by Maurice Hamilton, from the Autumn 2000 edition of J Magazine.

In November 2001 it was announced that Gary Anderson will return to Jordan Grand Prix as Director of Race and Test Engineering.

Gary Anderson and Eddie Jordan may be serious rivals in the pit lane but their history is long and deep enough to make them firm friends in the paddock, two Irishmen united by their love of the sport.

Anderson's role as Technical Director at Jaguar Racing brings him into direct conflict with Jordan. But the irony is that he gained much of his extensive knowledge either competing against EJ in Formula 3 or, in later years, helping shape Jordan Grand Prix into the successful team it is today. Their relationship, a mixture of quick banter and open respect, is not the sort which is born overnight. Ask them when they first met and the replies tell you everything.

'It was in the early '80s,' says Jordan. 'We were both running Formula 3 teams - and Gary told me not to be cheating!'

'That's right,' says Anderson. 'The rest of us were running Formula 3 and he was running Formula 3 and a bit! As usual, he was doing things to his own rules....'

'How can you say such a thing, Gary! You're only coming out with that because we were beating you!'

The racing took them across Europe; one weekend it would be Knutstorp in Sweden, a fortnight later it would be Misano in Italy. They lived from race to race, thinking on their feet but always ready to lend a helping hand. The gypsy existence was in keeping with the carefree spirit of the day. Becoming leading lights in Formula 1 could not have been further from their thinking. The prime motivation was simply to survive and enjoy the moment.

'I probably knew more about Gary than maybe he would have known about me,' says Eddie. 'He had been a mechanic with the Brabham F1 team in the 1970s. He was building his own F3 car, the Anson, and racing it. Gary was instrumental in persuading me to go to Europe and, if I'm perfectly honest, that would turn out to be the best time of my life. It was incredible.'

Jordan and Anderson used converted furniture vans and sundry hybrid vehicles to move around Europe - at considerably slower speeds than the potential of the cars they were carrying.

'Eddie's mechanics would come with me in my truck and we would all meet for dinner here and there,' says Anderson. 'At the races, we'd use Eddie's pick-up to get into town at night.'

'I remember travelling in your truck - at about 30 mph!' interrupts Jordan. 'It was just so slow....'

'It had no brakes,' explains Anderson.

'It had nothing at all, if you ask me!' quips Jordan. 'He had this box van which had belonged to a removals company. There was no tail lift. We're talking about planks here. We'd loan each other mechanics in order to push the cars up. I had an A series Transit with a hood on it and the car was almost vertical at the back. You would have the biggest guy you could find grinding the thing up on this sort of winch and the others would be pushing the back. You would have the odd bits of spares, a nose cone, a set of wets - and maybe a rear wing....'

'...if you were lucky,' interjects Anderson. 'If something broke, you'd make bits. You had no choice. We didn't have two pennies to rub together.'

'It's true,' says Jordan. 'I remember going to Misano with Tommy Byrne. He won the race but we couldn't get the car out of scrutineering. They wanted to strip the engine in the paddock because they didn't have enough to pay the prize money - and we wouldn't leave without the prize money, because the next race was in Sicily or some place.'

Eddie, his wife Marie and their baby daughter, Zoe, lived in a caravan which was towed behind the Transit. Anderson and his crew either slept in their truck or in local accommodation which would not be found in any Good Hotel Guide.

'You'd take each race as it came,' says Anderson. 'We lived in the truck or in some cheap and nasty place. Even if you didn't get a result, you always somehow managed to make do.'

'D'you remember Rome?' asks Jordan. 'We all stayed in a place where your rooms were rented out by the hour for other things during the day! You could only get in between eight at night and eight in the morning!'

Jordan, very much the customer team, ran Ralts. Anderson, with his Ansons and their technically advanced carbon tubs, was a constructor and made what little money he could.

'I suppose you could say I was running a business before Eddie,' recalls Gary. 'Probably the most successful time was at the end of 1982 when we had to build a new car because of a change in the regulations. In October we had nothing but, come the end of November, we had sold 24 cars. You did a deal here and there. It was all pretty cut-throat but we had the deposits and that was what kept me alive - even though we couldn't build all of the cars on time.

'You turned them out as quickly as you could, but you were always late. The first race was at Vallelunga. Our team went there with three cars which had never turned a wheel. We weighed one for the first time at scrutineering and the thing was 80 lbs under weight! So we had to go to a builders' merchant in Vallelunga and find three times 80 lbs-worth of lead!'

While Anderson was marketing his cars, Jordan began his wheeling and dealing in drivers and any other commodity which might raise much-needed cash.

'That's right,' says Anderson. 'Every time I found a driver with potential income, Eddie would take him away and rip him off!'

'How come money always comes up?' laughs Jordan. 'Gary used to tell them how bad I was, and I would tell them how bad he was! So whoever had the biggest line in bullshit, won! But they were great days. We seemed to be in F3 for a lifetime together.'

They went their separate ways when Anderson moved to the United States to work as an engineer in IndyCar. Jordan moved up to Formula 3000, winning the championship with Jean Alesi in 1989, Anderson having done the same the previous year when he returned to run Roberto Moreno's title-winning car for Bromley Motorsport. It was during this time that Jordan began to think about his next move. There was only one way to go: Formula 1.

'We were racing in Birmingham and Eddie came up to me and said he wanted to get a something together for F1,' recalls Anderson. 'He said, if it went ahead, he would want me to join him. Typically, he was as good as his word. But I thought he was mad then - and not a lot has happened since to change my opinion!

'I joined Eddie on 4 February 1990. We spent the season racing F3000 while building up the F1 effort. We had two units at Silverstone but, really, we had nothing when we started the F1 team. There were no offices - it was still a fabrication shop! So, first job is to build somewhere to work.'

'Ah yes,' says Eddie, 'I remember that. We had this carpenter called 'Plug' and we sent him to Brackley Sawmills to buy a set of stairs. Then we bought railings, and some breeze blocks, a couple of doors and built ourselves some offices. I dread to think what the fire prevention people would have said!'

'But it was good enough for what we wanted,' says Gary. 'Even at that stage, although I was convinced Eddie's F1 idea was worth a shot, I never thought he would actually put the money together. Come November, when the car ran for the first time, I thought: "This is really happening! We're going to go racing." A bit of sponsorship came in. And Eddie was running around in his Porsche....'

'Ah, yes!' grins Eddie. 'We originally called the car a Jordan 911. A writ comes through the door from Porsche, talking about the wonderful brand image they have built up over the years. They say they have the rights to this 911 title. So there was a bit of discussion. Would you believe, our car suddenly becomes a Jordan 191 - and I am the proud owner of a Porsche!'

The car they were most interested in, however, was the 191. It would earn the fledgling team 13 championship points in its first season.

'That car,' says Eddie, 'was probably the most beautiful car of the decade - and it cost next to nothing to build. Don't talk to me about quality control or expensive machinery; we barely had a ruler to our name. The point was that Gary and I both knew what two and two made. And it never made five. It only ever made four. Our past experiences had told us that.'