Still Spritely
take the car eye’ Sprite’s launch, we 60 years on from the ‘Frog speed trials backroads to our local for a drive through rural
It’s not often that a car that truly transforms the motoring landscape appears on the market, but Austin-Healey did just that with the Sprite, 60 years ago this week.
There wasn’t any particular technical wizardry at play here – quite simply the Sprite proved that producing a budget sports car was possible, and that demand for such a car was considerable.
As a democratiser of fun, then, the ‘Frogeye’ rightly takes its place in the motoring hall of fame, but like all serial winners, the Sprite refused to rest on its laurels. It may have been succeeded by far more powerful machinery, but the little ’Healey is still a staple of competition today, finding particular popularity among advocates of hillclimbs and sprints thanks to its tiny size, light weight and revvy engine.
That’s why, today, we’re tapping into what the Sprite does best, taking it for a blast through some interesting B-roads, before visiting the closest thing our local patch of eastern England has to a hillclimb venue– the upcoming Grimsthorpe Speed Trials. Searching for the home of the Sprite that’s going to be my drive for the afternoon in one of Lincolnshire’s picture postcard villages, we see that a pair of dog walkers have stopped outside a driveway, pointing, smiling – smitten. That’ll be the Sprite, then.
Of course, I know that there’s a lot more to the ‘Frogeye’ than its joyous face, but that doesn’t make me immune to its infectious toothy grin. As you approach the car to get in, you feel like its eyes and mouth are wide at the excitement of going for a drive, like a dog that’s just heard its owner say ‘walkies’.
Speaking of which, getting in to a Sprite is no mean feat. The doors are very short and the footwell aperture isn’t far from a letter box in
dimensions, but once you’ve threaded your legs in, it’s surprisingly capacious. That the Sprite’s engineers managed to sandwich the car’s gearbox between the two footwells and yet have such uncompromised space here is pretty impressive. The pedals aren’t offset – they’re actually perfectly positioned and there’s even space to rest your left foot when it’s not operating the clutch.
After determining what the largely unmarked knobs and switches on the dashboard do (this doesn’t take long – there’s only seven), I’m itching to go. The Sprite fires eagerly at the first pull of the starter and sounds just like any other Fifties A-Series at idling speed, though perhaps a tad louder with the roof down. So far, so Austin A35. And it’s much the same story true as I set off – the clutch is light and the gearbox easy to use, with just a slight notchiness to its action. Pull at the steering wheel, however, and the Sprite begins to reveal its true nature, darting from side-to-side with just small inputs. The rack takes little effort to move, even at parking speeds – this is one car that really doesn’t need power assistance because it feels light, really light.
The Sprite continues to show its colours once we’re out of the village and onto rural backroads. That once sedate engine begins to feel truly exciting and feels more than powerful enough up to around 50mph, thanks in no small part to its sportily short gearing. I’ve never heard a 948cc engine sound as satisfying as this. There’s the familiar constricted parp you get from an Austin A35 and Morris Minor, but
there’s a growl too, accompanied by the occasional pop on the overrun. It may be loud, but it’s the sort of sounds you really want – all exhaust and induction roar.
You’d think that this level of noise would get rather tiresome when at high speeds, but this isn’t the case. Certainly, the A-Series isn’t harsh at high revs; I found myself cruising at around 60mph before a glance at the rev counter revealed that the engine was spinning at over (or maybe just under, or exactly, it never really made its mind up) 4000rpm and my mechanical sympathy kicked in, slowing the car ever so slightly. Perhaps distracted by the automotive epiphany I’m in the middle of, I manage to miss a turn for our planned route and end up putting the Sprite through an unplanned urban test in the historic streets of Stamford. It’s here that I realise just how low this car really is; my head is roughly at the height of most cars’ radiator grilles, so much so I could almost reach out and touch their badges. It’s also here that I fully appreciate the sort of effect that the Sprite has on people, which is beyond that of most classics. Not only are people pointing, but they’re smiling, seemingly laughing along with it. I think perhaps only a Mini can come close in terms of uncompromised and unenvious adulation in the eyes of the Great British public.
Finally free of Stamford’s traffic lights, I notice that our urban detour has caused the Sprite’s temperature to pick up a bit. Owner Mike says that it doesn’t normally go above 90 degrees, but we’re already way over that threshold. There doesn’t seem to be anything else wrong with the Sprite, so I complete this stretch of our route to Bourne Wood somewhat gingerly and open the clamshell bonnet as soon as we arrive. Releasing the radiator cap very slowly using a thick cloth releases a bit of steam, but nowhere near the amount we had expected – it’s low on coolant. Being a hot day, we brought plenty of water for ourselves, but the Frogeye takes priority and swallows nearly three litres of the stuff – about half of its capacity. There are no visible leaks and Mike can’t remember when he last filled it up, so we assume that it’s just burnt off slowly over time. Fortunately, our photographer’s demands give us and the ‘Healey a chance to cool off in the shade of the trees. As I fire up the Sprite shortly before we leave, it’s already much cooler.