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© Tony Baker/C&SC -
© Tony Baker/C&SC -
© Tony Baker/C&SC -
© Tony Baker/C&SC -
© Tony Baker/C&SC -
© Tony Baker/C&SC -
© Tony Baker/C&SC -
© Tony Baker/C&SC -
© Tony Baker/C&SC -
© Tony Baker/C&SC -
© Tony Baker/C&SC -
© Tony Baker/C&SC -
© Tony Baker/C&SC -
© Tony Baker/C&SC -
© Tony Baker/C&SC -
© Tony Baker/C&SC -
© Tony Baker/C&SC -
© Tony Baker/C&SC -
© Tony Baker/C&SC
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Battle of the barge: part 4!
The barge looked as if it might have had its day as the 1980s dawned. The second fuel crisis and new company car taxation were making the dubious privilege of driving a thirsty status symbol very costly. Nonetheless, the appetite for traditional large saloons had not disappeared altogether. Which was just as well, because there were several new models in the pipeline that had too much corporate momentum behind them to be cancelled. Here we evaluate six ways the bargemeisters of the ’80s spent their money.
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Rover 3500 Vanden Plas
The SD1 is a tragic remnant of Leyland’s malignant influence over the once noble house of Rover. By the dawn of the ’80s, Rover was trying to rescue the model’s reputation for abysmal quality and reliability via new variants such as this flagship Vanden Plas with its Connolly leather interior, machined alloy wheels, headlamp wash/wipe, plus powered sunroof and mirrors. It still cut a striking figure on British roads, with its chisel nose and practical hatchback, although the ‘four-door Daytona’ comparisons are perhaps a little flattering.
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Rover 3500 Vanden Plas
The rationale behind the new Rover was to go back to basics and build a saloon along simple lines, but refine the details. Hence the return to a live rear axle after the relatively exotic de Dion set-up of the P6. If it didn’t ride as well as the earlier model, then the handling trade-off was probably worth it – especially because the power steering was so high-geared and precise. By being long-legged and relatively aerodynamic, it made the best out of the sweet, punchy V8 engine.
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Rover 3500 Vanden Plas
As you sit low, admiring David Bache’s futuristic instrument pod, a sorted SD1 feels stable, swift and resistant to body roll, and the VdP’s standard automatic is relaxing while retaining the high gearing that makes an SD1 a pleasant motorway car. For the price, it was as good as anything in its class, and much of that poor reputation centred around the frailties of the six-cylinder variants rather than the all-alloy V8. Now, as then, it is the best thing about the car.
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Alfa 6
The Alfa 6 is one of the almost-mythological beasts of the barge world. Designed in the late 1960s, the 6 was elbowed out of the schedule by the much more commercially important Alfetta. The launch was delayed until 1979, by which time the world had moved on from this school of formal, angular styling. Alfa Romeo’s priceless excuse for its looks was that it wanted a car that didn’t attract attention from the kidnappers, terrorists and assorted bandits that were abroad in Italy at the time.
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Alfa 6
Only 134 Alfa 6s were imported to the UK before the model’s demise in ’86, but its reputation as a sales dud obscures the fact that this was a capable car with most of the alacrity of the agile Alfetta. The power steering is BMW-like in its swift, clean responses, and the ride is similarly reassuring in its lack of wallow. Inside, it feels narrow for its length, but the cabin has a boxy elegance and, for a 1980s Italian car, it feels pretty nicely made.
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Alfa 6
Series 2 means fuel injection, square headlights and a few other tweaks in an ’82 makeover by Bertone; the earlier cars had quad lamps and a difficult-to-tune six-carburettor set-up. Not even the availability, in left-hand-drive, of a five-cylinder diesel and a 2-litre version of the V6 could do much for sales. Yet the 6 makes a much better classic than it ever did a serious executive contender. Its saving grace remains the wonderful engine that sounds much stronger than its 156bhp, yet is also marvellously refined.
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Ford Granada 2.8i Ghia
The Granada represented the piece of big-car sales action everyone else wanted. It succeeded where others failed, not because it offered any blinding technical revelations, but because it was thoroughly market-researched and properly engineered. From 2-litre poverty models via 2.3 and 2.8 V6s to the plush and pokey 2.8 injection Ghia, the second-generation Granada boasted a range that was finely tuned to buyers’ expectations and Uwe Bansen’s crisply defined three-box shape – launched in 1977 – has aged remarkably well.
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Ford Granada 2.8i Ghia
Inside, Ghia spec meant crushed velour and simulated veneer, which sounds cheesier than it really is. The optional leather (as here) is classier still. In fact, the clear instruments were a lesson in how it should be done and goodies such as powered, tinted windows, a tilt-and-slide sunroof, headlamp washers and remote-control door mirrors were enough to turn the neighbours green.
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Ford Granada 2.8i Ghia
Spool back 35 years and the Granada Ghia was a swish and sophisticated machine that could square up to any 5 Series. No excuses had to be made for any aspect of its finish or the way it drove. It aspired to standards of driver appeal set by BMW and Mercedes, but was priced against top-end Renaults and Rovers. You can still sense that competence in this 1980 example: its pushrod V6 is not very aristocratic, but the Bosch injection and automatic ’box give it perfect drivability.
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Talbot Tagora GL
Conceived in the mid-’70s as a successor to the 180/2 litre, the Tagora project was too far into development to be cancelled when Peugeot took over Chrysler Europe in 1979. The Tagora’s shape was signed off by Roy Axe in Coventry as early as 1976; it might have fared better had it appeared then, but production didn’t begin at the old Simca Poissy plant until 1980 – the first new model under the PSA regime – and it was all over by 1983, with just 23,400 built.
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Talbot Tagora GL
Of the handful of Tagoras still alive in the UK, this is the only base-model GL known to survive. That means just four manual speeds to harness its 115bhp and no power steering, although it was an option. It feels austere and brittle in its fittings, but airy and spacious with clear dashboard architecture and no attempt at wood appliqué. The Tagora wasn’t a bad car, just a bit pointless in that it didn’t offer anything over the competition.
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Talbot Tagora GL
The Tagora was far more than a tweaked Peugeot under those angular lines; the 604/505 suspension was a last-minute PSA modification aimed at giving this orphan some family kinship. The V6 SX was quick, but the 2.2-litre ‘four’ urges the car along with no sense of enthusiasm and hardly seems worthy of what was a supple, sophisticated and surefooted chassis. It’s rather flavourless to drive once you’ve overcome the thrill of being at the wheel of a car that is so close to extinction.
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Peugeot 604 STI
The 604 was Peugeot’s belated return to the big-car field, although it already had a reputation for making some of the world’s best-riding mid-range saloons. The handsome Pininfarina-styled tin-top enhanced the firm’s reputation for building conservative but refined middle-class machinery. The shape doesn’t grab everybody, although I find it a mature and quietly elegant profile with an appealing, chunky tail and large, square doors that open enormously wide. It was a shoe-in for ministerial duties, taking over from the DS as the ‘official’ French Government car.
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Peugeot 604 STI
The 604 feels bright inside, the view out commanding from wonderfully soft seats. With its generous rear leg, head and shoulder room the STI was, and remains, an outstanding long-distance touring machine. But the best thing about the car is its ride. By the time that Peugeot killed off the 604 in the mid-’80s, it still offered a level of sophistication that was beyond the expectations of this class of car. Only the Jaguar XJ outshone its ability to deal with poor roads.
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Peugeot 604 STI
The STI is a saloon with enough of everything to keep you satisfied without being astonishing. Its slightly lumpy Peugeot-Renault-Volvo V6 lacks either the muscle of the Rover or the exotic appeal of the Alfa, yet is more impressive than the Granada’s thrashy Cologne V6 or the characterless Toyota unit. Your way is plotted by accurate power steering and a determination not to be knocked off line: in a corner the 604 rolls more than the Rover or the Ford, although it seems to hang on forever.
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Toyota Crown Super Saloon
Most European buyers probably rejected the Toyota Crown out of hand on the basis of what it looked like rather than how it drove. Although descended from a long line of wobbly, ornately detailed saloons built for conservative Japanese businesspeople, this seventh-generation version – with its injected straight-six and four-speed automatic transmission – was a better car than it appeared. There are certain clumsily executed references to Mercedes W116 S-class styling, but the Crown remains determinedly mid-Pacific in its overall shape.
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Toyota Crown Super Saloon
The Crown was the product of an entirely separate cultural sensibility that either had not yet grasped what it took to woo Western big-car buyers, or was more interested in keeping its enthusiastic home-market happy. The interior is a cheese-fest of unappealing materials styled with maximum fuss, but there are impressive touches such as a coolbox in the rear parcel shelf and various conveniences that we now take for granted. It also focuses on the needs of rear-seat passengers, who even have their own controls for the radio and aircon.
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Toyota Crown Super Saloon
Despite being as heavy as the competition, the Crown sweeps away enthusiastically when you level the throttle – 0-60mph took just over 10 secs – or will glide effortlessly in a long overdrive top gear that allows 114mph flat-out and 25mpg cruising within the legal limit. The recirculating-ball power steering is speed-sensitive and, while it cannot entirely disguise the limitations of this nose-heavy, understeering vehicle, you can get along swiftly enough without losing your dignity.