Ford Capri 280 Brooklands
The Eighties belonged to the hot hatch, but it didn’t have it all its own way. We put three Seventies designs, refreshed for that brave new decade, to the test
‘The V8 defines its character; it tears along with a gruff, grandiose bellow’
Revenue being king in the motor industry, the unsuspecting public has always been fair game in the rush to shake every last pound out of its collective pockets. As such it’s endured badge engineering, profiteering, contemptuous marketing ploys, safety scandals and worst of all, the end-of-the-line refresh.
You can excuse independent companies such as TVR for wringing every last sale it can out of a platform – moreso at the end of each decade when fashions move on and cutting-edge technology threatens to leave them behind. But surely not the big boys?
Hang on, though, cars like the Rover SD1, Opel Manta and Ford Capri had put in the groundwork, selling by proverbial barrow-load and building up a faithful following for good reason. Enough to deserve a fitting send-off, surely? So as hot hatches and front-wheel drive proliferated, each of these old-school rear-wheel drive warriors stood firm, ready for their last stands. Time to find out if they were obsolete dinosaurs or glorious golden hurrahs.
The Ferrari Daytona-derived styling cues designer David Bache incorporated into the BL Special Division’s first product, the Rover SD1, couldn’t have been further removed from its conservative P6 predecessor. Endowed with the same Buick-sourced 3528cc aluminium V8, performance was fairly brisk but more cart-horse than prancing horse. It was a reliable and willing enough lump, decidedly understressed with torque in abundance, but it had to pull this new 1440kg beast in a nearidentical state of tune as before.
It took its much-maligned manufacturer six years to rectify matters. Keen to homologate for Group A racing, it finally gave the go-ahead for a high-performance model. With the Vitesse moniker, filched in-house from Triumph, it duly arrived in 1983. Utilising Lucas L-jetronic fuel injection, an increased compression ratio (9.75, up from 9.35), revised inlet ports and a recalibrated engine control unit, power jumped from 150bhp to 190bhp with an impressive 220lb ft of torque. If not full gallop, the big saloon was now at least capable of a bloomin’ fast canter.
Looking at John Jones’ example it’s clear that the Vitesse wasn’t simply given a tickle under the bonnet; it sits an inch lower than a standard SD1 on stiffened springs, and is fitted out with various aerodynamic accoutrements including a large rear wing and deep front chin spoiler, as well as multi-spoke alloy wheels to lend it an altogether more aggressive aesthetic – square-on in your rear view mirror you’d be forgiven the urge to whimper and look elsewhere. It’s fussier than the Capri and without the visual pizzazz of the Manta, but what it has in abundance of the former and lack of the latter, it makes up for in sheer presence.
On the hoof, be it at low, medium or high speed, that-big capacity engine defines its character. Feather the throttle and
it growls throatily, lay down more power and it tears along the road with a gruff, grandiose bellow. The stubby gear lever delivers a crisp action – superior to Capri but not Manta – with the combination of ventilated four-pot AP brake calipers at the front and drums at the rear also providing the best stopping power of the fellow Eighties golden oldies we’ve reunited it with today.
The cabin though is a mishmash of cheap switchgear, wood veneer, comfortable but laterally unsupportive seats and a rectangular instrument binnacle housing quartic instruments – fans of chrome and leather would be aghast. It loses originality points for the smaller-diameter aftermarket Momo steering wheel, but it’s a good fit and reminds you just how easy a car it is to hustle along at high speed. The steering weights up nicely, with rubber boots providing ample grip as you clip apexes and power down. Get too lairy and it’ll do the tragic dad-dance of understeer, but back off the throttle and all’s right in the SD1 world again.
Tempted? ‘You’ll pay up to £20k for the very best,’ says Chris Powell, of the Rover SD1 Club. ‘A reasonable one that’s not been messed with and has some history with will be around £8k to £10k. It’s without doubt the most desirable model and is worth around double a standard V8 and three times a six-cylinder car.
‘The SD1 was notorious for body rot, but no worse or better than other cars of the era. The good news is that you can undertake extensive restorations with original panels that are cheap and easy to get hold of. The fuel injection was a bit temperamental when new, but today its foibles are well known so it’s easy to maintain. As a later car – with SD1 production switching from Solihull to Cowley in 1982 – build quality of the Vitesse is significantly better.’
This car provides a reminder of just why the SD1 Vitesse proved the basis for such a competitive multi-discipline competition car, and why the Metropolitan Police was still putting them into service long after other forces had moved on.