallstrom and Roger Bonhomme, travelled with us. I’m not sure that George and Monty were with us but I’m pretty sure their car was on the train.

Once in Sydney we had a spare day while the cars were checked over and then the event started at around midday at the Opera House. We started an impressive Car 3, just behind team mate Kallstrom. After all, Kilf was not only a past Australian Champion but had placed second on the Cross three times, and had finished sixth the previous year.

It was an easy and relaxed run up to Newcastle with the fairly pointless run along Jewells Beach as a warm up. There seemed no point in trying too hard as everyone did much the same time over the short 4 km stage, which was somewhat rough and yumpy. We continued up through Booral to the first real stage in the Nerong Forest.

It all came to a sudden and unfortunate end about 5 km into this stage. I sensed that Kilf had suddenly decided the event had really started and it was time to get serious. I felt that he was trying harder than he had for many months. It took me back to Mount Slide. Hell, he knows what he’s doing, or so I thought. A fast right downhill into a tightening left is my clear memory as the back stepped out, Kilf corrected but the left front hit the bank. The 710 did a twin roll, rotating 360 degrees side to side and 360 degrees end for end. In an instant it was back on it wheels only a short distance off the right side of the road in a clearing. Other than the bank we hadn’t hit anything. Kilf quickly checked if I was OK, and me of him. We were both fine, slightly shaken but nothing else. In retrospect it was gross optimism when Kilf tried to restart the car. It wouldn’t go and so we were out to inspect the damage. The front was severely stuffed in, not just radiator into the engine but the chassis was clearly bent down. The pictures tell the story. Reality soon set in. Ferguson was next on the road and slowed as he went past, clearly seeing we were OK. Others followed and everyone slowed a bit. Kilf was understandably quiet. He wasn’t someone who was known for crashing. He was known for being quick but not too quick, not always winning, but rarely not finishing. But this was different. In what was arguably the twilight of his career, this crash might spell the end. It was also a severe blow to the Datsun team which was now severely depleted.

It was just getting dark. We secured the car and walked back the 5 km or so to the start control. Somehow we managed to get a lift to the mealbreak at Craven where I found my parents with whom I would travel through to the division break in Port Macquarie. Kilf I think travelled with the service crew. Our roles had now changed from competitors to running scouts for the other two team cars. Next day, after having some sleep, Kilf and I took a hired trailer back to the Nerong Forest and retrieved the broken 710 and took it back to Port. After all, we may need spares for Kallstrom’s car. Early that night Kallstrom’s car had suspension failure. It was in a fairly remote location south of the Oxley Highway near Yarras. Harry and Roger must have extricated themselves back to Port somehow and next morning several of us, including a mechanic, went and retrieved the car having made roadside repairs. I think Kilf drove the other 710 around for the rest of the event, providing support for George and Monty who were the only remaining Datsun team car. I bummed rides with others, including my parents, to roam around running scouting for George and Monty.

There was a sense of unreality about the whole situation. Kilf and I drove the Kallstrom car back to Sydney and I actually travelled back to Melbourne with my parents. The hurly burly of the event meant that the gravity of our accident had not really sunk in. As time went by, I began to feel partly responsible for what had happened. Had I been more experienced I would surely have sensed that Kilf was trying too hard too soon and would have counselled him to take it easy. A Southern Cross Rally is not won on the first real stage. In fact it is not even won on the first night. It is an event that requires patience and tactics. Kilf never suggested that I could have done anything differently. He knew that he had made a big mistake. He would only drive once more for Datsun, in the Akademos Rally the following year, and he again crashed, but at least this time it was near the end where he needed to push Dunkerton for victory. And so Kilf’s works driving career came to an end.

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