1960s Cars Archives - CARS // MOTORBIKES

Alfa Romeo 33 Stradale

The driving force behind the Alfa Romeo 33 Stradale was Franco Scaglione. He was an engineering whizz-kid from an early age. He was also blessed with precocious design sensibilities. A mechanical marvel of one sort or another, then, was always on the cards. It was just a question of what. Thankfully for car buffs, automobiles were amongst the subjects Scaglione found himself drawn to.

Engineering, then, was a walk in the park for the young Scaglione. Even as a student, he was a natural. He duly graduated to more advanced learning. That is, until the Second World War threw a spanner in the works. Scaglione’s studies – started so swimmingly – were decimated. Back in Civvy Street – in ’46 – he was 29 years old. Training to be an engineer was in tatters. Time to look for alternative employment. Maybe the motor trade held something for him?

The Fiat Abarth was Scaglione’s first full-on design gig. Not a bad way to cut your styling teeth! Launched in ’52, he was on Bertone’s books at the time. Surprised by the scale of the Abarth’s success, Scaglione opted to go solo. In ’59, he opened his own studio. The jewel in its crown would be the Stradale. Using Alfa’s Type 33 racer as a template, Scaglione fashioned a suitably muscle-bound sports car. Aluminium bodywork was draped over a tubular steel frame. Alfa’s 2-litre V8 was installed in the back. Scaglione drew the engine in plain view – in all its mechanised majesty. Once fired up, it made 230 bhp. And full use could be made of the power. For a start, the throttle was ultra-responsive. The gearbox was a flexible 6-speed affair. The Stradale’s dimensions were hang-it-out compact. Plus, it weighed in at just 700kg. In its short production run – from ’67 to ’69 – just 18 Stradales were built. Oddly – given the built-in exclusivity – the price tag was relatively low. That did not detract from the Stradale’s prestige one iota. Carrozzeria Marrazzi made a magnificent job of the coachbuilding. Franco Scaglione, of course, drafted a car design tour de force. In short, the Alfa Romeo 33 Stradale radiated excellence. Scaglione, then – World War Two interruptions notwithstanding – got there in the end!

De Tomaso Mangusta

Coachbuilt by Ghia, the de Tomaso Mangusta was about as stylish as a sports car gets. Well, apart from its name, that is. A mangusta is a mongoose. Absolutely no offence to mongooses intended, but they are not typically considered the height of chic. Yes, I am sure there are exceptions to that rule. At any rate, so far as the roadgoing Mangusta went, its body was a sleek lattice-work of lines and slats. In like manner, graphics were elegantly scripted.

But the Mangusta was far from all show. It was bang on the money technically, too. The Ford 4.7 V8 engine put out 305bhp. Top speed was 250km/h. Released in ’66, just 400 Mangustas were made. 280 of them were sold in the States. American sales were substantially upped by fitting the Ford V8. The US was a fair old jaunt for the Mangusta, from Modena, Italy – that mythical Mecca of all things motor racing. The perfect location, then, for Alejandro de Tomaso to base his workshop.

De Tomaso hailed from Buenos Aires, Argentina. His father was a government minister – and his mother an heiress. Suffice to say, Alejandro was unlikely to go hungry. It was not long before de Tomaso’s motoring muse came calling – mainly in the shape of Maseratis. At 27, he moved to Italy – to pursue a career as a racing driver. De Tomaso was quick – but not quick enough. So instead, he set up a supercar company … as you do! As a designer – rather than driver – de Tomaso fared better. Before long, both sports cars and single-seaters were rolling out of his ‘shop. In his youth, de Tomaso idolised Fangio – the Argentinian race ace. Acolyte could never match master, in that regard. But – in penning cars like the Mangusta – de Tomaso had found his niche. His own means of automotive expression, you may say. Oh, by the way – if you are thinking about buying a de Tomaso Mangusta, a word to the wise. Never underestimate its performance. Mongooses eat snakes. You’ve been warned!

Daimler SP250 Dart

When first seen – at the ’59 NY Motor Show – the Daimler Dart was derided as an ugly duckling. The consensus was that the fins looked dated, the headlamps bug-eyed – and the grille a bit … well, fishy! Over time, though, qualms over the SP250’s styling subsided. Daimler was on a downswing in the late Fifties. New management sought to remedy that – by emulating Jaguar, Triumph and MG. Daimler, too, would produce a sports car for the American market. The potential problem was that Daimler lacked experience with sports cars. Indeed, the Dart was the only one the marque made. To get the ball rolling, it used the chassis and suspension set-up from the Triumph TR3. After that, Daimler turned to the bodywork. Which is when things started to go awry. The glassfibre shell Daimler designed seemed fine. Until the going got a bit rough – at which point the doors were liable to fly open! The writing was on the wall for the Dart as early as 1960. Jaguar then took over the SP250 project. Sir William Lyons was the new CEO. As well as being a top-flight manager, he was a stylist of high repute. Sadly, Lyons and the Dart did not see eye to eye. Its unwieldy form upset his creative sensibilities. One of them had to go. It would not be Lyons!

Prior to the Jaguar takeover, Edward Turner was managing director at Daimler. Before that, he had worked at Triumph – in its motorcycle division. His engine design work there had achieved widespread acclaim. Indeed, in the bike world, he was legendary. Some of that had rubbed off on the Dart. Indeed – courtesy of Turner – its motor was pretty much flawless. Torquey but smooth, it catapulted the lightweight Dart to a top speed of 125mph. 0-60 took 9.5s. The engine’s hemispherical combustion chambers – and twin SU carburettors – were key to its performance. Plus, the SP250 returned a respectable 25mpg. Best of both worlds, basically. Brakes-wise, a full set of Dunlop discs were fitted.

In a bid to drive up US sales, attempts were made to upgrade the Dart. It was given a stiffer chassis and bumpers – as well as a few more creature comforts than it had previously provided. From a marketing perspective, the SP250 was pitched between the cheaper Triumph TR and MGs – and the more expensive Jaguar XK150. 2,644 SP250s were built. Production ceased in ’64. The ugly duckling never did morph into a graceful swan. But, beauty is in the eye of the beholder – and Daimler Dart fans loved it all the same!

Austin-Healey 3000 MkIII

The Austin-Healey 3000 MkIII was a seriously iconic British sports car. One of the legendary ‘big Healeys’, it was made in the Midlands, England. Bodies were built by Jensen – in West Bromwich. Final assembly took place in MG’s Abingdon factory. First of the breed was the Healey 100. It recycled the 4-cylinder engine from the Austin Atlantic. But it was when a 6-pot motor was lowered into the 3000 model, that the Healey range really sprang into life.

The 3000 MkI arrived in ’59. In design terms, it was not too different from what had gone before. It was a sizeable, stylish 2-seater. The game-changer was beneath the bonnet. The six-cylinder engine kicked out 124bhp. Top speed was 114mph. To cope with the extra horsepower, robust front disc brakes had been fitted. Come the 3000 MkII version, and output had been upped to 132bhp. That was largely courtesy of triple SU carburettors. ’64’s MkIII racheted up power still further – to 148bhp. The speed-needle now flickered at over 120mph. At that point, the motorsport world sat up and took notice. Before long, the Healey roadster had morphed into a works rally car … and a highly competitive one, at that.

Visually, the 3000 was notably low-slung. Whilst that certainly looked cool, it did not help the car’s rallying cause. On the stages, ground clearance could be suspect. As automotive design, though, the MkIII was a triumph … as it were! Its dramatic grille – and subtly sloping lines – were a joy to behold. Its wire wheels were web-like works of art. The curved windscreen – and neatly-folding hood – were stylish embellishments. The 3000’s rear-end was as shapely as it gets. Distinctly British though it was, the MkIII was built primarily for the American market. Ironically, it was strict Stateside safety regulations that brought about its demise. Production stopped in ’67. By then, though, the Austin-Healey 3000 MkIII was woven into the fabric of moody, muscular sports cars. Wonder if Marlon Brando ever drove one!

GM Firebird XP-21

GM’s mythical Motorama show spawned many an unusual exhibit. An orgy of automotive exoticism, visitors expected the radical and bizarre. Though whether any of them were prepared for what was served up to them in ’54 is debatable. GM’s Firebird XP-21 took prototypical outlandishness to a stratospheric level. First off, was it a car or a plane? It appeared to have elements of both. Since it did not fly, presumably that made it a car. But, it did not look like a car – at least, not in any conventional sense. The answer, of course, was that it was a concept car – one which pushed the believability limits, both visually and technically.

The Firebird’s space-age looks were drawn by Harley Earl. He was GM’s legendary head of design, at the time. From its projectile-style nose – to rear-mounted fin – the Firebird came with dynamism built-in. Its gas-turbine-engine made 370bhp. Sadly, its top speed stat was never established. Perhaps that was for the best. It was a ‘dream car’, after all. Could it have kept pace with the Douglas Skyray – the aircraft on which it was modelled? Probably not … though its aviation-style cockpit suggested otherwise! Mauri Rose was the Firebird’s fearless test-driver. He gave the XP-21 the thumbs up – impressed, as he was, by its straight-line stability.

GM’s Firebird was America’s first gas-turbine ‘car’. Over time, a few other marques followed suit. The XP-21’s ‘Whirlfire Turbo-Power’ turbine revved to 13,300rpm. The ‘gasifier’ that turned it spun at nearly twice that speed. Heat from the exhaust reached 677°C. When the time came, drum brakes and wing-flaps slowed the plot down. The XP-21 was the first of a trio of Firebirds. ’55 saw the Firebird II – a 4-seater affair. In ’58 came the Firebird III – this time a 2-seater. By that stage, the car was in road mode – a test-bed for cutting edge components. If there was any doubt about GM’s commitment to the automotive future, the Firebird XP-21 blew it well and truly into the weeds!

Excalibur SS

The Excalibur SS was styled by Brooks Stevens – one of the great industrial designers. Stevens was prolific, to say the least. In the course of his 61 years in the profession, he amassed 550 clients – and thousands of designs. Thankfully for gearheads, some of them were for cars. Probably the best-known was the Jeep Jeepster … the first cool 4×4!

Arguably even cooler than the Jeep was the Excalibur J sports-racer. It first appeared in ’52. But, Stevens really hit the jackpot – at least in publicity terms – with the Excalibur SS concept car. Unveiled in ’63, it catered to the increasingly popular trend for all things ‘retro’. The SS wowed the NY Auto Show. Stevens was inundated with orders. With its Studebaker Lark chassis – and supercharged V8 engine – the SS was an intriguing mix of old and new. Dyed-in-the-wool vintage fans did not like it. Everyone else loved it!

Concept car complete, Stevens’ next step was to render the SS roadworthy. A Chevrolet Corvette engine was duly inserted into the rear of a modified chassis. In true vintage style, there were flexible metal exhaust pipes and an aluminium radiator shell. The retro body panels were, in fact, glassfibre. Stevens’ two sons were tasked with marketing the SS. Roadster and Phaeton models were available. Peak power was 300bhp. Top speed was 140mph. To be fair, the Excalibur SS was never going to satisfy every taste. Just 359 cars were built. But surely – even the most fastidious vintage car aficionado can find something to like about it? Oh, well – perhaps not!

Daimler Majestic Major

At a glance, the Daimler Majestic Major may not seem much by way of a performance car. But – by the standards of its day, at least – it certainly was. Notwithstanding the Major’s large dimensions – as well as a separate chassis – it could outpace the best of them. And, it had manoeuvrability to match! Top whack was 122mph. Enough for it to glide with ease past many a sports car. Come the corners – and things were no different. Power steering saw to that. Key to the speed was a 4.7-litre hemi-head V8. 0-60 turned up in less than 10s – 9.7, to be precise. Impressive acceleration for a car of its bulk. Transmission was via a 3-speed auto ‘box.

Few saloons cruised Britain’s highways and byways like the Major. Of course – being a Daimler – elegance came as standard. The cabin was all one would expect from a car of its class. Leather pews – and a wooden dash – made it home from stately home. Seating arrangements were suitably spacious. The boot – about the size of your average black hole – could accomodate every golf club known to man. A limousine version – the DR45 – was tailor-made for the carriage trade. Funeral parlours doted on it. And yet – for all of its high-end charm – the Majestic Major had a trace of the common touch. It was drawn by the same designer as the FX4 taxi-cab!

1,180 saloon version Majors were built. Plus, 864 limousines. In the course of the car’s run, Daimler was taken over by Jaguar. indeed, a Daimler engine was ear-marked for a new MkX – Jaguar’s flagship model, at the time. Sadly, a prototype of the V8 motor was as far as it got. It blew all the Jaguar engines into the weeds. That did not endear it to Jaguar’s top brass. After all, shareholders might legitimately have asked what they had been doing for the last few years! So, the Daimler Majestic Major combined edge-of-your-seat speed with rarefied styling. In short, it was a souped-up saloon car for the wannabe aristocrat in all of us. Well, most of us, anyway!

Rover P5

The Rover P5 was private transport of the highest order. For years, it ferried the great and the good about their well-heeled business. Government ministers – and top civil servants – put down their attaché cases and relaxed on its sumptuous seats. Security picked up the purr of its engine, as one – whether at Downing Street, Parliament or Buckingham Palace. So, on state occasions, the four-wheeled presence of Rover P5s was a given.

The P5 was impeccably styled by David Bache. It was so-named because it was ‘post-war design number 5’. Its exterior was the pinnacle of saloon car sophistication. Sober lines – and toned-down hues – exuded due gravitas. The interior, too, was quality incarnate. The materials used said it all. The dash was fashioned from African cherry wood. The carpet was Wilton. Seats were, of course, luxury leather. To all intents and purposes, the P5 was a banqueting-room on wheels. The pliancy of its ride echoed the subtlety of its styling. The P4’s separate chassis was now history.

On the surface, the P5 was the quintessence of Englishness. From ’67 on, however, the US lay beneath – in the form of a 3.5-litre Buick engine. It brought some much-needed speed to the P5 package. No more running late for those executive meetings. Previously, the P5 had been powered by a 3-litre motor. Buick’s V8 made 185bhp. The P5’s top speed climbed to 110mph. The powerplant was sourced from parent company GM. Rover got it at a discount – since it had become surplus to requirements. The gearbox was 3-speed auto. Thoughtfully, Rover provided a toolkit – albeit, somewhat basic. It was discreetly tucked away in the dashboard. Not that the P5’s passengers would have had much of a clue what to do with it! Many of the key decisions of our times were made with the help of the P5. Many a soirée could not have happened without it. In motoring terms, society’s crème de la crème had never had it so good. We must be forever grateful, then, to the Rover P5 … I think!

Panhard 24CT

The 24 Series would be Panhard’s last hurrah. The first of them hit the showrooms in ’63. Founded in 1889, the French firm was floundering. It was now pitched against more state of the art cars from Peugeot, Citroën and Renault. Not even the iconic 24CT could save Panhard. It fought the financial odds, though, with all the Gallic gusto it could muster. And the 24CT had plenty to offer, in marketing terms. Not least, its aerodynamic bodywork. Large windows – supported by finely-wrought pillars – provided excellent visibility. Cowled-in headlights lit up the road, with aplomb. For all its feisty resistance, though, in the end, the automotive giant that was Citroën gobbled up little Panhard.

The 24CT’s flat-twin motor made only 60bhp. Capacity was just 845cc. That was still enough, however, to give a top-spec speed of 100mph. That was with the Tigre engine option – complete with its twin-choke carb. The CT’s svelte shape certainly helped, too. The standard Panhard lump provided 10bhp less. At low revs, the 24CT did not pull up any trees. Torque was reduced – and the flat-twin motor ran rough. As revs picked up, though, things 24CT settled down nicely. Transmission was via a 4-speed floor-shift. From ’65 onward, disc brakes were fitted all round. Handling was more than adequate – and all the better for front-wheel drive.

The 24CT’s roots were in the Panhard Dyna. The latter was styled by Grégoire – in the Forties. The Panhard PL17, also, brought good looks and innovation to the car design table. The 24 Series sold reasonably well – given their high price tags. In all, 23,245 cars were built. Citroën took Panhard over in ’65 – and did its utmost to make the 24 Series a success. A car as elegant as the 24CT, though, is never cheap to make. And that, ultimately, proved to be its Achilles’ heel. In ’67, Citroën accepted that Panhard’s Paris factory could be put to more profitable use building its own brand’s cars. One of motoring’s great pioneers had reached the end of the road. The Panhard 24CT, though, was an entirely fitting finale!

MGB

Among other cars, footballer George Best drove an MGB. A man synonymous with style – in both the Sixties and Seventies – he doubtless took the odd Miss World or two out for a spin in it. He would have needed to watch out, though, for his glamorous passengers. The MGB’s handling was no match for Best’s dynamic dribbling skills! Suspension and steering parts – as well as its live axle – were stock BMC items. In other words – manoeuvrability-wise – they were nothing to write home about. In a straight line, however, things MGB were much improved. Top speed was a creditable 106mph. With the top down, Best – and his busty companions – would certainly have felt the breeze blowing through their Vidal Sassoon-sorted locks. At one point, more than 50,000 MGBs per annum were passing through the Abingdon factory gates. Add another nought to that figure, and you have total sales for the MGB. More than half a million were shifted – between ’62 and ’80. Numbers like that make it one of the best-selling sports cars ever!

Safe to say, then, the MGB’s success was due mainly to its lithe good looks. Technically, it was no great shakes. Nonetheless, it was an improvement on its predecessor. The MGA’s hefty separate chassis had been ditched – hopefully, not literally – for a lighter unit-construction item. The MGB scored well, too, in terms of torque. There was a rip-roaring 110lb/ft of the stuff – and at just 3,000rpm.

It was in the design department, though, that the MGB shone. Its seductively low lines were drawn with stunning simplicity. The car was inherently aerodynamic. Were it not for its small-scale four-cylinder engine, it would have gone a whole lot quicker. For a sports car – even in the ’60s – 95bhp was no more than middling. That said – taken in the round – the MGB embodied the best of British motoring. Obviously, Georgie thought so – or, he would not have spent his hard-earned money on one. No doubt, Miss World agreed. End of the day – if it was good enough for the Belfast boy – it must have been the best!