This must be the nearest thing to a new C123 you could find outside the Mercedes-Benz Museum in Stuttgart. It’s got low mileage for a 26-year-old Merc and its only flaws are a tiny rust bubble on a front wing and two tiny splits on the piping on the centre armrest.

Part of its fine condition must be down to it being a practically one-owner car (from 1987- 2008) that’s been looked after. Avantgarde’s Jonathan Aucott sourced the car for the current owner, who has now decided to let it go. There’s a stamp in the service book showing 51,941 miles on May 28,2008, and it’s just been serviced again at 55,703 miles.

The body is straight and original and has almost certainly never been repainted, and the only exterior flaw – a tiny rust blister at the bottom of the right front wing behind the wheelarch – may or may not be attended to before someone snaps it up. The vendor is a perfectionist and will probably get it sorted, while my personal choice would be complete originality, one tiny wart and all. Either way, it’s no big deal.

Timewarp соuрe is in superb condition for a car of any age, let alone one that's 27 years old

The bumpers are unbruised and uncracked and even the valances, which can get shabby on this period of Mercedes, are in good shape. Floors and sills are excellent and have been retreated with black underseal, which should keep the underside protected for a good while longer. The alloy wheels are unscuffed, shod in Nankang tyres with decent tread. The spare still wears the original Michelin XWX and it shares the boot with the original tools and warning triangle.

Everything beneath the bonnet looks original and well-maintained and works as it should.Velour-trimmed cabin is perfect apart from two tiny splits in the centre armrest piping.

The engine bay is very clean, with original- looking pipes and fasteners, no leaks, no rot in the inner wings, and the bulkhead is perfect. Oil, automatic transmission fluid and coolant are all clean and to the right levels.

Bumpers and 15-slot alloy wheels are scuff-free

Inside, it’s all original with no wear to the seat velour or carpets and a perfect dash and instruments. The only blemishes are two tiny nicks in that armrest piping, but you have to look to find them. All four windows and the electric sunroof work perfectly and this coupe is fitted with cruise control and rear headrests.

It fires readily and drives as tautly as these cars should, tracking straight and solidly with no slop in the steering, decent brakes and a smooth, well-damped ride with no clonks or rattles. The twin-cam straight-six is rattle-free and settles to an 80 degrees С running temperature, with maximum deflection 3 bar oil pressure showing on the move. Automatic gear changes are smooth and the kickdown works well. It’s sprightlier than you might think and a pleasure to drive.

This well-kept Mercedes is sold with the original data card and owner’s manual plus the supplement for the Blaupunkt radio. Even the first aid kit is unused. One of a kind.

Even if you knew nothing about this squat red hatchback, the power bulge on the bonnet and flared wheelarches would tell you that the word homologation features in its background. By the time this Evoluzione version of the Integrale was launched in 1991, Lancia’s Group A cars had already won the World Rally Championship Ave times and would do so again that year.

Make no mistake though, when you slip behind the (left-hand drive only) steering wheel you feel you’re in a nicely appointed road car cabin – we’re not into the era of carbon- fibre highlights yet. And judging by the state of the interior and those body-hugging sports seats this example has been well cared for – not always the case with these cars: many fell into ‘can buy but can’t maintain’ territory.

The car’s maintenance record is extensive and meticulous with the last owner taking an ‘everything correct, everything working’ approach, testified by a £3000 bill at Zagato Lancia. Looking at that regularly-attended engine bay, there are certainly no signs of leaks or overheating, and hoses look clean and supple and fluids clear and at the right levels.

Rally-bred Integrale is equally at home as a weekend adrenalin pumper or weekday commuter

Bodywork is good with paintwork that retains a deep shine with, for instance, no stress cracks in the finish around the A-pillars, as sometimes happens with these. There are no signs of corrosion and the underside is clean. Wheels and tyres are in excellent condition.

220bhp turbocharged motor looks to have been meticulously maintained.
Well cared for cabin is surprisingly civilised for one of the hottest of hot hatches.

The engine fires up eagerly and runs with no undue smoke or untoward noises, and pulling away brings a smooth power take-up with no jerks or judders. Despite considerable power from the willing turbocharged two-litre, the Integrale drives well in town traffic and can be as urbane as any eco-town car. But press the accelerator further and it will soon show you its more potent side. Throttle response is excellent; mildly disinterested below 1800rpm, the engine soon picks up into a smooth, linear power delivery. Coupled to the beautifully weighted steering and taut suspension it is well able to deal with quick changes in pace and direction, remaining poised and well-damped over potholes and through bends.

Bodywork looks good, with no stress cracks or signs of rust

Altogether, this car drives impeccably, with temperature and pressure gauges throwing up no warning signals.

The asking price is fairly strong money for one of these, but examples like this one that present well and have good documentation are likely to attract knowledgeable buyers. The main worry of ownership might be doing it the injustice of using it as your everyday car.

This Alvis was restored some time ago and has obviously been well looked after since. Pleasingly, it has the desirable five-speed ZF manual gearbox rather than the earlier four-speed ‘box or the three-speed automatic option. The aluminium body is as straight as a TD comes – it has decent door fits, is free from corrosion and bubbles, and the paint is still good, although its age isn’t certain – the car was originally Sand.

Underneath, the chassis is solid, the rear dampers look newish and the exhausts are in good shape. The wheel spokes ring evenly, their rims shod with aggressively treaded Kumho Powerguards at the rear and Bridgestones up front, with good tread remaining on the spare, and there’s plenty of life in the brake discs. Brightwork is all good, including the inset foglights, which are unique to the Series II.

Beneath the bonnet the general air is one of ongoing maintenance rather than concours aspirations, but the coolant is fresh and green in a radiator that’s obviously been full of rusty water at some time, and the oil is cleanish and to level. There are new spark plugs, the throttle and suspension linkages are well-greased and there’s a Kenlowe electric fan with manual override, plus a new windscreen washer pump feeding from a big bottle on the scuttle. This looks a bit homemade, but it’s effective, and some rewiring has obviously taken place under the bonnet.

Inset foglights are unique to Series II cars

Inside, the almost-new carpets are under protective rubber mats – there’s a Woolies receipt for them from 2009, amid a big boxful of older chits from Red Triangle, which is reassuring and what you’d expect to see accompanying any Alvis – and the door cards look new. Dash and door-capping veneers are both excellent. The front seats have been reupholstered in leather, presumably after the original material got tired, though the rear bench covering is original and refurbished. The original radio remains, along with its discreet single speaker grille.

The 2993cc straight-six fires readily and, once warm, oil pressure reads 50psi on the move, though on a damp day the coolant temperature took ages to move off its stop.

With 50,453 miles on the odometer there feels to be plenty of life in this car, which provides a supple ride, fluid and play-free steering – power-assisted on this example – and a slick gearchange, as befits a gentleman’s carriage. The all-disc brakes pull up well and straight, and the handbrake holds well.

Elegant and straight bodywork originally wore Sand paint.
2993cc straight-six fires well even if it won't stand up to concours scrutiny

The only slight mystery is the purpose of the group of rotary knobs under the centre of the dash – all they seem to do is operate the horns, which are strident. It’s being sold with a new MoT (if required), spare keys, and its original tools and jacks.

This Sebring has had only three owners from new, the first for 31 years, and today remains in very tidy, gently patinated condition. The well preserved interior is original, but the body and engine underwent a complete rebuild in the early Nineties, the body being repainted twice by different workshops within two years.

The paintwork and panels look to be in good overall condition, with straight sides, even shut-lines and no sign of rust. There are a few tiny chips to leading edges, such as the door edges or the side of the petrol cap, but the overall impression is first-rate. The paintwork exudes the more gentle lustre of an older restoration, but nevertheless retains a deep gloss finish.

Likewise, chrome and window rubbers are generally good, with a little cracking in the longer curves, such as the rear window rubber, and one or two pin-prick specks of pitting on the chrome bumpers. Badging is all present.

Vignale-styled panels are straight and shut-lines even

The engine bay reflects the high overall level of care. The engine looks clean and leak-free, and the car is accompanied by a sheaf of invoices and hand-written records testifying to its maintenance, including many bills from reputable specialists such as Bill McGrath. The original Lucas mechanical fuel injection system has been carefully rebuilt and set up by Cheshire Classic Cars – a nice touch as so many of these cars have been switched to Weber carburettors.

Paintwork was resprayed twice in the early Nineties and is ageing nicely

The engine, with two spark plugs per cylinder, fires up readily and settles to an even idle. One satisfying feature of this Sebring is its crisp throttle response and eagerness to pull – the fuel injection system certainly appears to be well-sorted, cruising smoothly and always ready to get back on the power. Water temperature sits around 75 degrees, and oil pressure around 85-90psi on the move.

Right-hand drive 2+2 cabin is well preserved. Gear change is manual rather than the optional automatic.3485cc twin-cam straight-six retains original fuel injection rather than switching to carburettors

The steering is precise with no vagueness around the straight-ahead position and the ZF five-speed gearchange is quick and positive – well-matched to the breadth of torque of the big straight-six. Handling is sure-footed and enjoyable, and the ride is supple, with no embarrassing or worrying clunks or wallowing in bends. It’s a beautiful driver’s car.

In proper Italian fashion there’s a niggle in the form of a rather recalcitrant heater fan, but this will be sorted before the car goes to its new owner.

Maseratis may not be as pretty as their Ferrari rivals, with lower values reflecting this, but they often drive much better, as this car demonstrates. Its asking price reflects the Sebring’s place in the Maserati aristocracy as well as this example’s transparent history and sound condition. It’s likely to be a solid and satisfying choice.

This DB6 is an original right- hand drive car, which has been enhanced by a swap to a five-speed ZF gearbox in place of the Borg-Warner three-speed automatic with which it left the factory. The ZF ‘box was specified on many DB6s when they were new. The copy of the original build sheet in the car’s history file shows it was supplied to Ireland in January 1969 in this Caribbean Pearl shade, and with optional power steering and Marchal spotlights – and that the factory charged extra for seven pints of antifreeze.

Since then five owners have spent plenty of money on the car. The bodywork was last attended to in 1992 when the whole car underwent a £22k refurbishment. Today the body is still very straight with excellent panel fit and flawless paint.

Underneath there’s been a little welding where the sills meet the floorpan, but nothing you wouldn’t expect on a car more than 40 years old. The chassis rails and floors are very good, and the stainless steel exhaust was fitted in 1989 at the same time that the gearbox was changed. Since then the car has covered only about 6000 miles; the odometer now reads 59,900 miles, which is substantiated by bills and old MoTs. Lightly-worn Avon Turbospeed tyres wrap newish-looking MWS wire wheels, and all brightwork looks very good.

This Aston is still in fine fettle after a £22k mechanical and body restoration in 1992

It’s a similar story inside, with the leather on the front seats lightly creased and still looking new in the back, good carpets and an excellent dashboard and instruments. The original radio is still in place and nothing is missing or broken. It smells Olde-English great too.

All’s well under the bonnet and the Vantage- spec motor that’s been there from new is clean, tidy and has no leaks. It had its last big service (£1861.84 at E&D Motors of New Cross, London) fewer than 200 miles ago in April 2010, which included a new distributor at £184. Oil is clean and to level but I couldn’t check the antifreeze as the car had been run.

Kamm tail easily differentiates the DB6 from the DB5 that went before it

It fires readily with some throttle, the stainless exhaust lending a superb and possibly gruffer note than standard, and it drives smoothly and swiftly, with nicely- weighted steering and firm brakes that track straight and true. Performance is as strong as you’d expect from the 3995cc straight-six and, though the strong torque makes the gearbox redundant for much of the time, the gearchange is super-slick. When warm the gauges read 120psi oil pressure and 80 deg С water temperature.

Fine interior has nicely patinated front seats and as-new rear.Vantage-spec 3995СС V8 fires up well and feeds its power to a five-speed ZF 'box rather than the original auto.

The MoT runs until January 2012 and the car is sold with its original automatic gearbox. The five-speed unit might technically hurt the value a little since it renders the car non-original, but that’s good for buyers and only a pedant would gibe because it offers so many benefits.

ALVIS’S IMAGE changed forever with the introduction of the Speed 20 in January 1932. The model transformed the company from a small concern with shaky finances to a fashionable, successful upper-crust marque with a full order book.

By putting an expanded version of its six- cylinder engine into a new chassis, Alvis created a dashing, low-slung sports car with excellent performance. As the years went by and updates came thick and fast, the model evolved into a gentleman’s express clothed with larger, more luxurious open tourer, drophead coupe, two- and four-door saloon and even sedanca bodies.

Today these are all much sought after, not only for their looks and engineering but for their user-friendliness – all but the earliest Speed 20s have a central gearchange, synchromesh gears, independent front suspension and enough power to mix easily with modern traffic.

These cars have plenty of chromework - some new parts are available but others may need renovating

A high number of survivors and differences in cost between open and closed models means there’s usually a decent choice, though going to an auction probably isn’t the cheapest option. Richard Joyce of Alvis’s descendant and best-known specialist, Red Triangle, explains: Alvises attract rather more attention at auction than they did a few years ago, though some of the best cars change hands privately and never get widely advertised.’ All the more reason to join the owners’ club, then.

WHICH ONE AND HOW MUCH?

Almost every year brought a new version: the Speed 20 SA in 1932; the SB with independent front suspension and synchromesh gears in ’34; the SC with 2762cc instead of 2511cc and 25mm added to the wheelbase in ’35; and the SD with a wider scuttle in ’36.

Autumn 1935 brought a new 3.5-litre chassis with an expanded version of the six-cylinder engine, now using seven main bearings instead of four. The wheelbase grew by 75mm to 3222mm. The Speed 25 followed in 1937 with the new engine in the shorter Speed 20 SD wheelbase, also moving the accelerator pedal from the centre to the right. A 4.3-litre engine replaced the 3.5 shortly after. The last Speed 25s and 4.3-litres were sold in 1940.

Setting values is difficult. ‘The volume of cars changing hands is low and the history and specification of each car is different,’ says Joyce. ‘We’ve also seen inconsistent auction , such as a non-original Speed 20 saloon selling for £51k while a historic and original 3.5-litre saloon made only £36k.’

Getting the wood-and-leather cabin into this condition could cost several thousand pounds if it needs a complete retrim

Most prized of all are the 12 Vanden Plas short-chassis 4.3-litre tourers. One example sold for £400k-plus, which makes the best Speed 25 tourers and dropheads and longer 4.3-litre open cars look good value at less than half that. You can probably still find tired Speed 20 and 3.5-litre saloons for less than £30k, but restoration costs make them a dubious buy. Open Speed 20s fit roughly into the £50k-100k range, while coupes and two- door saloons are closer to the prices of open cars than those of four-door saloons.

BODY/STRUCTURE

All models have coachbuilt bodies, most from Charlesworth, Vanden Plas or Cross & Ellis. Assessing the state of the wooden frame is vital: body restoration is hugely expensive at

£50k and upwards for a complete job, hopefully less for tourers. This makes restoring saloons

- with their lower value but greater complexity

- uneconomic. As a result many have been rebodied as more valuable open cars.

Alex Simpson of Alvis specialist Earley Engineering advises: ‘Look for dropping doors, a damp interior, poor panel fit and cracks in the metal around the door posts and boot aperture, though small cracks in the latter are common and don’t necessarily mean serious problems. Look carefully at saloons that once had a sunroof that’s now panelled in – blocked drain tubes can mean rot in the roof timbers.’

Roger Gooding, owner of the car featured here, says expert inspection of the body is vital if you’re unsure, adding: ‘Look for anything that’s sunk or appears uneven, and for bubbling paint, which can signify trouble underneath.’

The chassis is high-quality steel channel section, and rust worries are rare. But the

BRIGHTWORK/TRIM

Missing chrome strips, interior and exterior handles, decoration on spare wheel covers and so on can be hard to find. Some new parts are available, but Gooding advises: ‘Go to a polisher, not a chromer, to get items re- chromed because a polisher will control the whole process but a chromer will often not take responsibility for preparing a piece before chroming or for finishing the job.’

INTERIOR

It’s easier to find missing dashboard instruments than missing chrome trim, but refurbishing the cabin’s wood, carpets and leather needs careful consideration: learn to tell the difference between patination you can put up with and untidiness that will spoil your enjoyment of the car. ‘A high quality re-trim for a saloon costs £5k-8k,’ says Simpson.

ENGINE

Four-bearing (2.5 and 2.8 litres) and seven- bearing (3.5 and 4.3 litres) engines are both tough. The seven-bearing unit’s crankshaft is better but has a few quirks, including 108 valve springs; each of the 12 valve stems is surrounded by nine small springs instead of a single large one with the stem in the middle. Springs can break unnoticed, and broken fragments are not a desirable addition to engine oil.

‘We tend to change back to a single or double spring now,’ says Simpson. ‘There are other things you can do, such as changing the pistons to a type with a higher gudgeon pin to avoid piston slap as soon as you get bore wear.’ Listen to the engine on cold start-up: is there a rapid knocking when the car is revved up that disappears as it warms? That’s piston slap.

Seven-bearing 3571cc straight-six - good for 115bhp and 175ft lb-grew to 4.3 litres in final cars and replaced the four- bearing 2.5- and 2.8-litre motors of earlier models

If more serious trouble occurs a full engine rebuild costs from £10k, more if major components need replacing.

All but the last cars (Speed 25s from late ’37 and 4.3-litre models) have dual ignition: start it with the coil and switch to the magneto for

TRANSMISSION

‘The Alvis all-synchromesh gearbox is really strong,’ says Simpson. ‘We’ve only recently started to see gear sets worn enough to need replacing.’ These are available for £2500-3000 a set, but some ‘boxes may get by with new bearings at £600-700 a set. The Speed 20 SA’s crash gearbox is also dependable, but finding parts is harder.

Back axles are tough, but planetary and star gears eventually wear. ‘Halfshafts wear at the splines, but rarely fail,’ says Gooding; listen for clunks and feel for backlash in the transmission on gear changes and standing starts.

WHEELS/SUSPENSION/STEERING

All cars except the beam-axle Speed 20 SA have independent front suspension, which has no specific flaws other than wear and needing adjustment. Expert assistance here helps avoid an occasional Alvis malady: front wheel tramp, an alarming oscillation sometimes set off by hitting bumps at certain speeds.

‘There was a weakness in the shafts of steering boxes in Speed 20 SA and SB models,’ says Simpson. Some owners have replaced them with stronger items re-manufactured by the Alvis Register; consider paying for crack- testing if this hasn’t been done.

All cars had adjustable dampers, initially at the rear only but later all-round; many have been replaced with less troublesome non- adjustable equivalents. Built-in DWS Jackall hydraulic jacks on 4.3-litre cars are often in poor shape; Earley Engineering can supply all you need to make them work properly.

The cable-operated drum brakes have some tricky features and suffer from cable-stretch, and benefit from experienced adjustment.

The 19in wheels (20in on Speed 20 SA) should run true when rotated off the ground. ‘Sorting out all four and fitting new tyres can cost £2000 or more,’ says Gooding.

ELECTRICS

‘Many original looms have been hacked about, so examine the condition of the wiring,’ says Simpson. ‘A new colour-coded loom costs £200-300, but having it professionally fitted brings that up to £1500-2000.’

IS IT RIGHT FOR YOU?

Deep footwells and sliding seats mean drivers well over 6ft tall can get comfortable in most Alvis Speed Models, but getting in can be a tight fit because the steering wheel sits close to your chest. There’s plenty of room in the back for adult passengers. Regular use is a cinch if these cars are kept in good condition, though you can’t run one on a shoestring.

MAKING IT BETTER

• Performance-related modifications can be incorporated in engine rebuilds, such as a lower-decked 4.3-litre cylinder block that enables you to fit different pistons to raise the compression ratio.

• Opinions differ over the use of hardened valve seats, but most don’t bother: 3000rpm shouldn’t cause seat recession, which in top gear in a Speed 25 is a useful 65-70mph.

• Fuel recirculation systems (about £1800, fitted) send unused fuel back to the tank rather than backing it up in the fuel lines for vaporisation.

• Red Triangle offers new continuation versions of the short-chassis 4.3-litre tourer, which are closer in price to Speed 25s than to original 4.3s.

DAF – van Doorne’s Automobile Factory – was founded by brothers Wim and Hubert ‘Hub’ van Doorne, who had built trailers before World War Two. With the return of peace demand for cheap personal transport was high, so Hub decided to make a simple but smart car. The result was the DAF 600, launched in 1959. The small four-seater was revolutionary because of its Variomatic automatic transmission. More models followed and within a decade DAF was established as the Netherlands’ largest carmaker. But while DAF models fulfilled Hub’s dreams to mobilise the Dutch, his cars’ plain styling and air-cooled two-cylinder engine producing a mere 19bhp didn’t do much for the company’s image – and that was a thorn in the flesh of Martien van Doorne, Hub’s eldest son who loved all things motoring, especially if they were fast. He decided DAF needed a works competition department and created it in 1964. To run it DAF hired 28-year-old Rob Koch, who is still surprised by his sudden career move.

‘I used to draw cars for a motoring magazine and Martien van Doorne must have seen my name,’ he recalls. ‘DAF was a delightful task, but a very comprehensive one: I was responsible for just about everything from contracting drivers to helping make pace notes.’

The highlight of Koch’s career at DAF was the company’s 555 works rally car project. ‘DAF privateers had been pretty successful in Group 2 rallying and the 1100cc DAF 55 proved to be a reliable competitor in the international rally scene,’ he says. Two works 55s driven by Rob Slotemaker and David van Lennep came 17th and 56th overall in the gruelling 1968 London to Sydney Marathon, while Belgian Jean-Louis Haxhe finished fourth overall in that year’s Tulip Rally. And there were more successes; Frenchman Claude Laurent drove a works 55M to third overall at the ’69 Acropolis Rally, behind Roger Clark in a Lotus-powered Ford Escort and Pauli Toivonen in a works- supported Porsche 911.

Tuner Bernard Collomb extracted 135bhp from the Weber 40DCOE-fed Renault 1440cc four-pot

It was Laurent who came up with the idea to develop a DAF for Group 6 rallying. Martien van Doorne liked the idea and in summer 1969 Koch and chief engineer Wim Hendriks started designing what was to become the ultimate DAF rally car. The Giovanni Michelotti-styled 55 Coupe provided the basis for the new car. Its standard Variomatic made way for a heavy-duty race version with central differential, titanium pulleys and Kevlar- reinforced belts, as used on DAF’s earlier F3 cars. The suspension was tweaked too, with the 55′s front arrangement largely retained but a completely revamped rear with a de Dion tube, leaf springs and Panhard rod.

Koch wanted the standard llOOcc Renault engine to be replaced by a Gordini-tweaked version and went to Amedee Gordini in Paris. But Gordini had signed a contract with Renault’s competitions department and was not allowed to supply the DAF team. The same went for tuner Marc Mignot, who was contracted to Alpine, and Koch turned to independent Renault tuner Bernard Collomb in Nice, who built up 1440cc engines producing 135bhp.

The 55 Coupe bodyshell was given a glassfibre bonnet and boot lid but otherwise remained untouched. Van Doorne asked Koch to come up with a name without spending a lot of money fabricating new badges, and Koch came up with ’555′ by simply joining one and a half’55′badges.

The plan was to enter three cars in Group 6 rallying from the 1970 season on, and they were registered ’70-76-MF’, ’70-77-MF’ and ’70-78-MF’ in late ’69. The 555 debuted in the French Rally du Nord but didn’t do well: works drivers Laurent and Haxhe failed to finish because of problems with the Variomatic’s lubrication system. Similar difficulties blighted the Rally de Lorraine, Rally du Touquet, Ronde Cevenole and Tulip Rally. By the end of the season the car’s technical set-up seemed to be under control, but on the Tour de Corse in November 1970 one of the works 555s was wrecked; its mechanical components were salvaged and used to build up the only spare bodyshell.

Improvements made over the winter produced a more reliable car for the 1971 season and DAF finally got some podium placings, mostly in The Netherlands and Belgium. Haxhe also entered Belgian hill climbing events, while he and Laurent shared the car featured here on the Targa Florio of that year. Says Koch: ‘We’d done the Ronde Cevenole, which was a similar road race but much shorter. The 555 did well there and we thought it would be a good idea to enter it for the Targa.’ The car was remarkably quick on the legendary Sicilian road race, but sadly it was forced out by a blown engine.

Even without its original competition-spec Variomatic, this 555 offers peppy performance and outstanding roadholding

According to Laurent the 555 could have been much more successful had it been fully developed. After the 1971 season DAF switched its focus to sports car racing and rallycross. All three 555s ended up in the rallycross scene where they were very successful, each heavily modified with Ford Cosworth engines and a unique Variomatic-driven 4×4 configuration. Local motocross champion Jan de Rooy gained tremendous popularity in one of these cars, painted in bright yellow Camel livery. Koch remembers: ‘De Rooy’s family had a transport company with quite a few DAF trucks. The local dealer who supplied the cars told us that he could sell some more, but we would have to let his youngest son drive one of our racing cars. And so we did.

‘We met Jan at the track and he was a big lad in a leather bike suit. He didn’t fit in the seat and so had to drive without. He told us he only knew racing cars from watching them on television, but within ten laps he drove a time that was similar to our best works driver’s.’

Most people know the 555 from its 4×4 rallycross heyday, and when the example featured here was restored many people thought it should have gone back into rallycross livery. ‘Of course, they were often unaware of the 555′s works rally history,’ Koch notes.

Standard Giovanni Micheiotti-styled 55 coupe bodywork benefited from flared wheelarches and a glassfibre bonnet and boot lid

Both he and Paul van Doorne, today’s custodians of the DAF heritage, are happy this illustrious 555 is once again back in its original guise after a painstaking 12-year restoration. Koch says there may be another survivor, as the car wrecked on the 1970 Tour de Corse appears to have survived. A third (of four, including the spare car) 555 is also said to have lived on. There are also 555 replicas: ‘People who want to build up such a car are best grafting in a Volvo 340 Variomatic as it is the biggest available,’ advises Koch. Some sources say around 20 race Variomatics were made, but Koch is certain there were fewer: ‘We had titanium parts cast for them, and just six sets were made, so it can’t be more than that.’

Being Dutch myself, I feel a little thrill when stepping into the 555′s spartan cockpit. The bucket seats and simple dashboard have a very authentic Seventies look and feel. Unfortunately the car isn’t fitted with a race-spec Variomatic. The one kit left in the Van Doorne collection was destined to go into this car, but when Paul van Doorne bought one of DAF’s original 1972 Huron sports racers he decided it should go into that car instead. It makes a big difference as the race system made the 555 accelerate exceptionally quickly. The standard Variomatic was designed to allow as few revolutions per minute as possible in order to economise on fuel, while the race version loved high revs. In full spec the 555 started shifting at around 5000rpm, but this car’s standard Variomatic does so at 2500-3000rpm. At more than that the car feels tremendously quick. At speed on unpaved roads I can feel its potential. And hear it too. The Weber carburettors emit a greedy slurping sound, and the side exhaust a strident bark.

Spartan cabin features bucket seats and electronic tripmeter (above), a souvenir from the car's rallying heyday

Moving on to tarmac the surface suddenly feels like a drag strip as I finally feel the car’s previously hidden performance. Once the tuned 1440cc engine exceeds 4000rpm this DAF changes into a mean machine – not quite the sensation a turbo-driven Group В missile gives, but it does make you think of one. The road-holding is remarkable too. I go faster and faster on roundabouts, but have trouble forcing the 13in wheels into oversteer, even in the wet.

Dashing along Dutch country roads, I can understand Laurent’s frustrations. The 555′s mediocre rally achievements could easily have turned into the sort of big successes Saab enjoyed in the same era. But there was pay-off of a different kind: by the time the 555s were plugging mud at Lydden Hill and Croft, DAF’s research department had discovered a technical layout that gave much better driving characteristics and made the Variomatic system more durable too, and the system was productionised for the DAF 66. So even the humble runabout turned out to be a thoroughbred in the end.

For Britons of a certain age, driving off in a Renault Dauphine is to be instantly confronted by countless memories: that unforgettable aroma of lightly boiled rubber, watching the needle on the faintly illuminated speedometer slowly progress towards the 60mph mark, forcing the stiff catches on the sliding rear windows…

Of all the imported models on British roads 50 years ago, it was the Dauphine that seemed almost as ubiquitous a sight as any Vauxhall or Austin. Fewsuburbs were free of the distinctive sound of its engine clatter, and the Dauphine was found at all levels of British society, from the Royal Mews to pioneering mini cabs.

When the first Dauphines arrived in the UK their £769 price tag was considered pretty steep for a small car and they cost £100- plus more than de luxe versions of the Ford 100E Prefect or Morris Minor. But they also offered a high level of equipment. Any small car in 1957 that boasted a heater, a radiator blind, twin courtesy lamps, an automatic choke and – at a time when virtually all its British rivals had a separate starter button – a combined ignition/steering column lock was ahead of its time. So was the Dauphine’s technical specification: ‘Unlike any popular model of British design, it has a rear-mounted engine and independent springing of all four wheels,’ reported The Autocar.

The Dauphine also offered the discerning customer a choice of pastel shades regarded as somewhat dubious by not a few British motorists, a completely flat floor (although any driver with feet larger than size 9 found the pedals a challenge), a crisp, precise gear change and a remarkably smooth ride.

Some thoughtful details were incorporated in the elegant body, from the chromed rear air intakes to a separate compartment for the spare wheel under the capacious boot – not to mention a vibrant PR campaign promising A penny-farthing a mile and you travel in style!’ For more than a decade the Dauphine was the epitome of affordable French chic on British roads – yet today only about 30 examples are known to survive in the UK.

This right-hand drive example was among Daulphines assembled from kits at Renault's Acton factory

The first new post-war Renault was the 1947 4CV, a simple and robust compact saloon that became the first French car to sell a million units, but as early as 1949 the company was looking ahead to a time when motorists would demand more than bare austerity motoring.

Two years later Renault formalised Project 109′s design parameters: a four-door saloon with a top speed of ll0km/h (68mph), a fuel consumption of around 40mpg, sufficient seating for four passengers and an emphasis on attractive designbecause ‘women held stronger opinions about a car’s colours than the car itself according to Renault’s then chairman, Pierre Lefaucheux.

In fact the new car’s lines were a scaled down interpretation of the 1951 Fregate, Renault’s two-litre executive model, with some final stylistic flourishes from Carrozzeria Ghia. Tests of an early prototype against a Volkswagen Beetle prompted Lefaucheux to increase engine capacity from 748cc to 845cc. The three-speed transmission from the 4CV was retained on cost grounds, but rack-and- pinion steering was specified to increase the Dauphine’s sales potential in North America as a town car with a diminutive turning circle.

The Dauphine – so named because Renault said it was the ‘Princess of the Roads’ – made its debut in March 1956 and was immediately acclaimed for the smart coachwork and compact dimensions that made it ideal for piloting through congested Paris streets. From the outset the Dauphine occupied a niche in the French market: larger and far more bourgeois in appeal than the 2CV, but usefully lighter and smaller than the Peugeot 203 and Simca Aronde. For the more sporting driver 1957 saw the introduction of Amedee Gordini’s re-engineered Dauphine, with a 38bhp engine plus a very welcome four-speed gearbox.

Low front and high rear tyre pressures are essential for predicatable handling

The Dauphine was arguably the car that established the Renault badge across the globe and it was manufactured or assembled from Italy and Spain to Francophone Africa, Argentina (where it was made until 1971), Brazil and Japan, where it was the basis for the Hino Contessa. Renault’s most ambitious export territory was the USA and for a very brief period the Dauphine enjoyed success as a small car of the Manhattan Chic genre; it cost only $45 more than a Beetle but offered four doors and more svelte styling. Time magazine reported that ‘the car that has come up fastest in the US market in the past year is Renault’s', and by the end of the Fifties the Dauphine was second only to the Beetle in US import numbers.

Rear mounted 845cc 'four was a development of the Renault 4CV's 748cc motor
Exterior details include side indicator repeaters and chromed air intakes

But after just one winter of driving on salt-strewn roads Le Car Hot would have front wings resembling net curtains. Further challenges to US success were its leisurely acceleration and heavy dependence on tyre pressure differential to eliminate oversteer. For any motorist unfamiliar with the dynamics of a rear-engined car (which in the late Fifties would have been most Americans) failure to maintain the correct pressures would almost inevitably result in handling that was entertaining or terrifying, according to your point of view. In any case, 1959 saw the advent of the Ford Falcon and the Plymouth Valiant, straightforward ail-American compacts that had a serious effect on all European rivals.

By the beginning of the Sixties Renault was reeling from a US sales debacle accelerated by the development of the square- cut R8, which would eventually replace the Dauphine. The two models were made alongside each other from 1962-68 and in 1967 Renault despondently told potential US customers that the latest incarnation of the R8 was a Renault ‘for people who swore they would never buy another one’.

But these problems should never overshadow the vast overall success of the Dauphine, the Renault that sold a million units in four years across the world. The 1959 example featured here is both a rare survivor of the Dauphines assembled from kits at Renault’s Acton plant in 1957-61 and a prime example of the sheer charm of a standard car. After all, to quote Renault’s mid-Sixties publicity: ‘Whether taking the children to school, shopping by car or just driving for the fun of it, every woman knows she is looking at her best and driving at her best behind the wheel of the Dauphine.’ Absolutely.

Beautifully made, with an exceptional performance for the period and stunning aesthetics, the Tipo 60/61 – universally known as the Birdcage – is not just a Maserati great, it’s one of the all-time motoring greats. This sports racer managed beautifully to combine the two essential elements of racing car design: function and form.
Which is all the more remarkable considering it was developed in an astonishingly short time on a spectacularly modest budget. First seen in June 1959, the Tipo 60 owes its creation to Maserati’s gifted chief engineer Giulio Alfieri and the company’s near bankruptcy in 1957. Trained at Innocenti, he joined Maserati in 1953. Alfieri was intimately involved with the long-lived and successful Maserati 250F and not only understood the spirit of Maserati but embraced and fostered it.

After spending vast sums on winning the 1957 F1 World Championship and finishing runner-up in the World Sports Car Championship, Maserati was in dire financial straits. It wasn’t just the racing that had pushed the firm towards penury. Diversification, a process Maserati began in the early Fifties, should have helped, but many of its business deals were ill-judged and unprofitable. Late in 1957, race-rich but cash-poor, Maserati announced it was retiring from racing.

This wasn’t enough to save the company, but despite its lack of funds Maserati was fundamentally viable and the Italian government stepped in to help. Operating under a ‘controlled administration’ and adhering to the government’s pecuniary strictures, Maserati’s financial health showed signs of improvement in 1958. To ensure this continued, the government barred a return to racing – unless it was customer-funded.

Alfieri seized the initiative and came up with the idea of crafting a new two-litre sports racer – for customer use.

This meticulously restored T60 wears the logo of its first owner, Count Giovanni Volpi's Scuderia Serenissima racing team.

Although keen to move to a rear-engined design, he appreciated the new car would need to be referenced to existing front-engined Maserati offerings. Cue the 200SI (Sporting Internazionale) and the all- conquering 250F. Likewise, he was precluded from using his preferred monocoque construction. Necessity dictated the chassis would be a development of the tubular frame introduced on the A6GCM F2 single- seater of 1952 and further refined in succeeding years with the 250F models, particularly the lightweight 250F ‘Piccolo’ of 1958. That said, there were other reasons for choosing tubes.

Engine was canted at 45 degrees to keep the frontal area small and the bonnet low - even so a bonnet bulge was needed

Alfieri frequently discussed racing car design with Colin Chapman and was acutely aware of the Lotus Eleven’s many advantages. Clothed in a stunning Frank Costin-styled aerodynamic aluminium body, fitted with a rev-hungry Coventry Climax engine and underpinned by a sublimely-effective tubular chassis, the Eleven represented the very pinnacle of sports-racing car design at the time. Which goes a long way to explain why for evaluation purposes Maserati commissioned a 150S-engined Lotus Eleven. Persuading the Eleven’s chassis to accommodate a Maserati engine and gearbox was quite a task but, assisted by a Maserati technician, it was one that Lotus was capable of as Steve Hart, of Steve Hart Racing, reveals: ‘My grandfather worked for Lotus in Hornsey. I remember him telling me a Maserati mechanic had arrived. He’d brought a 150S engine and gearbox and spent a week helping fit them to an Eleven. Colin Chapman spent some time roaring around Hornsey testing this car. It was quite a machine – and made the most wonderful sound.’

Factory records indicate that this hybrid, chassis number MK11 -192, was produced in 1956 and now lives in Switzerland. Another three Lotus/Maseratis were built, albeit independent of Lotus and Maserati, and raced successfully. The die had been cast.

Undoubtedly influenced by the Eleven, but distanced from it, Alfieri’s chassis design – a lightweight, delicately-formed tubular trellis – would indelibly define the new Maserati. It was an astonishingly complex, labour-intensive affair, with full-length floorpan and three stress areas: front suspension, cockpit and rear. Braced and triangulated, it employed more than 200 pieces of segmented and skilfully-welded chrome- molybdenum steel tubing. Not that there was any room for excess – every tube had a job to do and, depending on that job, varied from 10mm in diameter to 5mm. To provide elasticity, and so help prevent weld breaks, the tubes were of only middling quality. Even so, this svelte symphony in steel was strong enough. Extra strength was provided by the lower body panels and welding the inner wheel wells into the chassis. The enclosed propshaft tunnel also improved torsional rigidity. Fully- built, the frame wighed just 30kg (661b).

Understandably, the chassis design impacted greatly on working space, which was minimal. To make possible installing and removing the engine, the topmost part of the chassis front featured several detachable tubes. Despite this, it took two of Maserati’s finest at least four hours to remove the engine and six hours to refit it. Access to the rear-mounted transaxle was an even greater challenge and is why most chassis have undergone tubular surgery.

For the de Dion rear suspension Alfieri sought inspiration – and most ofthe components – from the 250F Piccolo. The deDion tube’s movement was controlled by a rectangular steel block that rode up and down in a slot cast into the face of the transaxle. The transverse leaf spring, positioned above the de Dion tube, was kept in check by a short rigid strut running from the spring centre to the nearside upper supporting roller. The spring was connected to the hubs/uprights via two short links which deserve special mention as they incorporated Maserati’s own design of bush: in effect, a forerunner of the Rose joint. Parallel upper and lower trailing arms controlled the movement of the hubs and resisted longitudinal forces.

Telescopic dampers, Girling initially then Koni, were used. Inclined slightly, they spurred off the hubs and connected to drilled aluminium turrets at their tops. The turrets also provided locations for the supporting rollers. The design was strengthened when it was discovered that high shock loadings resulted in turret breakages.

The independent double-wishbone front suspension (using parallel unequal-length wishbones), complete with telescopic dampers, also had its roots in the 250F. But rather than use forged wishbones, Alfieri ran the financial gauntlet and designed tubular versions. Concerns were soon raised about their durability and later cars reverted to forged and polished 250F wishbones.

1989cc engine was based on a Maserati 200SI four-cylinder block with a 150S crankshaft and topped by a new twin-cam cylinderhead fed by two Weber 45DC03 carburettors Above: cabin reveals the intricate tubular frame that earned the T60 its Birdcage sobriquet

Another departure was fitting rack-and-pinion steering instead of a steering box. This system, complete with magnesium casing, was mounted directly to the chassis. Beautifully designed and engineered by Maserati, it rewarded with its precision, purity of response and lightness.

Confident that it would out-handle its opposition, Alfieri was determined that the new car would out-brake them too. On the front were massive Maserati-designed and manufactured 350mm-diameter discs (355mm on later cars). Even the rear discs were a sizeable 315mm. Three-piston aluminium calipers (two smaller diameter pistons in the outer half, one larger one in the inner half) were fitted all-round. Although a Girling design, Maserati needed to offset the calipers from the wheels to provide clearance for the discs and so subtly-amended the drawings and built the units itself. In typical Maserati fashion, brake balance was achieved by using twin master cylinders linked to the pedal by a fixed-pivot horizontal bar

As well as ensuring the new car would be blessed with a superb chassis and astonishing brakes, Alfieri went to equal lengths with the engine. It would have been possible to use an existing motor, such as the light-alloy, four-cylinder, two-litre fitted to the 200SI, but he had other ideas and penned a new design which grew organically from the 200SI engine and employed some technical aspects of the 250F and 300S engines.

By increasing the bore on the 200SI block to 93.8mm and installing the shorter, 72mm stroke, five-bearing 150S crankshaft (probably because Maserati had plenty in stock) the new engine would display an eagerness to rev.

The eight-valve, double-overhead camshaft cylinderhead represented an even greater engineering departure. An entirely new casting, it featured hemispherical combustion chambers, twin spark plugs, and very large valves. More significantly, the inlet and exhaust positions were reversed from normal 200SI practice. Fuelling was by a brace of deep-breathing Weber 45DC03 carburettors although their inclined position restricted performance slightly. The gear-driven camshafts ran in five bearings and operated the valves via finger followers and very short hairpin springs. A bonus was that the hairpin springs, with their lower flex rate, could cope with the envisaged 8000rpm and were extremely reliable. Ignition was by a Marelli distributor and twin Marelli coils.

Initially the engine, an immensely strong and well- balanced unit, only produced 165bhp at 7400rpm. Fitting larger valves and longer duration, higher-lift camshafts, together with inlet port revisions, pushed output to 195bhp. Further modifications saw this rise to a very competitive 200bhp at 7800rpm.

Low, flowing Kamm-tailed lines gave the T60 an aerodynamic efficiency that was crucial to its success

To make the most of the new engine, Alfieri opted to use a modified version of the five-speed, Valerio Colotti-designed transaxle, as fitted to the 250F Piccolo. It was a tad too bulky, but by giving it a narrower casing and gears and shorter gear shafts, it was not only made to fit but also shed 11kg (24lb) in the process. Alfieri wasn’t just finding an engineering solution to a problem – in line with Colin Chapman’s philosophy he was also ‘addinglightness’. The transaxle was placed at the extreme rear of the chassis, directly behind the de Dion tube and connected to the engine by a short propshaft.

The engineering challenges, though numerous, were relatively easy to address. Not so the aerodynamics, an emerging and exciting discipline that would play a pivotal role in the Birdcage’s success.

Alfieri realised he not only had to contemporise the body design, he also had to create the perfect engineering/aerodynamic synthesis. One of the biggest problems he faced was how to manipulate the design to present as small a frontal area as possible and allow the lowest bonnet height practicable. Too tall to sit in a traditional position – perpendicular to the chassis – his solution was to cant the engine by 45 degrees and offset it slightly. Despite this a bonnet bulge was needed, and to prevent contact with the road surface the engine was given a triangular sump. Once the engine was in the car, the sump was parallel to and safely clear of the road.

Once the mechanical work had been completed the chassis was clothed in lightweight aluminium bodywork shaped over thin steel rods, typical Italian practice at the time. The bodywork was the handiwork of Modena-based Gentilini and Allegretti. It’s patently obvious that the exterior lines, with their compound curves, were a direct result of the chassis design. As a by-product Gentilini and Allegretti succeeded in creating an achingly beautiful, almost age- defying shape. However, the Tipo 60 was a customer car, built to order, so no two cars shared identical body shapes.

Possessed of an almost ethereal quality and a fluidity of performance, the car proved to be a track natural, especially in the right hands. On July 12,1959, competing in the fourth Coupe Delamare-Deboutteville, a support race for the Rouen Grand Prix and the Tipo 60′s maiden outing, Stirling Moss easily defeated Alan Stacey and Innes Ireland, both driving Lotus Fifteens. Stacey, who finished second, was 43.1sec adrift. Impressed by the Tipo 60′s performance and in particular its construction, motoring scribes were quick to react, Motor Sport commenting (paraphrased): ‘Moss was driving the new “spaghetti” space-frame Maserati Tipo 60 – the Maserati was more than a match for any two-litre Lotus.’

Bodies were handbuilt, so none of the six Tipo 60s (one later upgraded to '61 spec) or 17 Tipo 61s made are exactly the same

Mercifully, the ‘spaghetti’ nickname was relegated to history, as was its first published nickname ‘Spider Web’. Shortly afterwards the Tipo 60 was given the apposite and soon-to-be-adopted ‘Birdcage’ moniker.

Naming aside, the Tipo 60′s performance at Rouen was exceptional – but it was an exceptional car, as Sir Stirling Moss recounts: ‘The Tipo 60 was fabulous. For a front-engined design it was wonderfully-balanced, so responsive, and the brakes were tremendous. Rouen, a daunting circuit, with a very fast downhill, placed huge demands on any car. But, the Tipo 60 inspired confidence. My only criticism, which I made known to the team, was that it needed more power.’

Similar suggestions came from other quarters, especially North America, the main market for sports- racing cars at the time with its prestigious 2000- 3000сс category. Having gained approval to focus on this category, but not enough funding to develop a new three-litre engine, Alfieri set about enlarging the two- litre unit. Thus was born the Tipo 61.

By employing a longer stroke, bigger bore, incredibly thin liners, and raising the block height by 10mm, Alfieri increased engine displacement to 2890cc – a remarkable achievement. Unfortunately, dynamometer testing showed just 250bhp rather than the hoped for 270bhp. And, due to the engine’s much heavier reciprocating mass, the camshaft design had to be modified, meaning that peak power arrived at a lowly 6500rpm. The subsequent introduction of a more radical camshaft would push power to 260bhp at the same revs.

It was 40-50bhp shy of its rivals, but this was more than compensated for by virtue of its superior chassis and 600kg kerb weight, which was 125-175kg less than its primary opposition. It was a winning combination – occasionally. In July 1960, Motor Sport said of the Tipo 61′s performance in the 1960 ADAC Niirburgring 1000km (paraphrased): ‘As well as winning outright, the Maserati won the two- to three-litre sports class – its second car finished the race as well, quietening those who have been maintaining that the Tipo 61 always breaks as it is too fragile.’

Alas, the critics for the most part were correct. The Tipo 60, prematurely passed over in the quest for more power and before its full potential had been realised, was optimised for the weight and power of a two-litre engine. Apart from the cleverly-enlarged engine, and 48DC03 carburettors, the Tipo 61 was identical to the Tipo 60. As such, its mechanical integrity was compromised and components were often pushed beyond their limits. Although it shone at the Niirburgring, where its chassis excelled, elsewhere the Tipo 61 was sidelined by mechanical failures.

It’s all too easy to dismiss the Tipo 60 and 61 on the grounds of their modest competition record. But, before being superseded by the none- too-successful mid-engined Tipo 63 and 64 variants and eclipsed by the sophistication of mid-engined Coopers and Lotuses, the Tipo 60 and 61 contributed much to motor sport. Plus, they were not just the last word in front-engined sports cars – until the arrival of the MC12 GT1 in 2004 they were Maserati’s last competitive racing cars.

Once upon a time AC Ace values were closer to those of Austin-Healeys than Aston Martins or Ferraris. But these days, perhaps belatedly, prices have started shifting into more exotic six-figure company. AC’s previous sports model, the two- seater 16/80 of the late Thirties, is just as highly valued in its own small market.

Aesthetic appeal determines a car’s worth above and beyond rarity, high performance or competition history. While both the Ace and the 16/80 have a claim to the three latter qualities, looks matter above all and each must be a candidate for prettiest British car of its generation. So when there’s nothing obvious other than rarity to crow about, and without the same universally adored appearance, what are you left with?

Potentially, something of a bargain. The AC 2-Litre saloon is certainly rare: about 1125 were produced from 1946-58 and only a small fraction survive. It shares an engine with the first AC Ace and with pre-war ancestors including the 16/80, and its chassis was also developed from these models. Despite all this, the saloon that launched AC into the post-war era rarely commands a five-figure sum.

It’s easy to come up with a few reasons why this might be so: the car is a compromise, a hasty concoction of an ancient, underpowered engine in a pre-war beam-axle chassis dressed in a weighty post-war body of unhappy styling. The worst of both worlds, you might think. But look a little closer and you may find yourself changing your mind.

For a start the chassis does share common features with the pre-war 16hp range, but it isn’t the same. AC looked closely at a proposal for independent front suspension before the saloon when into production, but in passing up the opportunity the company may have made a wise decision for more reasons than just cost saving. After all, AC didn’t have enough experience of making an independent set-up work properly to stake its whole future at a uniquely depressed time for the British car market.

Wood-and-leather cabin is spacious and light. Below: 1991cc straight-six dates back to 1919 but could more than hold its own against most late-Forties rivals. Bottom left: keep the power on through the corners to make the most of the AC's capabilities

Instead AC made small changes to features such as spring mountings (sliding shackles rather than the swinging type), damping and both lateral and torsional rigidity, which should have produced a car with good roadholding and little body roll. The chassis was also wider than the Thirties version and had a 50mm longer wheelbase, giving scope for a more up-to-date body design that could turn the car from a cramped sports model into a spacious grand tourer.

The body itself was very traditional, at least in construction: hand-formed aluminium over an ash frame. Light enough and strong enough, but expensive to build. It was a route still being taken by many competitors back in the Forties, and for a small concern like AC it was this or nothing: it didn’t have the financial clout to tool up for pressing steel panels.

What about the driveline – surely this bit of antiquity is indefensible as a credible choice for a sports saloon in 1947? It’s true the engine originated in 1919, but it was very advanced by the standards of the day. It had been developed and improved over the years and, by the time of the saloon’s launch, the bald facts still didn’t look too bad: an alloy cylinder block, crossflow, overhead-camshaft straight-six with three SU carburettors, making 74bhp.

Compare that with the competition: it fell between the 1.5-litre Riley RMA (54bhp) and the 2.5-litre RMB (90bhp), but weighed the same as the RMA. The Alvis TA14 also used a two-litre engine of pre-war derivation, but with only four cylinders and 65bhp, the same as the Sunbeam-Talbot 90 of 1948. Similar offerings from Wolseley, Morris, Rover and Austin all fell short of the AC’s power output. Armstrong-Siddeley’s Typhoon coupe was probably closest in specification, with a six- cylinder overhead-valve engine displacing exactly the same 1991cc as the AC, and it was a new design, albeit with features common to pre-war Siddeley engines. It mustered just 70bhp, but even that was better than the Lea Francis 14hp coupe with 65bhp from 1767cc. Only one obvious rival had the clear beating of the AC in 1947, and that was the Healey Elliott, which needed a larger 2.5-litre twin-cam Riley engine to outgun the AC. And at a cost of £2335, it was almost double the price of the 2-litre saloon, which was launched at £1277 including purchase tax.

So far, it’s looking good for the AC. The gearbox was a four-speed Moss with synchromesh on the top three cogs, as used by ACs before and after this model. The drum brakes, initially a mixture of hydraulic- operated on the front and mechanical at the rear, would become hydraulic all-round and were well up to the standards of the day.

The worm-and-peg steering box may not have had the accuracy of the Riley’s rack, but it was well sorted after AC spent time making that solid front axle behave itself.

Which just leaves the question of styling. Most new cars of the Forties wore a blend of pre-war looks and full-width styling, and few of them have aged well. But all this is subjective: there’s nothing fundamentally wrong with the AC’s shape and – considering the generous space inside the cabin – plenty that’s right. Bu: there’s no denying that it does suffer from aesthetic comparison with the ACs that came before and after it.

Seen in the metal, the car is a curious mix o: rakish and dumpy. It also looks much better from some angles than others, like the fron: three-quarter view that shows you a lovely line starting at the bottom of the waterfall grille and flowing up, back and along through the door handle to the rear wing. The rear three- quarter looks good too, the split rear screen . nd neat tail working well together.

It’s from the side that the problems appear: the front half seems to be from a much bigger :ar than the rear. The roofline doesn’t help, continuing too high for too long before dropping in a curve that has nothing to do with the arc of the boot. Then there are the headlamps, poking out of extended housings as if they’re peering into the distance.

But all this chin-stroking is getting in the way of discovering what the 2-Litre is really like. Opening the vast suicide door of this smart 1949 example reveals a shiny striker plate at the bottom of the door aperture. It has a tell-tale scuff at the end furthest from the hinge, which on closer inspection turns out to have been inflicted by a small wheel in the base of the door: AC clearly knew that such a weight on the B-pillar was bound to make it sag over time, and when it did this was an elegant way to keep it lining up with the latch as it closed.

The reason for that apparently regrettable roofline is immediately obvious because the amount of space in the cabin is extraordinary for a 61-year-old, two-door sports saloon. The large glass area lives a wonderful airiness that has nothing to do with pre-war motoring and feels more Sixties than Forties.

The handsomely restrained dashboard pegs you firmly in the right decade, however, with a large speedometer and a circular gang of four smaller gauges making a matching pair in the centre of a very English slab of dark wood. The central gearshift might get a little close to your left leg in third and fourth, but thankfully the umbrella handbrake pokes out of the transmission tunnel rather than being buried beneath the dash.

Poke the small key into the white Bakelite switch on the dash, turn it on and prod the starter. The engine whirrs and catches with a chuff and a thrum that sounds charming but utterly vintage. Let’s hope it’s up to the job.

The Moss ‘box goes into non-synchromesh first easily if you drop it into second momentarily before setting off. The gear- whine and faint whiff of old engine mingling with the leather aroma of the cabin reinforces the pre-war aura as you trundle off, but a single-declutch change to second, then third and eventually top shows you don’t need any special lessons to enjoy this car.

The rim of the big Bluemels Brooklands steering wheel (painted an unfortunate shade of ginger-brown in this car) jerks a little as the AC negotiates rural Scottish potholes, but the steering has enough precision to be reassuring as the car twists over the hills and the brakes haul speed off very effectively.

So far, so good, if somewhat uninspiring. It’s polite, well-mannered and acceptably capable, if not exactly thrilling. It isn’t until the second half of the test route, looping back through flatter farmland with open, sweeping corners, that I begin to press on a bit and the car suddenly comes together.

This is partly because I’ve adapted my driving technique to conserve momentum, using all the road through the bends to carry as much speed as possible – and the AC will carry a lot, such is the adhesion. It rolls very little for a car of this era, but a poor surface makes its stiffly-sprung solid axles hop sideways. The only other thing needed to bring the old saloon to life is to rev it: peak power comes in at a very high engine speed – 4500rpm – for such an old design, but if you don’t get up somewhere near that you won’t reap the full benefit of the triple-carburettor set up. It’s deeply satisfying, with long pulls in third and fourth down the straight bits, all the braking over with early, and then a fast sweep through the bend and back on the power, letting the mellifluous ‘six sing its song.

It’s worth reflecting on what motoring was like in 1947: hardly anyone could buy a new car (the average waiting list was five years) and, when they did, they had to pay 33 per cent purchase tax on models costing less than £1000, twice that on higher-priced cars. The meagre petrol ration was withdrawn that same year and no-one could do any private miles until June 1948. The little pre-war Fords, Austins and Hillmans on government duty or in Forces livery must have made a sleek, quiet car like this AC seem impossibly advanced and exciting.

Today’s prospective AC 2-Litre buyers can also consider some even scarcer options. Coachbuilder Buckland built about 70 tourers, and AC itself produced another 15. AC also built about 15 2-Litre drophead coupes and offered a four-door version of the saloon from ’52, selling roughly 50. About 20 chassis went to other coachbuilders.

Dropheads and tourers are worth more than saloons in equivalent condition, though how much more is hard to say – one Buckland was recently advertised by a Dutch dealer for €57,500 (nearly £50k), which seems optimistic considering that the saloon featured here recently sold for less than £10k at A1 Classic Cars outside Edinburgh.

At the time of writing, A1 had a later example in Ivory, with a slightly revised dash and all- hydraulic brakes, on sale at £8850, and for this you should be able to find a nice example. A1 proprietors Keith Cornwell and Tony Brown say they were pleasantly surprised by the interest in these cars. Brown sums up their appeal to clients: ‘It’s an unusual alternative to the more common Riley RM series, less daunting to drive than the Armstrong Siddeley Lancaster/Hurricane with its pre-selector gearbox, and a more affordable alternative to a contemporary Alvis.’

You need to pay attention to condition, of course. Be sure to avoid rot in the wood frame beneath the bodywork unless you’re prepared for considerable expense. Look for neat alignment where the door and front wing meet: can you pull the rear bottom corner of the front wings out? Hopefully not. Check the plywood floors and the A and В pillars, both at their base and higher up. Inner rear wings and boot sides need a close look, and also examine the metal just above andbelowthe panel bearing the rear numberplate – cracking suggests flexing in the body frame, which points to serious wood rot.

The chassis and running gear offer little to worry about, but the engine needs a closer look – it’s prone to cylinderhead gasket failure caused by misaligned cylinder liners or aluminium corrosion at the top of the block.

The AC 2-Litre is packed with character that’s a mixture of the pre-war and something much more modern. It’s an idiosyncratic choice, but an intriguing one. These saloons aren’t likely to surge in price in sympathy with the Ace, but find a good example and you’ll have a true English thoroughbred for the price of a hacking pony. Abargain indeed