Past Master A different kind of TVR reappraised
It’s one of the cheapest TVR models you can buy but, as Alex Robbins discovers, the early S-series is anything but a poor relation
The engine note is a full-throated baritone blare halfway between that of a V6 and a V8
Want to own a TVR? If so, the chances are your preferences will be rooted in the 1990s, or later – the era of swooping, curving styling and big, noisy V8s and straight sixes that began with the Griffith and continued right through until the company ground to a halt in 2006.
By contrast, relatively few people are interested in 1980s TVRS these days. In the case of the Tasminbased ‘Wedges’, that’s perhaps understandable – the razor-edged lines have always made these polarising cars, even among TVR enthusiasts – but the more classically styled S-series cars have a wider appeal and seem good value just now.
It’s an example of the earliest of these, the 280S, also known as the S1, that we’ve purloined from its very kind owner to test. Launched in 1986, it was a heavily revised version of the 1970s 3000S, TVR’S first convertible, on the outside although it pinched the Tasmin 280i’s Ford-sourced, fuelinjected 2.8-litre Cologne V6 and five-speed gearbox.
What’s most remarkable on first acquaintance is just how different the 280S sounds by comparison with the same engine in, say, a Ford Capri or Sierra. Where both of those cars sound raspy, even reedy at times, the 280S’s engine note is a full-throated baritone blare, halfway between that of a V6 and a V8.
Plenty of compromises soon become clear, though. The short doors of the S1 (and the S2 that followed it) make squeezing one’s legs through the gap tricky. Meanwhile, the gearstick is somewhere down by your forearm, and the long throw with its dog-leg shift patten makes changing from first to second feel like you’re lifting the shifter out of the ’box.
In fact, for the first few miles, you wonder if there is little more to these early TVRS than a lot of noise and those svelte looks. Certainly, there isn’t much incentive to do more than simply cruise along enjoying the V6’s burble. That gearchange is clunky and stiff, for example – although the car we’re driving has a quick-shift kit fitted, which does improve things somewhat – and the same can be said for both the steering and the pedals.
But then you do try to carry a bit more speed into a corner, and note the way the front end sticks. Through the chassis comes enough feel to make up for the shortage of it through the wheel. Gingerly, you apply more and more throttle, to see if the back comes unstuck. It doesn’t – at least, not until you properly hoof it.
This is a car that doesn’t give up its charms easily. Indeed, to access them, you have to work hard, using real heft to turn the wheel, to stamp on the brakes and to shove the gearstick through the gate. But if you do grab the 280S by the scruff of its neck, and push through the woolliness of the controls, it rewards you with a surprising amount of grip and predictability, as well as alert responses and, of course, that glorious, guttural V6 throb. It’s a workout, but it’s jolly good fun.
You can really sense the birth of TVR as we know it today in this car, in the unabashed noise, the slightly rough ’n’ ready air and the classically stylish looks; that same sense of a classic British sports car on steroids. Yet it’s more accessible than those later models, in its speed and handling, and in its cost. Indeed, that the S-series cars are so affordable right now, yet deliver so much of the TVR experience, makes them a bit of a bargain. Still want that Chimaera?