Sam Glover
Sam discovers a forgotten Fiat and fails to not buy it
He’s gone and done it again… another bizarre motor joins the Glover fleet!
Not buying doomed project car is one of my most time-consuming pastimes. I’m getting quite good at it. There was a time when I’d be powerless to refuse any grotty sub-£500 automotive waif that vaguely tickled my fancy. ‘I’m rescuing it,’ I’d tell myself as I haemorrhaged time and money transferring a basket-case from the corner of someone else’s barn to the corner of my own barn. I’d suffer delusions of restoration until my initial enthusiasm dried up. Then, after a long period of gathering dust and contempt, it’d be sold at a sigificant loss.
I now subject myself to a vicious probing when considering a needy project. Will I ever work on it? Does its rarity and value justify the floorspace it’d occupy? Could I buy a really good one for less than the cost of the restoration?
It’s a brutally effective technique, but it's not infallible. Its sobering effect can be overcome with the use of alcohol, as demonstrated by the purchase of a dreadful Dacia Duster on ebay in mid-2013. It was offered by a chap called Jon, who curates a private museum of ramshackle machinery, distressed caravans and mouldy curios in the depths of Worcestershire. My enthusiasm for the Duster had depleted before I’d got it off my trailer and it was switly resold at a third of the price.
126 + 127 = 133
Buried in Jon’s hoard, however, was a car that I initially took to be a Fiat 126. On closer inspection, it turned out to be altogether more interesting. It was almost completely submerged in an avalanche of miscellaneous artefacts, which made inspection challenging. Seeing all of it at once was impossible, but climbing, tunnelling and contortion allowed small sections to be viewed in isolation.
It appeared to be the mutant lovechild of a Fiat 126 and 127, with the stretched rear of the former and the shrunken front of the latter. It also appeared to be in reasonable condition, with no rusty holes visible in any of the accessible areas of sills or wheelarches. A peer into the boot excitingly revealed a water-cooled straight-four engine. ‘It’s a funny one, that,’ said Jon. ‘I think it’s a SEAT or something. It might be for sale if you fancy it…’
Finding a car that I couldn’t identify made me feel threatened, so I investigated immediately. It turned out to be a Fiat 133. SEAT had been making Fiats under licence since its genesis in the early Fifties. The 133 was a Seat-specific model that simultaneously replaced the 600 and 850. It also complemented Fiat’s model range, slotting exactly between the 126 and 127 in size and performance.
A neat monocoque body cloaks the elegantly minimalist mechanicals of the SEAT 850, bringing all-independent suspension and an apocalypseproof over-square 843cc engine. The interior is spacious and wonderfully puritanical, with a lack of adornment that makes a Trabant look decadent. Period road-tests all compliment its friskiness and include at least one photograph of a press-car in a state of advanced but composed oversteer.
The 133 wore Fiat badges in countries that lacked SEAT dealerships. The tiny market niche it occupied was of little interest to British buyers, so very few were sold here. I’ve found evidence of three other survivors – one original and pristine, two modified.
All this plus the inexplicable beguile of a genuine barn-find made it hard to resist, but I persevered for a heroic three-and-a-half years. 'I thought you'd be back,' said Jon as we excavated it from his barn.
It's been standing for 20 years, it’s coachpainted in Tipp-ex and it’s lacking badges and a bootlid. Otherwise, though, it’s a pretty decent basis for restoration. Whether it falls into the 'doomed' category remains to be established. It's certainly on the cusp, as temptation exists to simply drive to Spain and buy a better one. I'll report back.