Capri AT 50
Ford said to reward ourselves with a Capri, so we did. James Walshe drives the first and last
During the late Sixties, all eyes were on the future in a riot of ‘space age’ ideas. From the first flight of a passenger jet capable of flying faster than a rifle bullet to the moment a human footprint appeared on the lunar surface for the very first time, 1969 would forever be associated with technological triumph. Similar thinking took place in the automotive industry, with Italian firms unveiling futuristic styling proposals, the Germans, French and Japanese trying to
perfect the rotary engine and British Leyland continuing the development of pioneering new suspension design and interior packaging. The bigwigs at Ford, however, were about to teach everyone a lesson in simplicity. There was nothing novel under the skin of the new Capri – but Ford had pulled a blinder. Muscular and exotic bodywork draped over conventional mechanicals and a saucy marketing campaigngave it genuine desirability – from the moment the curtain was drawn back at the 1969 Brussels Motor Show to the end of
production in December 1986, by which time the Capri had evolved into its most sophisticated incarnation - the 2.8 Injection. The two cars we’ve brought together in Wales are at the opposite ends of the production cycle but within seconds of driving either car, it’s very obvious they are related.
Captivating coupé
Stateside, Ford had plumped up the American dream with its affordable muscle car Mustang and now it was Europe’s turn. A revolutionary development programme saw engineers, designers and – crucially – marketing experts cooking up what was to become one of the most celebrated models in automotive history to go on sale in the UK. Its impact was simply huge. The public was immediately captivated by the Capri, charmed further still by one of the most game-changing advertising statements ever. Sales of ‘the car you always promised yourself’ were strong from the outset, groovy young things flooding into dealerships across the land. Ford launched the car in Britain with the specific intent of selling it on good looks for an affordable price so UK customers in 1969 were initially offered just the three engines: a 1300cc (£890 in base form) and 1600cc Kent lump, plus the 2-litre Essex V4 from the Corsair. They were further enticed into the showroom with all sorts of bells and whistles and encouraged to spec-up the Capri with anything from spotlights to swanky decals. Initially, the response was even wilder in Germany (where twice as many models were sold in the first three years of production) but the icing on the Dagenham cake arrived in late ’69 with debut of the 3000GT and its muscly bulges, bigger wheels, stiffer suspension and that burly Essex V6. No such decadence today. I’m taking the wheel of a considerably less fancy 1600cc XL – albeit with a truly remarkable and heart-warming history (see p28). The purity of the original Capri design is accentuated by this lowly model’s lack of bulges and blisters. It’s a pretty shape and without the adornments of the hairy chested models, styling features such as the lines rising up the bonnet from the headlights and those ‘hockey-stick’ creases flowing down each side really stand out. I’m handed the keys and slide onto the vinyl driver’s seat, complete with original furry seat cover from Ford’s period accessories range. You can see why so many were hooked before they even left the showroom – the dashboard is a treat, with lashings of vinyl and a bank of dials. You sit up high in the MKI, but the upright driving position provides a great view down the bonnet and in contrast to many other sporty cars of the period, plenty of space for the whole family. I’m not entirely sure ‘Seventies Dad’ gave a damn, though. The Capri was about looking good – this was a car that made him feel like Sean Connery.
With a flick of the key, the 1599cc Kent bursts eagerly into life and I point the Capri’s long golden
‘Despite the age difference, both cars have that Capri magic’
nose towards Brecon in the glorious Welsh sunshine. It’s a Monday and the roads we have ahead of us are blissfully empty, so it feels like we have an enormous Tarmac playground all to ourselves. Foot down, there’s an immediate sense that you’re driving something far more exotic, despite a relatively meagre 71bhp. One imagines many a Capri owner pretended to be Jochen Mass in his 260bhp RS2600 at the Nurburgring.
This particular MKI lacks the aural fizz and outright punch of the fruitier V6 production cars, but it delivers perfectly adequate power that nicely matches the abilities of what lies beneath the XL – well-damped Macpherson strut suspension up front, a live rear axle and front disc brakes. There’s plenty of feel from the Escort-derived rack and pinion steering and I find myself enjoying every bend of our mountain route – but for the tightest corner where things get predictably wallowy. The MKI is certainly more of a precision steer than I imagined. This is 1969, remember, when most family cars had all the composure of a cow in a dinghy.