Aaron65’s recent post on decaying Simcas produced a reverse CC effect in me, reminding me of a photograph I’d taken a couple of weeks back. I was driving along High Street in Thornbury and this sign loomed ahead, resplendent in its original glory. It must have been hidden behind a wall for a long time, my guess is that this was painted in the mid 1960s.

There’s not much out there about the history of these cars in Australia. They were CKD-built by Northern Star Engineering and Continental & General Distributors from 1956, and then by Chrysler in Adelaide after 1959. The five-door wagon shown above was unique to our market.

I’ve had this clipping for a while, but I can’t remember the date of the magazine’s issue.

The web of inter brought me this second-hand quote regarding the Oxenford conversion; “If the (Peugeot) 203 head was modified by Laurie Oxenford he possibly used the methods carried out on the popular Simca heads. His Stage One would be a basic cleaning of the ports mainly easing any sharp corners. Mods to the inlet valves and seats, three angle cuts.”

I don’t recall ever seeing a Simca on our roads. I have the vague recollection of seeing some 1000s in 1970s, but I might be confusing them with the Renault 8 & 10. Anyway, CC being CC means that there is a trove of articles on this brand, some of which are linked below.

Further Reading:

CC – Simca Aronde by Paul Niedermeyer

CC – Simca 1000 by Paul as well

CC – Simca 1301 by Roger Carr

Automotive History of the Simca Chambord in Brazil by Rubens

The Guardian reports that Google have been granted a patent for an adhesive applied to the front end of a vehicle as a safety measure in pedestrian collisions.

The patent description is quoted thusly;

“Ideally, the adhesive coating on the front portion of the vehicle may be activated on contact and will be able to adhere to the pedestrian nearly instantaneously.”

“This instantaneous or nearly-instantaneous action may help to constrain the movement of the pedestrian, who may be carried on the front end of the vehicle until the driver of the vehicle (or the vehicle itself in the case of an autonomous vehicle) reacts to the incident and applies the brakes.”

“As such, both the vehicle and pedestrian may come to a more gradual stop than if the pedestrian bounces off the vehicle.”

Frankly, I’m speechless.

Almost. I mean, Google have probably shown us the future of hood ornaments better than any Supermarionation television show ever could.

But I do wonder how hard it will be keeping the front end of these cars otherwise clean.

For some the Alpine A310 is an acquired taste, for others it is ‘jolie laide’ and for others again it’s just plain ugly. But when I first laid eyes on images of this car I was hooked. More recently I have been lucky enough to encounter one in the wild, and my opinion has only been affirmed.

This extended CC looks at the origins of the idiosyncratic Alpine shape and the enduring existence of the A310. And with it comes a story touched by tragedy and still steeped in mystery.

That Jean Rédélé’s career would be intertwined with Renault seemed somehow inevitable. His father Emile had served as a mechanic for the Renault brothers’ first ‘factory’ racing efforts, and was subsequently granted a dealership in the seaside town of Dieppe.

In 1922 Jean was the firstborn to Emile and his wife Madeleine Prieur. After completing studies in business and economics in 1946, Jean found himself at Renault on a work placement program where he distinguished himself with his strategic input, catching the eye of CEO Pierre Dreyfus. As a result, he was appointed Renault’s official dealer in Dieppe.

At 24, he was France’s youngest new car dealer.

Jean took up competitive driving in a rear-engined Renault 4CV. After outright victory in the 1950 Dieppe Rally, he again caught the eye of Renault who put him in a race-prepped ‘1063’ 4CV for the Monte Carlo Rally where he finished fourth in class. From that point he became one of France’s most accomplished and celebrated drivers in rally and endurance events.

In 1952, along with fellow driver/dealer Louis Pons, Rédélé prepared his cars with a five speed gearbox licenced from André-Georges Claude. Despite the misgivings of many, this gearbox was better able to exploit the range of the small four cylinder engine and help preserve its relatively delicate crankshaft.

Rédélé also came to the conclusion that a lighter, more streamlined body would be an advantage. He travelled to Italy and engaged the emerging stylist Giovanni Michelotti. The result of this endeavour was the aluminium-bodied, moustachioed ‘Renault Special’ built by coachbuilder Allemano. It would win the first three competitions it entered and was apparently soon sold off, no doubt at a nice profit given its auspicious provenance.

Towards the end of 1953, Michelotti and Allemano had delivered another little coupe to Rédélé. It was very similar to the first, although it had lost its moustache and had gained a cleaner shoulder-line and tighter greenhouse. But before it could race, a business opportunity arose for Rédélé.

Renault had been approached by industrialist Zark Reed who wanted to build fibreglass 4CV-based cars for the US market. Rédélé was sounded out directly with regards a coupe, and unable to finance a share in the project, he instead licenced the shape of the second Michelotti body. The contract required a master form and so this second car itself was sent to the US, almost immediately after Rédélé had taken delivery.

In 1954 Jean visited the US to discover for himself that the venture was a disaster. ‘Plasticar Inc.’ had been unable to get a handle on the fibreglass process and not one ‘Marquis’ coupe had been built. Due to the onerous shipping costs Rédélé’s beautiful little aluminium coupe would remain stateside.

On his return to France, Rédélé had a third coupe made which he was intending to race and hopeful of another production opportunity.

Meanwhile, Rédélé’s father-in-law – wealthy Parisian Renault dealer Charles Escoffier – had commissioned his own coupe based on the 4CV. This body was the work of French coachbuilders Chappe et Gessalin. Though not nearly as pretty as the Michelotti efforts, the carrosserie had successfully built their little coupe in fibreglass.

Under familial pressure, Rédélé gave up on his little Michelotti and instead joined Escoffier in a venture formalised as ‘Société des Automobiles Alpine’ on 6 July 1955.

The origins of the Alpine name came from Rédélé’s own competition experiences. In 1954, he had earned an Alpine Cup by finishing the Alpine Rally without penalty. As he later recounted; ‘I thoroughly enjoyed crossing the Alps in my Renault 4CV, and that gave me the idea of calling my future cars ‘Alpines’. It was important to me that my customers experienced that same driving pleasure at the wheel of the car I wanted to build.’

Two years earlier, Sunbeam had also named one of their cars ‘Alpine’, a complication that would confound the French company as it came to expand its market internationally.

A few days after the joint venture was signed, and just before the July 14 Independence Day celebrations, the first three examples of the Alpine A106 were presented in the courtyard of Renault’s Boulogne Billancourt headquarters, proudly rendered in the French tricouleurs. Pierre Dreyfus was most impressed with the display. The A106 would not only prove itself in competition, this new company would go on to produce 251 examples of the model.

By the mid-1950s, plans were afoot for a new Renault model to be known as the Dauphine. This car was to be larger than the 4CV, in engine and in body. It was also intended for a two-door model to complement the four-door saloon in the Renault lineup.

This might have been taken as a direct competitor to the Alpine, but what would emerge was ultimately a small boulevardier rather than a performance car. Jean Rédélé was asked to help Renault as they developed this little coupe/cabriolet.

Some in-house ideas had been prepared before Renault looked to the Italian carrozzerie for suggestions. Ghia was the strong favourite, and their first effort built by Frua (bottom left) would eventually become the Renault Floride – though not without its own complications.

Michelotti had also been asked to submit a proposal (bottom right), but it was rejected for a number of reasons including that the brief had been changed to a four-seater.

Despite the fact that the Michelotti car was not favoured, Rédélé rather sneakily ordered a two-seater cabriolet prototype from Michelotti/Allemano based on the coupe as the Renault project progressed.

Coincidently (or not), Chappe et Gessalin had prepared an ungainly cabriolet for Alpine around the same time which was shown to the public.

In 1957 Rédélé asked Michelotti for another coupe which was delivered in 1958, though it’s not clear whether this was intended as a Renault or Alpine proposal.

It would be Jean Rédélé’s last commission for Giovanni Michelotti.

Rédélé had been chafing at his lack of independence within Alpine, and with the cabriolet project he was finally able to get his own way on the matter. Instead of the Chappe et Gessalin proposal, the Michelotti Renault prototype somehow found itself announced as the next new model in the Alpine range.

Though these images are not in strict chronological order, we can see how the shape of the Alpine two-seater cars moved towards their most iconic iteration as the A106 and Dauphine-based A108 models overlapped. Early coupes were very similar to the first Michelotti Dauphine proposal. Quite soon, the shape received faired headlights as had been seen on the 1958 Michelotti coupe. A fast-back shape then became greenhouse of the body now known as the Berlinette.

Rédélé would later insist that Michelotti was not involved with this emerging Berlinette shape, and he was technically correct. The faired headlights and new greenhouse were the efforts of in-house staffers Phillippe Charles and Marcel Hubert, and the final touch of revising the rear end late in the A108’s life was the work of Serge Zuliani.

It is probably disingenuous, however, to deny Michelotti’s influence on these shapes.

The development of these models was under the aegis of Rédélé’s cousin, Roger Prieur (left). Prieur was a significant member of the Alpine team and would be responsible for the manufacture of the production cars, built in a factory on the Avenue Pasteur in Dieppe behind the dealership of his brother Jacques Prieur (centre).

It was Roger Prieur who devised the masterstroke configuration of Alpines to be used for the next 35 years. In 1960, the donor Renault platform of the A108 was replaced with a backbone frame (seen here on the A110 1300S).

Hans Ledwinka had conceived the backbone frame nearly fifty years prior and first used it in his 1921 Tatra T11. It allowed for greater resistance to torsional twist, and for half axles to better maintain contact with uneven ground – an added bonus for Alpine’s rally applications. Though Prieur’s use of the backbone differed in that the central tube did not carry a driveshaft, it predated Colin Chapman’s efforts with the Lotus Elan by at least two years.

If Alpine had edged slightly ahead of the fibreglass-bodied Lotus, it was still lagging behind the rear-engined Porsche. Rédélé always had one eye on the German marque and he would constantly use it as a benchmark for his own models. Alongside the performance capabilities of the four-cylinder Porsche was the fact that the most popular models in the range were four-seaters – an element that played into greater sales volumes.

In 1963 Porsche upped the ante, announcing a new six-cylinder engine wrapped in an attractive new body.

Alpine had its own four-seaters running parallel with the two-seater Berlinette and cabriolet. The A108 2+2 (top) and A110 GT4 were Chappe et Gessalin shapes. They were not great sellers – only 100 of the GT4 were produced – due in no small part to their lacking in aesthetic virtues. However they did broaden Alpine’s range and would come to be directly replaced by the A310.

The 1962-launched Alpine A110 Berlinette is deserving of its own comprehensive CC. Its distinctive silhouette was like no other, and it also excelled as a performance vehicle. In competition, this model would score countless wins and a multitude of national and international championship titles over its lengthy production life.

Whereas the previous Alpine models had sold in the hundreds, over 7,500 examples of the A110 would be produced. Rédélé’s global ambitions resulted in thousands of licence-built A110 models from Interlagos in Brazil, FASA in Spain, Dinalpin in Mexico as well as 50 examples of the Bulgaralpine produced in Bulgaria.

By 1957 Jean Rédélé had hung up his own helmet, but competition was a still crucial facet of the Alpine experience. Emboldened by their burgeoning success, starting in 1963 Alpine entered the sports prototype field with the M63 (above), M64 and M65 in their respective years. These streamlined shapes were the work of aerodynamicist Marcel Hubert and the wind-tunnel, and were powered by engines developed by the legendary Amédée Gordini – whose breathed-upon Renault mills had also been optional for Alpine road cars since 1957.

1964 saw success in the single-seater field. With help from Brabham’s Ron Tauranac and shaping by Hubert, Alpine had entered the Formula 3 category and found their car carrying that year’s French Champion, a feat equalled in 1971 and 1972 and also surpassed in 1972 with the team’s European Championship.

In 1966, an A210 won the Index of Thermal Efficiency at Le Mans and four of the Alpine prototypes entered covered a combined distance of over 4,000 km – greater than any other French manufacturer had accomplished at Sarthe.

From 1967, Renault’s racing efforts were officially represented by Alpine. That same year the road cars were badged ‘Alpine Renault’ and were now available through the authorised Renault dealer network.

1967 also saw the introduction of the A211 sports prototype. It featured a new 3 litre V8 engine by Amédée Gordini and finished four of its five entries but earned no podiums. Further development as the A220 in 1968 (above) and 1969 fared no better, proving unreliable due to excessive vibration.

The 3 litre V8 was the combined effort of the Gordini (right), Rédélé and Renault to raise their collective game and compete at the ultimate levels including Formula One. In 1967, however, a much needed 6 million franc government loan was instead handed to Matra, leaving this trio to continue their efforts on their own. The engine’s 310 hp output was no match for the 400+ hp of the Cosworth engines, so instead this V8 was used in the ill-fated Le Mans prototypes.

It was also anticipated to put it in a completely new Alpine road car.

Backtracking a little to the mid 1960s, the RAG project (Renault Alpine Gordini) was to be another example of this strengthening of bonds between the three parties, though there’s not much information available on this two-seater, front-engined, steel-bodied (I think) car.

The little that is known about the RAG project is that it was to be based on the 1965-released Renault R16 and featured the four-cylinder engine used in that family car in Gordini-developed form. Though there are genuine questions over the Citroen origins of the R16 hatchback configuration, its distinctive Renault shape was the work of Gaston Juchet.

Juchet had joined Renault in 1958 as an aerodynamics engineer and by 1962 had established himself as one of their stylists. He was head of styling from 1965 to 1975, and continued with Renault when Robert Opron took the head job, perhaps relieved to cede the administrative tasks and focus on design. Nevertheless, he was again made head of styling at Renault from 1984 to 1987 upon Opron’s departure.

He appears to have been a self-effacing and modest figure in the ego-driven world of the automotive stylist.

The RAG coupe’s shape had sprung directly from Juchet’s hand, and a full size prototype was constructed before the project was abruptly cancelled in 1966.

Juchet was then tasked with a clean-sheet approach for what would become the Renault R15 and R17 – a two-door four-seat specification based on mechanicals from the incoming R12 saloon.

Meanwhile, Alpine redirected their focus to a road car using the 3 litre V8 Gordini engine.

Renault stylist Michel Béligond was seconded to Alpine in Dieppe to help with this new model. That’s him standing at left in this publicity still for Renault featuring R16 scale models. Interestingly, Juchet – who was overwhelmingly the primary stylist on the R16 – is not featured here, perhaps as a result of his own modesty, of Béligond’s photogenic presence, or of both.

Béligond had already indirectly made his way into the French psyche. After the tragic circumstances of the 1955 24 Heures du Mans when 83 spectators had been killed, Béligond was commissioned to apply a softer, less combative and more celebratory tone into their famed posters – a task he accomplished into the early 1960s.

He had started as a cartoonist at Simca and then made his way to Renault in the early 1960s. Beyond this, there’s not much information on his styling career, though his presence was definitely felt when one of his sketches for the 114 project (above) reached the full-size prototype stage at Renault.

Sometime around 1967, Michel Béligond joined Jean Rédélé and Roger Prieur in Dieppe, and they started working together on the new Alpine model at Rédélé’s kitchen table.

These sketches are taken from a French news piece on Béligond and the Alpine A310. Though they may not all be directly related to that project, I have arranged them as a demonstration of how the shape might have progressed.

By early 1968, the team had settled on a general styling configuration for this rear-engined car. It incorporated broad fully-volumed ‘c-pillars’ running cleanly and completely into the body as no automotive shape had applied them before.

However, Michel Béligond had multiple sclerosis.

When exactly it was diagnosed is not clear. Accounts describe his condition during the development of the new Alpine as one of increasing paralysis before he was to die in 1973.

How devastating it must have been for this man – whose delicacy of touch went to the very essence of his character – see his facility ebb away just as he was in the midst of perhaps the most exciting project of his career.

A young stylist, Yves Legal, was employed by Alpine to assist Béligond in the face of his declining condition.

Legal apparently took Béligond’s rounded shapes and made them sharper, with more crisply defined junctures and surfaces.

It was also around the time of this stylistic transition that the decision must have been made to exchange the problematic 3 litre V8 with a four-cylinder engine.

And with this tragedy comes mystery.

The form arrived at by Alpine in 1968 bore a marked resemblance to the 1970 Monteverdi Hai. This appears to be more than a coincidence.

Peter Monteverdi was a Swiss car dealer who had been selling Ferraris and dabbling in his own short-run productions of small racing and passenger cars.

In 1967, he expanded his ambitions with a large two-seater front-engined coupe powered by the 426 Hemi. He engaged Frua to style the car and ordered 50 bodies to be made. When he upped his order to 100 examples, Frua was unable to commit to the revised volume and Monteverdi instead contracted another carrozzeria, Fissore, to build the cars.

He had refused to pay Frua a design royalty for the examples being built by Fissore, and Frua took him to court. The court found in Frua’s favour and ordered Monteverdi to pay.

The mid-rear engined Monteverdi Hai 450 SS arrived in the wake of the Lamborghini Miura and was first shown in 1970. The prototype had been built by Fissore, but Monteverdi claimed that he himself had come up with the shape.

But by the early 1970s, another stylist had stepped up to claim the Hai’s shape – Trevor Fiore.

Until his death in 1998, Monteverdi would never acknowledge Fiore’s role, and had in fact originally registered himself as the designer of the Hai’s shape, probably mindful of the ‘issues’ that had arisen with Frua.

This is Fiore working on yet another similar shape – the Gilbern G11 – in the late 1960s with assistant Jim English. Fiore was an English-born stylist who changed his surname – ‘Frost’ – to that of his mother – the italianate ‘Fiore’. As time has progressed, Fiore has been credited with both the Monteverdi Hai and Alpine A310 shapes. Though there seems to be no conclusive proof of his authorship of the two continental models, the similarity across these three forms is marked.

Fiore’s place in the annals of automotive styling was firmed with his 1965-66 TVR Trident. This was one of the first origami wedge shapes to define a cohesive and balanced form. Though it would lead a troubled life due to chronic underfunding in its various production opportunities, the Trident influenced – amongst others – Colin Chapman to pursue this vernacular for his own cars. It had been based on his 1962 proposal for Lea Francis (bottom left), and his 1966 Bond Equipe 2 litre GT (with in-house detailing by Bond) was another example of this Fiore language.

Though the Trident was publicised as a Fissore creation, it appears that Fiore might not have actually been an employee of the carrozzeria, but rather a freelancer. From my understanding, he was preparing designs such as the Trident on his own initiative, then was trying to get an order from a manufacturer which could then be met by Fissore’s own production capacity. Of note is the use of Fiore’s own logo on the brown sketch, rather than that of Fissore.

To return to the Monteverdi Hai; it is said that on a visit to Fissore Peter Monteverdi had seen Fiore’s work on the Alpine and insisted on using that shape for his own car. His orders brought in substantial income for this small Italian carrozzeria, and it was likely this financial heft that allowed him to get his way on the matter. And to eventually ensnare for himself a share in ownership of Fissore.

But that still doesn’t answer how Trevor Fiore came to be working on the A310 in the first place. Carrozzeria Fissore appears to have had no commercial arrangement at all with Alpine or Renault, neither before nor after this time.

In fact it was another Italian carrozzeria, Coggiola, who was engaged by Renault to build the functioning prototype of the finalised A310 shape.

Here is the first verifiable instance of Fiore’s involvement with the Alpine. Peter Stevens – who would go on to shape the McLaren F1 – found himself as a young stylist with Fiore in the early 1970s. He relates things thus;

‘It was at this time that I became involved with Alpine whilst working with UK designer Trevor Fiore. The prototype A310 developed by Fiore, Jim English and Turin based design company Coggiola had louvres across the rear glass which at the time were considered very fashionable; these were not carried over to the production model.’

If Coggiola had been engaged by Renault or Alpine to help with styling during the ‘soft-form’ phase of the A310 in early 1968, it still takes us further away from the explanation as to how this soft form version came to be so close to the Monteverdi Hai.

Based on what little I can unearth, one possible explanation is that Fiore was directly and discretely engaged to work as an independent freelancer on the Alpine project once Béligond’s condition surfaced. It was during this period that he, Béligond, or the both of them together came to the early 1968 shape in Dieppe.

Using Fissore as a ‘home base’, Fiore might have returned now and again with some of the sketches, which were then left inadvertently lying around when Peter Monteverdi decided they would suit his own purposes.

Yves Legal was then hired by Alpine on a fulltime basis, and as the top image suggests (with A110s in the background), the refinement of the shape took place in Dieppe and not in Italy. Fiore continued to contribute right through to the preparation of the final prototype at Coggiola.

I must stress that these suggestions are at best tentative. However I can’t put any more logical explanation to events than this.

As the top image by ‘Manfred’ at Forum Alpine Renault shows, the car was to receive an underbody shroud.

Aerodynamicist Marcel Hubert (bottom right) had been hired by Rédélé in 1962 primarily to work on their racing efforts starting with the M63, and would continue with the marque until 1982 as a crucial member of the team. He was also involved in the development of the road cars, though it appears his influence on the A310 was one of refining rather than defining.

The final piece of the puzzle is the frontal treatment of the car.

This sketch from either 1970 or 1971 is signed ‘Gaston Juchet A310 Style Béligond’. It appears to be a general impression of the car once all elements of the shape had been finalised and before being committed to construction of the prototype.

Or it could be something else.

That distinctive front end had not appeared on any A310 drawings or models prior to the Juchet sketch. And when I consider these earlier Juchet pieces, the coupe at top rendered in 1969 and the van beneath in 1970, it appears that this crucial final addition to the Alpine was the direct contribution of Gaston Juchet himself.

A significant contribution made quietly in deference to the ailing Béligond, perhaps.

And so yet another French automotive spacecraft landed on planet earth.

The silver Alpine A310 prototype was first shown at the Geneva Motor Show in March 1971. Before delivery commenced on production models that October, there was a final change to the body; the rear lights that sat above the bumper under flush plexiglas panels on the prototype were relocated and replaced with a cluster of blister units.

It was a masterful shape, drawing much from the prevailing origami language. But it also managed to temper the extreme nature of that language’s sharp creasing with an adroit use of curvature and faceting – sometimes flowing into each other and other times more punctuated. The rear really demonstrates this and is helped in no small measure by the lack of seams on the one piece body.

It was prismatic where the A110 was aquaceous, but was unmistakeably an Alpine.

As with the creations out of Stuttgart, its proportioning is not compromised by the rear engine location but actually enhanced by the successfully-met challenge it presented its authors. The c-pillars are admittedly a handicap for the driver’s field of vision, but the shape is not entirely impractical. Its unconventional handsomeness wins me over.

The A310 received the same backbone chassis as the A110, although it had wishbone and coilover suspension on all corners compared with the A110’s swing-arm rear. The front suspension towers were taller than those on the A110 as the coils were mounted to the top of the wishbone. Steering was rack and pinion (2.5 turns lock to lock) and braking was discs all round.

The fibreglass body was bolted to the chassis and the car’s dimensions were 164.5” (4,180mm) long and 63.8” (1,620mm) wide. The wheelbase was the same as outgoing GT4 (and recently lengthened Porsche 911) at 89.4” (2,270mm), although the Alpine was a whopping 9” lower than the Porsche in height. The car weighed 840 kgs distributed 40% front and 60% rear. Top speed was 131 mph (210 kmh) and 0-60mph time around 8 seconds.

The Alpine’s engine was derived from the R16’s 1,565cc I4, and was released in three variations.

From 1971-73, the 1,605cc VE series featured twin 45 DCOE Webers putting out 125 hp (93 kW) at 6,000 rpm.

April 1973 saw the introduction of the VF series, with the Webers being replaced with Bosch D-Jetronic fuel injection increasing power slightly to 127 hp (95 kW) at 6,450 rpm – a changeover made to meet tightening emissions standards. This same engine would make its way into the R17TS/Gordini from 1974.

In late 1975, a detuned VG version was released with a 1,647cc engine fed by a single 32 Weber for 95 hp (71 kW).

All were mated to a 5 speed manual gearbox except one VG fitted with an automatic.

(A note at this point: the 1972 World Cars Catalogue lists the VE version as having an SAE horsepower of 140. Other sources quote 125 DIN. Throughout this piece I have used the lower numbers quoted, but I’m not sure they are all to the same standards and are really only presented here for comparative purposes. If anyone can provide more exact and verified figures, I will amend the text accordingly)

Across the life of the A310, there would be very little change made to the body. In August 1973, the NACA ducts on the front wings were moved forward from their placement near the windscreen towards the leading edge of the car. This occurred in the midst of the 6 month period when the VE and VF versions were both in production, so this change does not actually denote either model specifically. Factory-supplied images suggest this coincides with the headlight mountings changing from body colour to black, but given the hand-assembled nature of these cars that may have been an option.

Under the skin, the front axle balljoint mountings were changed in 1974 to silent-bloc rubber/steel bushings. Though the steering rack was taken from the Peugeot 504 and the front turning signals from the Simca 1301, most of the components came from the Renault parts bins and would have been subject to any changes in specification or supply. I’ll leave it to the bien informés to point out any other modifications during the A310’s life.

The 2+2 cabin was a step-up in luxury for the marque, with electric windows, carpet and optional leather offered by Alpine for the first time. The massive rear transmission ‘pyramid’ intruded significantly on the +2 seating, though it was not as cramped as some competitors.

In March 1972, John Bolster of UK’s Autosport reported on an A310 test drive:

‘First impressions were good because the highly-tuned engine is phenomenally flexible, idling indefinitely in traffic blocks without overheating. The ride is also extremely comfortable, the new suspension absorbing the bumps while the car remains level. The cornering power is tremendously high with virtually no roll. One drives faster and faster through bends, never reaching the limit, even in the mountains, and the brakes do not fade. The sliding technique beloved of Berlinette drivers does not suit the new car, however, the characteristic handling remaining neutral in spite of the rear engine location. The new Alpine Renault A310 sets new standards for small-engined sports cars.’

Not everyone was impressed; German magazine Autorevue described it as ‘too underpowered for an enthusiast car and not luxurious enough for a luxury car.’

There was a 180+ hp version of the A310, but it wasn’t available to everyone. A dozen A310s were prepared for competition with front wheel arch flares and a widened rear flank that included most of the c-pillar to also allow for larger air intakes. Designated the VC model, it had a 1,798cc engine that was unfortunately never an option for the road cars.

But the A310 was not the competitive sibling in the family. It was over 200 kgs heavier than the A110, and with both using the same engine it was the two seater that continued to excel. Using A110s, the Alpine team won the World Rally Championship in 1971, and the car continued to notch up national titles for its various drivers through to 1975.

The French police, or more specifically, the Brigade Rapide d’Intervention de la Gendarmerie, continued with tradition and had a small fleet of A310s; numbers quoted vary between five and seven. Most were VF models, but I don’t think the engines received any further tuning. However the cars were required to handle pursuit tasks, and they earned spoilers front and rear.

Perhaps the most unique facet of the police-spec A310s was that the fibreglass body had metal flakes embedded in the resin to aid radio reception. These cars also had a metal plate inserted in the cabin roof for the same reason, as well as serving as a Faraday cage. Note the example lower right with the louvred rear window.

The louvres were available very early in the A310’s life but soon fell out of French regulatory compliance probably because of rear visibility issues, which makes their presence on the police cars even more interesting. They were apparently available for foreign market cars.

The A310 was sold in Belgium, Italy, the Netherlands, Germany, Switzerland, Spain, Mexico and Portugal – which combined made up almost 50% of sales of the model. There was no RHD version, which meant the UK and far-flung Australia missed out.

Build quality on the A310 was not great. Rédélé had committed to a new Dieppe factory in Bréauté Street that became operational in 1969. The capital outlay was significant for this largely independent carmaker, and the A310 had been rushed into production to help offset costs. Adding to Alpine’s woes was a workers’ strike in 1972.

In 1973, Jean Rédélé sold a controlling interest in Alpine to Renault, though he remained involved with the marque. Whether this agreement was made before or after the October 1973 announcement of the OPEC oil embargo, Renault and Rédélé watched as sales of the A310 halved in 1974.

Production peaked in 1973 at 666 units, and never again breached the 350 figure. In all, only 2,340 A310s were produced.

The Alpine was not a cheap car. Its 1973 home market price – 46,800 Francs – was almost double that of the Renault R12 Gordini at 19,200 Fr, and was still substantially higher than the top-spec R17TS at 24,600 Fr and R15TS at 18,500 Fr.

At its sticker price, sales were probably impacted by the fact that some buyers were waiting for the V6 version.

In 1971, a joint venture was established between Peugeot, Renault and Volvo for a large (in European terms) engine built at Douvrin in Northern France to be used primarily in each manufacturer’s senior saloon. Originally planned to be a V8, ambitions were soon changed and what emerged was the PRV V6.

In 1972, only a year after they had delivered the factory prototype, Coggiola presented another A310 body to Alpine. Perhaps mindful of the larger engine on the horizon, or of criticisms regarding cabin space, this proposal was 3” taller, 6” wider and 8” inches longer than the standard A310. It had also gained 3” in wheelbase.

Trevor Fiore was still involved with Coggiola around this time. At top left is his 1973 Opel-based Sylvia prototype built by the carrozzeria. However, this shape looks to be the work of Aldo Sessano, of Bocanegra fame and who had also penned the Lancia Fulvia-based 1971 Coggiola Dunja seen at bottom left.

The proposal was only a plaster styling mockup, but it remained with Renault for a year as they considered whether to proceed with it.

There was another special-bodied Alpine that some had originally presumed to be based on the A310. It was the work of French stylist Denis Meyrignac and was shown at the Geneva Motor Show in 1977.

It was actually built over an A110 chassis and engine bought directly from the factory, and intended for small-volume production. However Meyrignac blanched at the costs of pollution compliance (despite the fact that the Alpine engine already complied) so the project was abandoned.

It’s not clear whether one or two examples were produced – the red Geneva Show car apparently housed a V6 – and this audacious shape ended up being test driven by a French motoring journalist anticipating the helmet-chic of Daft Punk before the Meyrignac Alpine found its way into long term storage.

With Renault now in control of Alpine, the task for shaping the A310 V6 fell to Robert Opron, seen here at right with his predecessor (now staffer) Gaston Juchet and Bertone’s Marcello Gandini.

There were a few prototype bodies built bearing much resemblance to the Citroen-controlled Maserati Bora and Merak in their flip-up headlights, flying buttresses and rear-end treatments.

Peter Stevens had been directly involved with the Alpine for the introduction of the V6 model, launched in late 1976.

‘In 1976 the A310 was restyled with input from myself, the project under the guidance of Renault Design Chief Robert Opron. The original 1971 car was never wind tunnel tested and suffered from both front end lift and rear instability and one of my jobs for the 1976 model was to counter these problems with small aerodynamic additions.’

The neat chin spoiler did not detract from the shape at all, and in fact looked a natural fit with its complementary angling and surfaces. The same can be said for the small window-width rear spoiler which gained ‘Alpine Renault’ lettering in 1978. The NACA ducts up front were gone and the rear lower panel was now blacked out, with new light units.

Most significantly, that distinctive front end was revised to a four-headlight arrangement, divided by body panelling which sported the Renault logo. The spotlights were now placed under the bumper beneath the turning signals.

Peter Stevens continues; ‘The other interesting job was to design an alloy wheel for the A110, Alpine Renault 5 and the A310. During the previous year’s Monte Carlo Rally all the works cars had retired with damaged rear suspension caused by heavy lumps of ice being frozen between the wheel spokes and so putting the wheels out of balance. The task was to design a wheel that was sufficienty smooth that the snow would not stick to it. I always preferred the three-slot version of the smooth wheel, the four-slot style tended to look static.’

1977 would be the last year of production for the venerable but glorious A110. A winner to the end, it bowed out with its head held high.

But the star of the show was the V6.

Production of the four-cylinder VF had ceased in April 1976, but the detuned VG (also known as the TX) was built for another three months. It’s listed in the 1977 World Cars catalogue alongside the V6 but when you compare the prices listed; 76,900 Francs for the 95 hp A310 TX, and 77,900 Francs for the 150 hp A310 V6, the senior model seems like a bargain.

It had a top speed of 137 mph (220 kmh) and could reach 60 mph in 7.5 seconds.

The 2,664cc V6 engine was fed by a single throat Solex 34 TBIA and a double-throat Solex 35 CEEI carburettor. Suspension was derived from the R30 saloon and the vehicle weighed-in at 980 kg (2,161 lbs).

The heavier engine altered the A310’s weight distribution, now at 33% front and 67% rear. Of course this affected handling and Renault found themselves sending updates to dealers explaining how to set rear tyre inflations for the first series of the A310 V6.

Motoring journalist Martin Buckley recently ran a comparo of the A310 V6 and its contemporaries for Drive magazine, and had this to say about the Alpine;

‘I was unprepared for how well this car went. Once the full length of the throttle travel was discovered, it seemed to have acceleration not that far behind the 911, delivered with a lusty, offbeat growl that was as inspiring as the similarly powered De Lorean’s was limp and unappealing. This V6 is not a sports car engine but its willingness to spin hard to its redline, pulling strongly and smoothly all the way, was as impressive as its ability to lug around in third and fourth from 1200rpm or cruise peacefully in top. Alpine sorted the handling on the 310 simply by putting huge tyres on the rear (they’re even bigger on this car) and it seems to have worked. It scuttles around curves in a flat, neat and nifty way that suggests something much smaller with light, quick steering. The gearchange does not reach the same standard – it felt vague and slightly rubbery at times – but I never failed to find the gear I wanted.’

In 1978, the ‘Group 4’ option was introduced, featuring the body kit from the Heuliez concept car of 1977, albeit with smoothed wheel arches rather than the bolt-ons and minus that fantastic spotlight binnacle. The engine was the same as the standard model, but it came with a five-speed box and wider wheels. 30 examples were produced.

If it was more power and even wider flares you wanted, then you needed to find yourself the 270+ hp Group 5 version.

With the A110 gone, the A310 was initially the steed of choice for Renault’s gravel track ambitions. A Group 4 A310 V6 putting out about 240 hp won the 1977 French Rally Championship in the hands of Guy Fréquelin, but Renault’s competitions focus would soon shift to the mid-rear engined turbocharged versions of the R5.

Series 2 was introduced in 1981. Upgrades on the exterior included wraparound bumpers and larger wheelarch flares. The 4 stud wheels and rear end suspension were now derived from the R5 Turbo – which significantly influenced its handling for the better. The same version of the V6 was carried over but was now mated to a 5 speed. The wording on the rear spoiler was flipped to read ‘Renault Alpine’.

The ‘Group 4’ option became the ‘Pack GT’ for Series 2, though it seems to have had different names for different markets; ‘S’ in Germany and ‘F-Pack’ in Japan (!) There was also a ‘Pack GT Boulogne’ featuring the 2,849cc version of the PRV breathing through 2 triple throat Weber 46 IDA carburettors and producing 193 hp (144kW). Only 27 Boulogne were built.

Towards the end of its life, the standard A310 V6’s price has risen considerably. In 1983 it was offered at 131,000 Fr and that rose to 140,880 Fr in 1984. But despite this, the A310 V6 was Alpine’s greatest sales success. Except for its first and last (half) years, annual production never dipped below 1,000 units.

When the last A310 V6 rolled off the production line in 1984, 9,276 examples had been built.

But what of its replacement?

In 1977, this A480 styling mockup was prepared as part of an attempt to create a ‘1980’ language for an Alpine in mid-rear engined configuration. This shape, possibly by Gandini, seems to have come to nothing. But it does indicate an expectation that the Alpine visual language might have to move on.

In 1981, Yves Legal produced this sketch. It was much closer to the A310, but bearing a new body particularly at the rear.

The A310 replacement was again an Opron-headed task. Heuliez was asked to help prepare the prototypes and the further the project progressed, the more it returned to the A310 shape. This was not necessarily a matter of economical panel sharing; whereas the A310 body had been cast as a single piece, the GTA was to comprise a multitude of small body panels in fibreglass and plastic bonded together and to the chassis making it effectively a monocoque.

The 1985 Renault GTA was 6” longer, 4” wider, 2” taller with a 3” longer wheelbase than its predecessor. The A310’s shape had translated well into the 1980’s and the narrow-bodied version of the GTA was able to boast a Cd of .28. The most significant visual difference was the see-though c-pillar treatment but detail changes were made everywhere. The backbone chassis arrangement was retained but this was a new car.

It was available with two versions of the PRV engine, the 2,849cc, 160 hp GTA and the 2,458 cc, 185 hp GTA Turbo.

In 1987 the GTA was prepared for the US market with unique flip-up headlights. However, because of Renault’s stake in Chrysler-owned American Motors, the GTA was quickly withdrawn due to competition with Chrysler’s TC by Maserati. Only 21 examples were made.

1990 saw the GTA Turbo Le Mans released in the home market, with a revised frontal treatment and flared wheelarches. Performance specialists Danielson developed aftermarket tweaks taking power up to 210 hp.

In 1991, the widenend body of the Le Mans model received flip-up lights for the 2,975cc, 250 hp version, renamed A610. The GTA/A610 range was considered a failure for Renault, it was a far more refined vehicle than the A310 but only sold around 6,500 models over its ten year lifespan against greater expectations. Though this was a veritable road rocket, it was also the A310 shape at its most anodyne.

The final A610 was built in April 1995.

For 1996, Renault would be referring further back into the Alpine heritage.

Though comparisons can be made with Porsche and Lotus, I find the most direct analogy for Jean Rédélé to be Carroll Shelby. Both started as successful drivers then went on to create exciting niche vehicles for road and track, and by dint of their accomplishments and their agreeable, charismatic personalities, their names strike an impassioned fervour amongst their compatriots.

In 1977, Rédélé sold his remaining stake in Alpine to Renault. He stepped away with a promise from Renault that they maintain production in Dieppe for the next fifteen years.

In 1976, Renault Sport was formed to take charge of Renault’s racing activities. It was based out of Alpine’s Val Druel facilities and they soon scored big, with outright victory at the 1978 24 Heures du Mans in an Alpine A442B, earning themselves a tow down the Champs Elysees.

1976 also saw the release of the Renault R5 Alpine. This performance variant of Renault’s bread and butter baby had been developed by the Alpine team and sold 53,000 units. In 1978, Renault Sport was moved out of Val Druel, and in its place Renault established Berex (Bureau d’Etudes et de Recherches Exploratoires) to develop sporting variants of Renault’s road cars. What soon emerged were increasingly lairier versions of the R5.

The Alpine nameplate has been used sparingly by Renault. Its application can be somewhat problematic. For one thing, it was not able to be used in the UK due to Rootes, then Chrysler, having their own claim on the name.

But it’s a bit more complex than that. Though the Alpine name is held in high esteem by aficionados, there is limited global understanding of what it stands for. Compounding the issue is another highly esteemed French brand owned by Renault – Gordini. Whereas ‘Gordini’ seems more appropriate for performance variants of standard models, ‘Alpine’ requires a slightly weird body as well to really make sense of its brand equity.

Thanks to its presence in the Gran Turismo computer games, Alpine has been able to stay relevant to a younger generation. And Renault has recently made efforts to revive it in the real world. So there’s still hope.

A couple of years ago, fellow carspotter AVL wanted to show me an exotic he had found in Melbourne’s backstreets. It was the weekend of the Grand Prix, so we jumped on our bikes to avoid the traffic and roadblocks, and when we arrived I couldn’t believe what he had led me to.

This example is one of only four in A310/4s in Australia. In 1991, it was apparently brought over from the French island colony of New Caledonia. Back then it was restored to its original gris metalise colour and was converted to RHD, but it had lost its original VF motor and gearbox.

At some point something must have been difficult to replace or fix, and it was left parked out in the street. By the time I caught it, the fibreglass body had withstood the ravages of its outdoor storage but it was looking most forlorn. It has since disappeared, hopefully still held in Australia and afforded the rejuvenation it deserves.

The argument can certainly be made that the first series V6 is the best-looking A310.

But for me it’s the four-cylinder body. As pure automotive sculpture, I prefer it over the down-force appendaged later models. The final clincher in its appeal, however, comes from those six lights behind that full-width plexiglas panelling. Like the bittersweet dissonance within “ polnareff’s ” or the astringent edge of pastis, that slightly jarring face is intrinsic to the authenticity of the A310 shape.

Renault literature credits only Michel Béligond and Yves Legal for the styling of the A310.

Trevor Fiore’s involvement has never been fully explained, though there is a recent book ‘Alpine La Passion Bleue’ by Bernard Sara that apparently addresses this. Unfortunately it has only been published in French and I have not been able to access a copy. If any of the CCommentariat have read this book, I would greatly appreciate their input.

As to Gaston Juchet’s contribution, that is only a guess on my part.

Whatever their roles in the creation of the Alpine A310, the shape that emerged was one for the ages.

Further Reading

Mike Tippett’s Curbside Classic of a barnfind Alpine A106 located in the US

Most of the early history of Alpine in this piece was drawn from
alpine-passion.com – an exhaustive and exacting blog detailing the driving career
of Jean Rédélé and the Alpine years to the mid-1960s.

a310l4.com – A great French site focusing on the four-cylinder A310

juchet.fr – An enormous trove featuring the work of Gaston Juchet

A French television news piece on Michel Béligond and the A310

Professor Peter Stevens on his time contributing to the A310
and an appraisal of more recent ‘Alpine’ efforts

Martin Buckley’s Drive A310 V6 comparo

AteUpWithMotor on the R5 and its variants

Our feature CC discussed by those in the know at aussiefrogs.com

The CC Effect can strike most obliquely. Just as I was putting the finishing touches to my Alpine A310 piece, I came across my first ever Sunbeam Alpine of the first ever variety. This is the model that would create an ongoing headache for the French Alpine marque. That story now dispensed with, it is time for a (much shorter) CC on the name’s original owner.

Since time immemorial, the name Sunbeam had been associated with the fleet of foot. Sunbeam of Wolverhampton was established in 1888 as a brand of the Sunbeamland Cycle Factory. Bicycles would make way for motorcycles and motor cars and in 1909, a French designer named Louis Coatelen joined the business. Through his efforts, Sunbeam established a reputation for fine passenger automobiles built for those who considered the Rolls-Royce a tad ostentatious. Coatelen was also interested in high speed machines. In 1910, he created the Sunbeam Nautilus for an attempt at the world speed record, but it would not succeed.

By 1919, the Sunbeam concern was sold and became a part of the English Darracq stable, renamed as Sunbeam-Talbot-Darracq.

Coatelen stayed on and subsequent land speed efforts would prove more successful.

His Sunbeam 350hp was powered by an 18.3 litre V12 aero engine. In 1922 it set land speed records over a mile (129.17 mph, 207.88 km/h) and over a kilometre (133.75 mph, 215.25 km/h) at Brooklands.

It was then purchased by Malcolm Campbell and the Sunbeam 350hp became the fourth Blue Bird. Campbell used this car to set a succession of records, and on 21 July 1925, this Blue Bird became the first car to exceed 150 mph (240 kmh) at Pendine Sands in South Wales.

1927 saw the Sunbeam 1000hp powered by two 450hp engines capture the land speed record of 203.792 mph (327.971 km/h), the first to surpass the magic 200 but the record would soon fall to others.

And so the Sunbeam Silver Bullet was born (above). It featured two 24 litre V12 engines supercharged with a centrifugal blower geared to 17,000 rpm. This engine produced a claimed 4,000 horsepower. It made an attempt at the record at Daytona Beach in 1930 but only reached 186 mph (299 km/h).

The effects of Coatelen’s competition budget collided with the lingering effects of the Great War and the immediate effects of the Depression, and Sunbeam-Talbot-Darracq went into receivership in 1935.

By 1938, the Sunbeam and Talbot business had been purchased by the Rootes Group. At first, the cars bearing the Sunbeam-Talbot name were badge-engineered Hillmans and Humbers, but after the war a new range of cars was presented to the public.

The 1948 Sunbeam-Talbot 80 and 90 saloons wore Hillman underpinnings under unique streamstyled bodies. They established a distinctive look with the absence of trailing edge window frame on the rear doors making this six-light body look like a speedblurred four-light.

Rootes Competitions Manager Norman Garrad convinced the Rootes board to take the cars into competition, and the fleet of foot reputation re-emerged. In 1952, Sunbeam-Talbots captured the team prize and three Alpine Cups, one of which went to a young driver named Stirling Moss who also managed second place in that year’s Monte Carlo Rally.

1952 also saw Rootes dealer and works driver George Hartwell take a Sunbeam-Talbot Sports Convertible four-seater and do some converting of his own. He removed the rear seats and fabricated body-panelling to shroud the cavity, punched sporty-looking louvres into the bonnet and sold these two-seaters through his dealership as the ‘Hartwell Special’. Somehow (and to be honest the story is not quite clear) his creation caught the eye of Rootes management who decided to produce a factory version.

The chassis of the factory prototype received deeper side members and additional cross members, and the 2,267cc four-cylinder engine copped larger inlet valves and ports, stronger valve springs and a higher compression of 8.0:1 to give 97.5 bhp at 4500 rpm and 142 lb/ft of torque at 2500 rpm. A straight-through exhaust and close ratio gearbox with Laycock de Normanville overdrive helped the go and improved ‘fade-proof’ brake linings did the stopping. Raymond Loewy, who had been involved with the 1948 saloon bodies, was brought in to refine the shape. The prototype was registered MWK 969.

Legend has it that Norman Garrad came up with the Alpine name in honour of his team’s continued successes there. To draw a direct link to their illustrious ‘tween war predecessors, (and – ironically – to not conflict with the sporting French Talbot-Lagos still in production) the Talbot name was dropped from the marque title of the Alpine, a decision that would be applied to the rest of the Sunbeam-Talbot range after 1955.

Initial production of the Sunbeam Alpine was exclusively left hand drive. As was the case for most of Britain’s car producers, the government were quite insistent on exports to bring much needed capital into the country. The US with its emerging interest in cars capable of both amateur racing and comfortable daily duties was considered the ideal market for this model.

The body, built by Rootes subsidiary Thrupp and Maberly, could be fitted with the full-height three piece windscreen arrangement, a small plastic racing screen or even smaller twin units. It’s not clear whether these last two were offered concurrently, or if one replaced the other. It also had the rather raffish feature of no external door handles. Of the 1,582 Alpines built, 961 would make their way to the US and Canada.

In March 1953 MWK 969 was taken to the Jabbeke-Aeltre highway in Belgium for some high-speed publicity runs. The car was stripped of its bumpers and had been further modified with flush shroud over the passenger seat, windscreen removed and replaced by a slight wind-deflecting hump, and a flat alloy panel under the car to improve its streamlining. The engine was fitted with a special crankshaft and the carburettor replaced with a set of Solexes. The drivers were Stirling Moss and Sheila van Damm, who both managed to attain a top speed exceeding 120 mph.

Norman Garrad had six right hand drive cars built specially for the 1953 Alpine Rally. These were prepared in the prototype’s original ‘Sunbeam Alpine Special’ specification but with further tweaking from ERA to give the cars 106 bhp (I’m not sure if this state of tune was also used at Jabbeke). Four of the drivers earned Alpine Cups including Stirling Moss, and in 1954 Moss clinched another Alpine Cup.

Three Alpine Cups in a row meant the Gold Cup for Moss, a prize won only three times in the Alpine Rally history. The other winners have been Ian Appleyard in a Jaguar XK120 and Jean Vinatier in an Alpine A110.

When the British public beheld the Sunbeam Alpine’s rallying success, the clamour for home market sales was too great and Rootes relented. There were two series of the model; MkI and overdrive-introduced MkIII (no MkII, probably out of confusion with the recently upgraded MkII specification across all S-T vehicles). It also appears that early bodies had semaphore turning signals just aft of the door. One could purchase the Sunbeam Alpine with 80 bhp or the Sunbeam Alpine Special with 97 bhp.

I came across our feature CC on my way to an afternoon party. After taking some photos I was moving on when the owner of the car appeared. We had a brief conversation about the Sunbeam, before I noticed an auction catalogue in his hands. It turns out he had just successfully bid on a first series Lotus Elite, and that he also had an S2 Europa and a UK-assembled (and genuine) Super Seven. I couldn’t keep my host waiting, so the conversation had to end there.

With my knowledge sorely lacking on these cars, I never knew to ask whether this was a Special or a standard model. I do know it’s a MkIII, recently and immaculately restored with a few small modifications. Those reflectors and amber turning signals are not original nor is that brake light above the boot lid, and the gearbox is now a five-speed Toyota affair.

As Roger Carr pointed out a few years ago in a capsule on this model, it’s difficult to discern the Sunbeam Alpine as a sporting car. Apart from those louvres in the bonnet, its understated lines give no real hint as to its performance pedigree. It’s far more likely to be associated with a leisurely cruise to the hills above Monte Carlo, with a driver looking a lot like Grace Kelly and a passenger resembling Cary Grant.

But for those in the know, this car is redolent of an era long passed, of a brief window in time when a Sunbeam was the match for any other on the rally course, and that it beat the French to the title by two years.

Further Reading

Roger Carr on another Sunbeam Alpine the First

Roger Carr on a Sunbeam Alpine the Second

Paul Niedermeyer on a Sunbeam Alpine the Third

Roger Carr’s epic story of the Rootes Group

Mike Tippett on an A106 – French Alpine the First

I came across Peter Stevens’ facebook page when I was researching my piece on the Alpine A310. In one post he had described his time working with Alpine, and I made contact with him. As a result of these conversations, Peter has very kindly sent me some images of a mid-engined proposal he had prepared for presentation to Alpine. These images have never been published before, and Curbside Classic is proud to bring them to you for the first time.

Professor Peter Stevens is one of the UK’s foremost automotive stylists. He started his career at Ford in the 1970s and went on to work with Ogle, Lotus, BMW, McLaren, Lamborghini, Jaguar, Prodrive and Toyota. Some of the shapes that came from his hand include the Lotus Elan M100, Jaguar XJR-15, MG Z-series and Rover 75.

For a period in the 1970s Stevens was involved with Trevor Fiore, who was working with Alpine.

To recap from my Alpine A310 article, I will reproduce Peter’s words;

‘In 1976 the A310 was restyled with input from myself, the project under the guidance of Renault Design Chief Robert Opron. The original 1971 car was never wind tunnel tested and suffered from both front end lift and rear instability and one of my jobs for the 1976 model was to counter these problems with small aerodynamic additions.’

‘The other interesting job was to design an alloy wheel for the A110, Alpine Renault 5 and the A310. During the previous year’s Monte Carlo Rally all the works cars had retired with damaged rear suspension caused by heavy lumps of ice being frozen between the wheel spokes and so putting the wheels out of balance. The task was to design a wheel that was sufficienty smooth that the snow would not stick to it. I always preferred the three-slot version of the smooth wheel, the four-slot style tended to look static.’

These wheels would live a Renault-related life of their own. The mid-engined Turbo R5 received them during mid-development, but they would not be used on the production vehicles. Another application was the DeLorean Safety Vehicle mockup of 1976, anticipated to be using the PRV V6 engine. This vehicle was ultimately renamed and released without the Alpine’s wheels.

The wheels also made an appearance on the Alpine A480 styling proposal. There is very little information available on this project, apart from that it was part of an initiative called Nouvelle Alpine Gamme, or New Alpine Range for 1980. It was a mid-rear engined configuration, with a shape influenced by the DeLorean and an eye on the US market. This fullsize styling mockup was presented to Renault leadership on 13 May 1977, but not shown publicly and never proceeded with.

In my A310 article I posited that the A480 might have been the work of Marcello Gandini at Bertone, but I now think it’s from Marc Deschamps – who was shared between Renault and Bertone at the time the A480 was produced before taking Gandini’s full-time position with the carrozzeria in 1980. Deschamps had produced the original sketch for the mid-engined R5 Turbo in 1976, and in the early 1980s he was generating shapes such as the Mazda MX81 and Lamborghini Athon which bear some similarities to the A480.

Though Peter Stevens worked with Alpine during this period, he was employed directly by Trevor Fiore. Around the summer of 1978, Fiore briefed Stevens on a mid-engined Alpine and provided him with some 1/5 scale drawings of the car’s packaging. Stevens conceived the shape and built the 1/5 scale model, photos of which we are seeing today.

This front 3/4 angle shows it off at its best. Though it doesn’t bear any overt Alpine cues, it’s still a sharp, trim, handsome and nicely proportioned form.

Peter discussing this photo; ‘My idea for the complex detailing on the rear deck surface was to emphasise the contrast between the simplicity of the surfaces touched by the air flow and the complexity of the details that were influenced by the technology. I have always had this philosophy and used it on the McLaren and Diablo SV too.’

I love this angle. Though it may not have been applicable in the real world, the detailing around the car’s venting contrasts effectively with the rest of the shape. I realise this may be a counter-intuitive response, but I tend to believe the clean wedge sometimes needs a tension point. In a similar way I prefer the NACA ducts on the first production Lamborghini LP400 to the smoother shape of the prototype LP500.

This facet of the model speaks the same language as the innard-revealing Centre Pompidou, which had only recently been built.

The profile is probably the least effective angle. The mid-rear engined configuration resulted in a cab-forward solution from Stevens – something he came to master. It brings to mind the 1994 Cadillac Seville, and the proposal in general reminds me of the 1983 S12 Nissan Gazelle and 1988 Nissan EXA, though of course neither manufacturer was privy to this model.

Peter Stevens is not sure whether this was created at the request of Renault/Alpine, or if Fiore was making a proactive effort based on the presence (and perhaps failure) of the A480. Stevens drove the scale model to Dieppe in his white VW van and presented it to the Alpine team himself.

The mid-rear engined Alpine project was abandoned by Renault, who made the more pragmatic decision to sustain the A310 V6 for a second series, and to focus any extra effort on the R5 variations with which Stevens also had some involvement.

Peter Stevens enjoyed a very good relationship with the Alpine team, and a decade later when he asked to use the tail lights from their GTA on his 1989 Lotus Elan M100, they were more than happy to help.

After the Elan entered production, Peter Stevens left his role as Head of Design at Lotus and moved on to create to his next shape.

I would like to express my sincere gratitude to Professor Peter Stevens
for allowing Curbside Classic to reproduce these images.

Further Reading

Peter Stevens writing for Car Design News

Peter Stevens on facebook

Curbside Classic on the Alpine A310

(Note: the rest of Peugeot Fest will be chronological, so the 404 is still a bit ways off. And we’ve got lots of 404 material. But we’ll make an exception for this one to help us kick of the festivities. PN)

To celebrate Peugeot Fest, Curbside Classic would like every reader to have their own Peugeot 404 wagon. Y’all who know Paul’s automotive passions also know this model is pretty much the CC mascot (along with Jason’s 63 Galaxie – sorry no cutout on that one), so here’s your chance to add some French flair to your garage, study or mantlepiece.

And for those of you from *the other sites*, you too can have a Peugeot 404 wagon in your own livery. Just add your own livery.

Click on the pics to get them as large as I could make them. It’s about 37 cm x 26 cm at 72 dpi, but you should be able to make it fit your printer paper.

As I caught this Peugeot 203 enjoying a pleasurable sun-dappled afternoon cruise, it was not so apparent that this genteel (albeit less-than-nattily-shod) car was also one of Australia’s hardiest. This marque has enjoyed a high regard within our rural communities, and in 1953 the rest of Australia would come to learn why. The Redex Reliability Trial, the longest and toughest endurance event since the 1908 New York to Paris race, showed us.

The 1953 Redex Reliability Trial captured the imagination of the whole country, who followed its every mile in the newspapers and magazines, on the radio, through the cinema newsreels and amongst their everyday conversation. At its commencement, over 50,000 spectators crowded the Sydney Showgrounds, and a further 150,000 lined the Sydney streets to watch the cars depart.

It was a 6,500 mile 14 day journey circumventing half of our vast continent, and traversing some of the toughest terrain to test both man and machine.

This was of course an opportunity for Australia’s Own Holden to show its indigenous superiority.

But the Redex Trial was open to all comers.

The field consisted of experienced drivers such as Jack Brabham, Lex Davison, Stan Jones and ‘Gelignite’ Jack Murray, but also men (and women) off-the-street entering their family cars with a sense of adventure. The Redex conformed to the mindset of the nation, a great leveller where no person was above their station and the best would win on merit.

One ‘privateer’, the ‘Galloping Grandma’, Winifred Conway, was ignored by the Austin dealers when she tried to garner sponsorship. Their attitude soon changed after she completed the trial and finished in the middle of the field.

Eleven monocoque-bodied Peugeot 203s were entered. Only Holden, with twenty-three 48-215 entries and Ford, with twelve Customlines, had a greater model representation.

Phillip Bromley at Peugeot Car Club of NSW gives us some context for Peugeot in Australia at this time;

‘The Peugeot 202 was the last of the series of streamlined 1930s models with waterfall grilles that evoked the Chrysler Airflow. The streamlined look of headlights behind a beautiful waterfall grille meant nothing to Australian authorities and the lights of the little French cars had to be repositioned on brackets on the guards to indicate the width of the vehicle. But where potential buyers were suspicious of the Airflow, and bemoaned its lack of a rear lid for access to the boot, the more stylish Peugeots won fans everywhere.

‘The 202 was the only one continued into production after the Second World War and in car-starved Australia buyers who bought them (sometimes out of desperation) fell in love with their French cars once they woke up to the performance, the dustproofing and that almost unheard of feature, the heater.

‘The day after I left high school in 1959, I started work as an apprentice motor mechanic at Cecil R. Pierce, the North Shore Chrysler, Simca, Peugeot, Renault dealer.  There were two workshops, employing about 12 mechanics—one for Chrysler, Dodge, etc. and the other for Peugeot, Renault, etc, called the continental workshop.

‘My Peugeot was a company car used by the service manager, Harold Pierce, and came on the market when the Peugeot 203 panel van replaced it.  This happened about the time I was to get my licence, which I went for in the panel van.  It seemed the right thing to do to purchase the Peugeot 202.  I very proudly drove this car—I should say thrashed—all over New South Wales for the next two years.’

There was a twelfth 203 in the 1953 Redex Trial, a Fourgonette with windows cut into the rear side panels. It was the transport of choice for Ken Hall’s Cinesound, who would be providing the exciting newsreels for cinemagoers around the country. A pragmatic choice on the basis of its ability to withstand the punishment of the trial as well as carry all the necessary filming equipment.

One of the 203s entered was piloted by Ken Tubman (left) and navigated by John Marshall. Their preparation of the car had been limited to a valve grind on the 1,290cc 4 cylinder engine and greasing the suspension.

By Adelaide, about two thirds of the way through, only two cars were running unpenalised; a Humber Super Snipe and the Tubman/Marshall 203.

The toughest point of the trial was a special stage that included a crossing at Paddy’s River. Many cars were swept downstream or bogged in the mud. Tubman ploughed on in and the car stalled part of the way. He pulled at the starter and the engine sprang to life there and then, propelling them though.

At the end of the trial, the Tubman/Marshall Peugeot 203 led the pack back into Sydney. When scores were tallied, they were announced as the winners of the event, having lost 19 points – only one point fewer than the second place Humber Super Snipe. All eleven 203s reached the finish line.

To get a sense of how much attention was being paid to the Redex Trial, even the Australian Women’s Weekly ran their own teams in 1954 and 1955.

Stamps were issued, although the featured car was of an abstract marque.

In 1954, the Redex Trial was expanded to 9,500 miles. 31 Peugeot 203s were entered and one came second.

Cinesound used another 203 Fourgonette, this time without the cutout side windows.

In 1955, a Peugeot 203 came fifth (maybe not this one but it does make for a great pic).

But after three years, the Redex Trial was no more. When the dust had settled, Peugeot had firmly established itself as the equal to our most inhospitable of environments.

But Peugeot was not finished yet. In 1956, Ampol ran their own version of the trial. Alan Taylor (left) and Wilf Murrell entered a Peugeot 403, although they weren’t impressed when they lost a windscreen.

But they did show a bit more cheer when they won.

The press unit used a 203, this time a fully-windowed Familiale.

And a 403 was used as survey car for the 1957 event.

Peugeot commenced CKD assembly in Heidelberg, Victoria in 1953. Though it was never a high-volume seller in this country, it had earned its reputation here for durability and reliability in the only acceptable way. Not through words but through action.

Further Reading

The World’s Fastest Peugeot 203 by Dawid Botha

A little while back, I was driving along a main road getting on with things. As has become a habit, I was taking the occasional glance into the side streets to see if any CC might present themselves to me. I’m usually looking for the glint of a chrome bumper, it’s the quickest way to spot an oldie.

This one time, I thought I had just seen a colonnade wagon.

Yes, I know what you’re thinking. The 73 Chevelle wagons only had four lights set in the rear bumper. But give me a break, over the last year I’ve managed to capture four different colonnades – more than any other US classic for some bizarre reason. So it seemed entirely possible that what I had barely glimpsed, clean one-piece tailgate and bumper-set rear lights, was yet another.

I took the next side street and made my way around to the car I’d just seen. Wait on…

A 1968 Chevrolet Impala wagon! One of my favourite US shapes. I was both thrilled and confused.

As any self-respecting lover of the 1968 B-body Chevrolet would know, the rear lights weren’t set into the bumper on the wagon. They took their place on the tailgate and rear edge of the fenders.

It was the four-doors and two-doors that had the bumper-set lights; four for the Biscayne and Bel Air, and six for the Impala and Caprice. So what was I looking at?

Someone had gone to a lot of effort to fabricate a wagon rear on a pillared sedan body.

This 68 had clearly been modified to accommodate hearse duties. Which is a bit weird. The 68 B-bodies were brought into Australia in small numbers including (I believe) some wagons. I think what we’re looking at here is a car that might have already been owned by funeral house for widow duties, that was subsequently morphed into a casket carrier. Just guessing, feel free to contribute your own theories.

As you can see, these variants differed from the b-pillar back. The wagon had fuller rear quarter panels aft of the rear wheel, and the c-pillar was cornered where the sedan’s was curved.

Engine callout is 327. Minor trim additions in the spooky theme. Massive fan of both longroofs and 68 CheBs here, but I really don’t know how I feel about this one.

Further Reading

67 Caprice Estate by JPCavanaugh

68 Caprice Pillarless Sedan by Ed Stembridge

68 Impala Convertible by Jim Grey

68 Chevmobile Fastback by Paul Niedermeyer

Wikipedia lists over 170 different cognitive biases. For some unexplicable reason the CC effect is not mentioned among them, and yet I just can’t seem to escape it at the moment. No sooner had I written up the 1968 Chevrolet Impala Custom Sedan than I came across another custom-bodied US giant.

Our 1965 Ford Galaxie 500 custom sedan ute may well be a one-of-one production. This model year is one of my preferred Ford shapes, so we’re starting off on the right foot. Let’s have some fun with a forensic examination of its origins.

Firstly, it’s not a Ranchero. The fullsized versions were a 1957-59 new vehicle shopper opportunity only, after which it was drastically downsized. The Falcon-based 1965 Ranchero was in fact the pony (carrying) car of the Ford commercial range.

Not a Sedan, you might say. Well, Ford (and others) tended to use the term loosely. The Country Sedan was the mid-range option for the 1965 fullsize wagon range, beneath the woodnerful Country Squire and above the newly-refullsizified Ranch Wagon.

Not a Custom either, one could posit. Ford also had dibs on that name, using it in 1965 for the lower-caste Custom and Custom 500 two- and four-door fullsize variants. They even had their own exclusive tail lights representing the global trend towards aesthetic minimalism, but our featured CC doesn’t share those lenses. Nor does it show any direct lineage from the wagons with their own exclusive narrow versions.

The rear lenses and the tailgate shutlines on our featured CC show a strong hint of upper-range two- or four-door body.

And the profile completes our examination. Galaxie 500 badging on the front quarter panel, and short door indicating four-door origin.

Some retroactive cross-pollination in the mix?

Here’s a closer look for anyone interested in attention to detail. External hinges and latches probably a financial necessity. Rear window looks to be from a four-door. Rails are a nice touch.

It’s not the first time one of these oz 65 utes has been featured on CC. A couple of years ago Paul featured this shot by DingleyDave from the cohort.

I prefer the roofline on the silver ute. I think the real weak point of today’s CC is too much slope on the rear window plane. If it were up to me, I’d make that angle a bit more upright. And I’d probably lengthen the doors a smidge. Not the whole 1965 Ford fullsize two-door door-length, mind.

Further Reading

65 Custom by Paul Niedermeyer

65 Galaxie 500 by JPCavanaugh

65 LTD by Paul Niedermeyer

57 Ranchero by Paul Niedermeyer

64 Ranchero by Mike Butts

Continuing on from the recent spate of custom sedans is this monstrosity captured by tbm3fan. Being a post-1980 vehicle, I have no idea what make or model this is, nor do I care to research it. That rear light strip does seem slightly familiar, though.

However, CC being the home of a story for every car, I’ll let the CCommentariat (try to) tell this one.

Rlplaut’s COAL series has been a superbly engaging read. Amongst the cars and partners, there’s been much about his career in computer programming. Until his stories, I have had little interest in this subject but a recent article in The Guardian has also opened my eyes to the beauty of early computing. Maybe I’m hijacking the CC code of subject matter with this piece, but at least this cover model – the Pilot ACE from a design by Alan Turing – has four wheels.

These images are the work of photographer James Ball who practices under the name Docubyte, and the series is called ‘Guide to Computing’. James located a number of archaic computers in various collections around the UK and photographed them. The photos were then retouched by his colleagues at INK to look like new, eliminating all signs of age and disrepair.

This one’s my favourite – the CDC 6600 designed by Seymour Cray in all its ‘2001: A Space Odyssey-like’ glory. There may be some wondering at the point of this exercise, but consider this. Some of these computers were built as industrial equipment, and would never have had a glossy brochure or been subject to high-quality photography when they were new, so James has allowed these fascinating units to be seen afresh.

Docubyte is selling copies of these images, just click on the link below for more info.

Beautiful and inspiring stuff.

Further Reading:

Docubyte – Guide to Computing

The Guardian article on these works

Since 1950, 754 drivers have started in a Formula One Championship Grand Prix.
Of those, there have been 106 different race winners.
Of those, 32 have won the World Drivers’ Championship.
Of those, only one has won a championship driving a car of his construction.

On this day 50 years ago, that singular distinction became Jack Brabham’s.

In July 1966, spectators at the Dutch Grand Prix were witness to a curious sight. An elderly man dressed in racing overalls with a long flowing beard and jack handle for a walking stick was limping along the racetrack. By now Jack Brabham was the old man of the Formula One racing scene.

He was born forty years earlier in Hurstville, about 10 km south of the centre of Sydney. An only child, Jack was prone to shenanigans. One time his parents took the handlebars and seat off his tricycle to teach him a lesson. He figured out how to steer it with the pedals while sitting on the bar ahead of the vacant seat pole.

Before Jack was a race car driver, he was a race car constructor.

He left school at fifteen, and learned fitting and turning skills on the job. When he came of age, he joined the Royal Australian Air Force hoping for a fly during the war. By then, however, the Air Force didn’t need anymore pilots so instead Jack was trained as a flight mechanic. After hostilities ended he set up business in a workshop built for him by his uncle in his grandfather’s backyard.

He soon met Johnny Schonberg, recently discharged from the US Navy. Johnny was a weekend midget car racer. Midget racing was just about the crudest version of oval track racing around. If you wanted to avoid the gravel and dirt spray from these almost-constantly-sideways cars, you needed to get to the head of the pack and stay there.

In 1946 Jack made Johnny a very durable midget racer, building a 1,350cc engine and placing it on a custom-fabricated chassis.

Johnny’s wife convinced him to give up racing, and within a year the car was Jack’s. In his first season, Jack won the New South Wales state championship. He took up hill-climbing in his midget racer, and he was so quick on his first try the organisers decided his midget was not eligible because it didn’t have four-wheel brakes.

Jack took the midget back to his workshop, fitted brakes all round and entered the Australian Hill Climbing Championship. And won it.

Eventually Jack found himself in Coopers. After driving the smaller mid-rear engined Mark IV and Mark V models, he set his sights on a more substantial racer, this one with a 2 litre Bristol engine. He found it at a deceased estate, unused and quite expensive. After organising sponsorship with Redex, Jack and his father were able to buy the Cooper-Bristol.

He christened it the ‘Redex Special’ which just brought more problems. Entered in the 1953 Australian Grand Prix, it was promptly banned by the Confederation of Australian Motorsport for its bodyside advertising. Fed up with CAMS’ conservatism, in 1954 Jack took to New Zealand with its own vibrant racing scene.

By 1955, Jack was in England. The Big League. And the little league.

The Big League was the Formula One championship. Although racing in Australia had been recorded as far back as 1904 (at Sandown Park, above), and we had run our first Grand Prix in 1927 or 1928 (depending on who you believe), it was not until 1985 that our Grand Prix was actually a part of the World Championship.

By 1934 there were 18 Grands Prix across the globe, but with the after-effects of the war a rationalisation of this spread took place.

In 1950, the Federation Internationale de l’Automobile instigated the World Drivers’ Championship. For the first time, points accrued from seven official Formula One races would contribute to an overall winner for the season – awarded that year to Dr. Nino Farina in an Alfa 158. Over the 1950s and 1960s the number of eligible races grew to about 10.

For 1950 and 1951, the cars running under this formula were allowed engines of 4.5 litre naturally aspirated, or 1.5 litre supercharged.

Alfa and Ferrari dominated the championship’s first two years. For 1952 and 1953, the FIA changed the rules to try and even the field. Cars running under the previous Formula Two classification of 2 litres un-supercharged were allowed, and these made up most of the entrants.

1954 and 1955 saw a return to Formula One classification, with un-supercharged 2.5 litre engines the maximum allowed limit.

Meanwhile a new type of racing class has sprouted. Known as the 500cc class, these little league motorcycle-engined racers were created to suit the lower budget of the majority of enthusiasts.

One marque that came to prominence was Cooper, run by Charles (standing) and his son John (seated). Though John was an aspiring driver the Coopers found greater success as a manufacturer, with many buyers for their little cars. Their racers had the engine situated behind the driver – a configuration that allowed for a shorter chain-drive.

The mid-rear engine was nothing new; the pre-war GP Auto Union racers designed by Ferdinand Porsche (and driven here by the great Tazio Nuvolari) being the most notable antecedents.

After the war, efforts were made to reintroduce mid-rear back into racing’s top level. However, even during the 1952 and 1953 reduced displacement years, attempts such as Ernst Klodwig’s Heck-BMW made no real inroads into the big league and the idea was generally viewed as a gimmick.

Cooper’s larger front-engined cars had run to middling F1 success during the 2 litre years – Mike Hawthorn’s 3rd at the 1952 British GP was its best championship result. But these cars were not competitive at the 2.5 litre level and Cooper showed no interest in re-entering Formula One, let alone developing the mid-rear configuration for the formula.

Upon Jack Brabham’s 1955 arrival in Britain, he had purchased a second-hand Cooper. Unlike his ‘as new’ Redex Special, this one was a tired example. It was initially powered by an Alta engine and he soon replaced this with a Bristol unit. Jack entered it in non-championship races, but earned no podiums.

Jack got on with very well with John Cooper if not so much with his father Charles; it was John who came up with the nickname ‘Black Jack’ on account of his jet-black hair, five o’clock shadow and somewhat taciturn nature. Despite his lack of competition success, the Coopers started to notice Jack’s mechanical capabilities.

In the middle of the 1955, Jack had a proposal for the Coopers.

In 1951, the Coventry Climax FW (Feather Weight) 1,020cc 4 cylinder motor was introduced. Though it was the work of engineers with significant automotive experience – Harry Mundy and Walter Hassan – it was produced for an entirely different purpose. This was a fire pump engine; a portable unit designed to the British Government’s new specification of pumping twice the water from a unit half the weight of the previous specification.

However, by 1953 the British manufacturers of small racers had discovered its potential.

Manufacturer Kieft was first to put the Coventry Climax into one of their small racers, and before long Cooper did so too. For 1955, their designer Owen Maddock had developed the ‘bob-tail’ T39; a monoplace sports racer with a 1,089cc version of the engine mounted mid-rear.

Jack convinced the Coopers to let him build a T39 with a 2 litre Bristol engine, and in return he would work on their other cars for nothing.

The T40 was rushed to completion and entered in the British Grand Prix at Aintree where Jack diced with the best drivers of the era, as above with Hawthorn in his Ferrari. The Cooper retired with a broken clutch.

Jack fettled the T40 and took it back home to run in the 1955 Australian Grand Prix, held at Port Wakefield and run under Formula Libre (open formula) classification. He won the race and sold the car to help pay for his next European campaign.

Having driven both front and mid-rear engined Coopers, Jack had gained a first-hand understanding of the benefits of the latter’s configuration and had a (not unique) intuition that it could work in Formula One.

With the engine behind the driver, the main principles in play were a better weight distribution and improved inertia characteristics. The Auto Union cars were conceived to these principles, but were still enormous machines. A compact engine would better concentrate the driver torso/engine mass, and allow for a much smaller (hence lighter) vehicle which in return would need less overall power. For comparison purposes, above centre is a 1956 Maserati 250F, said to be the best balanced front-engined car in the estimation of many drivers.

With the mid-rear mounted Climax engine, 1956 saw success for the Cooper in Formula Two, a category recently dominated by Colin Chapman’s front-engined Lotuses.

By 1957 Jack was employed by Cooper as a works driver. The Formula Two cars would occasionally run in the same races as their senior brethren, but the Formula One wins were still not there.

Despite this Jack was becoming a popular driver with the crowds and it wasn’t just his sideways driving that caught their attention.

After an all-too-rare shunt at Monaco that year in his works Cooper during practice, Brabham’s engine was transferred into gentleman privateer Rob Walker’s T43. With Jack driving, it was running third when the fuel pump broke.

He got out and pushed the car out of the tunnel to the finish line for sixth place.

In 1958, a Cooper won its first championship Formula One race at the Argentinian Grand Prix. It was the same Rob Walker T43 from Monaco but with an enlarged 2.2 litre engine. The driver was Stirling Moss.

‘It was a bit annoying,’ Jack admitted. ‘But I made up for it later.’

The 1958 Monaco Grand Prix was won by Maurice Trintignant in a Rob Walker Cooper T45.

This car was very much like the T43, but with one significant difference.

Since arriving in England, Jack had been writing letters to a colleague back in Sydney.

Ron Tauranac had met Jack through the Australian racing scene and had even beaten Brabham once in a hill climbing championship, driving a car in the Cooper idiom of his own construction known as a Ralt. He had come to appreciate Jack’s broader capabilities when giving him some machining work through his fulltime job at CSR Chemicals, and their friendship continued when Jack left for overseas.

Jack had sent Ron an Autocar illustration of the T39, showing the Cooper racing chassis married to the Coventry Climax engine, with a few of his own notes scribbled on the sheet. Ron took those suggestions, and fashioned a set of step-down gear patterns for the Cooper-Climax racers. On one of his visits to Australia, Jack picked up Ron’s work and had it applied to a T43 Cooper in England.

The resulting T45 driven by Trintignant to Monaco victory had an engine sitting 3 inches lower than its predecessor, lowering its centre of gravity and significantly improving its cornering ability.

It’s important that I don’t understate the role of Owen Maddock (second from right) in this story. For the entirety of Brabham’s time at Cooper, Maddock was the chief engineer and primary designer of the vehicles Jack drove. He and Brabham didn’t get on personally; Jack considered him too conservative, but neither let this affect their professional relationship.

In truth, though, Jack was the impetus for the team. As Cooper mechanic ‘Ginger’ Devlin would later relate; ‘Jack was worth ten men and he kept the team together. Say we were still working at two in the morning and Jack said “Why don’t we try this?” we’d do it willingly because Jack would have worked everything out and we knew it would make a difference.’

In late 1958, Jack journeyed to Paris. Cooper was using the ERSA gearbox also found in the Citroen Traction Avant, and it was having trouble handling the power from the more powerful Climax engines. Jack showed them where to add ribbing to the casings for greater strength, and they had 25 gearboxes ready within 3 weeks. Those gearboxes would last the next three seasons.

In 1959, Jack Brabham finally saw the Formula One chequered flag in the 2.5 litre T51 Cooper-Climax.

For all this talk of Brabham’s mechanical nous, he was also a top driver and fierce competitor. Stirling Moss – arguably the best driver of his generation – rated Brabham on the track; ‘I would say he was probably one of the toughest drivers I ever raced against. Most of the drivers, once you’d passed them, you can forget about them, but (with Brabham), you never knew. He was always there, hunting along. He was competitive, I mean, he wanted to win.’

Brabham’s first victory came at Monaco. Stirling Moss was also driving a T51, but one fitted with a Colotti gearbox that failed during the race.

After that it was wins for Jack at the French and British Grands Prix.

The 1959 season came down to the last race. Brabham was ahead in championship points, but Moss and Tony Brooks were still in the running.

It was a long wait. The US Grand Prix at Sebring was held in December, three months after Monza. The weekend before the stateside Grand Prix, Jack participated in a race at Nassau during which a stone had flown into his goggles filling one eye with shards of glass.

Despite the discomfort Jack had a good race at Sebring and found himself leading.

A mile from the finish line the car ran out of fuel. It coasted for 500 yards then stopped.

As he had done two years before at Monaco, Jack got out and started pushing.

He coaxed his T51 up the track’s slight gradient and watched the other cars flash by. Brabham knew Moss was already out of the race and saw Brooks coming in third. He reached the finish line and collapsed to the ground, utterly exhausted.

The officials led him to a caravan, and for a short while he regained himself. Inside, away from everyone, he did a mental tally of points and realised that he had won the 1959 World Drivers’ Championship.

In 1958, the FIA added another championship alongside the drivers’ title for the team that accrued the most points. Cooper won the World Constructors’ Championship in 1959.

1960 saw Brabham win his second World Drivers’ Championship in the ‘lowline’ Cooper-Climax T59.

It featured a suspension arrangement conceived in Sydney, sketches of which had been sent to England via airmail.

By Ron Tauranac.

With his newfound fame, Jack embraced the opportunities that arose; product endorsements for the Rootes Group and various other products, as well as ghost-written pieces for the press. Though not as media-hungry as Stirling Moss, he still had a deep appreciation of the money that could be earned via this route. It has to be remembered that though the top Grand Prix drivers were well paid, their remuneration was nothing near what is earned today.

Between championships Jack Brabham set up a garage and dealership in Chessington, Surrey, selling Rootes, Standard Triumph and eventually BMC cars.

He used his reputation to market tuning kits and Q-cars for various models, the most potent of which was the Triumph Herald fitted with a 1,220 cc Coventry-Climax engine.

Jack asked Ron Tauranac to join him in England. Ron was reluctant; he had a good job and a family to consider. Jack sent him a return ticket; if Ron decided he didn’t want to stay he could just get on the plane back to Australia. Instead, Ron exchanged it for a one-way flight and used the rest of the money to bring his family over.

Ostensibly, the move was to help Jack at his garage dealership.

Secretly, they planned to start producing their own Formula Junior cars.

By 1961, Formula One racing had been changed forever. The starting grid was now filled with mid-rear engined cars.

Even that recalcitrant late-adopter, Enzo Ferrari – who had scorned these British garagisti – finally followed suit. And did so with a vengeance. He owned the 1961 season with Phil Hill and Wolfgang von Trips in his sharknose Ferrari 156. Things ended tragically with von Trips and 14 spectators dying in a racing accident and the driver’s title went to the classical-music-loving American.

1961 had seen Jack beat another new path – to Indianapolis.

A special 2,750 cc offset version of the Cooper-Climax was prepared and sent to the US for the 500. Before the race, AJ Foyt took a look at the car and called it ‘a bunch of pipes lashed up with chicken wire.’ It qualified 2 mph slower than the pole sitter, and started the race in thirteenth spot. Despite his car chewing through inadequate tyres Brabham finished ninth, and the clock had started ticking for the front-engined Offys.

But Jack didn’t win a Formula One race all year during the 1961 season. And he had grown tired of Charles Cooper’s negativity and resistance to change.

‘Charlie Cooper didn’t like spending money and I had the feeling that we were just not going to go on winning races like we did in 1959 and ‘60. He kept saying to me, “Why change it when you’re winning?”’

At the end of the 1961, Jack left the Cooper team.

The business Jack had set up with Ron Tauranac was named Motor Racing Developments, a 50/50 arrangement between the two men. It would manufacture race cars and run a Formula Two team. Whilst in Switzerland, journalist Jabby Crombac told Jack his company’s initials were somewhat reminiscent of the French word ‘emmerder’ (to give someone the shits). Jack got on the phone to Ron and they agreed to rename the business Brabham Racing Developments.

Ron Tauranac was the designer of the BRD cars. His first was a Formula Junior for Australian driver Gavin Youl. It was another journalist, Alan Brinton, who later suggested the cars be coded BT for Brabham Tauranac, and this first car was retrospectively named the BT1. Jack was actively involved in its construction, doing the most difficult machining for Ron.

Jack formed another company, the Brabham Racing Organisation. This would be the Formula One team, and a customer of Brabham Racing Developments.

Although it all seems pre-ordained now, Jack’s decision to leave Cooper caught Ron Tauranac on the hop and he didn’t have a car ready for the start of the 1962 season. Jack ran an outdated Lotus 24 until late July when the BT3 was ready. It debuted in its attractive turquoise and gold livery at the Nurburgring, and scored its first championship points later that season at the US Grand Prix.

However, even a change in livery to Australia’s informal national colours of green and gold for 1963 brought no victories for Jack.

In 1964, the Brabham Racing Organisation earned its first championship victory, with Dan Gurney’s BT7 winning in France. Gurney followed that with another win in Mexico the same year.

1965 would not prove so fruitful.

1961 to 1965 were known as the 1.5 litre years in Grand Prix, for the maximum engine displacement (un-supercharged) allowed by the FIA during this period. As had Phil Hill in 1961, John Surtees won in a Ferrari in 1964, and Graham Hill won with a BRM in 1962, but these years were dominated by two other men.

Colin Chapman had taken the mid-rear engine idea and developed its next tangible improvements. He made his cars monocoque-bodied and used the new V8 Coventry Climax engine as a stressed member, significantly reducing the weight of these frame-less racers.

He also changed the driver’s position, resetting him almost prone with a seat-back angle of 55 degrees, thereby reducing the frontal area of the car even further. His 1962 Lotus 25 is shown above in comparison to the 1959 Cooper T51.

Chapman’s number one driver was Jim Clark. Clark initially had difficulty adjusting to the new seating, but as he put it himself; ‘Once I had mastered the new position, I wondered how I had ever driven a racing car any other way.’

Jim Clark won the 1963 and 1965 Formula One World Drivers’ Championships, and with Colin Chapman set the benchmark for the 1.5 litre years.

While Formula One wins were proving sporadic, Jack and Ron were doing better in Formula Two. After a successful 1964 season, they were approached by Honda for 1965. This following extract from a 1990s article by Mike Lawrence in Classic and Sports Car is a vivid illustration of Jack the driver, leader, team player and businessman.

‘When Honda bought a Cooper prior to its entry in F1, the Weber carburettors baffled its engineers. Jack interrupted one of his trips home to show them how it should be done. The fledgling Honda team was knocked out by the fact that the World Champion made the effort and, after they had seen him at work, they were devotees for life. When Honda decided to enter car racing, it approached Lotus to build an F1 car and Jack to run an F2 team. Colin Chapman received a mock-up of the Honda F1 engine and sat on it, to delay Honda’s entry to F1 and to wind up Coventry Climax. Chapman was crossed off Honda’s Christmas card list but, to this day, Brabham and Tauranac are consultants to Honda.’

‘Jack ran an F2 Honda engine in 1965 and, for the first race, he qualified nine seconds off the pace. Instead of throwing his toys out of the pram, he taught the small band of of engineers how to go motor racing. These men included two future presidents of Honda, Tadashi Kume and Nobuhiko Kawamoto. At the last race, he took pole and finished second, just 0.6 seconds behind Clark’s Lotus. Brabham and Tauranac then told Honda precisely what sort of engine to build – the first had been peaky, and its shape made it impossible to install harmoniously. Honda responded and delivered an entirely new unit within a few months. Tadashi Kume says: ‘Jack and Ron taught us how to win races.”

‘It was not luck, it was Jack’s integrity and engineering input that turned Honda from a makeweight into a winner. In fact, it could have been 11 wins [instead of ten for the 1966 F2 season] because he spun out of the lead at Rouen. All the race reports say the gearlever came off in his hand, but Nobuhiko Kawamoto knows the true story.

‘“Before the race I received a call from Mr Honda who was concerned that the engines were lasting so long that we were not learning anything. He wanted us to run an engine until it broke so I built one with a used crankshaft and bearings. Jack-san did not finish the race, the engine seized five laps from the end and he spun. He walked back to the pits and we were apprehensive, thinking that he would be angry. Jack-san, however, smiled and pulled the gear lever out of his pocket so everyone, including the journalists, thought he had retired because of the lever. He did it to protect Honda. He was a demanding man, a hard man to work for, but he had a great heart.”’

Despite the cameraderie and respect between them, Ron Tauranac wanted out of BRD. Though he never sought the limelight, he had some regrets about working under the Brabham moniker.

In 1965 he told Jack he wanted the build the cars himself, and then sell them to Jack without engine for £3000.

Jack thought about it for a while and returned with a counter proposal. He would combine the manufacturing business and Formula One race team into a single entity, with a 50/50 partnership between the two men covering this reconstituted Brabham Racing Organisation. As a final kicker, he offered to double Ron salary. Ron accepted.

Tauranac’s misgivings about continuing with BRD might have had something to do with the new 3 litre limit for Formula One to commence in 1966. He had been designing a car, the BT19, to accommodate the upcoming 1.5 litre Coventry Climax flat-16 engine, which was made instantly redundant with the announcement of the new engine parameters.

Preparations were made in earnest for the 1966 season by all the manufacturers. Enzo Ferrari had Mauro Forghieri design a new V12 that was capable of 360hp. For Cooper, Maserati built a V12 with a similar output. British Racing Motors’ plans were the most ambitious, an H16 layout (as seen above) with a nominal output of 400 hp. The BRM and Lotus teams were to use the H16, and Brabham was offered it as well.

But Jack had another idea.

Back in 1962, Lance Reventlow had taken a Scarab to Australia and Jack had been able to get a first hand look at its powerplant. It was a version of the small aluminium 215 cu. in. V8 Buick engine that would later find its way across the Atlantic into the Rover cars. GM had abandoned these engines for production cars after 400,000 units had been produced due to excessive wastage from miscast blocks, but the bespoke nature of motorsport could overcome this issue.

Jack had already persuaded Australian company Repco to build some 2.5 litre versions of this small GM engine for the local Tasman racing series. A business called Repco-Brabham Engines was established and run by Frank Hallam (second from right) in Maidstone, Victoria to produce the engines. Though Brabham had no equity in this business, he was sure to receive preferential treatment.

The RB620 was designed by Australian Phil Irving (left), the creator of the Vincent Black Shadow motorcycle engine. Irving’s modifications to the Oldsmobile block (with its extra stud per cylinder compared with the Buick version) were so comprehensive, Repco-Brabham was to claim it as their own design.

In September 1965, Jack Brabham asked Repco-Brabham to prepare a 3 litre version of the RB620 for Formula One. With an output of around 310hp it would be down on power relative to most of his competitors’ units, but Jack’s thinking was pristine.

With the change in formula, Jack suspected that there would be teething troubles with all these new and complicated engines. He reasoned that a basic, robust and lightweight unit might be the answer to successful season of racing. Simplicity was key to Irving’s design; budgetary contraints had limited the engine to an sohc valve arrangement, but he had deliberately designed the chaindrives and head as a combined demountable unit for ease and rapidity of repair without disturbing the engine’s timing.

For all its deficiencies in outright power, the RB620 had a superb torque range suited to the twistier circuits.

The RB620 3 litre was placed into Tauranac’s BT19 car, with only minor modifications to the rear of the frame. Despite the advances in monocoque construction, Ron had opted to maintain a spaceframe arrangement for ease of repairability. As Jack put it in his autobiography;

‘My whole aim was to make the car a finisher. If it won races, all to the good, but in order to win you must finish.’

Monaco Grand Prix, Monaco. May 24, 1966.

The opening race of the 1966 Grand Prix season. Starting 11th on the grid, Brabham was soon out with a stuck transmission. The race was won by Jackie Stewart in a BRM. The H16 had been driven during practice, but was not raced and Stewart’s engine was instead a 2 litre V8. Lorenzo Bandini came second in a 3 litre Ferrari.

Belgian Grand Prix, Spa-Francorchamps. June 12, 1966.

Seven cars were out on the first lap after Jo Bonnier connected with Mike Spence in heavy rain, resulting in a cascade of accidents. Jack Brabham finished in fourth, but it was John Surtees in first and Bandini in third that told of Ferrari’s genuine threat for the season.

French Grand Prix, Riems. July 3, 1966.

Brabham started in fourth position, but moved to second on the first lap and slipstreamed behind Bandini’s Ferrari. By his own admission that tow was the only thing that kept him so close to the more powerful prancing horse. Bandini led for 31 laps before a broken throttle cable thwarted his race. Brabham took the lead and won.

It was the first ever F1 championship victory for a driver/constructor. The press were ecstatic.

British Grand Prix, Brands Hatch. July 16, 1966.

Brabham took pole and led from start to chequered flag. Teammate Denny Hulme came second in a slightly longer wheelbase BT20. Jack was thrilled with his team’s one-two finish.

Dutch Grand Prix, Zandvoort. July 24, 1966.

Jack had turned 40 a month back, and was copping stick from the press for being the oldest driver in the Formula One field. Not one to take this lying down, he donned a fake beard and hobbled to his car. As he later recounted; ‘I just had to win after that.’

He did.

German Grand Prix, Nurburgring. August 7, 1966.

The Nurburgring was – and still is – the most daunting track in Formula One. 17 miles of endlessly undulating curves and twists making it hard to sustain a consistent driving line.

‘The German Grand Prix was extremely wet. It was a shocking race, actually, and a very dangerous one; I guarantee we drove every lap under a different set of circumstances, because of rain showers on different parts of the circuit. I got a lot of satisfaction out of winning that race, because it was the first Grand Prix I had won at the ‘Ring. I look back on that as more satisfying for me personally than perhaps any other race. John Surtees was second and Jochen (Rindt) third.’

Italian Grand Prix, Monza. September 4, 1966.

Another victory for Ferrari, but it was not Surtees driving. He had fallen out spectacularly with team manager Dragoni after the Ford GT40s wiped the floor at Le Mans, and resigned from Ferrari mid-season to race a Cooper-Maserati. Monza was instead won by Ludovico Scarfiotti.

With four victories under his belt and two races to go, no other driver was going to be able to top Black Jack’s points tally.

On September 4, 1966, Jack Brabham was officially the winner the 1966 Formula One World Drivers’ Championship.

In a car of his construction.

To put this accomplishment in perspective, only two other men have won a Formula One championship race as both driver and constructor. One was Dan Gurney.

‘In 1963 (Jack) hired me as his team mate for his newly established Brabham F1 team and during the next three years we really got to know each other. We discovered we shared similar traits. We were not only interested in driving racing cars but in building them, improving them, searching for every tiny bit of technical advantage we could find. In 1966 we went our separate ways and I followed the trail he had blazed by trying to build, race and win with my own F1 cars.’

As a driver, Gurney made his mark on the international scene. His entered Formula One in 1959 and, as well as giving the Brabham team their first Formula One championship victory he did the same for Porsche in 1962.

With AJ Foyt he won the 1967 Le Mans 24Hrs in a Ford GT40 Mark IV, but his record as a driver is perhaps overshadowed by a 1971 victory piloting a Ferrari 365 GTB/4 Daytona in an informal road race held on US soil and run from sea to shining sea.

As a constructor, Gurney found most success at home. With Carroll Shelby, he formed All-American Racers and the cars created by this team were known as Eagles. In 1968, Gurney piloted an AAR Eagle in the Indy 500, coming second to Bobby Unser who was also driving an Eagle. This was the first of three Eagle victories in the 500, though none had Gurney behind the wheel.

Since its inception AAR has run with success in multiple domestic series and continues to astound with the 2012 DeltaWing racer.

In 1966, Dan Gurney entered Formula One with the slightly renamed Anglo American Racers team. The cars he produced in conjunction with Len Terry were some of the most beautiful monoplace racers ever. With its distinctive beak, an Eagle could be recognised at a glance. The first F1 Eagle was powered by a Coventry Climax engine, but midway through the season it received a V12 designed by Aubrey Woods and built by Harry Weslake, who gave the Eagle-Weslake half its name.

In 1967, Gurney drove an Eagle-Weslake to victory in the season-opening Race of Champions at Brands Hatch – although this Formula One race was not part of the championship.

That year Gurney won the Belgian Grand Prix at Spa in his number 36 racer. It was the only championship victory he would take in one of his own cars, before bowing out as an F1 constructor in 1968.

The other driver/constructor to win a Grand Prix was Bruce McLaren.

Jack had met Bruce back in New Zealand. Bruce’s father Len was active in motorsport and had accommodated Jack at his house during his trans-Tasman jaunts. Bruce was a talented driver, and won a ticket to England to try his hand at the big league. At Jack’s suggestion, Cooper had taken McLaren on as a Formula Two driver for the 1958 season. In 1959 he was promoted to the top series and in 1960, McLaren came second to Brabham in the drivers’ championship.

When Jack left Cooper Bruce became their number one driver, but by the end of 1965 he too had left the much diminished team.

In 1966, he entered Formula One with the McLaren team in a car designed with Robin Herd. It was painted white with a green stripe, chosen so it could be filmed during genuine races to double that of James Garner’s Pete Aron in the fictional John Frankenheimer film ‘Grand Prix’. In 1968, McLaren settled on a vibrant orange hue for his Formula One cars that is still synonymous with his name.

Bruce had also entered the emerging and lucrative Can-Am series for large, relatively unrestricted sports racers. This short-lived but prominent series is where he made his greatest mark; his distinctive orange creations winning 5 out of 6 races in 1967, 4 out of 6 races in 1968 and an extraordinary 11 out of 11 races in 1969 – most of which had come from his own driving.

His sole driver/constructor Grand Prix victory came at Spa, the year after Dan Gurney had done the same. In 1969, McLaren came third in the drivers’ championship, though he had no victories that season.

Perhaps, of the three successful driver/constructors, Bruce McLaren was the most complete package. He was studying for a degree in engineering at Auckland University when he won his driver’s scholarship to England. Being 11 years younger than Brabham, his accomplishments seemed only just starting to accumulate. But he died in June 1970 while test-driving one of his Can-Am cars.

Could it happen again? Maybe; these days it would take someone with the acumen and financials of an Elon Musk and the driving ability of an Alonso or a Verstappen, so I’m not holding my breath.

Behind the 1966 Brabham victory there was, of course, a racing team; (left to right) Bob Illich, Roy Billington, (un-named), John Muller, Cary Taylor, Denny Hulme, Jack, Ron, John Judd, (un-named, possibly Geoff Murdoch from Esso).

At Repco-Brabham; Frank Hallam, Phil Irving, Michael Gasking, Bob Brown, Nigel Tait, Peter Holinger, Kevin Davies, David Nash, Stan Johnson, John Mepstead and Rodway Wolfe.

And most likely others as well.

Along with as Jack’s 1996 driving title, Brabham Racing Organisation won the World Constructors’ Championship as well.

For 1967 it was the RB740 engine with exhausts running up and over. The season came down to the last race again, but Jack had to win for a chance and he only came second. He wasn’t too perturbed, though, with Denny Hulme winning the drivers’ title and his own consolation prize of another World Constructors’ Championship.

1968 was a disaster, with 10 retirements and one DNS out of 12 races. At Spa, however, was more evidence of the Jack of old and new.

Old-school Jack:

On the day before the race, a stripped-down engine had shown that a sub-contractor had used the wrong material for the valve-seats. Jack got on to John Judd in England and arranged to have some new seats made. Jack then flew over in his Piper Twin Comanche with two cylinder heads on board.

At three in the morning, Betty Brabham was woken in her family home by the smell of burning. Jack was in the kitchen with the heads in the oven, shrinking the seats into place. He flew back to Belgium and was ready at the start of the race, the cylinder heads having been fitted while he was able to grab some sleep.

New-school Jack:

Ron had fitted some little wings to the nose of Jack’s car. Jack took it out for a lap and decided he wanted some similar downforce on the rear. Taking an idea from the Chaparral Can-Am racers, a separate wing was fabricated and mounted on rods attached to the chassis.

Ferrari had produced a similar appendage but the Brabham was out in practice before them, making BRO the first constructor to practice, qualify and race a Formula One car with a rear wing by a margin of one hour.

1969 was not much better for Jack, though team driver Jacky Ickx came second in the drivers’ championship, winning the German and Canadian Grands Prix.

As far back as 1965, Jack had been mulling retirement as a driver. But he also knew that if he were to continue in a technical capacity, it would by necessity involve him driving at the limit for testing – in some ways even more dangerous than racing.

And there was also Betty, who wanted to stop worrying about whether Jack might not come home from work one day, and was eager to give their three boys – especially the two younger ones – an Australian childhood.

In late 1969, Jack Brabham took the decision to retire from Formula One. He quietly sold his share in Motor Racing Developments Ltd to Ron Tauranac. (Despite its pardon-the-French acronym, the official name for the company had always been MRD, with BRD and 1966-onwards BRO serving in some sort of ‘trading as’ capacity.)

Jack on Ron; ‘He was the only bloke with whom I’d have gone into partnership. He was conscientious to a fault and peerlessly straight.’

But in 1970, the year he turned 44, Jack was behind the wheel again.

The team had secured Jochen Rindt as number one driver for the season, but at the last minute Colin Chapman made Rindt an offer significant enough to have him stay at Lotus.

Partly out of loyalty to his mate, and partly of his own misgivings about stepping away while he still felt at the top of his game, Jack had a long and awkward conversation with Betty over the phone – and found himself driving for Ron Tauranac.

By his own (never overstated) estimation, Jack had a chance at the title in 1970. He got off to a great start by winning the South African Grand Prix, but the rest of the season was beset by the sort of niggles that turn a winner into an also-ran.

At the end of the year, he left Formula One for good.

With Jack gone, things weren’t the same for Ron.

‘Jack and I would stay with the mechanics until 10 o’clock at night, and then we’d have dinner. But when Jack was no longer driving, there was no one with whom to eat dinner or, indeed, socialise at all. I didn’t like that very much.’

In late 1971, Tauranac sold the Brabham team to Bernie Ecclestone, a mismatched pairing to say the least. Though Ron stayed on, it didn’t last long. He left to take a long vacation before reviving the Ralt brand in 1974, building cars for Formula 2, 3 and Junior to much success.

With nearly 600 Brabham Tauranacs and over 1,000 Ralts to his credit, Ron Tauranac AO is the most prolific builder of open-wheeled racers in the history of motorsport.

Despite a tantalising 1970, Jack’s regrets in leaving Formula One were tempered by the deaths of Jochen Rindt, Bruce McLaren and Piers Courage that season. He settled comfortably back into Australia; keeping his hand in motor racing as a manufacturer of VW racing engines as well as enjoying the occasional drive, attending to other business interests including an aviation company and a car dealership, and taking his boys out though the Botany Bay heads for a spot of fishing.

In 1979, Jack became the first racing driver to be honoured with a knighthood.

Sir John Arthur Brabham, AO, OBE passed away in May 2014.

He didn’t invent the mid-rear engined racer, but he was one of the most influential figures in its final propulsion towards a new norm in Formula One.

Nor did he build his 1966 championship-winning car by himself, but he was the hands-on, strategically-prescient and inspirational leader of the team that carried his name.

And on top of all this, Jack Brabham was a bloody good racing driver as well.

Further Reading:

Primotipo.com is a superb website run by Mark Bissett
focusing on motorsports much in the same way
CC covers curbside classics. For anyone interested in the subject,
I strongly recommend wandering through its various blogs,
but I will highlight two in particular:

Rodway Wolfe’s first-hand account of his time at Repco-Brabham
working on the RB620 engine

Rodway’s overview of the 1966 Formula One season
including a closer look at the competitive set

Other Sites:

Mattijs Diepraam writing at 8W on the various attempts
at a post-war mid-rear engined race car

rontauranac.com.au – the official website detailing his output

jack-brabham-engines.com – a great fansite endorsed by Sir Jack himself

The deliberately anonymous car – a tool for the non-aligned industrial supplier to circumvent an implied preference (or as we will see in a few weeks, liability) in their publicity materials. The artist here did a good job; the car seems both familiar and attractive which is not an easy task when you have to make something up, but to be honest it’s earning most of its goodwill from Pontiac.

I also see a Galaxie rear. You see any thing else?

Motorclassica is coming up again, and this time we’re going to try and formalise a get-together of curbivores. Up till now it’s been a bit informal, with convenor JohnH and myself making it two years ago. Last year we expanded the gathering with five for lunch and six to the event. This year, who knows?

Some of you, like myself, might not be such a fan of carshows but the Motorclassica really does bring together a great selection of rare, exotic and sometimes hitherto completely unknown marques.

This year’s theme is Carrozzeria Touring Superleggera, not Ghia. This lovely green US/Italian hybrid was on display last year

Last year’s theme was Maserati, with a nice scattering including some OSCAs.

The range of vehicles on display covers almost all eras, and can be quite extraordinary.

There are cars made for the track, and those seen on the street.

This year’s Motorclassica will be held on 21-23 October, as always at the Royal Exhibition Building on the north edge of Melbourne’s CBD.

Last year we met on the Friday, but that might be inconvenient for some. We’re thinking of having lunch at Carmine’s in Lygon Street again. It’s just around the corner, the food is good and not expensive, and the name has its own historical links with CC. So let us know if you’re interested in coming, and what day suits. If we get enough response, we’ll do a further memo closer to the date.

Motorclassica website

In part 1 of this abbreviated series I mentioned that another reason for the deliberately anonymous car was to avoid an implied liability. This time, I’m going to let the CCommentariat unpick the carefully obscured clues – mostly because I still don’t know exactly which makes and models I’m looking at here.

I’m guessing the bike is a Harley, though.

Just a quick reminder about the Motorclassica meetup in Melbourne (Vic, Aus) this Friday 21 October. Before we check out the cars we’re having lunch at Carmine’s at 234 Lygon St from 12:30 (booking is under ‘Curbside Classic’ – please bring cash to avoid split-bill grief), so come along even if you’re not much of a commenter. We’re all camera-shy so you won’t be thrust into the CC limelight.

Anyway, onto the article. I have gathered up a selection of missed-it-by-that-much moments for the fun of it. First up, a partial view of a Jaguar E-type.

Rover P5B Coupe with what looks like front passenger door slightly ajar.

Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow with ugly later-series rubber bumpers indicating better steering and the 6.75 litre version of the V8.

At the other end of the luxury spectrum, a Citroen 2CV.

Go-faster red might not hasten the Citroen, but it does help quicken the pulse with this Alfa Romeo 2000 GTV.

I prefer these GTVs to the previous shape, but not in the latter series (even if it does have the 2.5 litre V6 as this one does). Nope, gimme an underpowered chrome-bumper version of this body anyday.

I never, ever, ever, ever see Fiat 127s over here, and this one popped up as I was shooting an old (common-as-muck) F-series pickup. I just had time to swing my body around 180 degrees and press the virtual shutter-release button on the touchscreen.

More common than the 127, but now too precious for everyday driving, is an LH or LX Holden Torana SLR 5000.

Ahhhh… living large in a gold Eldo…

I’ll need some help identifying this one’s make and date.

Whereas this one is a bit easier to date, thanks to the number plate.

The 69s and 70s look much the same when you don’t have the nosecone for guidance. Again, I’ll leave this to the CCognoscenti but I’m guessing 1970.

This one had the black plastic grille and IIRC rectangular headlights, if that’s any help.

A T1 pulling hipster duties.

And a G-series pulling yupster duties.

I’ve seen quite a few 928s lately. And that’s not a bad thing.

Best for last. I’ve really started to take to the C2 shape, and this beautiful example with those turbine-like wheel(covers?) was a real miss. Oh well, it’s around and I’m around, some maybe one day we’ll be around again at the same time. Until then…

I came across this pristine Range Rover parked very close to home. This shape has long been an object of my adoration, and my eyes popped when this example presented itself. So, having captured it for CC posterity, I can now indulge in an extended analysis of this highly influential automobile.

The JET 1 was a Rover prototype ultimately capable of 152 mph. Debuting in 1949, it was the first public manifestation of a gas-turbine programme within Rover that had commenced during the war and continued until the mid-1960s, culminating in a passenger car conceived for series production and a Le Mans racer.

Its shape was based on Rover’s first new post-war car, the P4.

When launched in 1949, the P4 emerged as somewhat of a surprise. The local press were proudly hailing the Austin A90 Atlantic with its flowing wings as the ‘new English Line’. Instead Rover had delivered something at odds with that aesthetic; a square-rigged shape derived from the 1947 Studebaker with curiously modern details such as the centre-mounted headlight. A brave step for this conservative upper middle-class brand.

Before the P4 was launched another programme was rushed through development.

With excess manufacturing capacity, a weak domestic market and the UK government’s insistence upon export products, Rover decided to build a utilitarian vehicle based on the Willys Jeep.

The 1948 Land Rover was originally conceived as a stop-gap; a nightwatchman as CC correspondent Roger Carr has so aptly described it in cricketing parlance, or a perhaps a pinch-hitter for those in the land of Mickey Mantle.

Not quite as exciting as a gas-turbine.

The Willys Jeep had emerged from the war victorious. This light and nimble 4WD vehicle would come to represent the US forces more evocatively than any helmet shape or uniform could. After the war, civilians would jerry-rig a weatherproof body around surplus Jeeps, and in 1946 Willys made a significant stride in the evolution of the modern SUV with their all-steel ‘Station Wagon’ model. Initially a RWD, it was not too long before a 4WD version came to market.

Upon the launch of the Land Rover, the 80” Station Wagon was also made available. This wooden-bodied variant by Tickford was not a success, with less than 650 sold during its two year lifespan.

Despite this minor setback, the nightwatchman Land Rover continued at the crease, piling on the runs as the spectators cheered from the pavilion in pride and amazement.

In 1951, the Road Rover was created to complement the Land Rover. Although bearing similar front wings to the ‘Landie’, the Road Rover was in fact based on a shortened P4 RWD platform. Crudely shaped in flat aluminium panels for ease of manufacture, the first Road Rover did not proceed past development mules. It was noted for its sprightly performance, a product of its light weight coupled with low gearing; and employees Gordon Bashford – the vehicle’s developer – and Spen King found themselves in possession of Road Rover mules for their own use.

In 1957, the Road Rover Series II was prepared. Although still rather crude in detailing such as its external door hinges, it was a more serious attempt to make a shape akin road cars. It bears similarity to Rover Chief Stylist David Bache’s 1958 P5 sedans, but he denies authorship and I cannot trace who laid down the lines for this body.

These scale clays give a better indication of the Road Rover II’s Chevrolet Nomad origins, but it’s the image shown bottom right that’s most telling. This is not a Rover styling model. It’s an over-scale prototype produced by Mettoy for the inclusion of the Road Rover in their Corgi Toys die-cast range.

With the Land Rover’s volumes exceeding those of their passenger cars, Rover had great hopes in the Road Rover. To such an extent that they had supplied Mettoy with top secret plans for this new model. Rover clearly intended for this vehicle to be a flagship of sorts.

Ultimately, the Road Rover programme did not proceed to production.

By 1966 Charles Spencer ‘Spen’ King (above) was head of Rover’s New Vehicle Projects team. One of his assignments was the 100 inch Station Wagon, known internally as the 100” S/W. This was not a continuation of the Road Rover programme, nor was it part of Land Rover’s development. It was a fresh-sheet project calling for a vehicle as comfortable, silent and attractive as a road car, yet with all the off-road capability of a 4WD.

Coincidently, Rover had asked employee Graham Bannock to conduct some comprehensive market research on the Land Rover. The findings showed that the Land Rover, nearing its 500,000th unit, commanded a third of the world’s market for vehicles of its type. Bannock was surprised to discover an emerging trend, with owners using these vehicles for recreational or road use as opposed to specific agricultural duties as had originally been intended. These findings reaffirmed Rover management’s decision to proceed with the 100” S/W.

With Gordon Bashford and a team of 20 engineers, work on the 100” S/W commenced. As King, in discussion with journalist Anthony Curtis, related; “I realised that a modern motor car suspension, particularly in terms of its rates and travels, could be astonishingly good in cross-country motoring.”

Curtis continues; ‘The Range Rover showed that live axles, given proper location, generous travels and soft springs had unsuspected virtues. But very careful design and development was needed, the front suspension in particular incorporating a number of subtleties which together make an important contribution to the excellence of the Range Rover’s handling.

‘To minimise intrusion into the engine space, for instance, an ingeniously-designed single pair of leading control arms simultaneously resist the braking and engine torque reactions imposed on the live front axle while at the same time providing it with fore-and-aft location. Lateral location is provided by a Panhard rod of the same length as the steering drag link, mounted parallel to it, and fixed at its inboard end to the chassis via the steering box. In this way bump-steer is kept to an absolute minimum.’

The vehicle was to feature a ladder frame chassis, rigid steel frame and unstressed aluminium skin. The 4WD system was permanent with high and low ranges, at the rear was a self-levelling unit and there were servo-assisted disc brakes all round. The aluminium 3.5 litre V8 engine had a compression ratio of 8.5:1, producing 135bhp @ 4750rpm and 185lb/ft @ 2500rpm.

The V8 derived from a 215 cu inch Buick engine. Rover Managing Director William Martin-Hurst had been visiting Carl Kiekhaefer’s Mercury Marine with the intention of selling Rover’s gas turbine technology (although Mercury turned out to be more interested in the diesel Land Rover engine for the Chinese market), and had stumbled upon the Buick engine as adapted for marine use. Martin-Hurst was mindful of approaching Chrysler during that trip for one of their small capacity V8s to use in Rover road cars, but when he saw the Buick mill he found exactly what he was hoping to source.

It first found its way into the P5 road car, but it was another Rover V8 project that would be more directly analogous to the Range Rover story.

The 1967 Rover BS (‘Buick Sport’) mid-engined sports car was developed by King and Bashford in their spare time along with some engineers from the newly acquired Alvis company. The styling department at Rover was too busy to help, so the team shaped the prototype themselves. Although it was to receive a makeover from David Bache before the project was cancelled, the original shape as depicted above was a remarkable effort for this cadre of styling ‘amateurs’.

The flat planes with creased edges contrasted with the softer forms that had emanated from Bache’s studio. The proportioning and line made for a handsome vehicle. Of particular note is the tall and airy greenhouse providing excellent all-round visibility, a characteristic not shared with the more exotic mid-engined cars emerging from Europe.

Gordon Bashford sketched out a body for the 100” S/W test mule. According to King, things “sort of evolved naturally – the shape just came as we worked out what was needed in terms of space.” The flat plane and creased edge language of the BS was used, and the sketches also addressed some elements of the vehicle’s packaging such as the pod-style instrument binnacle for the dash.

Meanwhile, David Bache set to work on the final production shape. Although crisper than his P6, it still featured enough curvature to demonstrate a familial resemblance. His shape also anticipated the styling upgrades that were to be included on the 1970-onwards P6 range, namely the use of a black-themed strip face.

By 1967, a full-size prototype had been built. The driver sat high in the airy greenhouse, allowing for superb visibility all-round and – importantly – downward where the wheels met the sometimes tricky terrain. It proved so attractive that it was decided to use this body as the basis for the production model.

To David Bache’s eternal credit, going with this shape was his decision. His adroit attention to the detailing capped off one of the finest-looking vehicles to emerge from Great Britain. An instant archetype and a timeless classic.

Production prototypes bore the letters ‘Velar’ above the grille in an attempt to disguise the manufacturer, and the naming the vehicle ‘Range Rover’ was one of the last decisions made before putting the vehicle to market.

In June 1970, the Range Rover was launched to a rapturous reception.

‘The Range Rover makes use of the same very light 3 1/2 litre V8 that has featured in the Rover 3.5 and 3500 cars for some time, detuned and recarbureted so as to run on any petrol and on any gradient. Four-wheel drive at all times (not using the Ferguson type employed by Jensen) gives this new Rover outstanding traction to match the high performance assured by the engine, and a surprisingly effective suspension system ensures ride and handling are up to the same exceptionally high standards.’

‘Both axles are carried on radius arm systems and both have 8 inches of working travel, coil sprung and controlled at the rear by a Boge Hydromat road-pumped self-levelling strut. It is this last item which allows the suspension to be designed for comfort and handling, without worrying about the effects of the 1,500 lb payload which is carried entirely by the rear axle. In sum, this go-anywhere car (and it is fit for anywhere, having the mobility and the smartness) is quite brilliant, full of admirable details and adequate to an incomparable variety of duties. It is fair to rank it as one of the three most outstanding cars to be introduced anywhere in the world in 1970.’

L.J.K.Setright. The British Motor Industry, World Cars 1971

It was first offered in six hues that perfectly complemented the lack of ostentation in the styling; Tuscan Blue, Masai Red, Bahama Gold and Lincoln Green. Our CC is in Sahara Dust and Davos White was also available. The blacked out rear pillar (in vinyl) which first appeared in 1974 is, for me, the preferred treatment.

As demonstrated by our feature CC, the interior was not so much opulent as it was pragmatic. The luxury with which this vehicle would come to be associated was preceded by a sense of the Scandinavian; spacious, sophisticated yet austere.

Emergency services took a shine to this extremely capable on-and-off-roader. It was included in police fleets around the country. And – as is shown bottom left in this (most likely) Swiss example – also abroad.

The body-on-frame basis of the Range Rover made it an almost endlessly customisable option for ambulances as well.

A six-wheeled version was built by Carmichael for use as fire tenders and rescue vehicles requiring a longer rear platform. The rearmost axle was not driven for the 400-odd examples built, but I believe there were a handful that did actually have a 6WD arrangement. Carmichael was to also produce ‘civilian’ 6 wheelers.

The Queen received a customised Range Rover, as did the Pope. And, if you had the money, you too could have a Range Rover prepared to almost any configuration, or taste.

The Range Rover would be a boon for coachbuilders, but it also signalled the demise of another of their staples – the shooting brake.

In automotive form, the shooting brake was a bodystyle for the well-to-do; built over a prestige chassis to be used on rural properties to ferry hunting dogs, long-barrelled guns and the occasional guest. By the time the Range Rover appeared, the shooting brake had become a shadow of its former self – driven by the type more likely to spray you with Brut 33 than with buckshot.

While development of the 100” S/W vehicle was progressing, Graham Bannock had conducted some anonymous market research specific to this new vehicle. 500 people participated, including 200 who owned station wagons and only 50 who were Rover owners. Participants were presented with the following description:

‘A new vehicle which would combine the comfort and appearance of a saloon car with a stronger more robust estate car that can go easily over non-paved roads, country tracks, or over the beach.’ 70% expressed a positive view of the mooted vehicle.

As had been happening around the world since the war, the British station wagon – or estate car – had evolved into a family affair more commonly found in the lower-caste brands. Rover road cars had not followed this trend, although one could purchase the coachbuilt P6 Estoura with its awkwardly sloping rear roofline.

There had actually been an earlier British attempt at a comfortable 4WD station wagon. It was the brainchild of Harry Ferguson and this 1962 example was styled by Giovanni Michelotti, no less.

Ferguson – of tractor fame – was an ardent proponent of all-wheel-drive himself. After breaking with Massey-Ferguson, he continued his efforts with a company called Harry Ferguson Research focusing AWD around roadholding and safety. The R4 saloon was an early attempt at an AWD car, and the R5 wagon was the next step in this progression. Although I cannot find any information about the Michelotti car, I suspect it was a reskinned R5.

Ferguson would abandon his bespoke creations to focus his efforts on the cars of others. He built a number of AWD Ford prototypes, including some Mustangs and this Zodiac 6 wagon as tested by the Lancashire County Constabulary. Ultimately his system would find use in the Jensen Interceptor FF.

On the domestic front, it seemed the only rival for the Range Rover was… the Land Rover.

Across the pond, Jeep had delivered another significant step in the progression towards the modern SUV. Launched in 1962, the Wagoneer received a styling refresh with a more car-like face in 1964 and marketing to reflect its urban aspirations.

But it lived in the land of the giants. While these fullsize pickup-based passenger vehicles were small in comparison to the US standard-sized cars back then, they were oversized for almost all urbanised export markets. However, this model was certainly on Rover’s radar when the 100″ S/W project commenced.

Almost identical in footprint to the Range Rover was the 1960 International Scout. These, along with the subsequent Ford Bronco and short-lived car-face Jeep Commando, could best be described as ‘recreational’ as opposed to ‘comfortably urban’.

As part of his research into the Land Rover, Bannock had visited the US to discover the Landie had good penetration into that market. But the Range Rover was only imported to the US in small, ‘unofficial’ batches. This appears to be for a combination of reasons; the investment required in meeting safety and emission regulations was perhaps too onerous for parent company British Leyland (the Land Rover was withdrawn from the US in 1974) and demand elsewhere was more than sufficient to meet supply.

By the time the Range Rover was officially released in the US in 1987, it had already made its mark there. The sub-fullsize category had started to splinter and mature, one result of which was the downsized 1984 Jeep Cherokee (above) which was to sit underneath the larger 1993 Grand Cherokee – both being influenced by the Range Rover aesthetic. Their jeep-face continued with the Wrangler.

During the 1970s the influence of the Range Rover was still a meandering stream. To find the first instances, we follow the money.

In 1976, Peter Monteverdi of Switzerland placed a bespoke Fissore body on International Scout II underpinnings to create the 1976 Safari. It bore more than a passing resemblance to the Range Rover and – with luxurious fittings and an exorbitant pricetag – also found favour amongst the moneyed European elite as well as in the Middle-Eastern markets.

Monteverdi supplemented the Safari with the cheaper Sahara (top right), a short or long wheelbase Scout II body with new face and plusher interior.

Compatriot Willy Felber; creator of custom body desecrations upon Ferrari, Lancia and the Pontiac Firebird, followed suit. The Felber Oasis (top right) was a refaced, nay defaced, Scout II body with upgraded interior. Unlike the Sahara, Felber also changed the Scout’s distinctive rear pillars and it looks like the roof is actually fixed. When the Scout was discontinued, Felber created the Oasis Mk.II on the Chevy S-10 Blazer.

In Germany, Erich Bitter had already tried an upmarket and refaced K5 Blazer in 1976 (bottom left), but the project never went past this first prototype.

As we saw earlier, this hyper-prestige market was also occupied by custom-built Range Rovers but found probably its most insane iteration in the Lamborghini LM002. Conceived for the US Army as the proto-Hummer Chrysler-engined Cheetah, it was repurposed with a 4 litre V12 engine and luxury interior and struck oil money. This sole wagon version was prepared for the Sultan of Brunei.

Similar to the LM002 was the 1979 Mercedes-Benz G-Wagen (hehehe). Initiated at the suggestion of Daimler Benz shareholder the Shah of Iran as a military vehicle, it was also released to the civilian market.

The product of eight years development in conjunction with Steyr-Daimler-Puch, it is clearly a Land Rover type with better ergonomics but deliberately rudimentary in appearance. Yet it persists to this day in civilian guise but with vastly improved appointments and an undiminished desirability.

And the Australian Army, for one, has just replaced its fleet of Land Rovers with these.

The mid-1970s VW Project 1021 came very close to production. Volkswagen of South Africa were tossing up between manufacturing the Golf or the cheaper option of retaining the Beetle. The brief to stylists Tim Fry and Reg Myatt was for Beetle variants in pickup and wagon bodies that looked like the Range Rover – the wagon having a single door on one side and two on the other. Six prototypes were prepared, passed through crash testing and approved by Wolfsburg before the decision was made to go with the Golf.

Italy brought us the Moretti ‘Sporting 4×4’ based on Fiat Campagnola underpinnings – probably the single most blatant attempt to mimic the Range Rover’s styling.

In France, the Range Rover had found itself sitting inside the Louvre in 1971 being celebrated as an ‘outstanding piece of modern sculpture.’

It also appears to have provided some inspiration for another significant step in the evolution of the modern SUV; the 1977 Matra Simca Rancho.

The donor vehicle was the humble front wheel drive Simca 1100 hatchback. Behind the front doors on a lengthened platform was a fibreglass body styled by Antonin Volaris. This car, aimed at a younger-skewed urban/recreation market, referenced the Range Rover’s boxy, crisply faceted and airy language with some extra touches. It took the blacked wheel arch flares of the Jeep CJ-series and added side molding ‘armour’ to create a ‘style-over-substance’ off-road aesthetic.

Which is not to say the Rancho was incapable off-road, but the look it delivered served to amplifiy the message. A 4WD variant was planned, however the Rancho was not adequately supported by a succession of corporate parents and production ceased in 1984.

This car would in turn come have its own influence on others.

Peugeot had effectively provided the French Range Rover without the need for 4WD. These middle class sedans and wagons had demonstrated their thorough competence on the challenging terrain of Africa since the colonial days. The 1979 504 Loisirs (leisure) concept from Heuliez was an over-the-top Rancho and the 1980 Dangel 504 4WD conversions could take you where even the standard 504 couldn’t.

By the end of the 1970s, Japan had a very broadly applied 4WD industry.

The 1971 Subaru AWD wagon marked yet another significant step in the evolution of the crossover. And like the Range Rover was to be sui generis for a long time.

From the mid-1970s, Suzuki and Daihatsu offered some micro-sized 4WD pickups and wagons marketed as both commercial and recreational vehicles. Towards the end of the decade, the Hilux class of pickup had spawned a 4WD and a steel longroof was not far off.

The 4WD had been part of Japan’s automotive output for some time. In 1951 the US asked Toyota for 100 Jeeps built to Willys Bantam specification for the Korean War. These were continued as the special order only BJ series but apparently Jeep (and local licencees Mitsubishi) took exception and Toyota started modifying it with their own body and componentry. They were named ‘Land Cruiser’ in 1954.

1955 saw the all-Toyota FJ series for the consumer market which was soon joined by the Nissan Patrol 60 series. As with the Jeep and Land Rover, these Japanese 4WDs were available in a variety of body styles; open and closed cab, and short and long wheel-based pick-ups and wagons.

In 1967, Toyota joined Jeep in offering a car-faced 4WD wagon alongside its jeep-faced offerings. Though not quite as car-faced as the Jeep Wagoneer, FJ50 (bottom) signalled Toyota’s growing understanding of the 4WD product diffusion it was to eventually master.

Although British Leyland had prepared a four door prototype in 1972, a lack of funds precluded its development. Monteverdi produced a number of very expensive four doors sold through Rover channels before BL finally put a cheaper ‘factory’ version to market in 1981.

It was built over the same 100” wheelbase resulting in awkward proportioning. The distinctive door handles, a small but effective styling element of the original, had to be discarded. Nevertheless, it was a great success, with demand for this variant soon outstripping that for the two door. In 1992, the LSE was launched, featuring a 108” wheelbase with longer rear doors. The engine was enlarged to 3.9 litres in 1990 and the LSE received a 4.2 litre version.

Levels of luxury had gradually accreted in the Range Rover culminating in the 1984 Vogue. The models sent to the US went standard with air-conditioning, automatics and cruise-control.

The Cleanfoot Paradox

Toorak Village sits on the edge of one of Melbourne’s innermost old-money suburbs. Although this photo was taken in the 1930s, not much has changed. The trams are newer, the shop windows more garish, but the tudor facades and low-rise silhouette remain.

For a very long time, Australia lived ‘off the sheep’s back’, whereby our economy was heavily dependent upon rural output. This is where a lot of our old-money came from, and many denizens of Toorak have maintained rural holdings long after our economy has stopped depending on them. One legacy of this history was reduced import tariffs for certain 4WD vehicles. That the Range Rover fell under this classification only added to its appeal.

While it may be chauvinistic and overly reductive to describe things in these terms, it was the Toorak housewife who gave the urban SUV much impetus. The Range Rover was the enabler; already sitting in the driveway, easy to pilot thanks to its car-like dynamic, easy to load for grocery runs down in the Village, easy to offoad offspring at the schools nearby and not unattractive to be seen in. During the 1980s, an alliteratively brilliant term emerged to describe this phenomenon.

Toorak Tractor.

The Toyota Land Cruiser gave the Range Rover its first serious challenge on this paved turf.

The 1980 FJ60 series was a marked refinement over its FJ50 predecessor. Strip-face notwithstanding, it was not a slavish replication of the Range Rover aesthetic. But it was still attractive, well-appointed, well-mannered on the road and also a superb offroader. And cheaper than the Range Rover.

While snob value can be said to be a factor in the appeal of the Range Rover, things were (as ever) not so simple. There is a particular subset of ‘old-money’ that can be characterised as ‘frugal old-money’. This is a higher form of snobbery, whose holders eschew conspicuous consumption in favour of conspicuous economy despite their wealth. I like to think of them as the ‘frayed-tweed set’, and they were starting be seen behind the wheel of a Toyota Cressida.

For them the Land Rover Wagon was more than adequate, but the FJ60 Land Cruiser became another way to demonstrate their disdain.

Australia provided an ideal market for this confluence of 4WD brands. Our umbilical relationship with the mother country had British cars ever present, and our physical proximity to Asia gave us early-adopter exposure to their emerging motor industry.

By the late 1950s Land Rovers, Land Cruisers and Patrols were working side-by-side on the massive Snowy River Hydro-Electric Scheme that would also employ tens of thousands of recently arrived European migrants. And the hardworking diligence of these newcomers earned the (initially grudging) respect of the colonial occupants.

In the wake of the FJ60 came a tsunami of Japanese Range Rover lookalikes; the Holden Jackaroo (née Isuzu Trooper) and the Mitsubishi Pajero (Montero/Shogun), the Nissan Patrol and its later-to-the-party badge-engineered sibling Ford Maverick.

Though these were primarily aimed at the high-volume US, there was always going to be a market here for the right-sized comfortable 4WD wagon. It would facilitate our love of recreation in this vastly expansive great outdoors; carrying our families and towing our caravans, boats and trailers. Traditionally the domain of our standard sized cars – the Ford Falcon and Holden Kingswood/Commodore – the new wave of Japanese 4WD wagons would allow for urban use as well as even deeper off-road excursions at a more accessible price point than the snooty Range Rover.

But another demographic took a shine to these vehicles; and not because they suddenly found the urge to get their tyres dirty. Even if one could not actually afford rural holdings, it was now possible to emulate one’s betters on the road and let assumptions be made. Before long there were some in the inner-aspirational suburbs trading their aspirational wagons for an aspirational 4WD wagon.

And then the paradoxical ‘cleanfoot’ user emerged within other demographics over here, less for their social pretensions and more for other reasons – but not because they had any specific need for an off-road ability.

The Chelsea Tractor certainly existed in the UK before the term was coined and with the Matra Rancho we get a deeper understanding the cleanfoot. In the 1970s Fergus Pollock of Chrysler UK worked with Antonin Volaris to come to the famed ‘orange drawing’; the mooted replacement for the Rancho. Whether or not this was planned with 4WD, we can see a shift in emphasis to people-mover.

The rise of the van-based passenger vehicle in the 1980s also played its part in the cleanfoot; giving the direct experience of an elevated driving position to those would never have bought a 4WD.

In the US the cleanfoot user had found its gateway in 1935 with the aptly-titled Chevrolet Carryall Suburban. It was initially RWD only but by 1957 these were available with a 4WD option. As was the case with International (middle row), Dodge (bottom left) as well as the Jeep up until 1971.

During the 1970s, the sub-fullsize US recreational vehicles had mostly grown to be short wheelbase versions of their seniors. In the early 1980s they were downsized in the form of the Ford Bronco II and Chevy S-10 Blazer, as well as the Jeep XJ Cherokee. The Scout III (above) did not make it to production when International discontinued their passenger vehicles in 1980.

Despite the US manufacturers’ prolonged exposure to this type of consumer, they appear to have been spurred into action by the incoming Japanese Range Rovers.

By the turn of the millennium, this regionally disparate cleanfoot mindset had coalesced into global cross-manufacturer categories. When Toyota released the Rancho-armoured 1994 RAV4 in both 4WD and 2WD, it typified the semantic transition from ‘recreational’ to ‘lifestyle’.

Meanwhile Subaru and Audi were heeding Harry Ferguson’s lessons…

There is the ongoing discussion of the ‘appliance’ versus the ‘enthusiast’s automobile’. As has been noted within the CC community – this is not a binary condition; it occupies more of a spectrum.

In terms of this new vehicular norm – the loosely-defined crossover/SUV/CUV/4WD/AWD/2WD lookalike – there are multiple factors at play. For some its a necessity, for others an indulgence. Some may take their vehicles deeply off-road, others don’t leave the paved surface. Some may favour the visibility afforded by a higher driving viewpoint, while others may bask in self-important hauteur over the standard car. For some it’s about increased cornering velocity, for others it’s added precaution. Some may appreciate the ease with which they can attend to their children in the rear seats, while others may prefer the more upright seating position for themselves. Some may be beholden to neighbourly one-upmanship, others to a broader association with the outdoors. Some require extra durability, others because gangsta. Some may have too much money to spend, others not enough.

For some it’s a personal statement, but for others it’s just family transport. Our purchasing decisions are the product our individual biases – cognate and unconscious, real or imagined – which sit in combination, and not in mutual exclusion.

I think what presently underpins the rise of this type of vehicle is an enhanced sense of security or privacy. This might be evident when comparing the original Range Rover and its present Vogue sire. Proportionally speaking, the greenhouse has diminished and the body has expanded in all directions. Robust practicality has been replaced by a stylised fortress on wheels.

Where the original Range Range seems to welcome in its surroundings, the new one appears to rebuff them.

4WD had been invented in 1893 by Joseph Diplock, and the 1900 Lohner-Porsche had an electric motor driving each wheel, but I suggest the ur-crossover was the Ford Model T; a light and nimble urban vehicle that was conceived from the start through Henry’s agrarian bent to cross over into off-road use.

How significant the 1970 Range Rover was in the continuum to the present day comes down to your own perspective.

The thankless task of producing a new Range Rover shape was long coming. A refresh – for want of a better term – was considered and rejected in 1980 (bottom left).

In 1994, the P38A Range Rover replacement was launched. It was attractive, and still as capable both on and off the road. But consumer affection for the original shape was so strong that it survived until 1996 as the Range Rover Classic.

Despite its consistent market presence, Range Rover has been owned by a host of manufacturers.

British Leyland Motor Corporation swallowed up Rover in 1967, during the Range Rover’s development. In 1978, Land Rover (and its Range Rover brand) was separated within British Leyland from Rover. However, it was part of the Rover Group when taken over by British Aerospace with the demise of BL.

In 1994, BMW bought Rover Group which included the Land Rover stable and Jaguar as well as others including Mini. The Rover Group was known internally (and unflatteringly) at BMW as ‘The English Patient’, and in 2000 it was broken up. Land Rover and Jaguar were sold to Ford. BMW kept Mini.

In 2006 Ford sold Land Rover and Jaguar as well as rights to the names ‘Rover’, ‘Daimler’ and ‘Lanchester’ to Tata Motors of India, who retain ownership to this day.

Since then Tata have done a superb job with Range Rover, sustaining its position in the face of a tidal wave of prestige challengers. Soon we will have a Tesla, a Bentley and a Maserati in the category, and Tata has sufficient confidence in Range Rover to announce a Jaguar SUV (above).

Although Tata bought a solid range of products, the real value lies in the brand equity, or in quainter terms, the goodwill.

And a lot of the Range Rover goodwill is conveyed by that handsome face. Early in its life, this look was considered for the stillborn Rover P8 saloon. Top right is the SD5 prototype; a Land Rover variant bearing more resemblance to its uncle than to its father.

The 1989 Discovery was the first Range Rover diffusion product put to market, with a styling nod to the Rancho. This was followed by the 1997 Freelander, again with ‘input’ from the Rancho. While both these vehicles were marketed as Land Rovers, they were far more visually reliant upon the Range Rover.

Today, there are seven distinct product lines in the stable. Six of them carry the same face, whether branded Land Rover, Discovery or Range Rover.

As for the seventh, its eyes wandered outward in 1968 where they have sat since – long enough to be even more familiar than the original – but I wonder whether the recognition prompt might also be in those cheekbones.

BMW’s canny stewardship of MINI and Rolls-Royce are ample evidence of the value of a face. Tata has proven the same with Range Rover. But with the final Defender having left the Solihull production line, and with the 2011 DC100 concept bearing so little similarity to its forebears, is Tata about to squander this valuable facial asset?

Does Tata see the value, as Jeep and Toyota still do, in keeping both a car-face and a jeep-face?

The alterations to the Range Rover face over time have made for fascinating viewing. Every element of the strip has been completely changed from the original – headlight/setting, turning signals, grille grain and texture, bumper and even the strip’s silhouette, and yet resemblance is retained. That clamshell hood with lettering and castellated cheekbones definitely plays its part.

A masterclass in visual evolution. Having said that, their product-line differentiation is increasingly lacking – which might actually be the point.

The latest version broke more ground by sloping the face plane back. I recall hearing an interview with someone from Land Rover who spoke of much internal wringing of hands over this decision, but it doesn’t seem to have put the buyers off.

One clever touch can be seen in the Vogue’s profile shot with the optional detailing – matt silver in this case but also available in black for lighter-coloured models. The three ‘vents’ in the front door are clearly referencing the original door handles and can be specified without the lower lengthwise highlight. But with the lower highlight it looks like an external exhaust manifold and pipe. Interestingly, most of the ones I’ve seen on the road have the lower highlight without the highlighted vents.

Over here the original Range Rover suffered the fate shared by many a Mercedes-Benz W123 and Volvo 240 wagon; a handmedown that became an increasingly tatty presence on the road. Or else they were exiled to the farm and used as paddock-bashers. Which makes survivors like this extremely rare and increasingly valuable.

The current owner bought it from its first owner, a family friend who had treated it with respect for 30-odd years and it remains unrestored.

It now shares garage space with a host of Range Rovers up to a 2009 Vogue, as well as a Defender workhorse and a 2014 Toyota Land Cruiser company car. But when the weather’s ideal, our Range Rover connoisseur loves to drive this and I would see it quite often before he moved his offices elsewhere.

This Range Rover doesn’t appeal to me because of its capabilities or for what it might represent.
I love it because it is still better-looking than pretty much every other vehicle on the road.

Or off it.

My thanks to John H, Roger Carr and Ed Stembridge for their help with this piece.

From some perspectives, the Toyota Crown was the car that paved the way for the great leap upwards into the Lexus brand. In hindsight, its existence seems pre-ordained but even by 1967, Toyota still hadn’t really figured out what it stood for. In today’s CC, I look at the origins of the model and discuss the significance of the S40 Toyota Crown.

Japan 1953.

US occupation personnel were taking advantage of their tax-exempt status and in that year alone had sold 12,503 newly imported cars into the Japanese market as second-hand vehicles.

In contrast, over the same period all the Japanese manufacturers combined sold 8,789 new cars.

1953 saw the release of what would become Toyota’s biggest selling car to date – The RH.

It wore a similar body to their preceding 4 cylinder SF model but had a larger engine. By 1955, 5,845 RH models would be produced, with a great many of them entering taxi fleets around Tokyo and the rest of Japan.

Under the hood of the RH was something new – the R engine; another 4 cylinder but larger at 1,453 cc and capable of producing 48 hp. Seen here at left with the R engine is the father of the Crown – Kenya Nakamura.

Nakamura was a singular individual. Not one for formal pleasantries, he was known to be a prickly and outspoken. Though an engineer, he would not wear a tie under his overalls as was tradition. Intensely loyal to Toyota, he was once demoted for accusing a board member of having ‘no dreams’ for the future of the company. Despite this, he put his ambitions on hold as he diligently helped Toyota focus on commercial vehicles to bolster the nation’s rebuilding.

Mindful that 80% of the US vehicle production consisted of passenger cars, behind Nakamura’s piercing blue eyes lay a vision of the future.

Others high up harboured similar ambitions for the company, including engineering executive directors Shoichi Saito and Eiji Toyoda – cousin of recently departed President Kiichiro Toyoda and friendly with Nakamura. With Kiichiro’s blessing (despite his no longer being in charge, he was still the son of the founder), a new passenger car initiative commenced; the RS model. Nakamura was chosen to lead the project.

The RS would be powered by the R engine developed for the RH. Unlike Toyota’s previous cars, though, the RS would not be built over a truck chassis. And instead of being bodied by an associated Japanese firm, it was to be shaped and skinned within Toyota.

By April 1952, four full-scale styling prototypes had been prepared for the RS programme.

Prototype No. 1 was based on the US ‘Henry J’ model.

Prototype No. 2 was based on the Cadillac.

Prototype No. 3 was based on the Nash.

And Prototype No. 4 was based on the British Ford Zephyr.

What emerged seems to have been the averaged estimation of those four prototype body styles, with some individual quirks thrown in for good measure. The 1955 RS Crown was built in a newly constructed production line facility with high speed presses. Underneath was the most sophisticated passenger car yet conceived by Japan. It featured a low floor thanks to a custom-made chassis. And up front was a particular preoccuation of Nakamura’s; independent suspension.

And yet this new model had no real market to sell into when it was launched. Domestic incomes could not afford such a large and luxurious mode of transport. The mini kei-cars were still years away, and anyone in the market for this sort of car would probably be inclined to buy a more prestigious import.

To hedge their bets, Toyota had a parallel program developed alongside the RS. It was known as the RR and was aimed at a quantifiable market; taxi fleets. It had a more rudimentary body and, with concerns about the durability of the RS’s independent front suspension, the RR had a solid front end.

It would form the basis of the commercially-focused Masterline models released the same year as the Crown.

In 1957, the Crown was sent to the US. That export programme was a disaster. While it’s one thing to borrow from their styling and engineering, Toyota was to discover that it was another thing entirely to compete with the most advanced automotive industry in the world on their own turf. Among other bugbears, the Crown was woefully underpowered (and underilluminated – note the missing headlights on the above examples) and as a result exports to the US had ceased by 1960.

It wasn’t all bad news from overseas. At the urging of the Japanese Consulate in Australia, Toyota entered a Crown in the 19 day 1957 Round Australia Reliability Trial. It scored 47th out of 52 finishers, a bit more acceptable when you consider 86 cars started the trial. And that this was Toyota first ever official entry in competitive driving. In a car that was pretty much off the showroom floor.

Despite initial misgivings about the front suspension, Toyota had come to the realisation that it was more than adequate for the domestic market. In 1957, the RR Masterline series was discontinued and replaced with the same platform and body as the RS Crown.

The first Crown lasted seven years in production and was updated through S20 and S30 series. Over time it received minor styling upgrades, a very slow-selling diesel engine, overdrive for the 3 speed column shift manual, an optional semi-automatic transmission and, most importantly, an enlarged 1,900 cc engine. Note the lettering on the hood – Toyopet. This was the marque name for used for smaller Toyota vehicles (as opposed to trucks).

The Masterline range continued to flourish. In addition to the sedan, Toyota now produced two pickup bodies, a van slash wagon and this extended wheelbase rarity.

The Crown, best considered a qualified success at this stage, had inherited an identity problem. The prestige passenger car for Toyota looked the same as the workaday variants.

And in truth, neither were very attractive.

1957 saw Toyota’s first showcar – the Proto. It was another sign of Toyota’s efforts to be seen as a progressive automobile manufacturer. Clearly derived from the 1955 Lincoln Futura, it was also a very clunky interpretation.

Despite the many Japanese carmakers who would seek direct input from European and American stylists in the 1960s, it had been a specific policy within Toyota that they would go it alone. In 1940 they had started to gather employees capable in ‘design and colour’ and by 1954 a dedicated Design Department was formed within Engineering. But it was recognised that a deeper understanding of automobile styling and design was required, and in 1958 Toyota started sending employees to art schools in the US and Italy to observe and learn at the source.

Future Corolla stylist Kazuo Morohoshi was one who benefited from this initiative. “The cars Japan produced prior to opening up and studying the market lacked the right proportions. For us, the essential thing was to understand what shape a car should have.”

It wasn’t all grand theory; during his sojourn in the US Morohoshi was exposed more broadly to the outside cultures he was required to design for, and along the way to come across crucial details such as the fact that pedals needed to accommodate larger western feet.

The fruits of this endeavour were soon visible. Despite rigid dimensional parameters, the 1960 Tiara (top left) and 1961 Publica (top right) production cars demonstrated a greater maturity in body styling. Though not exemplars of their types, the cleaner surfacing and crisper volumes were a step in the right direction.

The 1961 Toyopet-X, on the other hand, was purely for show.

The Toyopet-X was based on the Crown. And inspired by Pinin Farina.

Ok, maybe the term inspired is being used a bit loosely, but the ‘interpretation’ was far more accomplished than the 57 Proto or RS ‘Cadillac’. Though lacking in some of its detailing, it had the grace of the Fiat 1500 and Peugeot 404 Coupe (*dodges fusilade from Paul*). Thanks to a consummate understanding of proportioning on the part of its unnamed Toyota stylist, it was closer than both to the grandest iteration for this specific language – the 1959 Cadillac Starlight.

The shape received further refinement and was shown at the 1961 Tokyo Motor Show as the 1962 Toyopet-X.

The revised roofline borrowed more from the Starlight, but the face was uniquely Toyota. In fact those cats-ear turning signals actually predated a similar use on the Touring-bodied Sunbeam Venezia (although that’s not really something to be too proud of).

During the Belle Epoque in Paris, art students would be sent to the Louvre, told to set up a canvas and copy a work on display. It was one very effective way to learn for one’s self how the masters came to their expressions. In that context, the Toyopet-X was a success. Highly derivative of a masterpiece, yet positively inflected by the renderer’s own hand.

Not perfect, and certainly not to be credited in the absence of its inspiration, the learnings from the Toyopet-X would be instrumental in placing the Crown ahead of its peers.

In late 1962, the S40 Toyota Crown was released. The influence of the Toyopet-X is immediately apparent, but this was a shape more of itself. Longer, wider and lower than its predecessor, it was also up-to-the-minute in its flatter and more rectilinear styling – in the case of our feature CC helped no doubt by its being dropped on its suspension.

Though I’m not enamoured with this shape, I do have a lot of respect for it.

It was the first in a series of cars to emanate from Japan that would take the supreme proportioning of the fullsize US car and downscale it to sub-compact (in US terms) size. Something even the US was not as capable at for a very long time.

It was clearly a generation ahead of its domestic rivals.

The 30 series Nissan Cedric had been released in 1960, and this 1962 styling refresh from Pininfarina (in the front clip) was not enough to counteract the dated underlying language.

By the 1970s, the 230 and 330 series Cedrics would display the best application of this downscaled US proportioning, and were most certainly shown the way by the S40 Crown.

The 1962 Prince Gloria was ahead of the Cedric, but still looking backwards to the 1959 Buick Invicta.

The irony here is that the Michelotti-styled 1960 Prince Skyline Sports was the first Japanese car to work with the flat deck language. It was the car that would initiate the rush amongst the Japanese for European input, but Prince would not or could not (they were soon to be taken over by Nissan) transfer this language soon enough to the four door Gloria (and Skyline upon which the Gloria was based).

The 1961 Isuzu Bellel wore a very Austin-like body that was old the day it was born.

The other Japanese manufacturers had not yet been able to produce a car in the Crown category. Though the 1964 Mitsubishi Debonair was to occupy an emerging ‘super-prestige’ stratum, it still demonstrated that successfully styling a car upon outside influences was not a given – despite the fact that this was from the hand of Hans Bretzner, formerly of GM.

It was not a direct competitor with the Ford Cortina (probably closer to the Corsair), but this convenient juxtaposition demonstrates the success of the S40 Crown’s shaping. The body appears longer and shallower thanks to a new cruciform chassis sitting underneath.

The Cortina was released the same year as the S40, and although to some its a more pleasing shape, it too already appears dated against its contemporary. The same could be said for a host of other European cars of the time.

The notion of setting the headlights inside the grille was taken directly from the 1960 Ford Falcon, although the aperture shape was Toyota. This car would seem to have all four eyes focused on the US market.

The S40 was powered by the same R series 4 cylinder 88 hp engine as its predecessor. All models were coil sprung at the front, with premium models having a coil rear and lesser models on leaf springs. Brakes were drums all round. The 3sp with O/D was available with the 2sp Toyoglide optional – initially as a semi-automatic but by 1963 as a fully automatic.

Early versions of the S40 had these distinctive rear light clusters, known as ‘watery eyes’.

In late 1963, this cluster was changed along the lines shown above. Our CC is an Australian car, however, and I think those amber lenses might have been unique to our market. I’ve seen other images where the lenses are clear and referred to as reversing lamps, which makes me think the red lenses might have originally been used for braking as well as indicating turns – as was used occasionally in the US but outlawed here in Australia at that time.

This angle shows another curious aspect to the shaping. Despite the S40’s ‘flat deck’ language, the rear quarter panels seem to bear echoes of the 1961 Dodge reverse fin. Perhaps trying to give this shape some personality or simply trying to break up the expansive flatness or maybe both.

The wagon retained the clean flat deck look and was available with an extra row of seats folded under the rear floor.

The wagon was actually a part of the Masterline range, though it was marketed as a Crown in various territories. The commercially-orientated van was decontented and would sometimes feature bars across the side rear windows. Wikipedia lists the wagon as an inch narrower than the sedan, but I’m not sure if that’s because those measurements were taken from a model bereft of exterior side trim, or if the body was indeed narrower.

The sedan would appear on Tokyo streets as a taxi badged as a Crown, further blurring the distinction between prestige and utilitarian.

The pickup was an attractive member of the Masterline fleet, and a generously sized ute to boot. Note the lack of chrome ornamentation along its flanks.

The double cab pickup was the unicorn of the fleet, although it had appeared in the previous generation’s range, and would appear in the subsequent S50 lineup as well. Despite two rows of seats, it only provided ingress for the front row, which I can only assume folded forward in some way. Exactly who was buying these is hard to pin down. Dealers or purloiners of antiquities by the looks of this publicity image.

Though there were not yet any Crown coupes, a handsome convertible was presented at the 1963 Tokyo Show. It never entered production. This image from a Japanese film may well be the same car repainted.

In 1964, the Crown Eight was released. This was a JDM-only car made for the emerging though minuscule super-prestige category. Aimed at the top end of the corporate sector, it was to compete with fullsize US cars by leveraging national pride in Japan’s technological prowess. It was a super-sized Crown in all but height – six inches wider and five inches longer.

It was powered by Japan’s first production eight cylinder, a 113 hp 2.6 litre V8 and came with climate control, automatic headlamps, electrically powered windows, electric cruise control, a three-speed version of the Toyoglide automatic transmission and electromagnetic door latches.

The Crown Eight was proposed for the official car of the Japanese Imperial Family, however it lost out to Nissan and was eventually replaced in the Toyota range by the 1967 Century.

In all, a bewildering amount of Crown variants. And it was only to get more confusing; by the mid-1970s, there would be 63 different Crown models of varying body styles, trim levels and powertrain combinations.

July 1965 saw the only real update to the body style. Up front, the turning signals sitting in pods atop the bumpers were now integrated into the bumpers. At the rear, the light clusters were reshaped and the rear panel was recontoured.

November 1965 brought the introduction of a new 6 cylinder engine. Though marginally larger than the 1,900 cc four, the new M-series SOHC 1,995 cc straight six came in two levels of tune – a 105 hp and a 125 hp twin carburettor version. Sportier Crown models matched this new engine to a 4sp gearbox with floor-mounted lever, upgraded suspension, reclining bucket seats and a tachometer. These new M-engined Crowns were distinguished by a red badge set in the grille.

Though this was the same engine as would appear in the 2000GT, the sportscar’s DOHC version of the M-series put out 150 hp in road tune.

The Crown and 2000GT were to compete head to head in the 1967 James Bond film, ‘You Only Live Twice’. Soon after 007 fools no-one by pretending to be interested in purchasing a consignment of smoked salmon, he finds himself the focus of a particularly menacing black Crown. A white 2000GT appears, and it’s on.

The 2000GT simply cannot shake the M-engined four-passengered Crown and reinforcements are called in. An apt way to mark the end of the S40’s lifecycle.

At home, the S40 Crown was a success for Toyota, sustaining category market leadership against the Nissan Cedric – a mantle that was not to slip until 1970.

Overseas, things were not so positive.

As GN showed us yesterday, the re-introduction of the Crown to the US market met with a… chilly consumer reception.

In 1963, the Crown finally entered Europe. Erla Auto of Denmark brought in an initial batch of 190 cars, but it can’t have been an easy sell. While the Americans were enjoying the novelty of radically downsized cars, this was the norm in Europe and the Crown was up against some highly sophisticated competition.

In 1965 Australian Motor Industries established a Toyota franchise building CKD imports with a healthy modicum of local content. As with the US, the Corona would prove to be the arbiter of acceptance within this territory. The Crown was assembled here as well from February 1967, although our CC’s front bumper suggests it preceded this. Though the utility and wagon were also sold here, the S40 never really made its mark in Australia.

The assumption that prestige could be bought by low sticker price coupled with high accessorisation was inadequate. International consumers had initially flocked to the smaller Toyotas not as a preference, but as an incomparable value proposition. There was no way they would aspire to a higher Toyota in the way a Chevrolet owner looked to a Cadillac. In these westernised markets, the Crown serviced an almost non-existent sector.

The S40 may be have been a generation ahead of its compatriots at its inception, but by 1967 it was old news. Hampered primarily by its body-on-frame construction, it was to be completely overwhelmed by a host of comparably sized unitary-body European and Japanese models that were more focused on driving dynamics. And the concept of vehicular prestige would distance itself further and further from mere trinketry.

The S40 Crown was never intended as a performance saloon. Its one successful foray was in the 1963 Japanese Grand Prix at Suzuka where a four-cylinder piloted by Soukichi Shikiba came third overall and first in class.

Its place in the Toyota pecking order would eventually be supplanted by the slightly smaller but more capable Corona MkII/Cressida – perhaps the truer progenitor of the Lexus brand. In time, the Crown would be reduced to a range built only for taxi fleets.

After its failed attempt at emulating US cars, the 1968 S50 Crown would look to Europe, and more particularly Triumph, for its next identity crisis.

However obliquely, the S40 Crown can still be said to have played its part in the maturation of Toyota and its national competitors.

In 1967, the Japanese motor industry built 1,375,800 cars.

For some the Alpine A310 is an acquired taste, for others it is ‘jolie laide’ and for others again it’s just plain ugly. But when I first laid eyes on images of this car I was hooked. More recently I have been lucky enough to encounter one in the wild, and my opinion has only been affirmed.

This extended CC looks at the origins of the idiosyncratic Alpine shape and the enduring existence of the A310. And with it comes a story touched by tragedy and still steeped in mystery.

That Jean Rédélé’s career would be intertwined with Renault seemed somehow inevitable. His father Emile had served as a mechanic for the Renault brothers’ first ‘factory’ racing efforts, and was subsequently granted a dealership in the seaside town of Dieppe.

In 1922 Jean was the firstborn to Emile and his wife Madeleine Prieur. After completing studies in business and economics in 1946, Jean found himself at Renault on a work placement program where he distinguished himself with his strategic input, catching the eye of CEO Pierre Dreyfus. As a result, he was appointed Renault’s official dealer in Dieppe.

At 24, he was France’s youngest new car dealer.

Jean took up competitive driving in a rear-engined Renault 4CV. After outright victory in the 1950 Dieppe Rally, he again caught the eye of Renault who put him in a race-prepped ‘1063’ 4CV for the Monte Carlo Rally where he finished fourth in class. From that point he became one of France’s most accomplished and celebrated drivers in rally and endurance events.

In 1952, along with fellow driver/dealer Louis Pons, Rédélé prepared his cars with a five speed gearbox licenced from André-Georges Claude. Despite the misgivings of many, this gearbox was better able to exploit the range of the small four cylinder engine and help preserve its relatively delicate crankshaft.

Rédélé also came to the conclusion that a lighter, more streamlined body would be an advantage. He travelled to Italy and engaged the emerging stylist Giovanni Michelotti. The result of this endeavour was the aluminium-bodied, moustachioed ‘Renault Special’ built by coachbuilder Allemano. It would win the first three competitions it entered and was apparently soon sold off, no doubt at a nice profit given its auspicious provenance.

Towards the end of 1953, Michelotti and Allemano had delivered another little coupe to Rédélé. It was very similar to the first, although it had lost its moustache and had gained a cleaner shoulder-line and tighter greenhouse. But before it could race, a business opportunity arose for Rédélé.

Renault had been approached by industrialist Zark Reed who wanted to build fibreglass 4CV-based cars for the US market. Rédélé was sounded out directly with regards a coupe, and unable to finance a share in the project, he instead licenced the shape of the second Michelotti body. The contract required a master form and so this second car itself was sent to the US, almost immediately after Rédélé had taken delivery.

In 1954 Jean visited the US to discover for himself that the venture was a disaster. ‘Plasticar Inc.’ had been unable to get a handle on the fibreglass process and not one ‘Marquis’ coupe had been built. Due to the onerous shipping costs Rédélé’s beautiful little aluminium coupe would remain stateside.

On his return to France, Rédélé had a third coupe made which he was intending to race and hopeful of another production opportunity.

Meanwhile, Rédélé’s father-in-law – wealthy Parisian Renault dealer Charles Escoffier – had commissioned his own coupe based on the 4CV. This body was the work of French coachbuilders Chappe et Gessalin. Though not nearly as pretty as the Michelotti efforts, the carrosserie had successfully built their little coupe in fibreglass.

Under familial pressure, Rédélé gave up on his little Michelotti and instead joined Escoffier in a venture formalised as ‘Société des Automobiles Alpine’ on 6 July 1955.

The origins of the Alpine name came from Rédélé’s own competition experiences. In 1954, he had earned an Alpine Cup by finishing the Alpine Rally without penalty. As he later recounted; ‘I thoroughly enjoyed crossing the Alps in my Renault 4CV, and that gave me the idea of calling my future cars ‘Alpines’. It was important to me that my customers experienced that same driving pleasure at the wheel of the car I wanted to build.’

Two years earlier, Sunbeam had also named one of their cars ‘Alpine’, a complication that would confound the French company as it came to expand its market internationally.

A few days after the joint venture was signed, and just before the July 14 Independence Day celebrations, the first three examples of the Alpine A106 were presented in the courtyard of Renault’s Boulogne Billancourt headquarters, proudly rendered in the French tricouleurs. Pierre Dreyfus was most impressed with the display. The A106 would not only prove itself in competition, this new company would go on to produce 251 examples of the model.

By the mid-1950s, plans were afoot for a new Renault model to be known as the Dauphine. This car was to be larger than the 4CV, in engine and in body. It was also intended for a two-door model to complement the four-door saloon in the Renault lineup.

This might have been taken as a direct competitor to the Alpine, but what would emerge was ultimately a small boulevardier rather than a performance car. Jean Rédélé was asked to help Renault as they developed this little coupe/cabriolet.

Some in-house ideas had been prepared before Renault looked to the Italian carrozzerie for suggestions. Ghia was the strong favourite, and their first effort built by Frua (bottom left) would eventually become the Renault Floride – though not without its own complications.

Michelotti had also been asked to submit a proposal (bottom right), but it was rejected for a number of reasons including that the brief had been changed to a four-seater.

Despite the fact that the Michelotti car was not favoured, Rédélé rather sneakily ordered a two-seater cabriolet prototype from Michelotti/Allemano based on the coupe as the Renault project progressed.

Coincidently (or not), Chappe et Gessalin had prepared an ungainly cabriolet for Alpine around the same time which was shown to the public.

In 1957 Rédélé asked Michelotti for another coupe which was delivered in 1958, though it’s not clear whether this was intended as a Renault or Alpine proposal.

It would be Jean Rédélé’s last commission for Giovanni Michelotti.

Rédélé had been chafing at his lack of independence within Alpine, and with the cabriolet project he was finally able to get his own way on the matter. Instead of the Chappe et Gessalin proposal, the Michelotti Renault prototype somehow found itself announced as the next new model in the Alpine range.

Though these images are not in strict chronological order, we can see how the shape of the Alpine two-seater cars moved towards their most iconic iteration as the A106 and Dauphine-based A108 models overlapped. Early coupes were very similar to the first Michelotti Dauphine proposal. Quite soon, the shape received faired headlights as had been seen on the 1958 Michelotti coupe. A fast-back shape then became greenhouse of the body now known as the Berlinette.

Rédélé would later insist that Michelotti was not involved with this emerging Berlinette shape, and he was technically correct. The faired headlights and new greenhouse were the efforts of in-house staffers Phillippe Charles and Marcel Hubert, and the final touch of revising the rear end late in the A108’s life was the work of Serge Zuliani.

It is probably disingenuous, however, to deny Michelotti’s influence on these shapes.

The development of these models was under the aegis of Rédélé’s cousin, Roger Prieur (left). Prieur was a significant member of the Alpine team and would be responsible for the manufacture of the production cars, built in a factory on the Avenue Pasteur in Dieppe behind the dealership of his brother Jacques Prieur (centre).

It was Roger Prieur who devised the masterstroke configuration of Alpines to be used for the next 35 years. In 1960, the donor Renault platform of the A108 was replaced with a backbone frame (seen here on the A110 1300S).

Hans Ledwinka had conceived the backbone frame nearly fifty years prior and first used it in his 1921 Tatra T11. It allowed for greater resistance to torsional twist, and for half axles to better maintain contact with uneven ground – an added bonus for Alpine’s rally applications. Though Prieur’s use of the backbone differed in that the central tube did not carry a driveshaft, it predated Colin Chapman’s efforts with the Lotus Elan by at least two years.

If Alpine had edged slightly ahead of the fibreglass-bodied Lotus, it was still lagging behind the rear-engined Porsche. Rédélé always had one eye on the German marque and he would constantly use it as a benchmark for his own models. Alongside the performance capabilities of the four-cylinder Porsche was the fact that the most popular models in the range were four-seaters – an element that played into greater sales volumes.

In 1963 Porsche upped the ante, announcing a new six-cylinder engine wrapped in an attractive new body.

Alpine had its own four-seaters running parallel with the two-seater Berlinette and cabriolet. The A108 2+2 (top) and A110 GT4 were Chappe et Gessalin shapes. They were not great sellers – only 100 of the GT4 were produced – due in no small part to their lacking in aesthetic virtues. However they did broaden Alpine’s range and would come to be directly replaced by the A310.

The 1962-launched Alpine A110 Berlinette is deserving of its own comprehensive CC. Its distinctive silhouette was like no other, and it also excelled as a performance vehicle. In competition, this model would score countless wins and a multitude of national and international championship titles over its lengthy production life.

Whereas the previous Alpine models had sold in the hundreds, over 7,500 examples of the A110 would be produced. Rédélé’s global ambitions resulted in thousands of licence-built A110 models from Interlagos in Brazil, FASA in Spain, Dinalpin in Mexico as well as 50 examples of the Bulgaralpine produced in Bulgaria.

By 1957 Jean Rédélé had hung up his own helmet, but competition was a still crucial facet of the Alpine experience. Emboldened by their burgeoning success, starting in 1963 Alpine entered the sports prototype field with the M63 (above), M64 and M65 in their respective years. These streamlined shapes were the work of aerodynamicist Marcel Hubert and the wind-tunnel, and were powered by engines developed by the legendary Amédée Gordini – whose breathed-upon Renault mills had also been optional for Alpine road cars since 1957.

1964 saw success in the single-seater field. With help from Brabham’s Ron Tauranac and shaping by Hubert, Alpine had entered the Formula 3 category and found their car carrying that year’s French Champion, a feat equalled in 1971 and 1972 and also surpassed in 1972 with the team’s European Championship.

In 1966, an A210 won the Index of Thermal Efficiency at Le Mans and four of the Alpine prototypes entered covered a combined distance of over 4,000 km – greater than any other French manufacturer had accomplished at Sarthe.

From 1967, Renault’s racing efforts were officially represented by Alpine. That same year the road cars were badged ‘Alpine Renault’ and were now available through the authorised Renault dealer network.

1967 also saw the introduction of the A211 sports prototype. It featured a new 3 litre V8 engine by Amédée Gordini and finished four of its five entries but earned no podiums. Further development as the A220 in 1968 (above) and 1969 fared no better, proving unreliable due to excessive vibration.

The 3 litre V8 was the combined effort of the Gordini (right), Rédélé and Renault to raise their collective game and compete at the ultimate levels including Formula One. In 1967, however, a much needed 6 million franc government loan was instead handed to Matra, leaving this trio to continue their efforts on their own. The engine’s 310 hp output was no match for the 400+ hp of the Cosworth engines, so instead this V8 was used in the ill-fated Le Mans prototypes.

It was also anticipated to put it in a completely new Alpine road car.

Backtracking a little to the mid 1960s, the RAG project (Renault Alpine Gordini) was to be another example of this strengthening of bonds between the three parties, though there’s not much information available on this two-seater, front-engined, steel-bodied (I think) car.

The little that is known about the RAG project is that it was to be based on the 1965-released Renault R16 and featured the four-cylinder engine used in that family car in Gordini-developed form. Though there are genuine questions over the Citroen origins of the R16 hatchback configuration, its distinctive Renault shape was the work of Gaston Juchet.

Juchet had joined Renault in 1958 as an aerodynamics engineer and by 1962 had established himself as one of their stylists. He was head of styling from 1965 to 1975, and continued with Renault when Robert Opron took the head job, perhaps relieved to cede the administrative tasks and focus on design. Nevertheless, he was again made head of styling at Renault from 1984 to 1987 upon Opron’s departure.

He appears to have been a self-effacing and modest figure in the ego-driven world of the automotive stylist.

The RAG coupe’s shape had sprung directly from Juchet’s hand, and a full size prototype was constructed before the project was abruptly cancelled in 1966.

Juchet was then tasked with a clean-sheet approach for what would become the Renault R15 and R17 – a two-door four-seat specification based on mechanicals from the incoming R12 saloon.

Meanwhile, Alpine redirected their focus to a road car using the 3 litre V8 Gordini engine.

Renault stylist Michel Béligond was seconded to Alpine in Dieppe to help with this new model. That’s him standing at left in this publicity still for Renault featuring R16 scale models. Interestingly, Juchet – who was overwhelmingly the primary stylist on the R16 – is not featured here, perhaps as a result of his own modesty, of Béligond’s photogenic presence, or of both.

Béligond had already indirectly made his way into the French psyche. After the tragic circumstances of the 1955 24 Heures du Mans when 83 spectators had been killed, Béligond was commissioned to apply a softer, less combative and more celebratory tone into their famed posters – a task he accomplished into the early 1960s.

He had started as a cartoonist at Simca and then made his way to Renault in the early 1960s. Beyond this, there’s not much information on his styling career, though his presence was definitely felt when one of his sketches for the 114 project (above) reached the full-size prototype stage at Renault.

Sometime around 1967, Michel Béligond joined Jean Rédélé and Roger Prieur in Dieppe, and they started working together on the new Alpine model at Rédélé’s kitchen table.

These sketches are taken from a French news piece on Béligond and the Alpine A310. Though they may not all be directly related to that project, I have arranged them as a demonstration of how the shape might have progressed.

By early 1968, the team had settled on a general styling configuration for this rear-engined car. It incorporated broad fully-volumed ‘c-pillars’ running cleanly and completely into the body as no automotive shape had applied them before.

However, Michel Béligond had multiple sclerosis.

When exactly it was diagnosed is not clear. Accounts describe his condition during the development of the new Alpine as one of increasing paralysis before he was to die in 1973.

How devastating it must have been for this man – whose delicacy of touch went to the very essence of his character – see his facility ebb away just as he was in the midst of perhaps the most exciting project of his career.

A young stylist, Yves Legal, was employed by Alpine to assist Béligond in the face of his declining condition.

Legal apparently took Béligond’s rounded shapes and made them sharper, with more crisply defined junctures and surfaces.

It was also around the time of this stylistic transition that the decision must have been made to exchange the problematic 3 litre V8 with a four-cylinder engine.

And with this tragedy comes mystery.

The form arrived at by Alpine in 1968 bore a marked resemblance to the 1970 Monteverdi Hai. This appears to be more than a coincidence.

Peter Monteverdi was a Swiss car dealer who had been selling Ferraris and dabbling in his own short-run productions of small racing and passenger cars.

In 1967, he expanded his ambitions with a large two-seater front-engined coupe powered by the 426 Hemi. He engaged Frua to style the car and ordered 50 bodies to be made. When he upped his order to 100 examples, Frua was unable to commit to the revised volume and Monteverdi instead contracted another carrozzeria, Fissore, to build the cars.

He had refused to pay Frua a design royalty for the examples being built by Fissore, and Frua took him to court. The court found in Frua’s favour and ordered Monteverdi to pay.

The mid-rear engined Monteverdi Hai 450 SS arrived in the wake of the Lamborghini Miura and was first shown in 1970. The prototype had been built by Fissore, but Monteverdi claimed that he himself had come up with the shape.

But by the early 1970s, another stylist had stepped up to claim the Hai’s shape – Trevor Fiore.

Until his death in 1998, Monteverdi would never acknowledge Fiore’s role, and had in fact originally registered himself as the designer of the Hai’s shape, probably mindful of the ‘issues’ that had arisen with Frua.

This is Fiore working on yet another similar shape – the Gilbern G11 – in the late 1960s with assistant Jim English. Fiore was an English-born stylist who changed his surname – ‘Frost’ – to that of his mother – the italianate ‘Fiore’. As time has progressed, Fiore has been credited with both the Monteverdi Hai and Alpine A310 shapes. Though there seems to be no conclusive proof of his authorship of the two continental models, the similarity across these three forms is marked.

Fiore’s place in the annals of automotive styling was firmed with his 1965-66 TVR Trident. This was one of the first origami wedge shapes to define a cohesive and balanced form. Though it would lead a troubled life due to chronic underfunding in its various production opportunities, the Trident influenced – amongst others – Colin Chapman to pursue this vernacular for his own cars. It had been based on his 1962 proposal for Lea Francis (bottom left), and his 1966 Bond Equipe 2 litre GT (with in-house detailing by Bond) was another example of this Fiore language.

Though the Trident was publicised as a Fissore creation, it appears that Fiore might not have actually been an employee of the carrozzeria, but rather a freelancer. From my understanding, he was preparing designs such as the Trident on his own initiative, then was trying to get an order from a manufacturer which could then be met by Fissore’s own production capacity. Of note is the use of Fiore’s own logo on the brown sketch, rather than that of Fissore.

To return to the Monteverdi Hai; it is said that on a visit to Fissore Peter Monteverdi had seen Fiore’s work on the Alpine and insisted on using that shape for his own car. His orders brought in substantial income for this small Italian carrozzeria, and it was likely this financial heft that allowed him to get his way on the matter. And to eventually ensnare for himself a share in ownership of Fissore.

But that still doesn’t answer how Trevor Fiore came to be working on the A310 in the first place. Carrozzeria Fissore appears to have had no commercial arrangement at all with Alpine or Renault, neither before nor after this time.

In fact it was another Italian carrozzeria, Coggiola, who was engaged by Renault to build the functioning prototype of the finalised A310 shape.

Here is the first verifiable instance of Fiore’s involvement with the Alpine. Peter Stevens – who would go on to shape the McLaren F1 – found himself as a young stylist with Fiore in the early 1970s. He relates things thus;

‘It was at this time that I became involved with Alpine whilst working with UK designer Trevor Fiore. The prototype A310 developed by Fiore, Jim English and Turin based design company Coggiola had louvres across the rear glass which at the time were considered very fashionable; these were not carried over to the production model.’

If Coggiola had been engaged by Renault or Alpine to help with styling during the ‘soft-form’ phase of the A310 in early 1968, it still takes us further away from the explanation as to how this soft form version came to be so close to the Monteverdi Hai.

Based on what little I can unearth, one possible explanation is that Fiore was directly and discretely engaged to work as an independent freelancer on the Alpine project once Béligond’s condition surfaced. It was during this period that he, Béligond, or the both of them together came to the early 1968 shape in Dieppe.

Using Fissore as a ‘home base’, Fiore might have returned now and again with some of the sketches, which were then left inadvertently lying around when Peter Monteverdi decided they would suit his own purposes.

Yves Legal was then hired by Alpine on a fulltime basis, and as the top image suggests (with A110s in the background), the refinement of the shape took place in Dieppe and not in Italy. Fiore continued to contribute right through to the preparation of the final prototype at Coggiola.

I must stress that these suggestions are at best tentative. However I can’t put any more logical explanation to events than this.

As the top image by ‘Manfred’ at Forum Alpine Renault shows, the car was to receive an underbody shroud.

Aerodynamicist Marcel Hubert (bottom right) had been hired by Rédélé in 1962 primarily to work on their racing efforts starting with the M63, and would continue with the marque until 1982 as a crucial member of the team. He was also involved in the development of the road cars, though it appears his influence on the A310 was one of refining rather than defining.

The final piece of the puzzle is the frontal treatment of the car.

This sketch from either 1970 or 1971 is signed ‘Gaston Juchet A310 Style Béligond’. It appears to be a general impression of the car once all elements of the shape had been finalised and before being committed to construction of the prototype.

Or it could be something else.

That distinctive front end had not appeared on any A310 drawings or models prior to the Juchet sketch. And when I consider these earlier Juchet pieces, the coupe at top rendered in 1969 and the van beneath in 1970, it appears that this crucial final addition to the Alpine was the direct contribution of Gaston Juchet himself.

A significant contribution made quietly in deference to the ailing Béligond, perhaps.

And so yet another French automotive spacecraft landed on planet earth.

The silver Alpine A310 prototype was first shown at the Geneva Motor Show in March 1971. Before delivery commenced on production models that October, there was a final change to the body; the rear lights that sat above the bumper under flush plexiglas panels on the prototype were relocated and replaced with a cluster of blister units.

It was a masterful shape, drawing much from the prevailing origami language. But it also managed to temper the extreme nature of that language’s sharp creasing with an adroit use of curvature and faceting – sometimes flowing into each other and other times more punctuated. The rear really demonstrates this and is helped in no small measure by the lack of seams on the one piece body.

It was prismatic where the A110 was aquaceous, but was unmistakeably an Alpine.

As with the creations out of Stuttgart, its proportioning is not compromised by the rear engine location but actually enhanced by the successfully-met challenge it presented its authors. The c-pillars are admittedly a handicap for the driver’s field of vision, but the shape is not entirely impractical. Its unconventional handsomeness wins me over.

The A310 received the same backbone chassis as the A110, although it had wishbone and coilover suspension on all corners compared with the A110’s swing-arm rear. The front suspension towers were taller than those on the A110 as the coils were mounted to the top of the wishbone. Steering was rack and pinion (2.5 turns lock to lock) and braking was discs all round.

The fibreglass body was bolted to the chassis and the car’s dimensions were 164.5” (4,180mm) long and 63.8” (1,620mm) wide. The wheelbase was the same as outgoing GT4 (and recently lengthened Porsche 911) at 89.4” (2,270mm), although the Alpine was a whopping 9” lower than the Porsche in height. The car weighed 840 kgs distributed 40% front and 60% rear. Top speed was 131 mph (210 kmh) and 0-60mph time around 8 seconds.

The Alpine’s engine was derived from the R16’s 1,565cc I4, and was released in three variations.

From 1971-73, the 1,605cc VE series featured twin 45 DCOE Webers putting out 125 hp (93 kW) at 6,000 rpm.

April 1973 saw the introduction of the VF series, with the Webers being replaced with Bosch D-Jetronic fuel injection increasing power slightly to 127 hp (95 kW) at 6,450 rpm – a changeover made to meet tightening emissions standards. This same engine would make its way into the R17TS/Gordini from 1974.

In late 1975, a detuned VG version was released with a 1,647cc engine fed by a single 32 Weber for 95 hp (71 kW).

All were mated to a 5 speed manual gearbox except one VG fitted with an automatic.

(A note at this point: the 1972 World Cars Catalogue lists the VE version as having an SAE horsepower of 140. Other sources quote 125 DIN. Throughout this piece I have used the lower numbers quoted, but I’m not sure they are all to the same standards and are really only presented here for comparative purposes. If anyone can provide more exact and verified figures, I will amend the text accordingly)

Across the life of the A310, there would be very little change made to the body. In August 1973, the NACA ducts on the front wings were moved forward from their placement near the windscreen towards the leading edge of the car. This occurred in the midst of the 6 month period when the VE and VF versions were both in production, so this change does not actually denote either model specifically. Factory-supplied images suggest this coincides with the headlight mountings changing from body colour to black, but given the hand-assembled nature of these cars that may have been an option.

Under the skin, the front axle balljoint mountings were changed in 1974 to silent-bloc rubber/steel bushings. Though the steering rack was taken from the Peugeot 504 and the front turning signals from the Simca 1301, most of the components came from the Renault parts bins and would have been subject to any changes in specification or supply. I’ll leave it to the bien informés to point out any other modifications during the A310’s life.

The 2+2 cabin was a step-up in luxury for the marque, with electric windows, carpet and optional leather offered by Alpine for the first time. The massive rear transmission ‘pyramid’ intruded significantly on the +2 seating, though it was not as cramped as some competitors.

In March 1972, John Bolster of UK’s Autosport reported on an A310 test drive:

‘First impressions were good because the highly-tuned engine is phenomenally flexible, idling indefinitely in traffic blocks without overheating. The ride is also extremely comfortable, the new suspension absorbing the bumps while the car remains level. The cornering power is tremendously high with virtually no roll. One drives faster and faster through bends, never reaching the limit, even in the mountains, and the brakes do not fade. The sliding technique beloved of Berlinette drivers does not suit the new car, however, the characteristic handling remaining neutral in spite of the rear engine location. The new Alpine Renault A310 sets new standards for small-engined sports cars.’

Not everyone was impressed; German magazine Autorevue described it as ‘too underpowered for an enthusiast car and not luxurious enough for a luxury car.’

There was a 180+ hp version of the A310, but it wasn’t available to everyone. A dozen A310s were prepared for competition with front wheel arch flares and a widened rear flank that included most of the c-pillar to also allow for larger air intakes. Designated the VC model, it had a 1,798cc engine that was unfortunately never an option for the road cars.

But the A310 was not the competitive sibling in the family. It was over 200 kgs heavier than the A110, and with both using the same engine it was the two seater that continued to excel. Using A110s, the Alpine team won the World Rally Championship in 1971, and the car continued to notch up national titles for its various drivers through to 1975.

The French police, or more specifically, the Brigade Rapide d’Intervention de la Gendarmerie, continued with tradition and had a small fleet of A310s; numbers quoted vary between five and seven. Most were VF models, but I don’t think the engines received any further tuning. However the cars were required to handle pursuit tasks, and they earned spoilers front and rear.

Perhaps the most unique facet of the police-spec A310s was that the fibreglass body had metal flakes embedded in the resin to aid radio reception. These cars also had a metal plate inserted in the cabin roof for the same reason, as well as serving as a Faraday cage. Note the example lower right with the louvred rear window.

The louvres were available very early in the A310’s life but soon fell out of French regulatory compliance probably because of rear visibility issues, which makes their presence on the police cars even more interesting. They were apparently available for foreign market cars.

The A310 was sold in Belgium, Italy, the Netherlands, Germany, Switzerland, Spain, Mexico and Portugal – which combined made up almost 50% of sales of the model. There was no RHD version, which meant the UK and far-flung Australia missed out.

Build quality on the A310 was not great. Rédélé had committed to a new Dieppe factory in Bréauté Street that became operational in 1969. The capital outlay was significant for this largely independent carmaker, and the A310 had been rushed into production to help offset costs. Adding to Alpine’s woes was a workers’ strike in 1972.

In 1973, Jean Rédélé sold a controlling interest in Alpine to Renault, though he remained involved with the marque. Whether this agreement was made before or after the October 1973 announcement of the OPEC oil embargo, Renault and Rédélé watched as sales of the A310 halved in 1974.

Production peaked in 1973 at 666 units, and never again breached the 350 figure. In all, only 2,340 A310s were produced.

The Alpine was not a cheap car. Its 1973 home market price – 46,800 Francs – was almost double that of the Renault R12 Gordini at 19,200 Fr, and was still substantially higher than the top-spec R17TS at 24,600 Fr and R15TS at 18,500 Fr.

At its sticker price, sales were probably impacted by the fact that some buyers were waiting for the V6 version.

In 1971, a joint venture was established between Peugeot, Renault and Volvo for a large (in European terms) engine built at Douvrin in Northern France to be used primarily in each manufacturer’s senior saloon. Originally planned to be a V8, ambitions were soon changed and what emerged was the PRV V6.

In 1972, only a year after they had delivered the factory prototype, Coggiola presented another A310 body to Alpine. Perhaps mindful of the larger engine on the horizon, or of criticisms regarding cabin space, this proposal was 3” taller, 6” wider and 8” inches longer than the standard A310. It had also gained 3” in wheelbase.

Trevor Fiore was still involved with Coggiola around this time. At top left is his 1973 Opel-based Sylvia prototype built by the carrozzeria. However, this shape looks to be the work of Aldo Sessano, of Bocanegra fame and who had also penned the Lancia Fulvia-based 1971 Coggiola Dunja seen at bottom left.

The proposal was only a plaster styling mockup, but it remained with Renault for a year as they considered whether to proceed with it.

There was another special-bodied Alpine that some had originally presumed to be based on the A310. It was the work of French stylist Denis Meyrignac and was shown at the Geneva Motor Show in 1977.

It was actually built over an A110 chassis and engine bought directly from the factory, and intended for small-volume production. However Meyrignac blanched at the costs of pollution compliance (despite the fact that the Alpine engine already complied) so the project was abandoned.

It’s not clear whether one or two examples were produced – the red Geneva Show car apparently housed a V6 – and this audacious shape ended up being test driven by a French motoring journalist anticipating the helmet-chic of Daft Punk before the Meyrignac Alpine found its way into long term storage.

With Renault now in control of Alpine, the task for shaping the A310 V6 fell to Robert Opron, seen here at right with his predecessor (now staffer) Gaston Juchet and Bertone’s Marcello Gandini.

There were a few prototype bodies built bearing much resemblance to the Citroen-controlled Maserati Bora and Merak in their flip-up headlights, flying buttresses and rear-end treatments.

Peter Stevens had been directly involved with the Alpine for the introduction of the V6 model, launched in late 1976.

‘In 1976 the A310 was restyled with input from myself, the project under the guidance of Renault Design Chief Robert Opron. The original 1971 car was never wind tunnel tested and suffered from both front end lift and rear instability and one of my jobs for the 1976 model was to counter these problems with small aerodynamic additions.’

The neat chin spoiler did not detract from the shape at all, and in fact looked a natural fit with its complementary angling and surfaces. The same can be said for the small window-width rear spoiler which gained ‘Alpine Renault’ lettering in 1978. The NACA ducts up front were gone and the rear lower panel was now blacked out, with new light units.

Most significantly, that distinctive front end was revised to a four-headlight arrangement, divided by body panelling which sported the Renault logo. The spotlights were now placed under the bumper beneath the turning signals.

Peter Stevens continues; ‘The other interesting job was to design an alloy wheel for the A110, Alpine Renault 5 and the A310. During the previous year’s Monte Carlo Rally all the works cars had retired with damaged rear suspension caused by heavy lumps of ice being frozen between the wheel spokes and so putting the wheels out of balance. The task was to design a wheel that was sufficienty smooth that the snow would not stick to it. I always preferred the three-slot version of the smooth wheel, the four-slot style tended to look static.’

1977 would be the last year of production for the venerable but glorious A110. A winner to the end, it bowed out with its head held high.

But the star of the show was the V6.

Production of the four-cylinder VF had ceased in April 1976, but the detuned VG (also known as the TX) was built for another three months. It’s listed in the 1977 World Cars catalogue alongside the V6 but when you compare the prices listed; 76,900 Francs for the 95 hp A310 TX, and 77,900 Francs for the 150 hp A310 V6, the senior model seems like a bargain.

It had a top speed of 137 mph (220 kmh) and could reach 60 mph in 7.5 seconds.

The 2,664cc V6 engine was fed by a single throat Solex 34 TBIA and a double-throat Solex 35 CEEI carburettor. Suspension was derived from the R30 saloon and the vehicle weighed-in at 980 kg (2,161 lbs).

The heavier engine altered the A310’s weight distribution, now at 33% front and 67% rear. Of course this affected handling and Renault found themselves sending updates to dealers explaining how to set rear tyre inflations for the first series of the A310 V6.

Motoring journalist Martin Buckley recently ran a comparo of the A310 V6 and its contemporaries for Drive magazine, and had this to say about the Alpine;

‘I was unprepared for how well this car went. Once the full length of the throttle travel was discovered, it seemed to have acceleration not that far behind the 911, delivered with a lusty, offbeat growl that was as inspiring as the similarly powered De Lorean’s was limp and unappealing. This V6 is not a sports car engine but its willingness to spin hard to its redline, pulling strongly and smoothly all the way, was as impressive as its ability to lug around in third and fourth from 1200rpm or cruise peacefully in top. Alpine sorted the handling on the 310 simply by putting huge tyres on the rear (they’re even bigger on this car) and it seems to have worked. It scuttles around curves in a flat, neat and nifty way that suggests something much smaller with light, quick steering. The gearchange does not reach the same standard – it felt vague and slightly rubbery at times – but I never failed to find the gear I wanted.’

In 1978, the ‘Group 4’ option was introduced, featuring the body kit from the Heuliez concept car of 1977, albeit with smoothed wheel arches rather than the bolt-ons and minus that fantastic spotlight binnacle. The engine was the same as the standard model, but it came with a five-speed box and wider wheels. 30 examples were produced.

If it was more power and even wider flares you wanted, then you needed to find yourself the 270+ hp Group 5 version.

With the A110 gone, the A310 was initially the steed of choice for Renault’s gravel track ambitions. A Group 4 A310 V6 putting out about 240 hp won the 1977 French Rally Championship in the hands of Guy Fréquelin, but Renault’s competitions focus would soon shift to the mid-rear engined turbocharged versions of the R5.

Series 2 was introduced in 1981. Upgrades on the exterior included wraparound bumpers and larger wheelarch flares. The 4 stud wheels and rear end suspension were now derived from the R5 Turbo – which significantly influenced its handling for the better. The same version of the V6 was carried over but was now mated to a 5 speed. The wording on the rear spoiler was flipped to read ‘Renault Alpine’.

The ‘Group 4’ option became the ‘Pack GT’ for Series 2, though it seems to have had different names for different markets; ‘S’ in Germany and ‘F-Pack’ in Japan (!) There was also a ‘Pack GT Boulogne’ featuring the 2,849cc version of the PRV breathing through 2 triple throat Weber 46 IDA carburettors and producing 193 hp (144kW). Only 27 Boulogne were built.

Towards the end of its life, the standard A310 V6’s price has risen considerably. In 1983 it was offered at 131,000 Fr and that rose to 140,880 Fr in 1984. But despite this, the A310 V6 was Alpine’s greatest sales success. Except for its first and last (half) years, annual production never dipped below 1,000 units.

When the last A310 V6 rolled off the production line in 1984, 9,276 examples had been built.

But what of its replacement?

In 1977, this A480 styling mockup was prepared as part of an attempt to create a ‘1980’ language for an Alpine in mid-rear engined configuration. This shape, possibly by Gandini, seems to have come to nothing. But it does indicate an expectation that the Alpine visual language might have to move on.

In 1981, Yves Legal produced this sketch. It was much closer to the A310, but bearing a new body particularly at the rear.

The A310 replacement was again an Opron-headed task. Heuliez was asked to help prepare the prototypes and the further the project progressed, the more it returned to the A310 shape. This was not necessarily a matter of economical panel sharing; whereas the A310 body had been cast as a single piece, the GTA was to comprise a multitude of small body panels in fibreglass and plastic bonded together and to the chassis making it effectively a monocoque.

The 1985 Renault GTA was 6” longer, 4” wider, 2” taller with a 3” longer wheelbase than its predecessor. The A310’s shape had translated well into the 1980’s and the narrow-bodied version of the GTA was able to boast a Cd of .28. The most significant visual difference was the see-though c-pillar treatment but detail changes were made everywhere. The backbone chassis arrangement was retained but this was a new car.

It was available with two versions of the PRV engine, the 2,849cc, 160 hp GTA and the 2,458 cc, 185 hp GTA Turbo.

In 1987 the GTA was prepared for the US market with unique flip-up headlights. However, because of Renault’s stake in Chrysler-owned American Motors, the GTA was quickly withdrawn due to competition with Chrysler’s TC by Maserati. Only 21 examples were made.

1990 saw the GTA Turbo Le Mans released in the home market, with a revised frontal treatment and flared wheelarches. Performance specialists Danielson developed aftermarket tweaks taking power up to 210 hp.

In 1991, the widenend body of the Le Mans model received flip-up lights for the 2,975cc, 250 hp version, renamed A610. The GTA/A610 range was considered a failure for Renault, it was a far more refined vehicle than the A310 but only sold around 6,500 models over its ten year lifespan against greater expectations. Though this was a veritable road rocket, it was also the A310 shape at its most anodyne.

The final A610 was built in April 1995.

For 1996, Renault would be referring further back into the Alpine heritage.

Though comparisons can be made with Porsche and Lotus, I find the most direct analogy for Jean Rédélé to be Carroll Shelby. Both started as successful drivers then went on to create exciting niche vehicles for road and track, and by dint of their accomplishments and their agreeable, charismatic personalities, their names strike an impassioned fervour amongst their compatriots.

In 1977, Rédélé sold his remaining stake in Alpine to Renault. He stepped away with a promise from Renault that they maintain production in Dieppe for the next fifteen years.

In 1976, Renault Sport was formed to take charge of Renault’s racing activities. It was based out of Alpine’s Val Druel facilities and they soon scored big, with outright victory at the 1978 24 Heures du Mans in an Alpine A442B, earning themselves a tow down the Champs Elysees.

1976 also saw the release of the Renault R5 Alpine. This performance variant of Renault’s bread and butter baby had been developed by the Alpine team and sold 53,000 units. In 1978, Renault Sport was moved out of Val Druel, and in its place Renault established Berex (Bureau d’Etudes et de Recherches Exploratoires) to develop sporting variants of Renault’s road cars. What soon emerged were increasingly lairier versions of the R5.

The Alpine nameplate has been used sparingly by Renault. Its application can be somewhat problematic. For one thing, it was not able to be used in the UK due to Rootes, then Chrysler, having their own claim on the name.

But it’s a bit more complex than that. Though the Alpine name is held in high esteem by aficionados, there is limited global understanding of what it stands for. Compounding the issue is another highly esteemed French brand owned by Renault – Gordini. Whereas ‘Gordini’ seems more appropriate for performance variants of standard models, ‘Alpine’ requires a slightly weird body as well to really make sense of its brand equity.

Thanks to its presence in the Gran Turismo computer games, Alpine has been able to stay relevant to a younger generation. And Renault has recently made efforts to revive it in the real world. So there’s still hope.

A couple of years ago, fellow carspotter AVL wanted to show me an exotic he had found in Melbourne’s backstreets. It was the weekend of the Grand Prix, so we jumped on our bikes to avoid the traffic and roadblocks, and when we arrived I couldn’t believe what he had led me to.

This example is one of only four in A310/4s in Australia. In 1991, it was apparently brought over from the French island colony of New Caledonia. Back then it was restored to its original gris metalise colour and was converted to RHD, but it had lost its original VF motor and gearbox.

At some point something must have been difficult to replace or fix, and it was left parked out in the street. By the time I caught it, the fibreglass body had withstood the ravages of its outdoor storage but it was looking most forlorn. It has since disappeared, hopefully still held in Australia and afforded the rejuvenation it deserves.

The argument can certainly be made that the first series V6 is the best-looking A310.

But for me it’s the four-cylinder body. As pure automotive sculpture, I prefer it over the down-force appendaged later models. The final clincher in its appeal, however, comes from those six lights behind that full-width plexiglas panelling. Like the bittersweet dissonance within “ polnareff’s ” or the astringent edge of pastis, that slightly jarring face is intrinsic to the authenticity of the A310 shape.

Renault literature credits only Michel Béligond and Yves Legal for the styling of the A310.

Trevor Fiore’s involvement has never been fully explained, though there is a recent book ‘Alpine La Passion Bleue’ by Bernard Sara that apparently addresses this. Unfortunately it has only been published in French and I have not been able to access a copy. If any of the CCommentariat have read this book, I would greatly appreciate their input.

As to Gaston Juchet’s contribution, that is only a guess on my part.

Whatever their roles in the creation of the Alpine A310, the shape that emerged was one for the ages.

Further Reading

CC Scoop: Unseen Alpine Mid-Engined Proposal by Peter Stevens

Mike Tippett’s Curbside Classic of a barnfind Alpine A106 located in the US

Most of the early history of Alpine in this piece was drawn from
alpine-passion.com – an exhaustive and exacting blog detailing the driving career
of Jean Rédélé and the Alpine years to the mid-1960s.

a310l4.com – A great French site focusing on the four-cylinder A310

juchet.fr – An enormous trove featuring the work of Gaston Juchet

A French television news piece on Michel Béligond and the A310

Professor Peter Stevens on his time contributing to the A310
and an appraisal of more recent ‘Alpine’ efforts

Martin Buckley’s Drive A310 V6 comparo

AteUpWithMotor on the R5 and its variants

Our feature CC discussed by those in the know at aussiefrogs.com