“It’s a practice devoted to crashing cars… hard.”
This is how photographer Max Pigott describes banger racing, an unofficial British heritage sport where people buy cheap old cars, lovingly restore them to working order, then smash them to pieces in a race on a mud track somewhere in the countryside—before repairing them so they can do it all over again. A predominantly working-class subculture, the tradition is often passed down inter-generationally and drivers start as young as ten. The whole point of the game is total, spectacular destruction.
Growing up in Milton Keynes, Pigott attended his fair share of banger races as a kid. His project No Guts, No Glory captures the quiet moments behind the chaos—the thrill, ritual, and sense of belonging found in rear-ending someone in a fucked-up Vauxhall Astra. In his own words: “The destruction is nothing without the devotion that rebuilds it.”
VICE: How would you describe banger racing to the uninitiated?
Max Pigott: Simply put, it’s a motorsport that involves racing salvaged cars. The aim, like most races, is to win. However, in banger racing, crashing is not only allowed, but enthusiastically encouraged as a means of sabotaging competitors’ chances at glory. Between heats, teams—often family—have a chance to cobble the battered car back together by whatever means possible before sending it out on the track again.
When and how did you come across it?
I was actually exploring a different project around my hometown, Milton Keynes, and the experience of growing up in one of these odd new towns in Britain. I have memories of going to a few banger races nearby as a child.
What’s the culture and community around it like?
At first glance it’s chaotic, loud, destructive, and violent—but beneath that is a real tenderness. There’s a lot of pride and care wrapped up in something that looks, from the outside, totally unhinged. Rooted in a working-class culture, it’s incredibly tight-knit. Very DIY, and very funny. People help each other out constantly, even if they’re about to total each other’s cars five minutes later. There’s a lot of loyalty, long family histories, and an unspoken code about how things are done. It’s rough around the edges, but the lack of prestige is something I find very endearing.
“Usually there will also be homages or jokes painted on [the cars] too, some more obscene than others. Each car ends up being this sort of sacrificial object that’s built with great care only to be destroyed”
Talk us through a typical banger race. How does it go down?
There’s a long build up in the pits, engines revving, people leaning over bonnets, kids running around, the smell of oil everywhere. The race itself is total carnage, and then it’s suddenly over, and you’re back to people laughing, fixing what’s left, or quietly accepting their car’s finally written off.
How does one best prep a banger to get smashed to bits?
Strip everything non essential, reinforce the right bits, install a roll cage and weld it all together as best you can. Then there’s the painting, often meticulous and an art form in its own right. Usually there will also be homages or jokes painted on too, some more obscene than others. Each car ends up being this sort of sacrificial object that’s built with great care only to be destroyed.
Most of the photos in this project aren’t of the races, or any of the chaos that comes with them. They’re of the people—watching the races, working on their cars, etc. Tell me a bit about why you went with that focus.
There are already loads of photos of cars mid-crash, and I didn’t feel like I needed to add to that—nor is action photography really my thing. I wanted to slow down and look at what happens around the crashes instead. The waiting, the fixing, the watching. Those quieter moments felt more honest to me, like they get closer to what banger racing actually is, rather than just the spectacle.
Is there a particular character you’ve photographed who’s stuck with you the most?
There are definitely a few, but an honorable mention has to go to Lillian Goddard. She didn’t come from a banger racing family like most do. Her parents took her to a race when she was about 13 and she pretty much just said, “Yeah, I want to do that.” She’s 16 now and spends most weekends dragging her orange and green Vauxhall Astra around the country, with her parents Anna and Chris right there alongside her.
One thing that’s clear from your photos is how inter-generational the sport is. Kids clearly love it but also appear to take it quite seriously. What are their attitudes towards it, in your experience?
They’re deadly serious about it. It feels like something they’re actively working towards. You see kids being shown how engines work, how to weld, how races are run, how to behave in the pits, when to help out and when to stay out of the way. All that is passed down naturally, just through spending time there. There’s a real sense of pride in it too, like they’re part of something bigger, not just watching from the sidelines but learning their place within it.
One of the portraits is of a young girl called “Dangerous Daisy” [above, right]. What’s the story behind her nickname?
Daisy is known for causing a lot of crashes, basically. The nickname is a sly dig by her racing pals but it’s more of a badge of honor than anything else!
Same question for “The Breakspeakers” [below, left]. How did they earn that?
Breakspear is actually the family name. I met them at Standlake, near Oxford, where two of the girls were racing in the junior category. They’re a big family and it seemed like most of them were there that day to help out in some form. The photo is of the dad and the grandad, who were right in the thick of it, fixing the cars and getting them race-ready.
You’ve described banger racing as a heritage sport, albeit an unofficial one. What do you think makes banger racing so quintessentially British?
It comes out of Britain’s industrial past; making do, fixing things yourself, and finding pride in labor even when it’s undervalued. It’s funny, defiant, slightly self-destructive, and incredibly communal. A lot of the tracks are disappearing because the land is deemed “more valuable” now, which makes the whole thing feel like a form of cultural resistance. That said, it’s not just a British thing anymore. For whatever reason, the Belgians and the Dutch have really taken to it too, which is kind of amazing.
“It comes out of Britain’s industrial past; making do, fixing things yourself, and finding pride in labor even when it’s undervalued”
What’s the best banger race you’ve ever been to?
I attended the National Bangers Championship in Ipswich this year, which is pretty much what every driver is aiming for, building up points throughout the season in order to qualify. You could really feel the buzz and sense of occasion in the air and it was certainly the busiest race I went to… almost too busy for the kind of photographs I wanted to get but nonetheless a great day. I was constantly told throughout this project that I had to go to the world champs in Ipswich, and I was not disappointed.
Follow Max on Instagram to see more of his work: @hmaxpigott
The post The Car as ‘Sacrificial Object’: The Beautiful Chaos of Banger Racing appeared first on VICE.
