1940s Classic Sports Cars Archives

Triumph Roadster

The Triumph Roadster was a direct challenge to the Jaguar SS100. In ’44, Sir John Black – owner of Standard – took over Triumph. He was keen to throw down the gauntlet to Jaguar. Over the years, Black had sold many an engine, gearbox and chassis to the automotive giant. Indeed, having Standard as a supplier played a part in Jaguar’s success. There was more than a hint of table-turning, then, when Black suggested to William Lyons that he take over Jaguar, too. Lyons was having none of it. Black retreated to lick his wounds – and scour his Standard components catalogue. Already, a vision of a new Triumph was forming in his mind.

Standard knew their stuff all right. In the Second World War, they had engineered aircraft. So, it made sense for Black to use the Standard 14 engine – and its gearbox – to power his Triumph Roadster. The motor had already been modded to take an overhead-valve configuration – by Harry Weslake, no less. Measuring 1,776cc, it had also served time on the 1.5-litre Jaguar SS. More Standard parts were sourced for the suspension. Up front, the transverse-leaf independent set-up of the Flying Standard Series was co-opted. At the rear, a Standard Fourteen back-axle found another home. Not everything on the new car harked back to the past, though. There was a brand-new ladder-frame chassis, for example – made from 3½″ round-section tubing. Roadster bodywork was aluminium. It was hung on a timber frame – since there was a shortage of steel, in the wake of the War.

The Jaguar SS100 served as design template for the new Triumph. Pre-war, it was a byword for style and sophistication. Frank Callaby drew a Triumph variant on the Jaguar theme. He was inspired by the SS100’s huge headlamps – and the languorous curves of its wings. For his part, John Black was adamant that a dickey-seat be fitted. The 3-plus-2 cabin was unique amongst post-war cabriolets. In ’48, the Roadster had a bigger engine installed. Power increased by all of 3bhp. Plus, the new model was 36kg lighter. 0-60mph was reduced to 27.9s. The re-vamped motor was a Vanguard ‘wet-liner’. It was linked to a 3-speed gearbox. The two Roadsters – 1800 and 2000 – had a combined sales tally of just 4,501. So, Sir John Black’s dream of supplanting Jaguar had not materialised. The Triumph Roadster will never be spoken of in the same hushed tones as the Jaguar SS100. Even so, it was a dynamic, attractive addition to the British sports car roster.

Porsche 356

The Porsche 356 was the start of a design dynasty. Ferdinand Porsche opened his studio in ’31. It would be a further fifteen years before the first Porsche production car. When it arrived, it was no coincidence that the 356 was similar to the VW Beetle. Dr Porsche had penned that car, too. The 356’s compact and rounded lines oozed understated charm. In the Fifties, it was the small – but perfectly-formed – 356 which cemented Porsche in the public eye. Right up until ’65, in fact – when the Porsche 911 hit centre stage.

For the first four years, the 956 was manufactured in Austria. It was fitted with a flat-four push-rod engine. Rear-mounted – and topped off with a cute grille – the air-cooled motor kept time in pleasingly pulsating fashion. With a capacity of just 1,100cc, it made a mere 40bhp. Top speed was 87mph – pretty good, considering. Suspension was via trailing-link up front – and high-pivot swing axle at the rear. The gearbox was a 4-speed affair. The 356’s split windscreen was the most notable design flourish.

The Porsche 356A model was released in ’55 – in Germany. Bodywork-wise, it was less rotund than the first version. The new car came with a curved, one-piece screen. Front suspension and steering were revised. A bigger engine had been installed. 1,600cc was a half-litre up on the original. 356 B and C models duly followed. Roadsters, a Karmann coupé, and the Super 75 and Super 90 continued to uprate the technical spec. There was also a 356 Carrera. Indeed, even after the 911 series took over the Porsche reins, the 912 still had a foot in both camps. It was powered by a 356 engine – in a 911 shell. In terms of its legacy, then, the Porsche 356 was pretty pivotal to the Stuttgart marque!

Bristol 401

The Bristol 401 showed off the Aerodyne body shell. It was the work of Italian design house Touring. As its name suggested, aerodynamics were the name of the game. The 401’s Aerodyne lines – and ‘teardrop’ tail – flowed through air with minimal resistance. Indeed – years after its production run ended – there were few cars that could match the 401’s aerodynamic package. Aptly, then, the car was developed at an airport. Specifically, along the two-mile stretch of the Filton runway – in Bristol, England. Tests measured it travelling at a tad shy of 100mph – powered by a two-litre, 85bhp engine. Not much to play with, given that the 401 was a four-seater saloon car – with plenty of interior trim. Clearly, aerodynamics were playing a pivotal part in that 100mph top speed stat. Saying that, it was no ordinary motor it was using. Bristol had ‘borrowed’ the engine from BMW – as part of Germany’s First World War reparations. As far as the 401’s ‘slipperiness’ went, low wind noise – and 25mpg fuel economy – were more than welcome by-products.

With regard to the 401’s shape, the same degree of rarefied design found its way into other aspects of the car, too. The body panels, for example, were graded for thickness – according to function. Thus, those that made up the wings were more meaty. Mechanics liked that – it was something solid for them to lean against! The 401’s four-speed gearbox was all slick engineering. Its steering-wheel, too, was exquisitely crafted. Complete with its ‘banana’ spoke, it mimicked the one found in Bristol aircraft, of the time.

The 401, then, was a gift to design students – many of them born years after the end of its run. Bristol’s stylists and coachbuilders were a rare breed indeed. If you had used the phrase ‘built-in obsolescence’ to them, they would have been seriously confused. Not because they were stupid – but, because it simply would not have occurred to them to think in that way!

Austin A90 Atlantic

If ever there was a car which straddled a divide, it was the Austin A90 Atlantic. The clue was in the name! Both Austin and Pontiac emblems adorned the A90’s bonnet/hood. Another clue! Built in Longbridge, England, it was one of the cars which blazed a trail out of the post-Second World War slump. The Atlantic was the first British car built primarily for the American market. In hindsight, its trans-oceanic mission was doomed from the outset. Stateside, they were used to 6- and 8-cylinder engines. So, the A90’s 4-pot tally simply did not cut the mustard. The writing was on the wall when an Atlantic broke 63 stock-car records, at Indianapolis – in a week. Sales still did not pick up! Sadly, this was a case in which the American Dream just was not going to come true!

As the Atlantic’s foray into stock-car racing had proved, it was not lacking on the performance front. Indeed, the A90 was one of few post-war cars capable of 90mph. It was practical, too. When the A90 was launched – in ’48 – petrol was still being rationed. So, the Atlantic’s frugal fuel consumption – 25mpg – was a valuable commodity. Its in-line four motor made 88bhp. Hence, the car’s code-name – when rounded up to 90. Peak power kicked in at 4,000rpm. Top torque – 140lb/ft – arrived at 2,500rpm. Four speeds could be selected on the American-style steering-column gearshift.

7,981 Atlantics were built. Of those, a mere 350 made it to America. The A90 had taken the ’48 Earls Court Motor Show by storm. Austin must have been sure they had backed a winner. Especially, since the convertible model came with all mod cons. As well as the power-hood and -windows, the A90 boasted an Ecko radio, adjustable steering-wheel and heater. As early as ’51, though, it was the end of the road for the convertible. The saloon followed suit in ’52. And that was it for the Atlantic. For all of the ‘special relationship’, there are some things the UK and US do differently. The Austin A90 Atlantic was, in many ways, an admirable British automobile. But – to crack the States – four cylinders were just never going to be enough!

Hudson Commodore

Founded in 1909, Hudson was a middling motor car manufacturer. Up until ’48, that is. Which is when their Step Down models were launched. Overnight, Hudson became a byword for cool. Even the bottom-of-the-range Pacemaker was sought-after. The Commodore was coveted!

Hudson’s design department had worked overtime. Either that, or something had suddenly clicked. The curves of the Commodore’s bodywork revealed a new set of shapes. They would dominate car styling through the Fifties. In particular, the Commodore’s low-rider profile was ahead of the game. It was enabled by Monobilt – a unitary-construction process Hudson had developed. The Commodore’s floor-pan was beneath the chassis. So, occupants literally stepped down into the cabin. But, Monobilt was more than merely pleasing on the eye. It was safer, too. Passengers were surrounded – and, indeed, protected – by a robust perimeter frame.

As 6-seater saloon cars go, the Commodore was pretty quick. The 8-cylinder engine version produced 128bhp. That made it good for 93mph. Half a million Commodores were duly sold. But – sadly for small car companies – the automotive sharks were circling. Firms like Hudson were small fry, compared to the bigger fish in Detroit’s pool. With Ford, GM and Chrysler as rivals, it had always been on the back foot. In ’54, Hudson bowed to the inevitable and merged with Nash – simply to stay afloat. By then, though, it had had its day in the sun. Hudson’s Step Down cars – most notably, the Commodore – were stylish, functional, fast and safe. What was not to like?