Morse Jaguar

1990

60 years

Morse Jaguar

1990

60 years

Born in Stevenage in 1936, the Vincent Rapide Series A was the sort of machine that made other motorcycles feel like they’d turned up wearing slippers. Its 998cc V-twin gave it serious pace for the day, but the real magic was in the legend – a British bike with engineering brains, proper drama and a name that still makes enthusiasts sit up a little straighter.

In 1946, post-war Italy needed affordable transport. What it got was the Vespa – a scooter so charming it accidentally became a fashion accessory, film star and design icon all at once. With its enclosed bodywork, neat proportions and wasp-like shape, it made getting around look stylish rather than merely sensible. Not bad for something designed to stop you getting oil on your trousers.

The Austin A35 arrived in 1956 as the A30’s slightly more grown-up sibling – though “grown-up” is doing a lot of work here, because it remained wonderfully small, upright and determined. It was the sort of car that could be a family runabout, a van, a club racer or the thing your neighbour’s uncle swore would “go on forever”. Often, annoyingly, he was right.

The Lamborghini Miura didn’t so much arrive in 1966 as sweep into the room, toss its coat over a chair and change the supercar rulebook. With a V12 mounted behind the driver and styling by Marcello Gandini at Bertone, it looked impossibly low, impossibly glamorous and, frankly, slightly irresponsible. Naturally, everyone loved it.

The Jensen Interceptor was a very British idea of grand touring: Italian suit, American muscle, West Bromwich address. Launched in 1966, it mixed Touring styling, Vignale-built early bodies and Chrysler V8 power into something magnificently louche. It was a car for people who thought subtlety was fine, provided it came with a vast rear window and a soundtrack like distant thunder.

Take a Triumph Spitfire, give it a Michelotti fastback roofline and a straight-six engine, and you get the GT6 – otherwise known, inevitably, as the “poor man’s E-Type”. Bit unfair, that. The GT6 had its own charm: compact, handsome, eager and just impractical enough to feel like a proper sports car.

The Rover SD1 arrived in 1976 looking like British Leyland had briefly been left alone with a Ferrari Daytona poster and a ruler. A big executive hatchback with fastback styling and Rover V8 appeal, it went on to win European Car of the Year for 1977. Yes, quality control had its moments – this was BL, after all – but when the SD1 was good, it was very good indeed.

The Porsche 924 has spent much of its life being sniffed at by purists, which is usually a sign that a car is about to become interesting. Launched in 1976, it brought front-engine, water-cooled, transaxle balance to Porsche’s entry-level range. It wasn’t the 911, no – that was rather the point.

The Ford Fiesta arrived in 1976 and quietly became part of everyday life. Shopping trips, first cars, driving lessons, questionable modifications, XR2 daydreams – the Fiesta did the lot. It was Ford’s small-car answer to a changing world, and it became so familiar that Britain almost forgot how important it was.

The Jaguar XJ40 was finally unveiled in 1986 after a development story long enough to make even patient people start tapping their watches. But when it arrived, it brought Jaguar’s big saloon into a sharper, more modern era – square lamps, digital touches and all. Still elegant, still a bit aristocratic, just with shoulder pads.

The Sierra RS Cosworth was what happened when Ford looked at the sensible family Sierra and thought, “Yes, but what if it had a wing you could see from space?” Built for Group A racing and launched in 1986, the Cossie turned a once-controversial repmobile shape into one of the most worshipped performance cars of the decade.

The 1986 Honda VFR750F RC24 was Honda tidying its desk after the VF years and coming back with something properly sorted. Gear-driven cams, an alloy frame and grown-up road manners made it one of those bikes that didn’t need to shout. It just worked brilliantly, which is a very Honda way of showing off.

The Porsche Boxster arrived in 1996 with a lot resting on its neat little shoulders. Porsche needed a hit, and this mid-engined roadster delivered – clever to build, lovely to drive and just affordable enough to bring new buyers into the fold. The 911 may be the legend, but the Boxster helped keep the lights on.

The Lotus Elise was the sports car equivalent of throwing everything unnecessary into a skip. Launched in 1996, it used a bonded aluminium chassis, lightweight bodywork and the old Lotus trick of making less feel like much, much more. No plush nonsense, no grand touring pretence – just steering, balance and a reminder that weight is the enemy.

The Honda CBR1100XX Super Blackbird landed in 1996 with a name borrowed from the Lockheed SR-71 spy plane, because subtlety had clearly left the building. Built to challenge Kawasaki’s speed crown, it was ferociously quick but also polished, comfortable and very Honda. A missile in a dinner jacket, basically.