Soon it will be 50 years since John Surtees became the first man to win world championships on two and four wheels. He hopped off his MV Agusta at the end of 1960, exchanged his leathers for cotton overalls, and four years later he was driving his Ferrari to the Formula One title. An unimaginable feat these days, it remains a unique distinction. And, at 79, Surtees retains all his old enthusiasm for motor sport, despite personal tragedy. But from his long list of honours, one thing is missing.

"Ridiculous," Sir Stirling Moss said this week when I asked him what he thought of the fact that his old rival has yet to receive a knighthood. Five years ago Surtees was presented with an OBE as an upgrade to his MBE, but it still seemed in no way commensurate with the scale of his achievements, given the awards ladled out to sporting figures in recent years.

There are currently 9,288 signatures on an online petition to get a "Sir" put in front of his name. No doubt the number will reach the statistically satisfying figure of 10,000 before too long, although that would make no practical difference. For reasons that are, I suppose, understandable, the bureaucrats who run the government e-petitions website specifically exclude matters relating to honours or appointments; two recent attempts to get an official petition going on behalf of Surtees' cause have been rebuffed. And it would take 100,000 signatures, a round figure of a very different order, to persuade the government even to consider doing something about it.

Nevertheless the absence of a Surtees knighthood remains a minor national disgrace, even if you are not inclined to take such things very seriously. My own view is that honours should not be dished out in the field of sport until careers are definitively over. The use of titles for active competitors renders newspaper reports and broadcast commentaries faintly ridiculous, particularly when the athletes in question take part in international events against rivals who may be just as distinguished but come from countries where no such system exists. I prefer France's Légion d'honneur or the US Medal of Freedom, where you get the recognition and the ceremony and the lapel badge or the ribbon but no title.

Since we have the system, however, it might as well be used properly. Moss, who never won a world championship but occupies a special place in the nation's affection, is four years older than Surtees. He is proud of his title, received in 2000, which he points out was rather late – but, as he said, with a fond glance across the table at Lady Moss, his beloved third wife: "I'm glad I didn't get it earlier, because they might have got the wrong wife."

They were the guests of honour at a lunch and charity auction in aid of the Henry Surtees Foundation, set up in memory of John Surtees' son, who was killed in an accident during a Formula Two race at Brands Hatch almost four years ago, aged 18. The foundation raises funds to support accident victims, particularly those suffering brain injuries; this year, for example, it has funded the purchase of special blood transfusion equipment for the use of the Kent and Surrey air ambulances service.

The setting for the lunch was unusual: an art gallery hidden away in an industrial estate on the outskirts of Stoke-on-Trent, in a warehouse belonging to a company distributing what are known as "white goods": refrigerators, washing machines and so on. In this unlikely environment Andrew Swift, who inherited the company from his father, has created a permanent exhibition of photographs from the history of top-line European motor racing.

Here in the Swift Gallery, which was opened by Surtees last year, are 700 images representing the work of many of the finest motor racing photographers – Edward Eves, Alan Smith, Geoff Goddard among them, as well as some who remain anonymous – from down the ages, thoughtfully selected, beautifully printed, and immaculately presented. The main gallery is divided into sections devoted to different eras: a display of pre-war photographs is followed by the ages of Fangio, Moss, Clark and Stewart, up to Senna and Schumacher.

The presence of Moss was specially appropriate given the nature of the gallery's current temporary exhibition, on view all summer, called From Red to Green: The Rise of British Motor Sport 1950-59. The red and green refer to the colours in which the racing cars of Italy and Britain once competed, before they started being defaced by paint-jobs that made them resemble fag packets or, more recently, energy drink bottles. The decade in question was the one in which Britain took over from Italy in Formula One and sports car racing, with Moss as the poster boy for the British advance.

There are 70 images in this display, and they are uniformly evocative, ranging in tone from the stirring to the poignant. And, dammit, they are art. By my definition, anyway, because only artistry could capture not just the sight but the sense of Peter Collins seriously at work in the cockpit of his Lancia-Ferrari at Reims in 1956, or of Juan Manuel Fangio guiding his Maserati through the Nürburgring's Karussell turn on the way to his epic victory the following year. Of course the drivers, the cars and the circuits all had personalities then, which helped.

Many of the images are in black and white, but there is enough colour for the visitor to get the impression of red dissolving into green as the Alfas, Ferraris and Maseratis give way to Vanwalls, Coopers and BRMs, and as drivers whose names end in vowels – like the first three world champions, Farina, Fangio and Ascari – are overtaken by chaps like Moss, Collins, Mike Hawthorn and Tony Brooks.

Next month will mark the 60th anniversary of Hawthorn's win in a Ferrari at Reims, the first victory for a British driver in a world championship race – the first of no fewer than 235. So swift was the takeover that in 1963 there was a clean sweep of all 10 races by British drivers. And even when there wasn't a British hand on the wheel, British cars were often carrying their rivals to victory.

Like Moss, John Surtees played a significant role in that remarkable story. A career that included seven world championships on bikes and six grands prix wins in cars was followed by nine seasons running his own Formula One team and an undimmed commitment to his sport. Next week's birthday honours list would seem a good opportunity to give him his due.