The Great Aluminium Car

New Year Resolution for car designers - reduce weight. Craftsmen coachbuilders knew how. They used aluminium. One of Rover's pioneering cars of 1903 had an aluminium backbone. After the Second World War, Rover turned again to aluminium although only under duress.

Rover's big Solihull factory started with steel car production, the first saloons off the production line in December 1946 made under strict government controls. In order to repay Britain’s war debts emergency legislation had been imposed forcing industry to earn money abroad. Steel rationing was strict, allocations were decided according to a company’s success in export markets, particularly North America. Spencer Wilks, Rover managing director since 1933, “strongly advised” the board in January 1945, “…that we should aim to expand our output, and that to achieve this we should not look primarily to our prewar models, but that we should add to our range by the introduction of a 6HP model.” An anomaly of the scarcity in materials and resources was that although steel was in short supply, aluminium remained plentiful, so Rover’s first post-war new car project was the M-type or M1 (above), a small 2-seat coupe made largely of aluminium. It had a 57mm x 68.5mm 4-cylinder 699cc 28bhp (21kW) engine that was a replica of the larger saloons’, with overhead inlet and side exhaust valves. It was thought that Solihull might make 15,000 fullsized cars and a further 5,000 M-types, so work began on an aluminium chassis, with a strong box-shaped scuttle for a car with a 77in (195.6cm) wheelbase and only 160in (406.4cm) long. Three prototypes were built and ran before the end of 1946, well-proportioned coupes with a distinctive Rover style, but by 1947 changes in car taxation and government pressure to adopt a one-model policy conspired against it. The M-type seemed unlikely to be sold in sufficient numbers to fill the vast factory acquired during the war so it was abandoned. It left a gap in Rover’s strategy, later filled by the Land Rover, and consigned the aluminium car to history for 50 years. Even the M-type’s spiritual successor, the inspirational Audi A1, found the going hard and its production life short.

Mini - Missed The Boat at 30

Instead of selling on its virtue, the Mini was sold on price, so it never generated the money it deserved. It never brought in enough to finance its development and replacement, and Leonard Lord and his colleagues set off the disastrous train of events that led to the collapse of British Leyland and virtually the entire British motor industry. The car that should have sold at a premium gave rise instead to the motor industry aphorism that Mini cars make mini profits.
Prescient or what? That was from The Sunday Times of 27 August, 1989 amidst a welter of nostalgia surrounding the Mini's 30th birthday that only showed what a flop the car really was. Instead of celebrating 30 years leading the world in small car design, we were gazing wistfully at an antique, a car that was a pioneering starting-point, and never should have continued in production for three decades virtually unchanged. Over the same time-span, practically every component of the Volkswagen Beetle was altered. Only the brilliant original concept remained; details were amended and refined continuously.

It was not until BMW inherited the Mini’s principles and sold it at a premium price that it became a success. The first Mini had charm. When I drove one in 1959 I was amazed. (Above; the first Mini made at Cowley, 8 May 1959) No small car had ever been like this. Back to The Sunday Times of 30 years later:

The Mini's catalogue of failure leaves us with a car 30 years out of date in style, merit, and profitability. It was badly made and wrongly priced at the start, never earned enough money to keep its lead, and remains a monument to a management that never realised how distinguished it was.

(1963 Super de luxe Mini - with extra bumper bits)
There is scant cause to celebrate one of the greatest missed opportunities in automotive history, or praise a car that is slow, noisy, less safe than it ought to be, and dying on its feet save for a shrinking number of customers.

Like steam buffs hankering after the Flying Scotsman, they are out of touch with the real world. Fast, lively, well-made and reliable cars overtook the Mini almost as soon as it had shown, before the end of the 1950s, how small cars would be designed for the rest of the century and beyond.

The origins of the Mini are well-known. Sir Alec Issigonis (above), a gifted freehand artist of a designer who knew from his own experience of lightweight hill-climb specials how a good car ought to feel and handle, first drew up the Morris Minor. It was a bit radical for the old guard of motor industry grandees, but they took a risk and made it.

(Above: Issy's sketch-pad. He drew one on a table-cloth for me. Stupidly I never kept it)
They did not make it as Issigonis wanted to make it; they used an old pre-war side-valve engine, so it was never exactly nimble, but they gave "Issy" as he was known, his head in other areas such as the body shell and the torsion-bar suspension, - very avant-garde for 1948. The Minor was an instant favourite, and the later Minor 1000 remains a sought-after car to this day.

(Minis won the Monte. Issigonis was as astonished as anybody)
The Mini-Minor as it was known at first, was more radical still. Front wheel drive remained a novelty in the Fifties. Citroën used it, but they were considered very eccentric by the bluff Yorkshireman who ran the British Motor Corporation (BMC), Leonard (later Sir Leonard) Lord.

The transverse engine (above) was even more unorthodox. A couple of brave pioneers had tried it in the cold dawn of motoring, but no serious designer had entertained it as a means of squeezing the mechanical parts of a car into as small a compass as possible, to leave more room for the occupants.

Yet Lord acknowledged that the recipe, together with small wheels and rubber springs developed with the help of Issy's friend Alex Moulton from Bradford-on-Avon, had merit. He signed the Mini off for production, and it was launched upon a startled world on 26 August 1959.

Lord was only interested in competing with Ford, so the Mini was priced against Ford's cheapest car, the Popular. The fact that its technology was of the Sixties, while the Ford's origins lay well back in the Thirties was beside the point. The Mini's price was £496 against the Popular's £419.

It ought to have been £100 dearer on account not only of its novelty, but also for its interior spaciousness (see above), and its splendid handling, which enabled it to run rings round everything else on the road. It was quick, chic, economical, roomy, and took the market by storm.

It leaked of course. Early Mini carpets quickly became sodden because the seams in the welded floor faced the wrong way, scooping up rain water as the car went along. The gearbox and cooling systems were continual sources of trouble. But there were no fundamental shortcomings except perhaps mixing the gearbox oil and the engine oil in the same sump, giving rise to lubrication problems.

(Minis at Silverstone, 1965, somewhat demurely driven - they usually had smoke coming from the front wheels)
Rival designs quickly discarded this feature, for within a very short time Mini imitators appeared on the market. The pattern of small cars changed from rear-engined and rear drive like the VW Beetle, the Fiat 650 and the Renault 750, to front-engined and front wheel drive. Convention was stood on its head, and soon VW, Renault, Fiat, Peugeot, and the mighty General Motors and Ford would follow suit. From being thoroughly unconventional, transverse-engine, front-drive cars became the norm, not just for small cars, but for medium and large cars.

(1965 variant, the Mini Moke)
Lord and his board never realised the revolution they had wrought. They were more afraid that customers would be put off by the small wheels and the slab-sided appearance and turned-out body seams. Lacking the vision of Issigonis, they felt the Mini would only have merit if it was cheap.

The result was that they under-priced the most brilliant small car of all time. Instead of selling on its virtue, it was sold on price, so it never generated the money it deserved. It never brought in enough to finance its development and replacement, and Lord and his colleagues set off the disastrous train of events that led to the collapse of British Leyland and virtually the entire British motor industry.

(Final fling. One of a late series of Minis harking back to the Mini-skirted 1960s)
The car that should have sold at a premium gave rise instead to the motor industry aphorism that Mini cars make mini profits.

Classless, trend-setting, and sufficiently agile to give a good account of itself in all forms of motor sport from the Monte Carlo Rally to production car racing, the Mini should have been a financial as well as a technical success. It was marketed mistakenly as cheap and cheerful, instead of the clever new concept that it really was.

(BMW reinterprets the Mini. The Mayfair 50)
Mini ownership by the trendy Peter Sellars and Lord Snowdon was regarded with polite interest, instead of demonstrating that here was a car so good that price was not a critical ingredient in its choice.

In due course, the Metro was a worthy development of the Mini; few small cars make such good use of space, or offer so much of it for the money. Alas, it was late by 10 years or more, and when it did come, it still used (and still uses) the out of date Mini engine and gearbox because there was no money available for a new one.

When the replacement Metro arrives in a year or two, it will have a new engine. But now it has to hold its head above a flood of Mini rivals from Japan, Korea, and the rest of a world. They have followed where Issigonis led, but where an indifferent and lacklustre BMC feared to tread.
(And BMW succeeded. With hindsight I was being too kind to the Metro. Hopes for it were high in 1989)

Peter Kenneth Gethin (21 February 1940-5 December 2011)

Jenks was not always right. Motor Sport’s Continental Correspondent, Denis Jenkinson got carried away by what he saw as a win by, “a tough little Londoner,” on 5 September 1971. Peter Gethin, then 31, set a record in the history of world championship Grands Prix by winning at the fastest average speed of all the races that had counted towards the title since 1950. He won the Italian Grand prix at Monza at 150.75mph, with just over half a second between him and fifth, also a BRM, driven by Howden Ganley.
Jenks wrote: “It was interesting to listen to François Cevert and Ronnie Peterson explaining why they did not win, when they had started the last lap each confident that they had got it all worked out for victory. Peterson claimed that he could pass Cevert’s Tyrrell between the last corner and the finish. He had tried it several times during the last 15 laps. Cevert said he had a much more powerful engine than Peterson and could pass any time he wanted. His plan was to lead into the last corner then pass on the run-up to the finish. He did not want to lead in the last corner in case Peterson slipstreamed him and darted ahead on the line.”

Analysis paralysis. Jenks imagined motor racing was much more careful and controlled than it really was. He thought Peterson, “a charger with not too much racing intelligence,” and Cevert, “a beautiful young man who is timid and doesn’t want to get hurt.” He was probably right in supposing than neither thought Gethin or his BRM likely winners, yet constructs a last lap scenario too profound. What really happened was that Cevert and Peterson got over-excited about their clever plans and went wide on the last corner, leaving room for Gethin to get through. He could then accelerate his BRM away in its high second gear, taking the engine to 11,500rpm. He normally changed into third for the straight past the pits but this time remained in second until after the flag. Opportunism took him to victory. Motor racing was much less of an exact science than Jenks imagined.

P160 Yardley BRM on its press showing, 17 February 1971
Peter Gethin hung up his helmet in 1977 after a career spanning 15 years of Grand Prix, Formula 2, and Can-Am. He dominated Formula 5000, was European Champion in 1969 and 1970, and scored a remarkable double victory in 1973 by winning the Race of Champions at Brands Hatch twice, under different sets of rules.

He was born in Ewell (nearly London) into competitive sport. His father was Ken Gethin, one of the top jockeys and horse trainers in England, and started racing in 1962 with Lotus sports cars. In 1965 he moved on to single-seaters, then in 1968, into Formula 2, then still the training ground for top drivers. His opportunity in Grand Prix racing followed Bruce McLaren’s death in a testing accident at Goodwood but by the next year the team was in disarray, and Gethin moved to BRM.

The Monza race was only his second at the wheel of the V12 and by the following year the authorities introduced new corners to slow cars down. Slipstreaming, they decided, was too dangerous, so that while later generation of cars were faster, and cornered at higher speeds, race average speeds were lower. Alan Henry’s customarily well researched obituary in The Guardian relates how Gethin told him BRM boss Louis Stanley spent race weekend trying to lure Cevert into the BRM team. The previous evening, Peter was moved to the bottom of the dinner table to accommodate the French driver.

Yet 24 hours later, following his not entirely expected win (the lofty Stanley saw Gethin as “something of a lightweight”) he was swept regally out of the paddock in Stanley's Mercedes 600. His greatest day finished with him crouching by the side of the road back to Como, changing a wheel. It said much for Gethin that he saw the funny side.

Monza was Gethin’s only grand prix victory in 30 races. Bubbly, short 5ft 8in, with a winning smile and great charm, his record speed was only exceeded in 2003. His place in the history of motor racing was nevertheless still secure.

Yardley Team BRM press release picture, Europa Hotel, London. Motor racing publicity pictures had a long way to go. BRM mechanics are real.

WO: The collapse of Bentley Motors

“It was”, said WO Bentley, “the most distasteful and depressing episode in my life.” Yet recalling at the age of 70 what happened when he was 43 may have betrayed a selective memory. Some details in his autobiography, published in 1958, of what happened when Bentley Motors failed were contentious.

The main facts are not in dispute. Bentley Motors was wound up on 9 September 1931. Cricklewood’s closure and receivership ended the first chapter of Bentley’s 90-year history. THE COMPLETE BENTLEY is now availab le as an ebook.

The Autocar

confidently predicted that selling Bentley to aero engine and former car manufacturer, Napier, awaited only formal approval. The receiver had approached WO, there were plans for a Napier-Bentley and even a price, £104,775.

If only it had been that simple. Bentley had ceased trading in June, when its monthly interest payment to The London Life Association Ltd, 81 King William St EC, fell due. London Life held the Cricklewood mortgage, but Bentley Motors failed to meet it and Woolf Barnato, who had been buying creditors off since 1925, had had enough. The end was nigh and the receiver applied to a court for confirmation of the sale.

The hearing was interrupted by the British Central Equitable Trust (BCET). A small London business house specialising in company negotiations, it stepped in with a higher offer, and said it would match whatever else was put up. Napier asked for an adjournment so that it could raise its bid. The court refused to act as auctioneer and demanded sealed tenders from the opposing barristers by half past four. The BCET’s offer was higher and, obliged to act in shareholders’ and creditors’ interests, the court had to accept it.

Headlines next day made depressing reading. “Bentley Motors – Purchase Surprise.” WO was taken aback. Napier tried to cheer him up and confirmed that they still wanted him to work at Acton but the newspaper report contained the reality of his dilemma. “The expected absorption of Bentley Motors Ltd by D Napier and Son Ltd will not take place. An unexpected last-minute bid yesterday afternoon secured the Bentley assets for a rival buyer. Nothing is known of the Trust’s intentions. Nor is any director apparently identified with motor manufacturing. It is therefore presumed that this financial corporation is acting on behalf of some firm as yet unknown.”

It was. “Days passed,” wrote WO in his autobiography. “I was in a state of acute anxiety. It was an odd and unpleasant situation not to know who now controlled my future and the firm that bore my name. I waited for an official word. None came. Napier could tell me nothing.” His future was controlled because he was contractually bound to Bentley Motors, so whoever had bought it, had also bought him.

Sloper carburettors - a Bentley classic.

WO claimed that one evening his wife came back from a cocktail party, where she had overheard a man saying that his company had recently taken over the old Bentley firm. This was Arthur Sidgreaves, managing director of Rolls-Royce.

WO’s account may not have been the whole truth. Malcolm Bobbitt, author of WO The Man Behind the Marque (Breedon Books Publishing 2003) points out that WO was estranged from Mrs Bentley, the former Audrey Morten Chester Hutchinson, whom he married in 1920. The wife in WO’s explanation may not have been Audrey at all, but her friend Margaret Roberts Hutton, with whom WO was conducting an affair. Audrey was about to issue divorce proceedings and in due course WO and Margaret married.

Bobbitt suggests that: “In the relatively tight-knit society of luxury motor car manufacturers, Audrey Bentley would have been known, and likewise she would have known Arthur Sidgreaves. Remarks made by Sidgreaves in Audrey’s presence would have been indiscreet, suggesting that it might have been Margaret, rather than Audrey, who attended the party.”

WO’s world was coming to pieces. Bentley Motors was lost. His first wife Léonie had died in the influenza epidemic following the First World War and now his second marriage, for a long time unhappy, was coming to an end. There had been rumours of WO’s other affairs and his handling of Bentley Motors’ day to day business had been rancorous. He was hopelessly self-indulgent. He was good at testing cars, which he enjoyed, but even at his prep school Lambrook confessed he didn’t persevere at things unless he liked doing them. He said, “I didn’t like doing the things I didn’t like, and that was that.” He didn’t like the business side of Bentley Motors so he didn’t do it. He loved organising the racing side at which, like Enzo Ferrari, he excelled.

The romance racing Bentleys. Le Mans by night.

It was with bitterness that he learned of the subterfuge under which Rolls-Royce, discovering Napier’s interest, had employed BCET to pre-empt it. WO wrote: “Eighteen months before Bentley Motors went into liquidation we were making a very good profit, due largely to the 8 Litre. The amount of work involved in making it wasn’t much more than making a 6½ but we charged a lot more. In fact we put on an extra £50 to make it more than a Rolls-Royce.”

Bentley among others had found that it did not cost a great deal more to make a big car than a little car. The sole advantage, reduced weight of metal, never amounted to much in terms of costs. Machining, construction, labour or the price of components meant there was in the end very little difference. It was always possible to leave complication off a cheaper car, although a manufacturer still had to go through the same processes for a car of any size.

“The 8 Litre gave us prestige and the price didn’t mean a thing to people who bought our cars. Shortly before we went into liquidation we were going to become a public company and the capital was practically underwritten. We were thinking about building a smaller car – down to 1½ litres perhaps – but then the slump arrived.” WO’s dreams were in vain. The trading loss for 1931 was £84,174 and Rolls-Royce bought Bentley for £125,175.

Major W Hartley Whyte's (the Whyte of Whyte and Mackay)8 Litre.

What really irked him, however, was not the takeover of his name so much as the realisation that he went with the office furniture. Among Bentley Motors’ 1919 Articles of Association was a clause that had far-reaching consequences. WO was paid £2,000 a year royalty for his patents on various aspects of the design of Bentley cars, but was forbidden to leave the company or compete with it. In 1925, when Barnato came in to keep the firm afloat, the shares were devalued from £1 to one shilling (5p) so most of the original investors lost money. More tellingly the new regime saw WO as vital, so although his financial interests were reduced and his salary halved, he remained under contract to Bentley Motors for life.

The contract worked both ways. There were times when Barnato and his nominees, despairing of WO’s indifference to realistic accounting, would gladly have seen the back of him, notwithstanding the difficulties that would have ensued. Many years later Barnato suggested that had WO been removed, breaching his contract might have been costly but outside the firm hardly anybody would have noticed. By the late 1930s under Rolls-Royce, WO’s input was not essential for production of Bentley cars; the make was well established.

Earlier days. WO at the wheel of a DFP.

WO’s position was, as Bobbit says, fragile and there were many differences of opinion between him and the other directors notably over the 4 Litre. He had been miffed when they went to Harry Ricardo to design its engine, although WO’s haughty claim to have had nothing to do with it at all do not stand up. His correspondence with Ricardo and visits to him at Shoreham suggest their relationship may indeed have been cordial.

By the time Rolls-Royce informed WO that his lifetime obligation to Bentley Motors remained in force, he felt embittered. Napier took his case up but lost and he had to sign up with Rolls-Royce for test-driving and tedious meetings, but no place on the design or engineering staff, and no seat on the board alongside Barnato. He had an unhappy encounter with the ailing Sir Henry Royce who gruffly forbade him from the premises. Royce wrote to Sidgreaves, “If we were to let him have the run of Derby designs, experiments and reputation, Rolls-Royce would teach him more than he would help us, and we should be making him more powerful to do us harm by perhaps in a year or two going to Napier or elsewhere.”

The pity was that had they thought it through the pair, as with Ricardo, might have had more in common than they imagined. As it was, Royce was in physical and mental decline, while WO felt frustrated and humiliated. Their spat left a Royce-Bentley a great automotive might-have-been.

Saab: The Last Hurrah

Bye Bye SAAB … this was NEVER going to fly. Perceptive comment by RX8 in Automotive News following intimation that Saab was finally bankrupt. When Victor Muller, Dutch owner of Spyker, bravely faced the Fleet Street group of motoring correspondents nearly two years ago, following his $400million rescue plan, I’m afraid old hacks looked at one another saying, “We have been down this road before.” We may have wanted him to succeed. Not many makes of car have created such affection. Everybody admired its pluck, the quirky nature of its cars especially in the 1960s when Erik Carlsson won the RAC and Monte Carlo Rallies.


The bold Erik Carlsson won the 1963 Monte Carlo Rally.
Saab Automobile AB filed for bankruptcy with the district court in Vaenersborg, Sweden, according to Dutch owner, Swedish Automobile NV. General Motors refused to support the investment and loan proposals from Zhejiang Youngman Lotus Automobile. "After having received the recent position of GM on the contemplated transaction with Saab Automobile, Youngman informed Saab Automobile that the funding to continue and complete the reorganization of Saab Automobile could not be concluded." This meant that the millions Zhejiang Youngman Lotus Automobile was proposing to invest were withdrawn, and the Board of Saab Automobile decided that without it the company was insolvent.

Saab never really had a chance. In the end General Motors torpedoed the deal because it had too much property, intellectual and tangible, at stake to let it be appropriated by the Chinese. See an earlier blog on how China is scouting for complete factories and redundant designs to set up a car industry of its own, rather than rely on incomers to reap profit from the biggest potential market in the world.

Sound GM car but no Saab charisma. The 2011 9-3.
Saab was also failed by what Automotive News once called General Motors’ musical chairmen. GM’s policy of rotating senior executives round its subsidiaries resulted in short-term solutions that didn’t work. BMW and Audi prosper because single-minded leaders stick to their task; Saab had no strong-minded Piëch looking beyond the next model, keeping accountants happy by dipping into the common parts bin. There had been vision for Saab in the 1940s and 1950s. By the 1990s Saab had no idea where it was going; it tried to be big on safety like Volvo, it tried to be green with bio-fuel, it was big on turbocharging thanks to Scania and it had clever engineers taking ingenious initiatives like the variable-compression engine that rocked the cylinder block on a kind of hinge. It tried to be trendy to no avail.

Historic relic from Saab museum. Saab heritage.
Researching the Saab 50-year book in 1997 I met some of the Americans tasked with turning Saab into a premium brand. They had sound plans but they all knew they were not there for long. GM careerists were pulled back into the global hierarchy, leaving bean-counters in control, which doomed Trollhättan in the end.

Saab Phoenix not rising from the ashes.

Bentley, Jaguar meet on the Stairs

Jaguar going upstairs will soon meet Bentley coming down. The price ladder is becoming congested around £100,000 and next year’s bottom Bentley will cost not much more (relatively) than a top Jaguar. In 1960 a Bentley Continental was £8,000; a special equipment Jaguar XK150 £2,000. Next spring’s V8 Continental will be about £120,000. Jaguars are edging towards £100,000 - more if you add on all the add-ons.
Sleek Continental (above) XK150 (below)


It’s no surprise. They have been shadowing one another for 75 years. In 1937 Rolls-Royce and Bentley chief development engineer WA Robotham was deeply impressed with a 3½ Litre SS Jaguar. He reported to Robert Harvey-Bailey, chief engineer of the chassis division in Derby, that the engine was almost exactly like one proposed for a still secret Bentley. “The crankshaft has 2½in journals and 2in pins, exactly the dimensions we have in the (Rolls-Royce) Wraith.” It was also more compact and lighter than the Bentley and, “appeared appreciably smoother. In order to pick up 10 horse power at the peak of the power curve Jaguar has gone to the trouble of fitting two entirely independent exhaust systems.”

Jaguars looked like Bentleys. William Lyons styled them so that they earned the soubriquet “Bentleys of Wardour Street.” It was not meant to be a compliment. Buyers could not believe how Jaguar managed it at the price. The secret was William Lyons’ parsimony. Robotham bought an SS for assessment, describing it as “disconcertingly good, better than a 3½ Litre Bentley for acceleration and within 1mph of the 4¼ Bentley in top speed.” Its duplex exhaust had less back pressure than the Bentley’s, cost more to make and was so quiet Robotham instructed his engineers to match it. The chassis was not as stiff as the huge Rolls-Royce Phantom but better than a Wraith. The Jaguar was dismantled, Rolls-Royce praising every component save the fuel tank, which it thought flimsy. There was nothing to show that low cost had been achieved by, “abbreviated specification, simplification, or poor quality materials”.

Bentleys had a brake servo, one-shot chassis lubrication and gaitered and lubricated road springs, de luxe items accounting for less than 2 per cent of its chassis price. The question was why a Bentley should cost twice as much as a Jaguar. * “We have so far accounted for less than 30 per cent of the difference. We are of the opinion that the remaining 70 per cent can be accounted for by good manufacturing (and) sound purchasing of parts.”

A lot has happened since 1937 but over the years Jaguar made great efforts to give itself the air of a Bentley. Under Ford it also tried to make itself a large-volume manufacturer in the mould of BMW or Audi. It failed, even with perfectly good products, like the Mondeo-based X-type. If Detroit hadn’t meddled with the styling it might have been better. Now, with Indian investment, Jaguar is on an engineering-led endeavour for quality and exclusiveness. Spiralling prices are taking it, along with Land Rover, to profit that has eluded it for years.

Up-market crinkly net grille on Jaguar
At the same time Bentley, now Audi-inspired, is wisely widening its range from the heady heights of the £226,000 Mulsanne and £150,000-ish W12 Continental, downwards to something people can afford. £120,000 is still a lot but it is no more than the price of a modest saloon for one of the family. Bentley is unlikely to compromise quality and this new twin-turbo of 500bhp places it firmly in Jaguar territory. The XK Coupe Portfolio I tested the other week was a V8 of 515bhp at £70,860. The supercharged XJ Supersports I had the week before was £94,000 with a piano black interior that could have graced a Bentley. At £91,050 the XK Supersport will be in Bentley V8 territory.

Up-market grikly net grille on Bentley.
Rather like Robotham some three quarters of a century ago, you would be hard-pressed to make a distinction in driving quality. Speed, refinement, gadgetry and handling were beyond reproach. The Jaguars were disappointing in road noise; press departments invariably equip demonstrators with stupid low-profile tyres that make them all sound like cars of half the price – see the previous Audi blog for the difference well proportioned tyres make. Assuming that the approaching V8 is in the same idiom as my last test W12 Bentley the two must, at last, be chasing the same customers.
* Robotham was thinking chassis prices. 1937 Jaguar 3½ Litre saloon £445. Bentley 4¼ Litre chassis £1,150; 4-door saloon £1,510, nearly the 1:4 proportional difference of 1960.