Jaguar: Where Did it all Go Right?

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A room-service waiter once wheeled a trolley laden with champagne into a hotel room occupied by George Best, in his pomp and his dressing gown. Arranged on the bed was a Miss World contestant and thousands of pounds of casino winnings. “Mr Best,” the waiter famously asked, “where did it all go wrong?”

The waiter probably didn’t look out of the window, but if he had, he’d probably have seen one of George’s Jaguars parked below: it would only have made this poster boy for the raffish, slightly dangerous image Jag once had seem all the more perfect. Like George, Jaguar has seen extremes of fortune, but right now it’s having a hotel-room moment. Like George, it’s flush with cash, Jaguar-Land Rover having just declared a billion-pound – billion-pound – post-tax profit on sales of ten times that. Like George, it is awash with attractive models; its XF and striking new XJ saloons, the XK coupe, the C-X75 eco-supercar and the smaller XE coupe-convertible that the spy photographers have started snapping (you think these things happen unplanned?)

Yet just two years ago Jaguar had the begging bowl out. Sales ravaged by the recession, it faced having to close one of its three factories and still needing to touch Lord Mandelson for a loan and guarantees worth around £600m just to keep operating. A few famous automotive names didn’t make it through the GFC, and for a while Jaguar looked like it might be one of them.

So, Jaguar, where did it all go right?

Three things saved Jag: good cars, Ian Callum, and the Indians. It had been making good cars for a while; the 2002 revision of the S-Type was pretty sensational to drive, and the XJ of 2003 was a revelation with its lightweight aluminium construction that made heroes of its new diesels and small, economical petrols.

But God, they were awful to look at, Jaguar having found a design language that worked in the sixties and having mutated it ever since. That XJ was particularly bad, the lines of William Lyons’ elegant ’68 saloon contorted and stretched around the volumes and hard points and crash requirements of a modern car.

Ian Callum hadn’t been in his design director job long when that XJ was launched and had little to do with it; he virtually held his nose as he first showed it to me in his studio at Gaydon. Richard Parry-Jones, global product supreme for Ford, which owned Jaguar then and an insane driver, was more enthusiastic as we drove a prototype at furious speed through torrential rain on the empty mountain roads around his Welsh home. It was terrific to drive: pity so few people found out.

Car designers are like football managers, generally moved on too soon when their plans need time to work through. Callum is an exception. He remembers when Jaguars were edgy and ground-breaking rather than retro and derivative, and he’s been left in place long enough to have been responsible for his employers entire line-up: a very rare achievement.

And oh, must Jaguar be glad. After years in the doldrums Jaguar’s sales had started brightly in 2008, thanks entirely to the XF, which now looked as good as the old S-Type drove. Without the XF and the new XJ Callum had already penned, Tata might not have bought Jaguar and Land Rover from Ford in early 2008 for £1.4bn.

Despite the XF, Jaguar’s 2009 sales slumped 33 per cent. But without them, it might have closed altogether, particularly if the Tata buy-out hadn’t gone through and Ford, desperate to cut its European losses and avoid bankruptcy itself, had been left with two companies that were haemorrhaging money and just a few months later would have been impossible to offload.

Ian Callum’s reimagining of Jaguar isn’t solely responsible for its survival. British car enthusiasts often bemoan the lack of a domestically-owned major carmaker, but globalization makes such concepts less relevant, and as owners go, they don’t get much better than Ratan Tata. He’s a car boss in the Piech or Agnelli mould; eccentric, visionary, maybe a little mad. He has a strong social conscience: he says his goal in business is to lay his head on his pillow each night knowing he has harmed no-one, and it was his desire to cut road deaths in India that inspired him to create the Nano, a ‘proper’ car for just £1400.

When the conditions Mandelson attempted to impose on a bail-out package for Jaguar-Land Rover proved too onerous, Tata manned-up and doubled-down, pumping an estimated billion quid into his British acquisition, despite the fact that the Indian mothership was struggling too. And he’s had the courage to leave Jaguar to it: insiders report an almost total lack of interference from the new bosses despite what they’ve risked.

So you couldn’t blame Tata for repatriating the vast profits Jaguar is making as its market has come back to find a sexy, edgy range of cars waiting for it. Except he’s not. Far from closing a factory, JLR is now looking to open an engine plant. It’s hiring 1000 engineers and plans to spend an extra half-billion each year on new models. It’s not difficult; good cars that look good will sell, and Tata is prepared to fund them and let Jaguar get on with making them. And the good news on the financial pages is as important as a five-star road test result in Autocar.

The former Porsche boss Wendelin Wiedeking said that successful people like to buy cars from a successful company. It has the models and the cash, but with Tata in charge it’s unlikely to chuck it all away like Georgie did.

Our Modern Jaguar Classics

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XK 120
The beginning of the Jaguar Golden age. Took the world by storm when launched in 1948 and initiated the basis of the perennial XK engine. Made a legend (and a Knight) out of Jag chief and design boss William Lyons – and demonstrated that Britain really had won the war.

XK 120 ‘C’ Type
Designated for ‘competition’ the race version of the XK120 had a tuned engine and an aerodynamic shell designed by Malcolm Sayers. Won Le Mans in 1951 at its first attempt and now rare as the proverbial hen’s teeth.

XKSS
The road going version of the D type is, in our opinion certainly the most magnificent British car ever made: and probably one of the greatest road cars ever. Outrageous body swathes and cuts and carnal proportions for us out-redheads Ferrari’s 250 TR.

Mk 2
Brilliant middle-period creation much loved by blaggers as well as the coppers who’d try to chase them. In white, with red leather interior and wires it’s impossibly English and brutally elegant – but ultimately it’s the pacey mid size saloon format it pioneered forJaguar that is its truly lasting legacy.

XJ12 C
This is the only Leyland Era Jag to make our list…and we’d prefer it with the 5.3 Engine and the Walkinshaw-Broadspeed racing treatment as pictured. It’s incredible that this monster still looks so good. But it does.

images courtesy Mark Lacey

XFR
After the mediocre S and X Type, design visionary Ian Callum finally got his chops into the brand and created a winning format. The R version was and is a true challenger to the M5 Supersaloon, with a perfect blend of mentalism and practicability.

XJ
The XJ took the refinement and the performance of the XF and clothed it a stretched and sculpted format. The result is a world beating wafter that holds its own in most areas against the Teutonic equivalent – and beats them hands down in terms of pure beauty.

XKR-S
We haven’t driven it yet, but this extreme version of the XKR is a stone cold certainty for future classic. It’s set to be the quickest proper series production Jag ever (no, the XJ220 didn’t count). We're wondering, though, why did they make the launch cars in French racing blue? What’s wrong with British Racing Green?

D-Type: Beneath the Skin

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Why is the D-Type such a beguiling beauty? Well, it remains as in all things aesthetic a matter of opinion, but in the case of the this particular machine there are some concrete factors that help explain its enduring charisma.

The D-Type looked, in 1954, unlike anything else out there on the race track, let alone the road. Its aerodynamic features were all about function, but this focus on winning unwittingly created something spectacularly pleasing to the eye.

The introduction of aviation technology that facilitated the speed and reliability of the cars was a slowly blossoming flower that came to represent a patiently awaited premium for Britain.

When they saw C and D-types swathed in green (and occasionally blue) so successful on the circuits of Europe, Brits started to realise that they really had something to be proud of - that the struggles of the previous decades just might have been worth it.

This was in the years immediately after the Festival of Britain, the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth and the conquering of Everest by that colonial hero Hilary.

Rationing of basic foodstuffs might have remained a part of people's every day lives, but the cutting edge of British engineering demonstrated that these strictures could be transcended.

As Norman Dewis told us a couple of years ago, when the Jaguar team set off from Browns Lane en route to Europe the streets would be lined with flag-waving patriots. It's a far cry from the international corporatism of today's motorsport.

Jaguar's spectacularly named race manager Lofty England led the team that produced the Jaguar D-Type. The car was produced to extend and deepen the success of the C-Type - and it immediately performed well. In its first appearance at Le Mans in 1954, the Jaguar team's cars suffered, apparently, from sand in their fuel. Once this problem had been rectified, however, this car (No 14, driven by Duncan Hamilton and Tony Rolt) immediately reestablished itself. Eventually it finished less than one lap down on the winning Ferrari.

This D Type was the first first works car to be completed, on the 4th of May 1954. As well as its debut second place at Le Mans, it came second also at the Reims 12 Hours and raced at various Grand Prix and Trophy events in the UK. Interestingly, in 1956 it was converted to a road going version of the car, a sort of almost-XKSS, with a screen frame created and the central member between cockpits removed.

It has been claimed that these innovations originally inspired the factory to go ahead and produce the limited run of the road-going XKSS, though this was denied by the crew at Browns Lane. Either way, the car was used on the road for many years and was sold to its current owner in 2000.

The Monocoque chassis of the D-Type was developed using battle-garnered aviation expertise. Sheets of aluminium alloy formed the central tub which carried the cockpit – and an aluminium subframe was attached to this that carried the engine in its compartment as well as the front running gear and the steering mechanicals. Drive train and rear suspension was attached directly to the tub – and fuel was carried inside ‘bags’ mounted in compartments in the monocoque itself.

Malcolm Sayer, who, along with development engineer Norman Dewis had worked in the aviation industry in the forties, designed the D-Type’s beautifully sculpted coachwork. With the removal of the traditional separate chassis that had featured in the C-Type, a greatly reduced frontal area was made possible. The engine was angled over slightly (notice the off-centre bonnet bulge) and engineers developed a dry-sump form of lubrication so that the whole issue could be lowered. A low-drag underbody combined with the stabilizing fin behind the driver made high speeds at Le Mans just about manageable. After 1955 a long-nose version of the body was introduced which resulted in even greater top-end velocity.

That the D-Type's aerodynamic properties and road presence would go on to inform that of the E-Type, which in turn went on to define glamorous yet accessible motoring in the sixties is testament to the power of these cars.

Source: Jaguar Sports Racers

A Tale of Two Jags

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I am eight years old and playing in the small back garden of our suburban house. I hear a deep loud resonant blast of a horn from the road out front It is Dad, returning with his new car from the showroom.

Running around the corner of the drive I see him pulling slowly up at the garage. The engine note is a low heavy burble. The handbrake ratchets and the engine stops. My Dad has a massive smile on his face, My mum, standing at the front door has a small, almost shameful one.

Image: Michael Fordham

‘So you got it then?’ She says.

It is a vibrant and glossy red Jaguar, sticking out on our street like the shiniest apple in the orchard. Dad’s business was thriving and this was the reward to himself for a successful year.

My brother and I took our shoes off and climbed around the inside. Dad turned on the 8-track and Mum told him to turn it down. I sat in the driving seat and rolled the huge wheel from side to side. Dr Hook throbbed out of the big speakers.

A few weeks ago I got a call from a good friend who asked if I wanted a 1993 XJ6. He knew I liked old saloons, and that the Merc I was driving had seen better days. I asked him what colour it was. "Sort of a dark red", he replied.

"I’ll take it". I said.

On the way up to collect the car I remembered that time in my life, the child who started to love cars from the moment my Dad brought back that beautiful saloon.

In time I could have told you what any car was on the road from one glimpse. I knew a car by the rear light cluster, I had Scalextric with rally Minis. Films like Smokey and the Bandit and Convoy were big sellers in the cinema. The Dukes of Hazzard was soon to appear on Saturday TV.

We all had CB radios, we all had handles, we chatted to truckers passing on the main road at the end of our street. We played Top Trump Super Cars at school. ‘DeTomaso Pantera’ I’d whisper in awe.

Image: Patricia Robertson

The moment I opened the door of the XJ6, memories came flooding back. There was the smell of leather and British workmanship. As a child the smell had been almost too heady, pungent and primal. In the heat the smell grew more and more intense, producing a sickening stickiness that didn’t help when my hot little legs would glue to the leather.

To get through the hours of boredom on our long summer journey to the south of France I would try to read comics, but quickly turn white with nausea. ‘It’s the static.’ my mum would say. She made Dad install a rubber and steel conductor that reached the road from behind the mudguard.

This wasn’t the car for the Mediterranean. The Jaguar XJ6 from 1976 was a Northern European car. It was halfway between Get Carter and The Long Good Friday; it celebrated 1970s British culture and left a legacy of the times in its workmanship.

This was the decade of strikes; British Leyland suffering from the stubborn unions and the popularity of cars from abroad. Even then I thought some of the switches and furnishings were below par. Did the carpets have a Leyland logo? I can’t remember.

My 1993 model is not that dissimilar to the one from 1976. The gear stick has changed from the sleek T shape in Chrome and Bakelite that looked as if it had come from a BOAC jet, to a regular polished wood ball.

I remember there had been plenty of buttons on the dash, just plain black rocker switches- they had been upgraded with the times to include an air-conditioning unit but still had the same sense of no-nonsense utility. There was one less large ashtray in the current model, and the beautiful dash mounted glove box from the seventies had been replaced by an airbag.

I guess people just don’t wear gloves like they used to.

I was heading home down the A303 recently and suddenly I became conscious of me and my new car. We were cruising along at 65, burbling pleasantly at 2000 revs. According to the computer we were averaging just under 30 mpg. I put my foot down and overtook a line of slower, less dignified traffic. I had a vision of myself somewhere between a law-abiding family man and a freewheeling, hardworking entrepreneur not afraid of taking a little risk.

This, I’m guessing, is where a lot of Jaguar drivers would like to see themselves…

http://lee-robertson.co.uk/

E Type 001

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All images: James Lipman/Influx

If the world of classic cars is littered sparsely with elusive gems, then in Jaguar lore these jewels are mercifully accessible.

This car before you is the very first right hand drive production Jaguar E-Type Fixed Head Coupé. Supplied by Jaguar Cars in August 1961, 1 VHP was London dealer Henly's London E-Type demonstrator - and as such it is the car that sent all subsequent generations of E-Type fetishists deep into their troubled world.

While a few of us have been lucky enough to own an early E-Type, almost all of us, at some time or another have been intoxicated by the rakish sophistication of the long nosed lovely from Coventry.

To think that this is Chassis 001: the actual car that created the enduring image of the E-type as the ultimate in British motoring is rather awe-inspiring, when you think about it.

In 2001, this very important E-Type underwent a total restoration by CMC, including a full rebuild of the XK engine, restoration of the bodywork, interior retrimming and a re-painting in its original Opalescent Dark Blue.

But the early life of the car is shrouded in a byzantine web of history. It has had mutliple registrations, has been owned by a variety of Jaguar lovers and desecrated in period purple metalflake by a very jammy twenty-one year old some time in the seventies.

In the nineties it was apparently sold for a pound, on the understanding that 'full & fanatical' restoration would take place to this as well as the fabled 9600 HP car, the demonstration E-Type that was driven to geneva for launch.

Sitting in the compact (but surprisingly roomy) cabin of a FHC, there is a tangible sense of the ambition of the E-Type's creators. The bucket seats are snug and low-slung - throwback to fifties motoring: but the aluminium trim of the dash and the simple switchgear suggest perfectly the racing heritage of the marque that gave it birth.

Stirring the box in an E-Type involves a relatively long, mechanical feeling throw by contemporary sports car standards, but the satisfaction of the twist of torque in that beautiful long snout when you gun the XK engine in idle is intensely satisfying.

It's impossible to deny the carnal longing that sitting at the helm of an E-Types produces - and for all the minutiae of chassis numbers, registrations and restorations, that's what sits at the heart of our collective love for this sublime car.