Press baron Sir Max Aitken, proprietor of the London Daily Express conceived the London-Sydney Marathon in 1968 over a boozy lunch at the Savoy Hotel, just a stagger from his Fleet Street offices. Within the week it was announced in his paper with a £10,000 first prize for the winner. Things happened like that in those days.

To make sure the Australian end worked well he enlisted the help of his Australian opposite number Sir Frank Packer, owner of the Sydney Telegraph.


It made headlines from the first day it was launched and fired the imagination of newspaper readers around the world. It was a true adventure at a time when for Brits a trip abroad meant a package holiday to Spain. Bulgaria was still behind the Iron Curtain and India, Iran and Afghanistan were countries vaguely remembered from school geography lessons.

Few people know the real reason why the event was born. The truth is that Sir Max was furious that his great Fleet Street rival the Daily Mail was putting on circulation with its promotion of the London to Paris air race.

It ran for a week and offered £1,000 for the fastest journey between the Post Office tower to the Eiffel Tower. He wanted something that would blow the Mail out of the water.

London to Sydney for a ten thousand pound prize certainly did that. The Daily Mail sank back onto the second rung of Fleet Street’s papers.

A road race from London to Australia was an awesome prospect that few could fully understand. A bit like today announcing a race from London to Mars with Buckingham Palace as first prize.

It caught the imagination of the motor industry too. In Australia Ford and Holden immediately created 3-car factory teams to take on the challenge. In England the British Motor Corporation mustered their stars to drive a 3-car team of Austin 1800s, Ford did the same with Cortinas as did Rootes with Hillman Hunters. From France, Citroen and Peugeot joined in and Russia surprised everyone by coming out from behind the Curtain with a team of lumpy little Moskvitches.

Normally when newspapers sponsor an event other papers try to ignore it. The Marathon was so big that no paper could afford to ignore it. Even The Times, London's poshest paper, sent a man on the route to cover it.

Once the 98 starters hit the road there were stories aplenty for only 56 of them would get to the finish. There were incidents, accidents, crashes, smashes and rivalries between teams for news hounds to feast on.

Roger Clark, one of the great legends of British rallying, romped away from the start and was first into Bombay in his Ford Cortina partnered by Swede Ove Anderson. Asked how he'd trained for the event he famously replied, "Every evening I walked the mile to the pub." The man from The Times, determined to get a story from the event leader then asked, is it very tiring. "No," replied Cark, "I'm getting more sleep on this rally than I normally get at home."

On the 9-day boat trip from Bombay to Perth the Aussies, determined that on their own turf they'd show the Europeans a thing or two, started a war of nerves. There were tales of 12 foot high man-eating kangaroos, pot holes in outback roads so deep you couldn't drive out of them and deadly poisonous spiders that crept into your shoes at night

Clark smiled and took off from Perth driving like God's messenger. With two days to go he still lead and then a rear axle snapped. Lucien Bianchi in the Citroen DS took over the lead until, with a day to go, he crashed head on with a spectator's car.

Andrew Cowan, the canny Scot in the Hillman Hunter moved into the lead and that was it. Suddenly the car with almost no competition history became famous and desirable. Cowan pocketed the £10,000 cheque with a smile - that was the price of modest house in London at the time. Hillman dealers in Australia were inundated with orders, but there were only nine cars in Australia at the time. They weren't big sellers and the next consignment was two months away.

Paddy Hopkirk in an Austin 1800 was second and Australian Ian Vaughan was third in his V8 Ford Falcon.

And so the London-Sydney Marathon passed into motor sport and motoring history as the first and most famous of all trans continental rallies. And all because Sir Max Aitken, over a boozy lunch, dreamed up a way of putting one over a rival newspaper.
Things like that don't happen any more.


On today’s events getting the end of day results from the field into the hands of the press isn’t even a consideration – it’s just a mouse click away.

But things were different back on the original 1968 London-Sydney Marathon. Those were the days when if you had a mouse you put down a cheese-baited mousetrap.

The event roared through Afghanistan with thousands of miles of roads from the Iranian border to the Khyber Pass closed by order of the King. Gun toting soldiers made sure not one local car or truck used the roads for two days so the rally men would have an unhindered passage.

Two days of flat out motoring at His Majesty’s behest. But how to get the news of this amazing feat and the results from the nation’s capital, Kabul, back to the Daily Express office in London’s Fleet Street?

The British Ambassador in Kabul came the rescue. He escorted two rally officials into the basement of the Embassy and into the steel-lined room from which top-secret messages were sent by Morse code to the Foreign and Commonwealth office in Whitehall.

It took thousands of dahs and dit-dits to relay the story and results. The message was prefixed “Advise Daily Express message due send DR.”

It was ten o’clock and the Thames was shrouded in a thick fog, the dispatch rider was in position waiting while the dits and dahs were translated into words and numbers. Off he roared, that last mile to Fleet Street, carrying the message that was to be the eagerly awaited news in tomorrow’s Daily Express – Roger Clark still leads as the event stormed over the famous Khyber Pass.

And that was high-speed stuff in ’68. Eleven hours from sending the message to it appearing in print.

Today it’s the nano second that it takes to click the mouse. More efficient but much less romantic.