WALKO: The 1956 Tour de France

Walko

The Tainted Tour of 1956

Gareth Cartman

Introduction

The 1956 Tour de France

We have been spoiled, since the war. An age of gladiators on wheels has given us the greats such as Fausto Coppi, Gino Bartali, Ferdy Kübler and Hugo Koblet. For the last three years, the Tour has been dominated by Louison Bobet, and were it not for saddle sores that he feared had become cancerous, Bobet would have been riding - and winning - his fourth Tour de France. Alas, Bobet was reduced to making his debut as a journalist, leaving a French team leaderless and rudderless.

You could argue that Bobet’s absence is what makes the 1956 Tour de France so fascinating. With the French team unable to decide who is their nominated successor to Bobet, and with the Italians unable to decide who should succeed the ageing Coppi, almost every rider on the start line at Reims could imagine himself wearing the yellow jersey.

This is only a slight exaggeration. The media was unsure of how to pitch this coming Tour. Would a new hero reveal himself? Would someone like Nello Laurédi win now that his chief antagonist Bobet is out of the way? To suggest that Laurédi, riding for one of the regional teams, might win the Tour, is almost heresy. And yet in their struggle to predict this most unpredictable of Tours, journalists are hedging their bets.

What many didn’t appreciate at the time was how pivotal the 1956 Tour would be. For years, the majority of the peloton had paled in comparison to the gang of four - Coppi, Bobet and the two Swiss K’s. But cycling was getting quicker. More athletic. And what’s more, rule changes signalled a move away from the Desgranges-era regulations which forced riders to repair their own punctures. A flat tyre could be replaced from the team car, or from a teammate. Symbolised by this one simple rule change, cycling was being transformed. An era of heroes gritting it out in epic battles was quietly being ushered out, and a more athletic, technical era was about to begin. No more repairing your bike in a forge, no more goggles and inner tubes over the shoulders - the fastest man wins.

And yet, despite rule changes and the coming of a supposed new era, the Tour de France somehow remains the same. 5,000km around France, dipping in and out of Belgium and Italy whenever it takes its fancy, the Tour is part of the France’s soul. Alternating between clockwise and anti-clockwise, each Tour takes in the Alps and the Pyrenees, and more often than not, the Massif Centrale in between. Small towns and villages along the route spend days preparing for a fleeting glimpse of their heroes, and a further day cleaning up the mess. Every year, the Tour is the same, and yet it is changing constantly.

Walko is the tale of a Tour that its organisers claimed to be one of their favourite Tours of all time. Unpredictable, controversial, with no shortage of heroics and skullduggery. A Tour like any other, but not so. And at the heart of it, one man who could seriously lay claim to being the only man who didn’t believe he could win at the start line in Reims.

The Teams

France

Blue, White & Red shirts

Pierre BARBOTIN, Gilbert BAUVIN, Louis BERGAUD, André DARRIGADE, Jean FORESTIER, Raphaël GEMINIANI, François MAHE, Jean MALLEJAC, René PRIVAT, Antonin ROLLAND

Technical Director: Marcel BIDOT

Italy

Red, White & Green shirts

Pierino BAFFI, Agostino COLETTO, Angelo CONTERNO, Nino DEFILIPPIS, Allesandro FANTINI, Pasquale FORNARA, Pietro GIUDICI, Bruno MONTI, Gastone NENCINI, Arrigo PADOVAN

Technical Director: Alfredo BINDA

Belgium

Light Blue shirts with Black, Yellow & Red Band

Jean ADRIAENSSENS, Jean BRANKART, Alex CLOSE, Alfred DE BRUYNE, Gilbert DESMET, Raymond IMPANIS, Marcel JANSSENS, Stan OCKERS, Richard VAN GENECHTEN, André VLAEYEN

Technical Director: Sylvère MAES

Holland

Orange shirts with Red, White & Blue Band

Daan DE GROOT, Joseph HINSON, Jef LAHAYE, Jean NOLTEN, Wies STOLKER, Piet VAN DE BREKEL, Arie VAN DER PLUYM, Wiel VAN DONGEN, Gerrit VOORTING, Wout WAGTMANS

Technical Director: Kees PELLENAERS

Spain

Grey shirt, Red, Yellow and Red Band

Federico BAHAMONTES, Salvador BOTELLA, Miguel BOVER, Miguel CHACON, Jesus LORENO, René MARIGIL, Carmelo MORALES, Miguel POBLET, Bernado RUIZ, José SERRA

Technical Director: Luis Puig ESTEVE

Switzerland

Red Shirt, White cross

Werner ARNOLD, Jack BOVAY, Claude FREI, Jean-Claude GRET, Hans HOLLENSTEIN, Fausto LURATTI, Rémo PIANEZZI, Fritz SCHAER, Max SCHELLEMBERG, Ernst TRAXEL

Technical Director: Alex BURTIN

LUXEMBOURG (MIXED)

Red Shirts with White & Light Blue Band

Antonio BARBOSA, Aldo BOLZAN, Marcel ERNZER, Charly GAUL, Edmond JACOBS, Willy KEMP, Nicolas MORN, Brian ROBINSON, Jean SCHMIT, Jean-Pierre SCHMITZ

Technical Director: Nicolas FRANTZ

North-East-Centre (Nord-Est-Centre)

Violet shirts, two white bands

Ugo ANZILE, Mano BERTOLO, Roger CHUPIN, Adolphe DELEDDA, Camille HUYGHE, Pierre PARDOEN, Raymond REISSER, Gilbert SCODELLER, Pierre SCRIBANTE, Roger WALKOWIAK

Technical Director: Sauveur Ducazeaux

South-East (Sud-Est)

Royal Blue, two gold bands

Roger CHAUSSABEL, Jean DOTTO, Raymond ELENA, José GIL, Nello LAUREDI, Jean LERDA, Raymond MEYZENQ, Joseph MIRANDO, Vinvent VITETTA

Technical Director: Marius GUIRAMAND

West (Ouest)

White shirts with two blue bands

Armand AUDAIRE, Arthur BIHANNIC, Roger HASSENFORDER, Louis CAPUT, Claude LE BER, Eugène LETENDRE, Joseph MORVAN, Fernand PICOT, Maurice QUENTIN, Joseph THOMIN

Technical Director: Léon LE CALVEZ

Ile-de-France

Red shirts with two white bands

Nicolas BARONE, Stanislas BOBER, Seamus ELLIOTT, René FOURNIER, Raymond HOORELBEKE, Jean LE GUILLY, Francis SIGUENZA, Jean SKERL, Alfred TOMELLO

Technical Director: Jean PRUNIER

South-West (Sud-Ouest)

Havana shirts, green band

Philippe AGUT, Pierre BEUFFEUIL, Albert DOHLATS, Georges GAY, Robert GIBANEL, Marcel GUITARD, Valentin HUOT, Maurice LAMPRE, Tino SABBADINI, Jacques VIVIER

A Man In A Hurry

5th July 1956

Stage 1, Reims to Liège, 223km

Under a cloud

André Darrigade has the look of a man brought up under a burning sun. Stocky, square-jawed, sun-tanned and – usually – of bright disposition, Darrigade is France’s great sprinting hope. Some would say (André included) that he’s more than that. They’d call him a routier-sprinter, fast at the finish but more than capable of organising a peloton and chasing down breakaways.

Andre is from the Landes region of France, a land of duck fat and goose liver, of sunlit uplands and cornfields, of hearty meals and heartier wines. And while all around André have lived life at the languid pace the temperature often demands of them, André has lived his life in a hurry. Nothing could happen quickly enough. Which is, if you think about it, apt for a sprinter.

Today however, as the Tour prepares to get underway, André is under a cloud. The team have noticed it, the journalists have made a point of it. His mind is elsewhere. The grey clouds have gathered just for André.

Just days ago, his brother Roger – another (lesser) cyclist – had been marched out of the family home on military service. There were tears that day. They came unannounced, as they often do, in their numbers. They filtered into the kitchen and read out their proclamation that Roger Darrigade would be serving with the French army. It’s 1956, not 1812, his mother had cried, tears in her eyes, plates broken on the terracotta floor of their farmhouse kitchen. When they call, you can’t refuse, and you can’t delay. They’ll send him to Algeria. Some boys don’t come back.

Roger didn’t even look over his shoulder.

Roger wasn’t alone. Jacques Anquetil had also received the call-up just weeks ago. Jacques and André had become good friends; they had hoped to ride the Tour together. But Jacques wouldn’t get Algeria, surely. Someone would put a word in.

This was no way to start a Tour.

Gilbert Bauvin leans across, breaking André’s reverie. Seen those Belgians? he conspires. Getting done for logos on their shorts. Goddet’s fuming.

André looks across at Stan Ockers who is wearing more logos than the caravane publicitaire. Ah yes, Ockers. Rainbow jersey. Got to watch him, him and his logos.

André checks his shorts.

Bauvin was one of those riders he couldn’t wait to see the back of. Or, to be more precise, one of those riders he wanted to show his back to. He wasn’t meant to be in the French team this year – it should have been Louison, or any number of other riders. But Gilbert Bauvin was a regional rider, not a tricolore. Fidgeting, André Darrigade turns away from Bauvin and taps his handlebars. Race, damnit, start the race.

No, André was not a patient man. He turned up at the Velodrome d’Hiver in 1950 wearing a pair of loose shorts and a white shirt. He just wanted to race, wanted to show the world beyond his small town or Narrosse that he could ride, and ride fast. No rules against that, they said, laughing.

Round after round went by, the young André winning each one by several bike lengths. They weren’t laughing any more. Until he came up against the world champion Maspès. The Italian, who was unbeaten, looked him up and down and mentally chalked up another win, yet another payment in the bank. André beat him on the line, a whole wheel length in front.

Nothing could come quickly enough.

Le Départ

The Tour starts off with a neutralised départ fictif, a leisurely bike ride through the streets of Reims, at first some wide boulevards, a couple of roundabouts and the buildings start to shrink in size. André Darrigade is at the front, avoiding his teammates and avoiding eye contact with any other rider, fixing his eyes on the handlebars and the solitary wheel in front of him.

Outside Reims, Jacques Goddet waves from atop the Peugeot, and the Tour is underway. At last.

Wout Wagtmans, the miniature Dutchman known as De Clown makes the first break for it, only to be hauled in – request for breakaway refused. Voorting, another Dutchman, makes a burst off the front just two kilometres later, only to be reeled back in by Darrigade who is setting a furious pace. At 55km per hour, it’s hard to break free. He settles back in alongside his compatriot.

Yes, I tried too. It didn’t work.

An actual breakaway would form when Brian Robinson – the only Englishman in the Tour – found a gap and ploughed straight through it. Nello Laurédi entered his slipstream almost by accident and found himself three or four metres ahead of the peloton. Make your mind up time. Darrigade’s mind was made up, and his move was the signal for others to join. Voorting, Walkowiak, Barbosa, Van der Pluym, Vlaeyen, Baffi… and Fritz Schär, the dangerous Swiss rider, the last to bridge the gap. Within three kilometres, the peloton had given up hope and the Tour’s first breakaway was set.

It is normal for a breakaway to operate in silence. A tacit acknowledgement from each man that in order to stay away, the breakaway must work together and work hard. This, however, is a Darrigade breakaway. Any break with André Darrigade in it is – by definition – a Darrigade breakaway. The last thing any other rider wants is to do all the work and end up being overtaken by Darrigade on the line. So the routier-sprinter has to do the bulk of the work, which means sitting on the front and forcing a pace that would break lesser men.

That pace started to tell. After 77km, the gap to the peloton had extended to 3’35". Once over the Rocroi climb and through the feeding zone, the chalk boards had the gap up to 5 minutes. At the Belgian border, the peloton was an astonishing 8 minutes behind.

Some men succumbed to bike problems. Walkowiak had been looking good but a puncture saw to his chances and the peloton would soon provide him with a home. Voorting and Lauredi had given too much, too soon, and Vlaeyen soon followed with Baffi not far behind.

That left three men…

That left three men: André himself, Brian Robinson and Fritz Schär. A Frenchman, an Englishman, and a German-speaking Swiss.

It doesn’t take a language degree to understand the language of the roadman. A flicked elbow, a shake of the head, an outstretched hand and an exasperated sigh. Darrigade pufs out his cheeks and sucks it up. It’s his breakaway.

He looks behind. Robinson, he looks tough but those aren’t sprinter’s legs. You’d worry about him if you were in a fight though. Riding for Luxembourg this year – the English experiment failed last year, although he still finished 24th and therefore he’s a danger. Rides for Raymond Louviot and the St. Raphaël team, so the boy’s got some talent. And Charly Gaul must like him if he’s riding for Luxembourg.

And if Charly Gaul likes him, then he must be good.

And Schär. He’s wily. You have to be wily if you’ve spent your entire career trying to nick wins from under the noses of Koblet and Kübler. He’s worn the yellow jersey before, Darrigade thinks, and he’s a doper. Everyone knows he’s a doper. Worse than that, he’s what the French would call ratagasse – a wheel-sucker. He never participates, he just sits on your wheel and takes the draft. He even looks like a ratagasse. Small, scrawny and balding, the type of B-class rider who lives in the shadows of greater men hoping to pick off the scraps they occasionally throw. Hugo Koblet, now there was a rider. A gentleman, too. Always carried a comb in his back pocket, always had a kind word, and who was always on his wheel, waiting for him to bonk? Old Fritzi Schär.

Beware Schär.

André looks ahead. A break in the clouds at last and André can pretend, in his