RICHARD BREMNER
You could see the distant drifts of smoke, hear the tyres squealing like scrapping cats. But the extermination of Pirellis made identification difficult, until some rare MIRA sunlight caught a flank. Reflecting it was the silhouette of a big, formal saloon pirouetting within its own length. A Bentley Mulsanne Turbo, savagely demonstrating how this half-forgotten marque was going to be restored to glory.
STEVE CROPLEY
A lovely guy called Ray Wiltshire once allowed me to drive his beautiful Bentley 3 Litre through rural France. I’d driven crash-gearbox, central-throttle cars before, but never in public. Managed a succession of quiet gearchanges on which Ray lavished much praise, but it was the car, not me. It’s why, one day, I still want my own ‘WO’.
ANDREW FRANKEL
Belgium, Luxembourg, France,…
