But he enjoyed life. He had a fabulous life, and he enjoyed it and made the most of it, though basically he was very shy. Brought up on a farm as he was, at heart he was a farmer. I mean that in the kindest sense. He owned one farm and his father another. He came from a rustic way of life, which was in complete contrast with the life he was leading as a driver, and he thoroughly enjoyed going back to his own farm.
Because of the limelight that he found himself bathed in through his skill at motor racing, he obviously had to submerge his shyness and emerge as a personality. Which he did. But he did find it difficult. He made no bones about not liking to make speeches, but he had to do it, and I had seen him getting better and better at making them.
He had been thrown into the jet set, which is vastly different from the simple life of the country, and every now and then you could see that he was uncomfortable in it. His simple, natural outlook would show itself. It was very touching to find someone who wasn't hard and cynical. He was a warm, honest, shy person who was coping with all this—the pressure and the publicity.
The service was held on a sunny, chilly day in a lovely little stone church in Chirnside, only three or four miles from his farm. Jimmy was buried in the small churchyard in a simple, light-colored wood coffin. His four sisters and his mother and father were there, and they were all very brave and sweet. I got through it all right until I tried to sing, and then I began to get just a bit too emotional.
After the service we went back to Jim's home, where his family entertained his closest friends. This turned out to be a much happier affair than I could possibly have imagined, and one which Jim, I'm sure, would have thoroughly approved of. It was a most sincere tribute to Jim.