CAR magazine had called it the car that ‘could make or break Lotus‘. So it’s perhaps understandable that the engineers toiling away on the Elise prototype worked long into the night on Christmas Eve 1994.
In fact, while most of the country was settling down to watch Stars in Their Eyes Winners’ Special or Bruce Forsyth’s Christmas Generation Game, ‘father of the project’ Richard Rackham and his team were preparing for the first run of the Lotus Elise prototype – known as Proto One.
This was Christmas 1994, nearly two years before the Lotus Elise would make its public debut at the 1996 Frankfurt Motor Show. It was also five years since Lotus had unveiled the financially disastrous M100 Elan.
The first chassis had arrived a month earlier, produced by the same Danish factory as the Renault Sport Spider. It weighed just 68kg and was put on display at Lotus HQ in Hethel so that staff could look at it.
A great Dane
Speaking to Hilton Holloway in 1996, Rackham said the bonded chassis was superior to that of the welded Renault. “Welding distorts the material and reduces the strength at the joint,” he explained.
“Because our chassis is bonded, it can be made with incredible accuracy. The hard points (suspension mountings and so on) are accurate to 0.5mm – unheard of in a conventional car.”
The Elise project team worked tirelessly to get Proto One running by Christmas Eve. At 6pm, there were still about 50 things to sort, but the team felt it could be achieved before the bells were ringing out for Christmas Day.
Rackham, now head of vehicle concepts at Lotus, remembers: “The excitement had been building through the day, lots of people were guessing how much the running car would weigh and we had a little sweepstake going.
“The enthusiasm of the technicians, I’ve never known anything like it. We were all getting stuck in as we wanted this thing to roll. And at the time we even thought that it didn’t look half-bad – because love is blind – but looking at Proto One now, it was hideous!”
‘Not deliberately retro’
A little harsh, perhaps. While it lacks the supercar aesthetics of the finished product, there’s a frog-like charm to Proto One. It certainly tips its hat to Colin Chapman’s widely quoted philosophy.
It was essentially a rolling chassis with Lotus Seven-style mudguards, a rudimentary windscreen, two seats and a pair of frog-eye headlights. Technically attractive, but far from ready for Frankfurt 1996.
Lotus wanted the Elise to look modern with a nod to its history. “The Elise is not deliberately retro, but has some of those elements. Using retro elements is very much a contemporary move, and the Elise’s styling has plenty of modern touches, too,” said Rackham in 1996.
He slammed the styling of a trio of Italian sports cars, saying: “We can’t understand why the press are so enthusiastic about cars like the Fiat Coupe, Barchetta and Alfa GTV.
“To us, they’re not beautiful. I think we’ve made the right decision with the Elise: it’s beautiful in the way old cars are beautiful.”
The car’s beauty was a long way from the minds of the project team on Christmas Eve 1994. With the list of jobs complete, Rackham and project manager Tony Shute donned their crash helmets and headed out into the frosty air of a Norfolk night.
“It was icy, but a brilliant moonlit night; it was one of those magic moments,” reflects Rackham.
Star of CCTV
There’s little evidence of the maiden voyage. These were the days before smartphones were available to document such occasions. Besides, on Christmas Eve, most eyes would have been looking up to the night sky.
The only shots of Proto One driving on the test track were captured on CCTV cameras, as security officers diverted their eyes from tracking Santa to monitor the car’s progress from the comfort of the Lotus gate house.
Rackham recollects: “It was an amazing period, a real learning experience of what could be done, in a short time with the right team. We were only around 11 months into the project and already had a running prototype.
“A huge achievement for any company, but this was with a totally new vehicle construction technology. So not only were we developing a new car, we were in parallel conducting pioneering R&D into a technology that is now omnipresent in the automotive industry. And we were testing for the first time on a frosty Christmas Eve.”
Take a best-selling family saloon, re-skin it with a curvaceous body that could have straight from an Italian styling house and you have the Vauxhall Calibra. It was based on the Vauxhall Cavalier and designed in-house, not by Italians, but by Wayne Cherry, the American-born design boss at General Motors.
This is not an uncommon approach to building coupes: start with an unexciting saloon or hatchback and jazz it up. Volkswagen did it with the Scirocco and Audi TT, both to great effect. The key is to start off with well-engineered building blocks, something both VW and Vauxhall/Opel had to their advantage.
What we have here, then, is a three-door, four-seat coupe, its wide-opening tailgate neatly disguised within the flowing lines down to the rear bumper. Launched in 1989, the Calibra was sold in the UK for the best part of 10 years, although it’s rare to see one now. Especially anything as nice as this extremely low-mileage example from Vauxhall’s heritage fleet.
Let’s talk about six
Power came originally from a couple of 2.0-litre petrol engines: either eight valves and 115hp or 16 valves and 150hp. In 1992, a four-wheel-drive 2.0 turbocharged Calibra was launched. Its power output of 200hp was punchy for the time, but the Turbo didn’t sell well and now has the shadow of expensive gearbox problems hanging over it.
The car we have here is the last proper iteration of the Calibra, the 2.5-litre V6. With 168hp, it wasn’t as swift as the Turbo, but the silky six-cylinder engine brought a whole new level of sophistication, arguably making the Vauxhall more of a grand tourer than it had any right to be.
So, how does the Calibra V6 stand up today? We drove it to Normandy for a four-day classic car event – enough miles to stretch its legs properly.
Calibra to the continent
We took the ferry from Newhaven to Dieppe and then headed down to Forges-les-Eaux, along winding D-roads through quiet villages and dense forests, scenes to be repeated over the following three days. What you notice immediately about the Vauxhall is how civilised it is. That V6 engine is a gem, not powerful by today’s standards, but decently quick and genuinely refined.
The leather interior provides a low, sporty seating position and some real comfort, while there’s room for a couple of adults in the rear as long as they’re not too tall.
Luggage space is impressive, and there’s masses of volume available with the rear seat folded. I know this from experience, by the way; nearly 30 years ago when the Calibra was still new, I carried four garden chairs all the way back from Switzerland.
Easy does it
There’s no escaping the Calibra’s origins, although most today will have forgotten what a Cavalier dashboard looked like. Today, with its sporty white dials, the Calibra V6 simply feels classic rather than outdated.
Its ride and handling are far from sporty, however, which means you’d be better off enjoying the easy power steering and decent air-con than chasing old Golf GTIs across the countryside.
Take that on board, and you’ll revel in a long journey in a Calibra V6. It may be 25 years old, but this classic Vauxhall gets more desirable all the time.
There’s something wonderfully Swedish about the Volvo 480, and yet its development was a truly international affair.
Built in the Netherlands, penned by a Dutchman, interior designed by a Brit, mechanicals supplied by the French – and with a thoroughly Swedish badge tucked away beneath the front bumper.
With its pop-up headlights and wedgy styling, it’s as though the 480 came out of nowhere. But it borrowed from the past while laying the foundations for Volvos of the future.
Today, the Swedish oddball is a bit of a cult classic – and a retro bargain to boot.
A Galaxy far, far away…
Volvo rejected proposals submitted by two Italian styling houses before designing the 480 in-house at Volvo Car BV (Holland). It was a product of the Galaxy project, which kicked off in 1978 when the company started considering replacements for the 240, 340/360 and 740/760.
Internally, Volvo had accepted that its future would be driven through the front wheels, but externally the message was entirely different. Just a couple of years before the front-wheel-drive 480 went on sale, Volvo was extolling the virtues of rear-wheel-drive to its American audience.
‘In an era when just about everyone seems to be touting front-wheel-drive as the greatest thing ever to come down the pike, there’s one thing you should know. Virtually every car in the world today that’s famous for performance and handling uses rear-wheel-drive,” proclaimed a press advert.
‘Of course, a Ferrari or Formula 1 car may not exactly fit your family’s driving needs. So why not consider a Volvo Turbo? When it comes to handling and performance, you’ll find it leaves a lot of front-wheel-drive cars bringing up the rear.’
To ram home its message, Volvo positioned its car alongside a Ferrari, Corvette, Porsche 911 and a couple of race cars.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the Atlantic, Volvos weren’t exactly known for their whippet-like pace and apex-slicing cornering ability. Its smallest cars, the 340 hatch and 360 saloon, were more geriatric than a packet of Werther’s Originals wrapped in a knitted toilet roll holder.
Daytona-inspired design?
Unveiled at the Geneva Motor Show in 1986, the 480 didn’t so much send jaws dropping to the floor as leave onlookers scratching their heads. The shooting brake design, penned by John de Vries, tipped its hat to the 1800ES, most notably the all-glass tailgate, but the pop-up headlights were straight out of an Amsterdam coffee shop.
It’s perhaps a little generous to reference the Ferrari Daytona when considering the front-end styling, but if you see it, you’ll get it. It’s also worth remembering the two-door coupe segment of the time; you could still buy a new Ford Capri, for goodness sake, while the cool kids drove around in Volkswagen Sciroccos and Toyota Celicas.
But let’s not give the 480 ideas above its station – this was no sports coupe. It was a proper four-seater, albeit with the inconvenience of entering the rear seats via the front. In fact, its closest rival was the cheaper and remarkably similar-looking Honda Accord Aerodeck. In profile, it’s as though the pair were separated at birth.
Getting a grilling
The interior was the work of Peter Horbury, who managed to create a roomy cabin, complete with a dashboard layout that, by today’s standards, would be considered cluttered. On the plus side, the two-spoke steering wheel of the early cars was a nod to Swedish eccentricity.
It’s easy to focus on the pop-up headlights and glass tailgate when gawping at the 480, but more in-depth scrutiny will reveal a host of neat touches. Take the ‘hockey stick’ rear lights, which combine to create a single strip running along the back of the car. Above it is a grab handle, which looks entirely at odds with the clean design.
Also, note the pillar-mounted door locks and the side markers situated at the edge of that long rear section. It has been suggested that the Volvo grille was a last-minute addition at the request of the board, but regardless of whether or not this is true, it became one of the 480’s hallmark features.
Handling by Lotus
Other nods to Volvo’s safe and dependable heritage include the impact-absorbing front and rear bumpers and the stone-resistant plastic bonnet and front end. As you’d expect, the 480 far exceeded the safety standards of the time.
That’s not to say that cars rolling out of the Nedcar factory were built to the high standards of Gothenburg. By Volvo’s own admission, the Renix (Renault and Bendix) engine management system was a particular weak point: ‘Volvo 480 was very well-equipped in standard version, filled with practical and personal solutions. A lot of them were electronically controlled which in turn caused its fair bit of reliability problems.’
Even allowing for what is perhaps a slightly clunky translation from Swedish, that’s hardly a glowing endorsement.
Initially, all 480s were powered by the same Renault-sourced 1.7-litre engine, which provided adequate performance at best. With 109hp available, the 480 could top 118mph (eventually), crawling to 60mph in, well, how long have you got?
But did anyone genuinely arrive at a Volvo showroom expecting sports car levels of performance? Given Volvo’s image and audience, it’s unlikely. Besides, the 480 had other qualities.
Cleverly, Volvo turned to Lotus for help with the suspension, which resulted in a car with excellent driving manners. Motor Sport magazine commented on the ‘absolutely superb handling’ before praising the ride quality.
‘The 480 ES rides almost as well as a heavier 700 series saloon, taking high-speed bumps without flinching. It also handles as well as most pedigree sports cars, flicking through tight turns and hairpin bends like a rally-tuned Mini of yesteryear. But it would not understeer. Volvo’s first FWD model truly feels like a rear-drive, which is exactly what the engineers intended.’
If that doesn’t result in you turning to the pages of Car & Classic in search of some Swedish wedge, nothing will.
Things got even better in 1988 when Volvo added a turbocharger to the mix. A blown version had been promised from the outset, with Porsche called in for help with its development. It increased the output to 120hp, giving it the performance to match the chassis.
In 1993, a hugely improved 110hp 2.0-litre version was introduced, although this was never treated to a turbocharger. Volvo even toyed with the idea of convertible and Targa versions, but these never progressed beyond the concept stage. Shame.
So unlike a Volvo
Production of the 480 ended in 1995, by which time 76,375 cars had rolled out of the Dutch factory. With 22,000 sold over here, the UK was its biggest market, accounting for nearly 30 per cent of all sales.
Unfortunately, neglect and general apathy towards the 480 during its banger years mean that Volvo’s oddball is living on borrowed time. Although the How Many Left website isn’t entirely accurate, there are thought to be fewer than 200 still on the road, with a more substantial number listed as SORN, presumably in varying states of decay.
Buying a cheap one is fraught with risk. Build quality was patchy when new, so up to three decades of use will have only made things worse. And while servicing parts are easy to source, others are either obsolete or hideously expensive. Better to spend a little extra on a good example, ideally one owned by a Volvo Owners Club or Volvo 480 Club Europe member.
More than just a turning point in Volvo’s history, the 480 is a quirky classic, with styling that seems to get better with the passing of time. Until its arrival, all Volvos built since 1927 had been rear-wheel drive, while all vehicles manufactured from 1998 have been front- or four-wheel drive.
To borrow a line of copy from a press advert for the 480 Turbo, not since the 1800ES had there been a Volvo so unlike a Volvo. Unfortunately, there’s unlikely to be anything quite like it ever again.
Woolly jumpers, thick-rimmed glasses and antique chests of drawers. Until recently, these are all things that probably sprung to mind when you thought of Volvo.
The Swedish carmaker has done a commendable job of shaking off that image in recent years, though. Its current lineup is one of the strongest in the industry, and certainly up to the job of challenging German competitors. A focus on SUVs also makes its range very much on-trend.
However, Volvo hasn’t always made cars for the family man. At the 1960 Brussels Motor Show, the Italian-inspired P1800 was revealed. Intended to increase traffic to Volvo showrooms, the Amazon-based sports car was designed by Pelle Petterson, the son of Volvo engineering consultant Helmer Petterson.
The story goes that four design proposals were ordered from Italy, while Petterson also snuck in a design by his son: a student at the Petro Frua design house. A board unanimously agreed that Petterson’s proposal was the best, despite being penned by a 25-year-old local from Gothenburg. For more than 50 years, though, the firm would insist the P1800 was an Italian design.
Video: driving the Volvo P1800
The P1800 nearly didn’t see the light of day, as Volvo didn’t have the production capacity to produce an entirely new model – even in small numbers. Fortunately, two British firms were able to help out: Pressed Steel would build the bodies, while Jensen Motors painted and assembled the cars. This arrangement lasted until 1963, when quality control problems at Jensen led to production being moved to Volvo’s Lundby plant in Gothenburg.
This car, registered ‘480 MTT’, is a UK model built in 1962. Restored by the Volvo Enthusiasts Club at the National Classic Car Show in 1994, it was subsequently bought by Volvo Car UK and used for various marketing activities. It even appeared in an advert for the Volvo 480 (now a classic car in its own right).
Twenty-odd years of neglect led to it needing some TLC, which in turn led to another full-blown restoration. Volvo-approved bodyshop MR King and Sons completed the work, which included reworking of panels to rid the car of any filler. No new panels were needed, though, and the car isn’t in concours condition. Volvo wants it to be used, and retain some of the patina gained throughout its life.
Volvo P1800: What’s it like to drive?
Before I can drive the P1800, it needs pushing out of the reception of Volvo UK’s Maidenhead HQ. And before that can happen, people need to be cleared. In a company of car enthusiasts, barely a soul walks past without stopping to ask questions or take a peek beneath the bonnet.
Incidentally, under said bonnet is a 1.8-litre four-cylinder twin-carb petrol engine (fuel injection followed in 1969). As with all carbureted engines, it runs a bit rough on start-up and its exhaust emissions aren’t exactly office-friendly – hence having to push it out of the building.
Once out in the open and up to temperature, the 100hp engine runs smoothly and I can fully enjoy the magnificence of the P1800’s interior. It appeared in our coolest car dashboards feature – and justifiably so. The dash-mounted rear-view mirror is a personal highlight, as are the two-spoke wheel, needle-thin indicator stalks and cool dials, which were criticised at the time for being too gimmicky.
Oh, and there’s the ultra-clever – and ultra-simple – belt buckle. Volvo invented the three-point seatbelt, in case you didn’t know.
It takes a little time to adjust to the 60-year-old car, but I’ve soon got my head around the rudimentary controls. Finding gears is easy, although reverse takes a little searching for, and there’s an overdrive to help progress. By today’s standards, the P1800 is not fast, but maintaining 60mph on rural roads close to Maidenhead is no mean feat for a car as old as this.
While Roger Moore famously drove a P1800 in The Saint, I resist the temptation to ‘do a Simon Templar’ and punt the P1800 sideways in pursuit of baddies. Despite being rear-wheel-drive and free of electronic driver aids, it feels rather ‘Volvo’ on the road. By that, I mean it’s a car to waft around in, rather than chuck about in a sporty manner.
Still, who cares when you look as good as this? While we’re taking some photos in a rural car park, a guy in an E30-shape BMW 3 Series pulls up and asks if he can buy it. It gets a positive reaction everywhere.
Volvo P1800: Tell me about buying one
You may have to put some groundwork into searching for the right P1800, but there is a varied selection in the classifieds. Deciding what you want is the first step. A British-built P1800, as featured here and perhaps the most sought-after model, or a Swedish-built P1800S?
The P1800E came along with fuel injection in 1970, while the stunning P1800ES shooting brake estate was launched in 1972.
Fuel injection has its benefits, and we prefer the look of the ES, but early P1800s are the most desirable among enthusiasts. In truth, you’re better off buying on condition than getting too hung up about a particular model.
Rust is the P1800’s most troubling issue. The Volvo Enthusiasts’ Club offers a spares service that will help you find replacement or repair panels, but some are expensive and they’re not all available. Inspect any part thoroughly, and be on the lookout for dodgy repairs and filler.
If you find one that’s cosmetically sound, there’s little else to worry about. Mechanically, the P1800 is extremely robust, but do check that a genuine Volvo oil filter is fitted. Also, keep your eyes peeled for smoke on start-up, and be make sure the clutch bites cleanly without any juddering.
Volvo P1800: Verdict
Volvo is on form right now, yet the P1800 of 60 years ago remains one of its coolest cars ever. I’d be happy to have one on my driveway just to look at, never mind to drive.
If you’re after on-the-limit thrills, you’re probably won’t get them from the P1800. But you will get a great deal of pleasure from simply driving it around gently, being waved at by other motorists and attracting attention wherever you go. Volvo UK’s example is simply stunning – not perfect, but all the better for that.
Finding a good P1800 is tricky, but certainly not impossible. Buy the best you can afford – they’re not that expensive in classic car terms – and don’t underestimate the work involved in remedying rust.
Its name was the cleverest thing about it. Or it would have been, had the Rover brand not been so stained by years of messy history.
The next best thing about this new supermini was the classy array of chrome ‘C I T Y R O V E R’ characters across its tailgate. It seemed like one of the few positives in this tale of the last whimperings of MG Rover.
In the broadest sense, acquiring the rights to sell this Italian-designed supermini might have seemed a good idea for a company struggling to survive. MG Rover had not launched an entirely new model since the ludicrous De Tomaso-based MG XPower SV.
A new supermini – even an old new supermini – was a model that might sell at a decent rate and make a profit, so cheaply could it be landed at a dock ready for UK sale.
Dock? Yes, the CityRover was not made at MG Rover’s Longbridge plant, but in India. It was built by Tata Motors, which today owns Jaguar Land Rover.
The Tata Rover
The CityRover was a lightly modified version of the Tata Indica, the Indian company’s first car. The Indica was capably designed for Tata by Italy’s IDEA, whose previous credits included many Fiat-affiliated cars from the early 1990s, including the Fiat Tipo and Tempra, the Alfa Romeo 155 and the Lancia Delta, as well as the Nissan Terrano and Ford Maverick siblings.
The Indica was engineered to be very affordable, was powered by a modified 1.4-litre Peugeot engine of more-than-average grunt, and had an interior spacious enough to carry inadvisably large numbers of passengers – as was highly likely in its home country of India.
It debuted in 1998 and sold very strongly until customers uncovered its patchy quality. Recalls and a reworked version recovered the Indica’s reputation sufficiently to restore its best-selling status. It was this modified version, known as the Indica V2, that became the basis for the MG Rover.
Not good enough for MG Rover
When MG Rover’s engineers got hold of an example for evaluation, their improvements list was long. It included the need to improve a gearchange that moved like a blunt carving knife through gristle, the high-riding suspension and an interior finish barely worthy of a van.
But management largely ignored their suggestions, allowing only light modifications to the suspension, which was lowered by 20mm and used stiffer spring rates, these changes complemented by a quicker steering rack and larger wheels.
The engine was cleaned up to meet mandatory emissions requirements and one of its mountings was reworked to reduce vibration into the cabin, while the transmission’s final drive ratio was altered to compensate for the larger wheels.
New front and rear bumpers, the application of the nastily-cheapened Rover Viking badge and the devising of Sprite, Solo, Select and Style trim packages completed the budget makeover, except for the issue of price. This clearly needed to be low, despite the roomy interior, inoffensive styling and surprisingly peppy performance, with 84bhp pushing 1,040kg of Tata steel along quite effectively.
Nonetheless, this car was already a five-year-old design, no effort had been made to lift its interior and its gearchange continued to provide pesky manipulation battles for your left hand.
The £900 new Rover?
There were rumours that the unit cost of a CityRover was somewhere in the region of £900-£2,000. Even £2,000 sounds on the low side, but there seems little doubt the cost to MG Rover was easily low enough to allow it to make a decent profit – and return to a market that it had deserted when the long-running Rover Metro was killed off.
But the Longbridge management seemed to be in the grip of the kind of reality-loss that had so far produced the unsaleable MG XPower SV, the rear-driven MG ZT V8 and a two-season assault on Le Mans.
So, at its September 2003 launch, the basic CityRover Solo was priced at least £1,000 too high, at £6,495. As for the £8,895 asked for the top-of-the-range Style, it was laughable against a mid-range Volkswagen Polo.
Self-sabotage and James May
The self-inflicted sabotage didn’t end there, MG Rover proceeded to launch the CityRover by stealth. There was no significant advertising, no proper press launch and fatally, it denied Top Gear a test car.
Instead, presenter James May got plenty of laughs by testing a dealer demonstrator using subterfuge and a hidden camera. It was, he reckoned, the worst car he had ever driven while working for the programme.
Despite all this, other sections of the press gave it middling-to-positive reviews. They liked its space, pace and paint finish, but the gearchange, the cabin plastics and the mean equipment levels knocked it back.
So did the arrival of the new Fiat Panda, a neat small supermini good enough to collect a Car of the Year award.
40,000 sales a year, they thought…
With all this against it, together with MG Rover’s wavering enthusiasm, the forecast sales of 30,000-40,000 units a year looked about as likely as BMW deciding to buy MG Rover back.
Even some quick sums on a smartphone calculator indicate profits of at least £50 million a year on these numbers, making MG Rover’s reticence seem weirder still.
Sales accelerated like a New Year’s day road-sweeper, the inevitable price cut arriving soon, along with plans for a mildly revised model in 2005.
A facelift that never was
But 2005 was the fateful year that MG Rover went under, although not before a boat-load of 1,200 revised CityRovers had set sail for Britain.
These orphaned cars got no launch at all, being disposed of by receivers PriceWaterhouseCoopers, which is why you can find examples registered as late as 2007. Around 8,600 CityRovers were eventually sold, with less than 200 still taxed today.
The CityRover shambles produced a sad book-end to the small-car history of the company that had brought us the 1959 Mini, and still more dismal for the bizarre way in which the project was handled.
The Favorit was the beginning and the end for Skoda. Launched in 1987, it was the Czech firm’s first front-wheel-drive car, but the last before it was swallowed by the huge Volkswagen Group empire.
As the last of the old Skodas, the Favorit shows how far the company had come since being established in 1895. We took a factory-fresh 1992 example on a tour of some wet Oxfordshire roads for our Retro Road Test, to see how it stacks up today.
What are its rivals?
Back in 1992, Skoda was still the subject of some ill-informed jokes. It was one of a small number of cheap cars imported from eastern Europe and could count the Lada Samara and Yugo Sana as two of its direct rivals. It was slightly smaller than a Ford Escort, but its low price (£5,000 at launch) meant it could be bought for the same price as a top-spec Ford Fiesta.
Sadly for Skoda, disputes between the communist government of Czechoslovakia and the car’s designer, Nuccio Bertone, meant the Favorit was delayed. The project was approved in 1982, but development didn’t start until 1985. The Favorit was then launched in 1987, arriving in the UK two years later.
What engine does it use?
The Skoda Favorit was powered by a 1.3-litre engine, derived from the 1.0 engine used in the Skoda 1000MB. British firm Ricardo Consulting redesigned the combustion chambers, while Porsche engineered the engine mountings. Interestingly, the Stuttgart firm also helped with the Favorit’s front suspension. With Czech, British, German and Italian input, the Favorit was a European car in more ways than one.
The 1,289cc engine was developed throughout the Favorit’s 18-year production run, with a catalytic convertor and later fuel injection having an impact on the car’s power output. As tested here, the Favorit offers a modest 56hp at 5,000rpm.
What’s it like to drive?
The Favorit was parked at the crossroads of 120 years of Skoda history. It lacks the character and charm of the rear-engined Skodas of old, but it represented the dawn of a new front-wheel-drive future. As a result, it is wonderfully predictable and perfectly adequate. It’s a very easy car to drive, with a decent five-speed gearbox (a big selling point at the time) and terrific all-round visibility.
Performance could best be described as ‘leisurely’ and the Favorit can feel strained if you push it too hard. We could bemoan the lack of a rev counter (you’ll find a huge clock in its place), but the engine soon tells you when it’s time to change up.
The steering is slow and there’s a huge dollop of understeer if you enter a corner with too much enthusiasm. Slow and steady wins the race when it comes to the Skoda Favorit.
Reliability and running costs
The combination of a five-speed gearbox and a meagre kerb weight of 840kg mean very respectable average fuel economy of 54.3mpg. Classic car insurance should keep running costs to a minimum, too.
Bear in mind that few Favorits will be as tidy and well-maintained as this 2,500-mile example from Skoda UK’s heritage fleet. Many will have been used as basic A-to-B transport, meaning services will have been skipped and cheap parts may have been used. Prices are cheap enough to warrant waiting for a good Favorit, though.
Could I drive it every day?
There’s no reason why you couldn’t drive a Skoda Favorit every day. After all, people were still buying these things new in 1995. But given the relative scarcity of the Favorit, it would be a shame to subject it to the rigours of modern motoring. If nothing else, the winter salt could bring a premature end to an otherwise tidy example.
It’s also worth remembering that the Skoda was a cheap car in its day, so you’re unlikely to feel cosseted by the Favorit’s cabin. It’s a sea of cheap plastics that, even in this low-mileage car, is beginning to shake and rattle. It’s also worth noting that safety wasn’t one of the Favorit’s strong points.
How much should I pay?
Prices are still measured in hundreds, rather than thousands, but you will pay substantially more for a boxfresh example such as this. Expect to pay no more than £1,500 for a tidy Favorit with a fresh MOT.
It’s also worth hunting down a Skoda Favorit estate, known in some markets as the Forman, which offers acres of space for a bargain price.
What should I look out for?
Rust will be an issue, so inspect the car for signs of rot. Its interior isn’t particularly hard-wearing, so you may need to live with some broken trim and scratched plastics. Also look out for smoky engines and signs that it hasn’t been serviced for a while.
Sure, the Favorit stems from a time before Volkswagen played a part in the engineering of Skoda products, but this feels like a properly sorted car. Driving one today, you get the sense that age-old Skoda jokes were well past their sell-by date. The Czechs had every right to feel proud of their little Favorit.
Should I buy one?
If you’re after a pre-Volkswagen Skoda you can use everyday, this is arguably your only option. It’s easy to drive, cheap to buy and potentially hassle-free to own. It’s a highly likeable car with distinctive Bertone styling and loads of interior space. You’ll also find plenty of on-board storage bins and pockets, including a sizeable and very deep glovebox.
Skoda purists will, with good reason, flock to the likes of the rear-engined Estelle, Rapid and 110R, but for a retro cool car that may turn a few heads, the Favorit is hard to ignore.
Pub Fact
When the Favorit first arrived in the UK, Skoda owned the UK importers based in King’s Lynn. This company would, depending on the car’s spec, fit a Philips car stereo, rear wash-wipe, sunroof and mud flaps. They would also supply alloy wheels to Czechoslovakia.
As a bonus pub fact, in common with other Skoda models, the Favorit name harks back to a much older Skoda. The original Favorit was a luxury car built in the late 1930s.
Think of revolutionary, post-WW2 cars from Britain, and one small thought immediately comes to mind: the 1959 Mini. Twelve years before this country’s most famous car was launched, however, there was another quietly brilliant, rule-bending machine.
Like the Mini, that car would win silverware in the Monte Carlo rally. It would also demonstrate that fast cornering in a family car needn’t be a torrid affair. It was even the first British car to have a curved windscreen. Like the Mini, its design was largely the work of one man.
That car was the 1947 Javelin. Compared to most of the warmed-over, upright, separately mudguarded pre-war throwbacks that most British carmakers were building in the late 1940s, the Javelin was a peek into a brighter future. Its origin was as surprising as its streamlined silhouette, hailing from the Yorkshire-based Jowett company.
Born in Bradford
This was relatively small outfit compared to the dominant Austin, Morris, Hillman, Ford and Vauxhall of the day. Its pre-Javelin range mostly centred around a tough 1.0-litre twin-cylinder engine that the founding Jowett brothers had developed in 1910. This motor was usually found propelling vans and utilitarian family cars, which would have complemented homes with no bath and an outside toilet.
The vehicle Jowett was most dependent on for its business was the Bradford van, a 1946 rework of a 1932 design that nevertheless found 38,000 buyers. Many of them were overseas and, presumably, given its 55mph top speed, most of them had time on their hands. The Javelin, however, was capable of a far headier 80mph: eye-widening pace for a late-1940s family car. And it had the looks to go with it.
Still, what made the Javelin especially special was more than its clean, fastback shape. Its creators were well ahead of their time for conceiving it as a world car: suitable not only for the UK, but also Europe, North America and Africa. Designer Gerald Palmer was better qualified than many for the task, having grown up in southern Africa. His dirt road experience determined several Javelin fundamentals, among them eight inches of ground clearance and the unusually strong chassis that was partly responsible for its fine handling.
Like Mini designer Alec Issigonis, Palmer was a lot more than a stylist, his considerable engineering skills enabling him to design the entire car, engine included. Apart from aiming for the robust, he also wanted a sleek body with plenty of passenger space. The Jowett’s aerodynamic properties were part-guesswork, the car never seeing the inside of a wind tunnel, but there was a widely held view at the time that, ultimately, cars would resemble the teardrop shape of a fish.
In many ways that was right, Palmer’s attempts leading to a sloping tail, fared-in rear wheels and the absence of running boards. The curved windscreen would have helped as well, glass maker Triplex offering Jowett the chance to be first in the UK with this feature.
The roomy cabin – a front bench seat allowed room for six – was achieved by mounting the Javelin’s 1.5-litre engine well forward. It was a bit more compact than a conventional in-line four-cylinder engine because of its Subaru-style ‘boxer’ layout, yielding a shorter block.
Race and rally success
Flat-fours were not new to Jowett. The company had sold some before WW2, the layout being a logical development of the company’s flat-twin. But this engine was all-new, and the work of Palmer.
He also designed the car’s space-efficient, all-independent torsion bar suspension (most other rear-wheel-drive cars still had a live axle suspended by cart springs). The result was a ride that kept a Javelin man’s tobacco in his pipe, and roadholding grippy enough to get auntie Gertie all in a fluster.
All of this contributed to the car’s slightly unexpected class win in the 1949 Monte Carlo rally, in which Palmer was a co-driver. This success was followed by a still more impressive class win in the Spa 24 Hours, the Javelin soon gaining a name as a car for the sporting chap.
They think it’s all over
It also gained plenty of press accolades, with The Motor concluding the Javelin had ‘a combination of qualities rendering the car unrivalled in its field’. Jowett’s gamble on a new car, a new engine and advanced new factory equipment to build it looked like it was paying off. And having finished this design, Palmer was head-hunted by the Nuffield Organisation to design new models for Morris, Wolseley, Riley and MG.
Sadly, he left behind a company whose success would turn to failure. In an effort to save money, Jowett designed its own transmission to replace the bought-in unit, but the ‘box was not up to the job. Of the first 1,000 cars fitted with it, 78 suffered failures, with early cars also prone to overheating and fracturing crankshafts.
Jowett ultimately upgraded the engine into quite a tough performer, but by then the Javelin’s poor reputation, and a shrinking UK market, saw the sales graph plunge.
The Javelin’s body supplier had also been bought by Ford, which continued to honour the contract to the point that Jowett ended up having to store bodies around Bradford, the football ground included, because sales were so slow. Body supply was temporarily halted in 1952 and was never restarted, as Jowett ceased trading in 1954.
The company had over-reached itself, introducing too many new components and systems, then failing to test them adequately. Had the Javelin been more reliable, it could have propelled Jowett to new heights. As it was, only 22,700 were built – less than the geriatric Bradford van.
The British car industry has many stories of brave failure, just as American, German, French, Italian and Japanese car manufacturers do.
What made the Javelin different, though, apart from its striking looks, was the quality of thinking that went into its design. It’s a real shame the same effort wasn’t invested in making it reliable.
Say ‘camper van’, and most people’s thoughts turn to the iconic Volkswagen Type 2 Transporter. Built from 1951 – and so designated because the VW Beetle was ‘Type 1’ – the soft-cornered van was the brainchild of Dutch Volkswagen importer, Ben Pon. He saw the potential in a small commercial vehicle that shared a similar mechanical make-up to the bug-shaped passenger car. Now affectionately referred to as the ‘Splitty’ due to its split windscreen, this practical VW proved extremely popular.
Available in a bewildering range of variants, the first-generation ‘T1’ Type 2 was replaced in late 1967 by a facelifted version, the Type 2 ‘Bay Window’, so-called because of its one-piece panoramic windscreen. While the overall style hadn’t changed, the front end was more modern than that of the T1. It was produced in Europe for 12 years before the angular, third-generation ‘T3/T25’ arrived in 1979.
Official or third-party campervan conversions have been part of the Volkswagen Transporter range since 1951, with exotic-sounding names such as Moonraker, Sunlander and Sundowner. The last Type 2s were manufactured in Brazil during 2013. We’re driving the late ‘Bay Window’ Type 2 owned by Happy Campers, a Volkswagen camper van rental company based in Essex.
What are its rivals?
Perhaps most obviously in the UK, the Ford Transit provided homegrown competition for the light commercial VW during the 1960s, with Dormobile conversions of both the Transit and Bedford CA van going bumper-to-bumper with their new German rival in the camper van marketplace. Nowadays, while a brand new Volkswagen California might offer all the glamping luxuries its £60,000+ price affords, a Type 2 offers retro chic, if not much warmth on a dark winter night.
For that true camping experience, you could always opt for one of Volkswagen’s Type 2-shaped tents, which are similar in size to the actual van. Or, for the price of a good-condition Bay Window Type 2, a whole heap of nights in a warm Travelodge or even a weekend in the Royal Two Bedroom Suite during high season at the Burj Al Arab Jumeirah hotel in Dubai.
What engine does it use?
Four main engines powered the Bay Window Type 2 and, as with the Beetle and other contemporary Volkswagens, a programme of steady improvements saw worthwhile changes throughout the Type 2’s life. Early Type 2s used the Beetle’s 1600cc ‘upright’ four-cylinder air-cooled unit.
Updates in 1972 saw the twin-carburettor 66hp 1.7-litre flat-four ‘pancake’ engine – so-called because it lays flat rather than upright in the engine bay – fitted into the van, while a year later, a 68bhp 1.8-litre unit became an option. Finally, a 70bhp 2.0-litre version of the same Type 4 saloon engine was made available.
Should you come across a Type ‘2c’ Brazilian or Mexican model built from 1995 to 2013, these were fitted with modern water-cooled Volkswagen engines, including a 1.4-litre unit from the Polo that can run on petrol or ethanol.
What’s it like to drive?
If you’ve any ideas about camper vans and speed, best abandon them here. The 1974 Westfalia-converted van in our pictures is powered by the 1.6-litre 50hp flat-four – and this small output engine combined with a 1,300-1,500kg kerb weight do not make for performance bedfellows. Don’t bank on going over 50mph either: just accept the bumbling nature of the Type 2 and you’ll be fine. Oh, and be prepared to pull over to let traffic pass you. Regularly.
Grip the skinny steering wheel – bus-like, unsurprisingly – and revel in the upright driving position. Once you’re on the move, be slow with the wand-like gearstick. It’s not the most positive of shifts, although with only four speeds, at least there are only a small number to master. The brakes are what you might expect of a vehicle largely based on the Beetle: they do stop you, but you have to think ahead. At least the off-beat throb of the air-cooled engine is a satisfying and archetypal soundtrack.
Depending on the conversion, visibility is either good or bad. Classed as one of the best and prestigious Type 2 camper conversions, the Westfalia comes with a range of neatly installed cupboards and furniture. However, while they make it hugely practical, they restrict your rearward vision somewhat. Other conversions feature storage units below window height, making parking much easier.
Reliability and running costs
With most versions of the Bay Window Type 2 campervan being over 40 years old, reliability can be an issue. Batteries can drain if left standing for long periods of time, while the engine isn’t the easiest of units to get to, being effectively stuck in a fairly tight box under the back window.
On the plus side, the age of the Type 2 makes it relatively simple, and shared commonality with other Volkswagen models results in plenty of spare parts available from places like Just Kampers and VW Heritage. In regular use, expect fuel economy to top out at around 25 miles per gallon. A reconditioned air-cooled engine costs from £2,100.
Could I drive it every day?
The original Type 2’s leisurely pace and old-feeling controls really limit it to country roads rather than fast-flowing motorways. But don’t get too carried away on those leafy lanes – it doesn’t really handle as such, just charmingly lollops from corner to corner.
The boxy shape means it is very practical, though, and you can pack in everything a family would need for a weekend away. As well as the numerous storage units, sink, hob and fridge, there’s also a ‘rock ’n’ roll’ fold-down bed, and, on this particular Westfalia, an elevating roof with additional sleeping space for two. Perfect for adventurous kids.
How much should I pay?
The popularity and increasing rarity of the earlier split-screen Type 2s has inflated prices to £50,000 or more. Therefore, the Bay Window Type 2 is a much more affordable buying option. We’ve seen a project van go for around £2,500, while good, presentable vehicles are advertised at £8,000 upwards.
Absolute top condition Type 2 ‘Bays’ can also stretch to £50,000, but many are less than half that amount If you fancy something a little more usable, but still with 1970s style, water-cooled South American-import Type ‘2c’ campers can start from around £30,000.
What should I look out for?
Bay Window Type 2 campervans fall into three models: Type ‘2a’ curved bumper models were built before 1972, while the Type ‘2b’ vans that followed are distinguished by their flat and square box-type bumpers. Type ‘2c’ vehicles are the later and pricier South American-built van with more modern, often water-cooled engines. If you’re considering going down the VW camper route, the most important thing to look out for is rust.
The bottom six inches of the van needs particular attention, especially around the wheelarches, chassis box sections and sills. Higher up, roof gutters can also be susceptible to the tin worm, as can the areas behind the front seats inside the van. Also look for perishing seals and non-rippled panels on those slabby sides.
Mechanically, oil leaks around the gearbox flange usually mean the engine has to be removed to fix a worn rear crankshaft seal, while bearings in the gearboxes themselves are known to whine. Also, move the crankshaft pulley forwards and backwards to gauge movement – if it seems loose with plenty play, there is probably internal bearing wear and the engine will need rebuilding. Check the steering for play, too.
Heaters and controls that appear to not work can mean new heat exchangers, and you may need to wrap up warm, as some T2 campers have no or little heating at all. The standard system is renowned for its inefficiency, as the warm air from the engine has to find its way to the front of the van. Aftermarket auxiliary petrol heaters can be fitted, and these will need to be checked for operation. A petrol smell points to worn-out rubber pipes, while fuel tanks can also rust through.
Also, look out for a 12V model as opposed to a 6V van, as the more powerful electrical system is more reliable, as well as obviously being more comfortable and useful. On the subject of electrics, try to ascertain whether all the necessary and desirable camping ancillaries, such as the fridge, are working, and check the state of the leisure battery (a secondary battery to power all the interior appliances and/or auxiliary heating systems).
If a pop-top or elevating roof is fitted, check the canvas isn’t torn or full of mould, and that it works properly and has all the necessary fly screens to keep the great outdoors outside.
Should I buy one?
We wouldn’t call the Volkswagen Type 2 campervan a starter classic, as there is a lot to look out for. However, as a practical and characterful drive, then yes, there is plenty to recommend it. Most love the looks alone, and the fact that Volkswagen made the Type 2 almost indestructible means that most will last for years if looked after and given a little bit of TLC now and then. Devon, Dormobile, Holdsworth and Westfalia are but four conversions, the latter being the most coveted in T2 campervan circles due to its nicely finished and practical built-in cupboards and fittings.
The rarer Viking has the crowning glory of all the elevating roof campervans, though, with the largest room up top. Up to six people can sleep in a Viking, as opposed to four in a Westfalia. Much more comfortable than a tent, with a Type 2 you really can take everything, including the kitchen sink. And as with most other cult classics, an enthusiastic club scene of Type 2 owners will be both helpful and social in equal measure.
Pub fact
In the early 1970s, Volkswagen started to experiment with electric vehicles. The T2 Elektro was powered by a 23hp continuous output electric motor. With a peak output of 45hp, projected range was 50 miles. Astonishingly, around 150 were built.
Inside, an 850kg bank of lead-acid batteries was sandwiched between the cargo floor and the chassis, in the middle of the front and rear axles. The van had a kerb weight of approximately 3,075kg and whirred onto a top speed of 46 mph – such concerns as 0-60mph times don’t apply here.
Planned for use in urban areas, the T2 Elektro featured modern-day electric car technology, such as regenerative braking and a single-speed direct drive transmission. Prototype hybrid and even gas turbine variants of the T2 also tested new Volkswagen technology.
The Mazda MX-5 is the go-to option for anyone looking for a reliable, two-seat sports car on a budget. And while the MX-5 is brilliant – all four generations of it – it’s also a little obvious. So, what are the alternatives?
There’s the Toyota MR2, perhaps. But tidy Mk1 and Mk2 versions are getting hard to find, and the engine in the Mk3 lacks a little sparkle. Moving things up a step, you’ve got the likes of the Porsche Boxster, but anyone who buys a ‘cheap’ Boxster is braver than me.
Fortunately, there’s another contender from Japan. The Honda S2000 was launched in 1999, with a frenetic engine, enough practicality for a weekend away and agreeable styling. Sales came to an end after 10 years with the GT Edition 100 special edition, which boasted Grand Prix White paint, special graphite alloys, red leather and a unique serial number badge. That’s the car we’re testing here.
How does the Honda S2000 drive?
In some ways, it seems daft to compare the S2000 with the MX-5. It develops 240hp and will hit 62mph in 6.2 seconds. But, in the first instance, it doesn’t feel any more spectacular than an MX-5. The interior is fine, if lacking a touch of sparkle, and the engine remains reserved below around 6,000rpm. Yes, you read that right.
You have to adapt your driving style in an S2000. Keeping your foot down beyond 6,000rpm feels a bit anti-social, but the VTEC engine, with its variable valve timing, only comes to life near its 9,000rpm limiter. And when you’re in its peak power zone, this is arguably one of the best engines ever fitted to a sports car. Not only does it sound incredible, it makes for a genuinely thrilling drive.
Keeping the S2000 on the boil is all part of the fun. The six-speed manual gearbox is a delight to use, and the car’s handling encourages you to maintain momentum through bends. Yes, there are stories of the S2000 being a bit twitchy, and that’s true for earlier models, but by 2009 Honda had tweaked its suspension, fitted better tyres and introduced stability control in a bid to iron out unexpected oversteer.
It’s still not quite as agile or confidence-inspiring as an MX-5, but an airfield day will soon help you get to grips with the sideways tendencies of the S2000.
Tell me about buying one
Cosmetically, later models look very similar to the early cars, so you might question the logic in spending £25,000 on one of the very last, compared to £10,000 for a cheap one. Honda constantly tweaked the S2000 throughout its lifetime, however, so it’s best to buy the latest model you can afford.
The biggest facelift came in 2004, with revised user-friendly suspension, added bracing and slower steering to reduce the S2000’s edginess. Stability and traction control were offered as options from 2006, while post-2008 cars came with the traction aids as standard. None of these features take away from the appeal of the Honda as a true driver’s car, though.
The S2000 is now a fully-paid-up modern classic. A good example could prove to be an investment, so don’t skimp on the maintenance budget. We reckon around £15,000 will buy you a traction control-equipped car with a respectable mileage from a dealer.
Be aware that all S2000s burn a lot of oil. This isn’t something to worry about, but if it’s been allowed to run low, it could prove to be an issue. Check the oil level before starting the engine and, if it’s a private sale, question the seller on how often it’s topped up.
The suspension could be prove to be a pricier problem – listen out for clonks and knocks on the test drive, especially from cars with higher mileages. Cosmetically, rust isn’t a huge issue, although it’s worth having a poke around underneath, as Honda’s scrimped on the underseal when the S2000 was new. Other than that, looks out for signs of general abuse and negotiate over issues like kerbed wheels and stone chips, as well as worn leather seats.
Honda S2000: Verdict
Not everyone will be a fan of the S2000. One specialist dealer told us that many people walk away after a test drive, as a few minutes with a salesman sat alongside you doesn’t show the S2000 in its best light. If you’re looking for a car to be seen in, the S2000 isn’t great either; it lacks the badge kudos of the BMW Z4, Mercedes-Benz SLK or Porsche Boxster, and the interior isn’t up to German standards.
There is a small band of people the S2000 will appeal to, however. If you don’t mind working a car hard to get the best from it, and want something more rewarding than an MX-5 and more usable than a Lotus Elise, the Honda S2000 could make for an excellent buy.
Values are on the rise, as even the newest cars are now more than a decade old, and it’s earned itself quite a following. Be sure to buy a good one, though, as a ropey S2000 will never be worth the money you’d have to spend in maintenance.
It was a beautiful car then, and it’s a beautiful car now. But beneath its shapely skin lurked the germ of its maker’s destruction, as well as technology that plenty of carmakers would fruitlessly spend millions on.
NSU, which made the 1967 Ro80 saloon (voted Car of the Year soon after launch), was better known for its affordable motorbikes. Only 20 years earlier, it had become the world’s biggest maker of motorcycles and mopeds, including a device named the Quickly – this moped providing its rider with ample time to ponder its cruel choice of name. Despite this, more than a million were sold between 1953 and 1963.
NSU started life in 1873 as a sewing machine maker, had completely switched to bicycles 20 years later and produced its first motorbike in 1901. The first NSU car was built in 1905. But the company struggled with four wheels, and in 1932 it was forced by its bank to sell its new car plant, which was bought by Fiat.
Fit for a Prinz
Its automotive ambitions resurfaced in 1957 with the Prinz, a small, rear-engined, twin-cylinder saloon that was noisy if well-made. Ultimately, it did little to threaten the near-total domination enjoyed by the larger Volkswagen Beetle.
The Prinz (pictured above) evolved into a decent enough device that came to resemble our own Hillman Imp, the styling of both heavily influenced by Chevrolet’s rear-engined 1959 Chevrolet Corvair. During this evolution, NSU adventured down an interesting side-street with the 1958 Sport Prinz coupe, a shapely variation styled by Bertone.
This adventure became a whole lot more intriguing when the company launched the world’s first rotary-engined car: the NSU Spider. A convertible version of the Sport Prinz, it used an engine designed by consultant Dr Felix Wankel and NSU’s Walter Frode, the latter doing much to make Wankel’s idea workable.
‘Unbelievably smooth’ engine
The rotary engine ingeniously did away with the reciprocating engine’s pistons, conrods, camshaft and valves, replacing them all with a curve-sided triangle that rotated eccentrically within a near-oval, or trochoidal, void that provided the combustion chambers and valves.
It was a brilliantly clever design that eliminated the energy-wasting need to convert the reciprocating motion of pistons into the rotary motion of the crankshaft.
The result was an engine that was far more compact, lighter, had fewer moving parts and was unbelievably smooth compared to most of the wheezingly vibratory motors of the day. It also made the Spider quick in a way that few NSUs, two- or four-wheeled, had ever been. But not for long.
Disastrous rotary reliability
The forces and heat applied to the tips of that eccentrically rotating triangle were greater than their constituent materials could stand, and premature wear drained the Wankel engine’s energy away. Replacing these so-called apex seals cost NSU dear, even though it made only 2,375 Spiders over three years from 1964.
Despite this, the emergence of the Prinz Spider rushed many manufacturers into buying technology licences from NSU, believing that rotaries were the future.
Among them was Citroen, which formed a partnership with NSU, and General Motors, which produced a beautiful rotary Corvette concept car but ultimately no production machines.
Citroen field-tested two batches of rotaries, while Mazda got much further. Its 1967 Cosmo triggered a Wankel-engined production run that did not stop until the demise of the RX-8. And it may yet restart.
But no other maker took up the option to make the engine, denying NSU the anticipated royalties that it would soon badly need.
The Spider’s troubles, which it believed it could fix, didn’t deter the company from leaping ahead with its most audacious plan yet. And that was to produce a saloon to challenge Mercedes-Benz and a fast-growing BMW.
Enter the NSU R080
The Ro80 was designed by the highly talented Claus Luthe, who had previously created the Spider out of the Sport Prinz and would go on to have an impressive career at Audi and BMW.
The Ro80’s curved nose, wedge-shaped waist, clean-cut flanks, deep glasshouse and neatly truncated boot were almost as adventurous as Citroen’s DS had been 12 years earlier. Like the French car it was also very aerodynamic, recording a low-for-the-day Cd of 0.36.
It was beautifully detailed, too. Its headlights sat beneath shapely glass covers, its windows were elegantly bordered with polished stainless steel trim, its taillights were frameless lozenges and its indulgently sculpted alloy wheels looked worthy of a Porsche.
The innovation didn’t end there. Under the bonnet was a larger and more powerful twin-rotor 115hp engine that drove a three-speed semi-automatic transmission. Its H-pattern gearlever contained a microswitch operating an electrically-triggered clutch. So it was two-pedal car, but you chose when to shift the gears.
A brilliant driver’s car
The NSU was suspended by MacPherson struts at the front and semi-trailing arms at the rear, previewing a layout common today. It also had disc brakes on all four wheels, the front pair mounted inboard to reduce unsprung mass.
Despite the engine’s inherent lightness, power steering was standard, the aim being to reduce driver effort, as with the transmission.
Not that keen drivers didn’t like the Ro80. Its excellent weight distribution, well-planted wheels, sophisticated suspension and super-smooth engine produced a car that responded brilliantly to keen progress. The NSU’s pliant ride and general quiet made it a great long-distance machine as well.
The trouble was that many owners over-revved that eager rotary, accelerating the wear of its internal tips, the mix of metals used on the early cars causing further degeneration.
A badly abused engine could fail after just 15,000 miles, and even well-cared-for motors were dying at 30,000 miles, their worn rotor tips sabotaging the combustion process.
A tsunami of red ink
NSU behaved honourably over these failures, replacing hundreds of engines under warranty. Unsurprisingly, this washed a tsunami of red ink through its ledgers, and two years later the company was bought by Volkswagen, not because it wanted the Ro80, but because it was increasingly desperate to find a replacement for its Beetle.
NSU, it reckoned, had a good stopgap in its development shed with a new saloon that slotted between the Ro80 and the baby Prinz.
That car became the Volkswagen K70, but had nowhere near the visual appeal of the Ro80 and was priced too expensively to succeed. NSU itself was rolled into the clumsily named Audi NSU Auto Union AG subsidiary of VW, which would in time simply become Audi – killing NSU in the process.
The Ro80 didn’t die yet, however. NSU had managed to sort the rotary’s durability issues, and the car’s brilliant styling meant that it stayed perpetually fresh. VW allowed it to live on, but its early troubles and the fuel thirst of a tyre-smoking American muscle car slowed sales to the pace of a Prinz, especially after the energy crisis struck in 1973.
The legacy of the Ro80
Production of the Ro80 finally stopped in 1977, after 37,406 examples had been made: a modest number given its 10-year life.
But the impact of the Ro80, and NSU’s adventures with rotary engines, still has a resonance today. Look hard at an Audi A4, A6 or A8, and you can still see the elegant bones of the Ro80 in their proportions, from their six-light glasshouse to their smooth flanks and wide-planted wheels. So far-sighted was its design that it wouldn’t take much to update the Ro80 for today.
The rotary, meanwhile, is taking a rest, but Mazda says it is still developing the engine for a possible return.
The combination of a five-speed gearbox and a meagre kerb weight of 840kg mean very respectable average fuel economy of 54.3mpg. Classic car insurance should keep running costs to a minimum, too.
