“I was given Murray Walker’s number and invited to call him at home. A voice answered. This voice’

It was 2003 and we were doing a thread for the next Top Gear series where celebrities nominated their best car of all time and then made a short film about it. Murray Walker agreed to participate and chose the McLaren F1.

As the show’s script editor, it was my job to talk to these stars and translate their thoughts into something they could deliver on television. After Murray agreed to attend, I got his number and was invited to call his home. A voice answered. This voice. It was a sign of Walker’s distinctive portrayal that, like Sean Connery and Michael Caine, every man in Britain believed they could make an impression of him. But they couldn’t. Their imitations were lo-fi replicas of the real deal with full chat. They undercut Walker’s true range, which peaked in overtaking maneuvers and engine fires at 18,000 rpm, but also less urgent self-talk about mid-level action and, below that, the deeper, smoother tone at which facts could be delivered at a measured pace.

It came over the phone line when I first spoke to him. A reassuring splash, rich in that other quality that the pub impressionists always missed: the beautiful, professional station’s feel for timing and emphasis, where to put weights, where to stretch vowels, how to use the voice not just as a dispenser Information, rather than a musical instrument to tickle the ears. And what Murray Walker said to me that day 18 years ago was equally remarkable; Murray Walker invited me to continue this discussion in person. Murray Walker invited me to his home.

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The following week a colleague and I accepted his invitation. He lived down in the New Forest, his house hidden in the trees. A nice place, not too flashy, but comfortable and cozy. Mrs. Walker showed us in. “He’s just cleaning a silver plate,” she explained. “I’ll tell him you’re here …” And then he was, then 79 and officially “retired” but as lively and light-footed as we all hope we will be at that age.

We sat at his dining table and started discussing the McLaren. It quickly became clear that Murray had done his research. He had dug up his copy of Driving Ambition, the car’s official book. We were still trying to get one. He had called Gordon Murray to check a few facts. Our office couldn’t do that either. It was widely believed that our team would do the work researching and writing these greatest auto films, but in this case we weren’t counting on the sharp wits and conscientious professionalism of Murray Walker.

I also had no idea what a thoroughly decent and delightful man he would be. He didn’t have to take us over to his house, he didn’t have to devote two hours of his time to discussing the McLaren F1 movie that was work and then casually chatting about the ongoing Formula 1 season, which wasn’t but was what disproved a man for whom work and passion flowed seamlessly into one another.

As he led us to the door, we stopped at an upside-down Jordan nose cone in the hallway, one of the retirement gifts he’d received from a sport that evidently adored him. When he left, the drivers put on some sort of gang show to honor his career, he said. They took turns reading out some of his notorious slip-ups and giving him a good rib. Only one more driver came after that to make sure Murray wasn’t hurt too much from the piss. And that’s why, said Murray, Michael Schumacher is a good person at heart.

He opened the front door. ‘How is that?’ he asked, nodding to the Rover 75 press car in which we had arrived. Aside from the McLaren F1, it had never occurred to me that Walker might be interested in street cars, but he wanted to know more about the ’75 and wondered if I’d driven its sportier sister, the MG ZT. He said he had an agreement with BMW. At the moment drove a 5, M sports equipment. The next, he said, would be the less stiffly suspended SE.

We had a brief discussion about the importance of good ride quality and then said goodbye, although we could have talked all afternoon. Before we met, I could have told you that Murray Walker was the voice of a whole sport, the sound of my teenage Sundays, one of the people who showed that good television is a craft and an art. I was also able to tell you after our meeting that he was thoughtful, astute, and wonderfully generous with his time.

We got back into the rover and drove away. He stood on the step to see us off. Not only the greatest motorsport commentator in history, but also a true gentleman. Rest in peace.