But the timing was way off. Just as the Capri was going on sale here, recession and spiralling oil prices were killing the US muscle car stone dead. But this just made the Capri yet more representative of its time; under that long, glam-rock bonnet, the engines and transmissions were the automotive equivalent of the three-day week. Mechanically, the Capri shared much with the Ford Cortina, described by CAR magazine as ‘a calculated attempt to sell the public ordinariness’ and ‘one of the least exciting automobiles a major British manufacturer has had the courage to launch since the middle fifties.’

The Capri didn’t improve on it much over its three generations. Depending on where and when you bought it, your Capri might have had as little as 70bhp and no more than 138bhp until 1981, when the range-topping three-litre Essex V6 was replaced with a fuel-injected, 160bhp lump. Ironically, it was even sent to the States where it sold tolerably well for while in straightened times despite – or perhaps because of - its pencil-neck engines. Leaf springs meant the ride and handling wasn’t much better, but at least it was light; seventies austerity standard equipment and a laissez-faire attitude to safety meant your Capri probably didn’t weigh much more than a tonne, flyweight by today’s standards.

A few were brave enough to give road-going Capris the go to match the show. The South Africans gave it the V8 it deserved, dropping in the 5.0-litre V8 used in the Mustang to create the sadly little-known, low-volume Perana . In the UK, in its final days, the Tickford Turbo coaxed 205bhp from the 2.8-litre V8.

But if the standard cars were so terrible, why did we love them so much? Some smart TV product placement deals helped, as did the fact that it made a wicked looking race car which drew some famous names. Hill and Surtees raced a beautiful RS2600; Lauda and Mass campaigned a RS3100 in which the latter won the ’72 European Touring Car Championship, and the Zakspeed cars based on the MkIII were all wings, skirts and scoops, looked sharp enough to draw blood and won the predecessor to the DTM in 1981.

But ultimately, we loved the Capri because it did capture a bit of the Mustang’s mojo: while it might have been less than stellar to drive, it was still a desirable, affordable blue-collar hero, and that was about all you could expect at the time.

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Consul Capri GT 1961-64

All chrome, rake, fin and Americana, the Consul Capri was a glamorous if short-lived precursor to the full-blooded Capris. Doomed to be eclipsed by the similar, toned down Mk1 versions of Ford's mass market star the Cortina, it was slow, heavy and a little overstyled for Dagenham. Its rakishness, however, hinted at the future.

MK1 Capri 1969-73

When the first Capri was launched in 1969 at the Brussels Motor Show it was received with enthusiasm. Not wanting to exclude the mass European public, Ford covered the bases with a massive range of specs and engines, from lowly 1.3 everyman to vinyl and chrome clad GXL versions for the middle manager type. It was the GT version, however that would come closest to the aesthetic of its beefy American cousin. The ads reflected that urbane panache. You could almost smell the Brut 33.

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MK2 Capri 1973-78

By the mid-seventies the Capri had won a hardy and loyal following. Capri 2 consolidated this success and added a hatchback, a stubbier bonnet and other innovations such as reclining seats. An even broader range of spec was introduced too - as well as the cult hit the JPS special, which referred to the successful Lotus JPS F1 team. And what's more, they harnessed the sales acumen of Jackie Stewart (and his wife) to hawk the new Capri. "Beautiful".

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MK3 Capri 1978-87

Although the MK 3 was more of an extensive facelift rather than a fresh model, the eighties Capri was given a new lease of life in 1981 with the racy 2.8i. This was Thatcher's Capri, even more overtly aspirational and evocative, with its contemporary signage and design details, of the decade when greed was good. Bodie helped keep the aging lotharia in front of the testosterone wracked portion of the UK public meanwhile, and various special editions helped work the Capri's profile into the latter reaches of the decade. Though it never quite occupied the perennial place it should have done in UK car culture, there's never been a racy, everyman GT to grace our roads. We think time just might be right to address this gaping omission.

Mk3

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The post The Evolution of the Capri appeared first on Influx Magazine.

“I couldn’t afford a Mustang”, says 26-year-old Capri owner Pete Wallwork from Truro, Cornwall. I had asked the bike mechanic, BMX rider, barber and photographer the obvious question. Why would a young gun be attracted to a Dagenham bred pastiche of American Muscle from the eighties?

“I am actually really into American muscle cars, but there’s something unique about the Capri that is just as interesting, for me at least. There’s nothing like it in terms of British cars. There’s something about its shape, it’s attitude that just appeals to me.”

For a young man, Pete has surprising experience of the hero of stylish blue-collar motoring. “I bought my first Capri for £200 when I was 17. It was a 2.0 litre S and it was just rotting in someone’s front garden so I took it off his hands.” Like many young lovers of old cars, the lust for a particular flavour of steel and grease came through the family thread. “My granddad always had Fords, and was always tinkering away with bits and pieces in his yard. So it’s not surprising that I would go for something like a Capri in the end.”

Pet’s current ride, a 1986 Mk 3, has its own character in itself. Its various modifications and stylistic tweaks produce a suitably badass aspect. “ I’ve never had so many people turn their heads and take notice. When I drive through town we get a lot of attention.“

The exhaust note probably has something to do with it. “The engine is actually a ‘Pinto’ two-litre bored out to 2.1. It’s got twin 45 Webers and an upgraded ‘beast’ exhaust, too.” The result of these wholly appropriate modifications is a car that sounds properly strong and heavy, rather than all mouth-no trousers bark.

“She drives really nicely, with the combination of the engine and the rear axle from a 2.8i”. So what you see is genuine rarity in the big picture of British motoring. A mini GT that feels as if it’s meant to be driven over long distances, with real enthusiasm.

And the styling of this car reflects the visceral nature of its guts. Flared arches, clean black paintjob and slot mags complete the picture perfectly. “The car was actually originally a laser in white,”, Pete goes on, “ it came with the RS x-pack, factory produced fibreglass arches. They wed to the steel beautifully.” That grille is from an earlier version of the car too,. Pete thinks it’s from a late MK1, but can’t be sure. Opinions anyone?

But whatever the hotch-potch of the car’s elements, it retains its pure bred DNA, that of a aspirational hang-dog, an Essex reared mongrel that pops its collar and never hides its light beneath a bushel. And that’s why we like Pete’s Capri.

The post Modern Classic: Ford Capri appeared first on Influx Magazine.

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I think I might have seen every episode of The Professionals. First shown between ’78 and ’83, I was just about old enough to watch the repeats in the late ‘80s before Martin Shaw, now seeing himself as a serious ac-tor, refused to let ITV show any more. Its comeback on the now-defunct Granada Plus cable channel in the late nineties unfortunately coincided with the start of my career as a freelance writer in my early twenties: it was the perfect work-displacement activity and meant a lot of missed deadlines.

But I’ve never thought it was any good. In tv-speak, The Professionals ‘jumped the shark’ in series 1, episode 1. It was always a parody of itself; you didn’t watch it for the scripts or the acting, but for the hilarious, high-camp, brain-out action. And for the Fords: Cowley’s grown-up Granada (with a telephone in it! A phone! In a car!), Doyle’s white Escort RS2000, and most of all, for the Capris.

The impressive but worryingly detailed fan site mark-1.co.uk has tracked down all the significant cars to feature in The Professionals. It records the brief dalliance with British Leyland vehicles, before the unreliability of both the cars and the company got them the boot, and that a couple of MkII Capris featured in the show’s early days, including a very cool, very rare body-kitted example on Ronal alloys.

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But it’s the silver and bronze, quad-headlamp MkIIIs that CI5 agents Bodie and Doyle are most associated with, and which sealed the Capri’s reputation as the blue-collar bloke’s transport of choice. The image the Capri ended up with was a world away from the one Ford probably hoped for when it named its new coupe after a dolce vita Italian seaside resort. Bodie and Doyle epitomised an era when men were men, women were birds, bathing was optional and moisturiser unheard of. They thought nothing of spending all afternoon in the boozer before roaring off to the next cheaply-staged action scene in a Capri. The cars got plenty of camera time and spent much of it sideways, though that could only be achieved with the gratuitous use of the handbrake as even the top-spec, Essex V6-powered 3.0S mustered only 138bhp.

But it worked for Ford. The Professionals followed neatly on from The Sweeney, which finished in ’78 and which Ford had also dominated, featuring its Granadas and Cortinas. Five years of prime-time exposure kept the Capri’s sales up in the UK when they were slumping elsewhere. It was finally offed in 1984 in the other European markets but lived on for another two years here. Not only did Bodie and Doyle save the UK from Russian agents, nuclear disaster and various sniper madmen, but they saved our favourite coupe too, and for that we can almost forgive Martin Shaw’s terrible cardigans and bubble perm. Almost.

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If you're died in the wool Capri perv you won't need to be told the following. For you the burly MK1 homologation special will occupy that special place in your psyche representative of all things Ford that float your proletarian boat.

If on the other hand, you're not particularly of the persuasion, here are the basics, by way of introduction to James Lipman's lovely images of what must be the most famous Capri to roll off the lines.

The RS2600 was MK1 with a V6 2.6 litre engine. It was a homologation special and so only a round fifty were made - launched at the Swiss motor show in 1970.

It was light. The exterior shell consisted of fibreglass and thin gauge steel. Some of the windows were perspex and apparently even the paint was of a thinner mix to help shave off the ounces. Those distinctive extra flared front arches were an afterthought, included to deal with a wider front track and rubber.

The stripped down nature of the thing meant that it tipped the scales at a little under a metric tonne. It was fuel injected (a first for a production Ford) and they were relatively quick, topping out at a little over 120MPH.

They weren't around for long because the group they were homologated for soon became a three litre class. You guessed it - enter the RS3100!

There's loads of other fine, reductive detail that can be gleaned elsewhere, particularly the RS owners club sites etc.

Every little bit of mimicry and simulacra have been attempted, the sum of which has made originals of these cars very desirable, if not infused with a particular kind of Dagenham mysticism.

Whatever your relationship with the Ford brand and all it has represented over the years, we think you'll agree that this is a pretty attractive-looking car.

When it comes down to it, this is about as close Britain ever came to a full-blown muscle car. It might have only produced the sort of horsepower that you entry level 2011 Golf pumps out, but hey. For a forty two year old, it's looking sleek and sexy. Middle age can be a beautiful time.

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Any reader of a certain vintage will hold numerous ideas about the Ford Capri in their minds. If you were of the age that they were marketed in their original guise, you will think of them as that treat yourself, only-live-once sort of motor that you once dreamt of.

If you were a school leaver in the eighties, when they were coming to the end of their technological tether, they were a bit of lairy step up from the usual crappy MK 3 Cortina you could actually afford.

If however, you were a late seventies twentysomething in a skilled manual job, nestling in the upper echelons of the great British Working Class: then they were probably as cool a motor as was possible to practically aspire to.

Thing is about the Capri, they were a stroke of Dagenham genius, because while there was a Capri for whoever you might have been, it was always a Capri you really aspired to.

And as for the RS2600: I want one. Right here, right now.

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The post Thirty Reasons… appeared first on Influx Magazine.

When in 1986 a friend of mine purchased an outrageous Capri RS 3100, it changed my life. I lived a few streets back from the A12 in Metropolitan Essex. In the wee small hours, you could hear the beast racing from traffic light to roundabout and back again. Getting into that Capri was like communing with something quintessentially of its time. In that car you were acknowledged to be the kings of Dagenham and environs. The Dunton Special Vehicle Engineering department was on our doorstep, and we were pilots of one its progeny.

The Capri in all its guises weaved a magic in the English imagination. And 40 years on from its release, that magic continues...

Although production ended in 1986, Capri lives on within many owners' clubs who will be celebrating the anniversary with events planned from Scotland to the South West. Fans are getting together at Castle Combe, Wiltshire (6 June), Grampian Transport Museum, Alford, Aberdeenshire (30 August), Ace Café in London (5 September) and Brooklands Museum, Surrey (26 September).

Launched in January 1969 and marketed as "the car you always promised yourself", the Ford Capri was unashamedly aimed at a style-conscious generation. In just 18 years the European answer to the Ford Mustang sold nearly two million units and achieved iconic status with its target audience.

From the outset the Capri was about choice, with a range boasting 26 derivatives. A mixture of engines – 1.3-, 1.6- and 2.0-litre four-cylinder units and a 3-litre V6 – catered for all tastes, while optional custom packs allowed a degree of personal customising that broke new ground in the industry. For the serious drivers there was the Cologne-built RS2600 and the short-lived Halewood-built 124mph RS3100.

A global oil crisis failed to slow the Capri's progress and in 1974 the Mk II was launched. Smoother design lines and simplified option packs ensured the Capri appealed to a wider market.

From 1978, the Mk III saw a tidying up of the Capri body and several special editions such as the Calypso and Laser. In 1981 Dunton's newly-formed Special Vehicle Engineering department unveiled their first project, the 160bhp Capri 2.8 injection. The limited edition Capri 280, also known as the Brooklands Capri, signalled the end of the Capri era and the last car left the line in December 1986.

The Capri had encoded in its DNA something sorely missing from the streets of Britain: home grown engineering and aspiration to mass-produced greatness. Hail the ultimate British Ford.

The post The Ford Capri: Life Begins at Forty appeared first on Influx Magazine.

It was a Saturday morning. Dickie Davies was leaning forward, staring intensely at the camera, bedecked in silver flash hair do and decked out in a sports coat of turquoise polyester. You could almost smell the Old Spice on him. The 'tached anchorman was about to introduce us to a new sensation in the world of motor sport. The steroid-ridden, turbocharged, whining, spitting monstrosities that were Group B rally cars had stepped onto the world stage and were causing a sensation. The sensation was to be deadly, irresponsible and short-lived as youth itself – but we weren’t to know that at the time. Regulatory bodies had ripped up the rulebook, and all over world the strange-named pilots of these F1-level supercars on knobbly tires were defining the art of driving. At the same time, the faceless suburbs of the country were resounding with the noise of straight through exhausts. Greed was good, the Group B revolution was the embodiment of power-lust and we were greedy for speed. My little collective of revheads was a motley crew of automotive-aspiration. Darren had a Mark 1 Escort pumped up and drugged to resemble an RS Mexico. Steve had a lowered Mark 11 Capri with a bored out 3.0 litre lump, a cleaned body in pearl white with an immaculate black vinyl roof. Wayne had bought heavily into the Group B thing (or at least his dad had done) and gone for a light blue Lancia Beta coupé. It was rapid, but a little effeminate in a Roman sort of way. I meanwhile was working all the hours god sent to save up for a either an RS2000 or an Alfasud (I was always a little bit left-field, me). I lived by the side of the A12 and at night in my bed I could hear the grunty tone of my mates and the rest of the local toerags rinsing every last bit of power out of their Dagenham Dustbins between traffic lights. The car park at Oscars, the local disco, (didn’t everyone have an Oscars, and aren’t all of them a Drive Thru McDonalds these days?) was a sea of English Iron and Italian rust buckets. But the heroes we worshipped in those fleeting days weren’t called Colin or Dave or Carlo or Massimo. They had been blessed with the rhythmic, perfectly scanned monikers of their Finnish ancestry. Hannu Mikkola. Ari Vatanen. Juha Kankkunen. They created the art of driving in their own image. We may have had English blood, but ever since the early eighties we have had Finnish souls.

If like me you now have the urge to go Group B, you will need rally car insurance, call Adrian Flux on 0800 089 0050.

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