This is an extract from Ellis' biography From The Lamb To The Tiger, published 2010. The chapter on his stock car racing career was written over 50 years after the event, so he can be forgiven for getting a bit mixed up with the details. Based on the information in Plymouth 1954 programmes, it appears that his first meeting was actually on 12th August 1954 and he won £10.

It all began back in the 1950s, when I was still farming and running the timber business at Goodamoor with my father. A man came over from America and booked the old Belgrave Cinema, all gone and demolished now of course, for a talk all about the American sport of Stock Car Racing - how you could enter into, or start up Stock Car Racing. All those interested in the subject could come to the cinema in the evening to listen to his talk. My friend Freddie, "Fearless Freddie", still one of my oldest friends to this day, was dead keen on this. I was up to my neck in work at this time and I wasn't too sure, but he said, "Come on, we can get an old car and do this, let's go to the talk anyway." So we went to the talk and listened. Freddie of course was sold on it right away, and I thought, well, it doesn't sound too bad.

Freddie said, "Well, come on Ellis, come on, we'll have a go. We can get a couple of old cars". So he searched and I searched and eventually I found a twenty two horsepower Ford V8, an old taxi from a taxi firm at Prince Rock where they used to stick the old ones up for sale out the front. I think I paid about fifteen pounds for it. I took it back home and decided that the twenty two horsepower wasn't big enough, so I went down to Twig's scrap yard in the middle of Plymouth and bought a thirty horsepower 1936 V8 engine.

I took it home and stripped it down completely then polished every bit of it up to a shine and tuned it all up before putting it back together again. The bores were polished, the plugs on the top, etc. I got a magneto and fitted that instead of the distributor. This engine was worked on to perfection - night after night until three or four in the morning I worked on it in the Pink Steps in the house, where dad said I could work.

I got this engine and stuck it into the 22 horse one and entered myself in for the first meeting up at the Plymouth Pennycross Stadium on the 27th of July 1954. Freddie Frape was the manager and Major Grey was in nominal control. All the London boys came down for the race and there were about thirty to thirty five cars, all lined up three abreast, that covered up about three quarters of the track to begin with. Out came old Major Grey and down went the flag and we all roared off. I was almost back at the rear of the group and thought to myself, "Thank God for that! I can pick up what I've got to do and figure out how I've got to do this."

So off we went, hell for bloody leather round the track. We always went round in an anticlockwise direction, sliding around the corners. I thought, "This is alright". I was overtaking and overtaking, cars were flying off and turning upside down! And I was thinking, "Good God, I can do this!" It was lovely. I just got up into second place and down went the flag - I had come second and I won £80! I was only getting £7.50 a week from my father, and that was to support a wife and three children as well. Now I had £80 for a single win, I couldn't believe it.

That placing qualified me for the final, you see if you were placed you went into the final, if not you went into the consolation race. Into the final I went, full of bullshit by now because I thought, "I can do this!" Which was true, as subsequently you will find out. So off we went again and once more I climbed up into the second position, and I thought, "I'm going to get the final money", which was colossal.

I was just going to overtake the leading car when a car marked "Jake", with a great steel railway line welded on for a bumper, which had been knocked out into the centre of the track, recovered and restarted his car and rammed me amid-ships.

I sailed out of control down to the end of the track and straight into the end of the fence which, was made of railway lines embedded in the ground and linked by cables (health and safety hadn't been invented back then thank God!).

My car folded in half and I broke three or four ribs but that didn't bother me.

Despite losing the race, I towed my car off. I then knew I could do it, knew I could be a stock car driver.

Bugger the broken ribs, I went to the doctor and he put a great big piece of Elastoplast, a giant piece, right round my chest to hold it together. I said, "I can manage". After all, I had to work the farm with my dad and you couldn't take time off for injuries in those days. Anyway, the lovely engine I worked so hard on survived intact, so I got that out of the wreck and got another 22 horse V8.

I took this one up to some friends we had up at Milehouse, who were welders, and used this new electric welding machine to weld three-eighths steel plate to the chassis. I stripped the car completely and welded this to the chassis, making it really, really powerful. We put the body back on and fitted the bigger engine together with big steel bumpers front and back.

"Right", I thought, "They won't smash this bugger up!" I had to miss the next week's race, but I was ready for the one after that, and in I went for that one with this car.

I did well again and I kept winning! Then they opened up a new stadium down in St. Austell in Cornwall, and I went down there and won again. The meetings down in St Austell were on a Tuesday, I would go down there and come back with winnings of £50, £60, £80! Compared to my £7.50 wages I was a millionaire more or less with the money I had. I did the London tracks after this and then all round the country. Then I qualified for the World Championships, after racing at Bournemouth.

A good friend of mine ran the Ringwood Stadium, Gerry Dommett, dead now of course, a lovely man, best of friends for life. I remember, on one weekend, I had gone up with my family to Gerry's on the Saturday, in order to race the following Monday, staying with Gerry and his family over the weekend. Gerry had taken us to a local beach and enticed me to try my hand at water skiing. I didn't have any swimming trunks so Gerry lent me a pair of his and so off we went skiing along behind the speedboat. Now unfortunately Gerry was quite a bit bigger than I was and as I was hurtling along his overlarge trunks slipped down around my ankles which brought a huge cheer and gales of laughter from all the people lining the beach! That was an embarrassing moment I will never forget!

I raced at Gerry's track and qualified for the final of the World Championships to be held at the giant Belle Vue Stadium in Manchester. Those people who qualified abroad all turned up for the great event.

Me and my old mate Kenny, still with me after all these years (not too well at the moment, unfortunately) had to get my car all the way up to Belle Vue. I asked Kenny if he would tow me up with his old Ford Shooting Brake and of course he said he would. He got his car and we fitted on an A-frame, which was by far the safest way to tow the car as you could shift along at some speed without any risk of the tow bar coming adrift. We towed the stock car all the way from Plymouth to Manchester overnight, arriving just in time for the meeting. I had just enough time to unhitch the car and check it over, get my racing overalls and crash helmet on and get myself strapped in.

I started up the car and got ready. I was still quite knackered and tired from the journey but was all fired up with enthusiasm and on edge as you would be for a meeting like that. Then I got into the pits and into the position that I had drawn. I can't remember what it was now but I think it was about tenth position or so.

Now, the Belle Vue Stadium had a brilliantly designed entrance for the competitors - it was almost like the old Roman gladiator arenas. You came from the pits through a tunnel to a great archway, you came roaring up through this archway and all the crowds would get to their feet, the whole stadium shaking as they cheered. The atmosphere was electric - our adrenalin was flowing and we were going to give it hell!

We were drawn up into our starting positions and down went the flag. Off we went! Everybody was fast away as the best of the drivers were all there. I was off, getting up and up, until I got up into second position. Before the Belle Vue Stadium was built, the area was a brickworks and the hardcore foundations for the track were made from the old bricks. On the far end corner the bricks were starting to come up through the road surface - bricks and half bricks were sailing through the air as the cars skidded around the bend. I spun off on this loose stuff, recovered again and caught up with the leaders getting up into fourth position. I was in second when I spun out but I managed to accelerate up and claw my way back to fourth, and that was where I was at the end of the race. So I was fourth in the World Championships out of a field of twenty of the best drivers in the world. I thought that was quite an honour.

My winnings on that day were colossal, and the fame I received when I got back to Plymouth was brilliant, too. I was made the Captain of the Devon Team, which involved working with the organisers and management to organise the races all over the area. Stock car racing to me was both very enjoyable and very successful. I still have the old engine from my stock car and my crash helmet and door from "Old P32" (the P stood for Plymouth before they did away with the letters, and 32 was my stock car registration number - the 32nd in the whole country).

I am still a registered member of the Veteran's Stock Car Association and still get invited to meetings all over the country. In 2004 I was invited to a veterans meet and asked to start and finish the race - a real honour.