A brief sketch of William Lyons will explain a great deal (both good and bad) about Jaguar's cars. We briefly discussed his background in in our article on the XK120, but we didn't say much about the man himself. Sir William -- Queen Elizabeth knighted him in 1956, after Jaguar's fourth Le Mans victory -- was by all accounts a refined and reserved gentleman of the old school. We can summarize his other key attributes as follows:

1. He was an exceptionally savvy businessman.
2. He had a fine eye for both style and talent.
3. He was an Olympic-caliber cheapskate, rivaling even the notoriously penurious Henry Ford.

A single well-known anecdote will suffice to illustrate the latter point. The sales manager of Jaguar's Piccadilly showroom, the story says, once remarked that the showroom's carpeting was looking a trifle threadbare, and suggested it should be replaced. Sir Williams was outraged by such a spendthrift notion, and replied owlishly that the carpet had a great deal of life left in it. The sales manager considered the point, and decided to rotate the carpet instead, hiding the worn portions beneath displays and in low-traffic areas. The next time Sir William visited the showroom, he observed the freshly rotated carpet and threw a fit, assuming the sales manager had ignored his directive and replaced the carpet. When the manager gently explained what he had actually done, Sir William brightened considerably and ordered the manager to report to Wappenbury Hall, the Lyons estate, to do the same thing for Sir William's home!

We think this tendency had almost as great an influence on Jaguar's cars as Sir William's impeccable aesthetic sense. Jaguars were eminently desirable, with stylish looks and fine performance, and they were keenly priced, at least in their home market; while they were hardly cheap, when compared to rivals of comparable specification, they were relative bargains. Unfortunately, the inevitable consequence of offering premium products at bargain prices was dubious reliability. In a February 1979 Car and Driver editorial, the late LJK Setright noted that Sir William would not cut costs in areas buyers were likely to notice, but pinched pennies quite ruthlessly in areas like brake pads and rubber seals. Jaguars were as complex as any exotic sports car, and there was a great deal of unseen hardware to go amiss, particularly if the components were made by the lowest bidder. Such weak spots were entirely separate from any actual design flaws, of which each Jaguar had its share.


Introduced with the XK-120 in 1948, Jaguar's venerable XK six lasted for over 35 years. Fitted with an aluminum head, a cast-iron block, and dual overhead camshafts, it was offered in 2.4 L (152 cu. in.), 3.4 L (210 cu. in.), 3.8 L (231 cu. in.), and ultimately 4.2 L (258 cu. in.) forms; a 2.8 L (170 cu. in.) was offered in the late sixties and early seventies, but proved troublesome, and was dropped after 1973. This is the 3.8 L version with three SU carburetors, offered in the final XK150s and the early Series I E-Types.

Even in its heyday, Jaguar's foibles were well known. American buyers, who tended to demand more in the way of appliance-like reliability than their British counterparts, were sometimes put off, but for the most part, those weaknesses did little to dampen buyer enthusiasm. If anything, they became part of the mystique.

Ahh, yes, the mystique. Did we mention that during Sir William's reign, Jaguar won Le Mans -- not simply a class victory or other obfuscation, but first place overall -- five times? They did, in 1951, 1953, 1955 (albeit under regrettable circumstances), 1956, and 1957.

That was an era where the gap between racing cars and street cars was not nearly as vast as it later became, when was still possible to buy a moderately civilized sports racer that could be driven to the track, win, and then be driven home. This is not to say that a stock XK120 was ready for the Mulsanne Straight, but it was closer than you might expect. In fact, three more-or-less stock XK120s made a fine showing at Le Mans in 1950, suggesting that specialized racing versions would be extremely competitive.

After Le Mans, William Lyons, with considerable prodding from chief engineer Bill Heynes and service manager Frank "Lofty" England, decided to develop a new version of the XK120 specifically to compete in that prestigious endurance race. Jaguar thus embarked on what would prove to be a glorious racing career.

It was clear early on that the traditional means of improving performance -- reducing weight and adding power -- were not going to be enough to carry the Jaguar to victory at Le Mans. Bill Heynes could and did extract more horsepower from the XK120's DOHC six, but for endurance racing, durability was as important as outright power. Furthermore, light weight and high power did not necessarily provide high-speed stability. What the XK120 really needed was better aerodynamics.

In 1950, William Lyons hired Malcolm Sayer, formerly an engineer with the Bristol Aeroplane Company, as Jaguar's Director of Design. Sayer, who always described himself not as a designer, but an aerodynamicist, set about applying the engineering skills he'd learned at Bristol during the war to the task of winning Le Mans.


Some mid-fifties Jaguars, like this 1956 XK140 fixed-head coupé, carried badges commemorating Jaguar's enviable competition pedigree.

The first fruit of Sayer's labors was the C-type. Officially known as XK120-C, implying a competition version of the XK120, it ended up rather different from the stock car, with space-frame construction, rather than a platform frame. There was also a new rear suspension, using tube shocks and a transverse torsion-bar springs, rather than the street car's leaf springs and lever-action dampers. Clad in lightweight, streamlined aluminum body panels, the C-type had only a single door and the most minimal windscreen. As a result, it had around 20% less drag than its road-going sibling, making it capable of speeds on the order of 145 mph (234 km/h).

The first three C-types were completed in May 1951, and one of them, driven by Peter Walker and Peter Whitehead, won Le Mans that June. Jaguar attempted an encore the following year, but the revamped C-types, with more radically aerodynamic bodywork, proved unstable at speed, and were hampered by engine overheating. The result was an embarrassing DNF (Did Not Finish). In 1953, the C-types reverted to their original shape, but traded their over-matched drum brakes for new Dunlop discs, which proved a far more successful combination. On June 14, 1953, Jaguar's publicity department sent a telegram to the Queen, announcing that Jaguar had scored its second Le Mans victory.

Although the '52 C-type body had been a failure, Malcolm Sayer had not stopped working on a more aerodynamic shape for the racers, which resulted in the 1954 D-Type. Smaller and sleeker than the C-Type, the D-type was structurally quite different, discarding the space frame for an aluminum monocoque, far more like an aircraft than a car. The engine and front suspension were carried on a separate aluminum space frame, welded to the cowl and clad with stressed aluminum panels. Its most notable feature was a prominent vertical fin behind the driver's head, for better stability at speed.


A 1956 D-Type, photographed at the 2009 Goodwood Festival of Speed, shows off its prominent dorsal fin. This is one of the "Long Nose" variations, developed to improve aerodynamic penetration. (Photo © 2009 Anthony Losh; used by permission)

With more power and much better aerodynamics, the D-type was scorchingly fast, taking second at Le Mans in 1954. It made another strong showing in 1955, but that race was marred by tragedy. First, William Lyons' son, John Lyons, died in a collision with a U.S. Army truck on the way to the track. Then, during the race, driver Pierre Levegh of the Mercedes team skidded into a crowd of unprotected spectators, resulting in the deaths of 80 people. The crash prompted Mercedes to withdraw, and Jaguar won the race, almost by default. Nonetheless, a badly shaken Lyons decided to dissolve the factory team.

Although Jaguar officially withdrew from competition after that, Malcolm Sayer and Bill Heynes continued to develop aerodynamic and performance improvements to support private racing teams. The Scottish privateers Ecurie Ecosse, who became Jaguar's unofficial factory team after the 1955 season, took Le Mans in '56 and '57, allowing Jaguar to tie Bentley's five-victory streak of the late 1920s.

The D-type Jaguar could be driven on the street, although it was neither very practical nor particularly comfortable. Production was naturally quite limited. Since they were very expensive -- the D-Type listed for £1,895 FOB, and ran to nearly £2,700 with purchase tax (around $10,000 U.S. at the time) -- Jaguar built only 68 D-types, and managed to sell only 43 of those. To use up the unsold stock, Jaguar developed a spin-off called the XK-SS, using the D-type's monocoque tub, engine, and suspension, shorn of its prominent dorsal fin and fitted with a modicum of interior trim. Ostensibly a street car, the XK-SS's real purpose was to homologate the type for Sports Car Club of America (SCCA) road racing. Only 16 were built before a fire at the factory destroyed the production tooling. Jaguar decided that resuming production was not worth the cost, making survivors very rare and very valuable today.


Although sold as a dual-purpose sport racer, the XK-SS was not much of a street car, with fragile aluminum bodywork, noisy exhaust, and a near-total lack of cargo space. This one was once owned by actor Steve McQueen. (Photo © 2009 Gabe McGinnis; used by permission)

Aside from generating favorable press notices, the racing cars served as testbeds for technology later used in production Jaguars. In 1955, the compact Mk 1 sedan became Jaguar's first unit-body production car, albeit in steel, and a good deal stouter than its racing cousins. The C-type's Dunlop disc brakes became available on the Mk 1 and the XK150 sports car in 1957, and were added to the big Mk IX sedans the following year. Many of the engine improvements developed for competition also found their way into the production cars.

Although 1957 was Jaguar's last hurrah at Le Mans, the firm was still looking for an eventual replacement for the XK sports cars. The XK150, produced from 1957 through 1961, had addressed many of the weaknesses of the XK120, but it had lost much of the original's glamor, and it was starting to feel old. Simply re-skinning the existing chassis yet again was not an inspiring idea; the time had come for something new.

The first prototype of the XK's successor appeared in late 1957. Dubbed E1A, it was structurally similar to the D-Type, with a monocoque shell and forward subframe, although its overall dimensions were somewhat larger. More importantly, the E1A was the testbed for an entirely new rear suspension.

Up to that point, all Jaguars, including the race cars, had used live axles; Jaguar had only switched to independent front suspension in 1949. The live axle was sturdy enough, but as the engines grew more powerful, keeping it under control became a problem -- particularly on the sedans, which, unlike the race cars, could not resort to rock-hard springs and dampers. The factory had toyed briefly with a de Dion layout (described in our story on the Rover P6), but the results were evidently not encouraging. By 1957, Bill Heynes decided that a true independent rear suspension was the better option.

Independent suspensions offer a number of advantages for both ride and handling. The independent suspensions of that era, however, particularly the simple swing axles used by Volkswagen, Mercedes, and the early Chevrolet Corvair, among others, also had some unpleasant vices. Jaguar wanted none of this; vicious suspension behavior was bad enough on the track, where high cornering speeds were at least matched with greater driver skill, but it was hardly acceptable for luxury sedans, for which the new suspension was eventually bound.

Engineer Bob Knight developed the new suspension in only 27 days. The haste was not driven by any production deadline; Sir William had bet Knight £5 (about $15) that he couldn't design a suspension in less than a month. Despite the swift development, it was quite a complex design. It used the driveshafts as upper control arms (as in a swing-axle car), but added lower control arms, a pair of longitudinal trailing arms to control acceleration and braking forces, and an anti-roll bar. Most unusually, it used four coil-over shock absorbers, two ahead of each lower control arm, two behind. (We've heard several explanations for this unusual set-up, but to our understanding, it was primarily motivated by the desire to provide adequate damping with minimal wheel travel, to limit camber changes.) The entire assembly was carried in a complex subframe, which was bolted to the body through rubber-isolated mounts. The subframe also carried the rear disc brakes, which were mounted inboard to reduce unsprung weight.

This layout, which Jaguar used (with some modifications) well into the nineties, had many advantages and a number of drawbacks. Most of the latter centered on the subframe's rubber mounts, whose compression could cause unwanted oversteer and annoying rear-end wander, particularly if the rubber became worn. Still, it was an extremely sophisticated design for its time, and on balance, it worked very well.

The early E1A prototype spawned the bigger E2A, which was powered by a highly tuned 3.0 L (181 cu. in.) version of the XK engine. In 1960, Jaguar gave the prototype to Briggs Cunningham's racing team for another stab at Le Mans, but the rather tired development mule was not up to the task, and the result was another DNF. Many had hoped it heralded Jaguar's return to motorsport, but it was not to be.

The E2A presaged the form of the production car, which was known as E-type, to suggest its continuity with the C-type and D-type race cars. (Jaguar marketing literature occasionally used the designation XKE, but the factory did not call it that in shop manuals or other documentation, and the term raises the hackles of purists today.) As you would expect, the E-type bore a strong resemblance to the D-type in both appearance and concept.


While the E-type is less curvaceous than the D-type or XK-SS, its kinship with its racing predecessors is evident. The prominent bulge in the hood is necessary to clear the XK engine's cam covers; it became such a stylistic trademark that it was retained by the V12-powered Series III cars, which didn't need it. Roadsters are extremely low -- only 48 inches (1,219 mm) overall.

Unlike the earliest XK120s, the E-type had a steel body, built by Pressed Steel Ltd. The body itself was a monocoque, with fat, full-length sills and a prominent driveshaft tunnel for greater rigidity. To this monocoque shell were bolted the rear suspension subframe and the forward space frame, which carried the engine and front suspension. Unlike the D-type, the forward space frame was now steel, using square-section tubes of Reynolds 531 steel (more commonly found in high-end bicycles), furnace-brazed together, rather than welded.

The E-type's engine was the same 3.8 L (231 cu. in.) six introduced on the final XK150s, with three SU HS8 carburetors and a rather optimistic 265 hp (198 kW) gross rating. (Various sources suggest net ratings between 180 and 228 bhp (134 and 167 kW), a point obfuscated by the fact that many of the cars Jaguar released to the press had noticeably more power than the standard tune.) To this engine was linked, sadly, the XK's familiar and cumbersome Moss four-speed gearbox, still lacking a synchronized low gear and no more pleasant to use than it had been on earlier Jaguars.

The E-type's specifications were impressive for its time -- dual overhead cams, fully independent suspension, four-wheel disc brakes -- but they were totally overshadowed by its startling good looks. We will cautiously suggest that it was not quite as jaw-droppingly voluptuous as the XK-SS, but the E-type was a proper road car, which the fragile, aluminum-bodied SS really was not. The only production cars of the time that were even in the same league were true exotics like Aston Martin and Ferrari.

The E-type's performance was in keeping with its exotic looks. In March 1961, The Motor famously clocked an early fixed-head coupé at 150 mph (242 km/h), which a few years earlier would have been a respectable velocity for a pure racing car. Admittedly, their test car was not exactly stock, but any E-type in reasonable tune could do at least 135 mph (217 km/h), still very lofty territory at the time. Acceleration was similarly formidable, with 0-60 mph (0-97 km/h) in less than seven seconds. If these figures do not impress today, it must be remembered that at the time, the typical British sedan needed at least twice that time to reach 60 mph, and was hard pressed to exceed 90 mph (145 km/h).


The E-type is not a large car to modern eyes -- 175 inches (4,445 mm) long on a 96-inch (2,438-mm) wheelbase -- but by contemporary standards, it was rather large for a sports car. Series I roadsters weighed around 2,800 lb (1,270 kg) all up, coupes perhaps 60 lb (27 kg) more than that. Wire wheels, commonly fitted, were technically optional, adding about $175 to the list price.

The E-type handled exceptionally well, too, with sharp steering, excellent body control, and respectable grip. Thanks to the new rear suspension, its agility was also matched with a relatively supple ride. Brakes were at least adequate, which was definitely not the case with many of its contemporaries. It was perhaps the most well-rounded sports car of its generation.

The E-type made its public debut at the Geneva auto show in March 1961. Its effect was galvanic, particularly for Britons. It was gorgeous, it was fast, and it had an enticing price tag. The E-type was actually cheaper than the XK150, with roadsters starting at £2,098 (with purchase tax), the fixed-head coupé at £2,196. (In the U.S., the roadster started at $5,595, the coupe $300 more.) That is around $40,000, adjusted for inflation, which put the E-Type within the reach of upper-middle-class buyers for whom an Aston Martin DB4 or a Ferrari 250 would only ever be a daydream. For Great Britain, which had just opened its first modern motorway in 1959, and still had no national speed limits, the E-type seemed to herald the dawn of an exciting new era.


Early "flat-floor" E-types had a grievous lack of legroom, which Jaguar hastily addressed by adding depressions in the floor on either side of the transmission. Series I cars lack sun visors, which is painful on bright days. Aluminum console and dash trim later gave way to a black matte finish, but the fine Connolly "Vaumol" hides remained. Note the prominent door sills; a structural element, they make entry and exit cumbersome.

Of course, it didn't take long for the E-type's flaws to make themselves known. Getting in and out over the intrusive sills was not a graceful operation, particularly in the low-slung coupe. Once you were inside, the early cars were desperately short of legroom, the seats were miserable, and ventilation was hopelessly inadequate. While fuel economy was quite good -- up to 22 mpg U.S. (26.4 mpg in Imperial figures, 10.7 L/100 km) -- the engine could ping on even super-premium fuel if it was less-than-perfect tune. Oil consumption could be positively alarming; the factory called 500-800 miles per quart (800 to 1,300 km/L) normal. The aerodynamic headlight covers looked good, but hampered the lights' range. The brake booster was erratic, and the best that could be said of the Moss four-speed transmission was that the engine's torque obviated the need for frequent shifting. Moreover, like all Jaguars, flawless mechanical reliability was not among the E-type's strengths.

The factory addressed some of these problems -- the seats, the legroom, the transmission -- while others dogged the E-type throughout its run, but it never really seemed to matter. Demand wildly outpaced Jaguar's ability to build the new car. In short order, there were lengthy waiting lists. Jaguar sold 12,276 E-types through 1963, but the car's popularity is best revealed not by the sales figures, but by the fact that the factory turned down several offers to feature the E-type in film and television, because they didn't need any additional publicity! (Contrary to legend, that was not why Roger Moore's Simon Templar ended up driving a Volvo P1800 in the ITC version of The Saint; the producers of the series did try to obtain a Jaguar for the show, but they were after the new Mark X sedan, not the E-type.) More important to the factory were the brisk sales of the saloons, stimulated in no small way by the E-type's popularity.


The distinctive covered headlights, not technically legal in some American states at the time, added 2-3 mph (3-5 km/h) to the E-type's top speed, but made for poorer headlight range. They also tended to fog over in damp conditions, and proved a notorious rust trap. They were removed in 1968 in favor of an open "sugar-scoop" arrangement.

The E-type sold even better in the U.S., where there were far more customers who could afford such a car. This popularity proved a mixed blessing, however, because it brought with it pressure to conform to American tastes.

The first reflection of the American influence was the introduction of a bigger engine in 1964. Based on the familiar XK engine, it had re-spaced cylinder bores that allowed it to be expanded from 3,781 cc (231 cu. in.) to 4,235 cc (258 cu. in.). The 4.2 had about 10% more torque than before, making it better suited for lugging in American-style traffic, but it was less eager to rev. Its lower redline also reduced top speed; maximum speed with the standard 3.31 axle was now 128 mph (205 km/h), and sustained speeds over 116 mph (187 km/h) were dicey. Whether the 4.2 was a worthwhile trade-off in the E-type is still a matter of some debate among fans, particularly since the 3.8 had never lacked for torque. However, even if the E-type didn't need the extra torque, the bigger S-type and Mark X saloons certainly did, particularly with automatic transmission. By 1967, Jaguar had phased out the 3.8 L engine across the board.


The fixed-head coupé shows off its sleek fastback profile, designed for low wind resistance. At first, buyers preferred the roadster, but the closed cars outpaced the roadsters starting in 1962. The fixed-head coupé is still quite low, but it is about 2.0 inches (51 mm) higher than the roadster.

Even if the engine itself was of dubious benefit, the 4.2-equipped cars had a number of more worthwhile improvements. One was the long-awaited replacement of the unloved Moss gearbox with a far more pleasant, fully synchronized four-speed and an easier-to-manage clutch. (The Laycock de Normanville overdrive optional on other Jags would have been a welcome addition, but as far as we know, it was never offered.) The 4.2 also substituted an alternator for the generator, added a much better brake servo, and implemented various measures aimed at reducing the engine's thirst for oil. Still, many buyers would probably have been content to take the new transmission and other improvements with the earlier 3.8-liter engine.

Another controversial step, again influenced by the demands of the U.S. market, was the introduction of a long-wheelbase 2+2 model, announced in March 1966. If you believed Jaguar's advertisements, it made the E-type into something like a family car, with child-size rear seats. The longer wheelbase also allowed the installation of an automatic transmission, which had definite appeal to U.S. buyers, even though the Borg-Warner Model 8 was inferior to American automatics of newer design. The 2+2's greater length and more bulbous tail came perilously close to spoiling its proportions, and its greater weight sapped its performance. It nonetheless sold quite well, and all E-types would eventually adopt its longer wheelbase.


By the late sixties, many E-type buyers opted for the less svelte but more practical 2+2, which rode a longer, 105-inch (2,667-mm) wheelbase and allowed the installation of automatic transmission, power steering, and air conditioning. The latter sounds an odd choice for a sports car, but it made a certain amount of sense, given the E-type's notoriously poor cabin ventilation. Note the open headlights; this is a 1968 model, known unofficially as "Series I 1/2," because it incorporates some, but not all, of the changes implemented for the Series II cars in 1969.

SIDEBAR: LEYLAND COMETH

Despite its modest volume, Jaguar remained independent -- and profitable -- into the mid-sixties. By that time, though, the British motor industry was already in the throes of merger and consolidation.

In 1965, Donald Stokes, the aggressive head of Leyland Motors, a leading bus and truck manufacturer, approached Jaguar about the possibility of a merger. Stokes' motivation was to get Sir William to manage Standard-Triumph, which Leyland had acquired in 1961. Stokes, as the next decade would amply demonstrate, was more a salesman than an administrator, and Sir William's well-known business acumen would have been a welcome addition. The merger would also have had a certain piquancy, because prior to the development of the XK engine, Jaguar had purchased its engines from Standard.

Sir William evidently considered this offer quite seriously, but at the last minute, he declined, saying that he feared Jaguar would lose its identity as part of a larger conglomerate. He was also wary of the reaction such a merger might provoke from Leyland's rival, the British Motor Company (BMC). BMC had recently bought out Pressed Steel, which made Jaguar bodies. The direct competition between Jaguar and BMC was still relatively limited (although BMC had been making some tentative inroads into the executive car market), but Standard-Triumph was BMC's principal rival. Sir William feared that if he accepted Stokes' offer, BMC might retaliate by cutting off Jaguar's supply of bodies.

The abortive merger discussions left Sir William painfully aware of Jaguar's vulnerability. While the firm was profitable, its pockets were not deep, a factor that was also delaying the launch of the important new XJ sedan. Jaguar did not have the resources to resist a hostile takeover. If the firm was to lose its independence, Sir William decided, it would be on his terms. In 1966, he approached BMC's George Harriman and negotiated a merger on very favorable terms, guaranteeing his continued control of Jaguar and giving him a seat on the board of the merged entity, British Motor Holdings (BMH).

Unfortunately, BMC's ongoing financial problems immediately put BMH deep in the red, and in 1967, the UK's Wilson government encouraged the consolidation of BMH and Leyland (which in the interim had acquired Rover). The merger took place in early 1968, and that fall, Sir William became deputy chairman of the new British Leyland Motor Company (BLMC). In July 1969, he retired as managing director of Jaguar, although he remained chairman until March 1972.

In the seventies, Jaguar suffered badly from the same industrial malaise that nearly sank British Leyland. Once Sir William was gone, it became increasingly difficult for Jaguar's remaining old guard to preserve the firm's identity. British Leyland reportedly starved Jaguar for funds, particularly for new products, and only the ferocious efforts of engineer (and later managing director) Bob Knight kept Jaguar engineering from being subsumed into Rover's. Quality control hit new lows, and Jaguar came very close to the ax.

Under the Thatcher government, Jaguar was spun off in 1984, becoming a publicly traded, independent company. Business sank again in the late eighties, and Jaguar was lurching toward bankruptcy when Ford Motor Company bought it in 1990. Ford eventually spent close to $10 billion on Jaguar, but could not make it consistently profitable. They finally sold it to India's Tata Motors in March 2008.

THE AGING ICON

SUCCESSION CRISIS

FAT CAT

LONG TIME GONE

Jaguar never really offered a direct replacement for the E-type. The eccentric-looking XJ-S was a different animal, a posh luxury cruiser aimed at a wealthier (and likely older and more sedate) customer. Plans for an F-type have popped up periodically for more than three decades, but subsequent Jaguar coupes have all been luxury tourers in the mold of the XJ-S. Jaguar's most serious stab at a genuine sports car was the toweringly expensive, short-lived XJ220 of the early nineties, which was not a success.

There's much to mourn about the demise of the E-type. There have been many sports cars and GTs since then, many of them faster, more reliable (admittedly not difficult to be), and more practical, but none more desirable. None has ever really aroused the same covetousness that the E-type still provokes.

Part of the problem is that the racing world has moved on, too. The E-type owed much of its glamor to the fact that it was a modernized street version of the car that won Le Mans. Today, sport racers like the D-type are long obsolete in most forms of motorsport; most serious racers today bear only the broadest cosmetic resemblance to their civilian counterparts. Without that genuine racing connection, sports cars inevitably suffer what the aviation industry calls "mission creep." They get bigger, they sprout more convenience features; weight climbs, and the only way to maintain performance is bigger engines, which require bigger fuel tanks and yet more weight. Before long, you have a numb and bloated two-door luxury sedan whose only claims to sportiness are an illustrious badge and styling cues cribbed from the icons of the past.

Maybe it doesn't matter. There's a school of thought that says the only performance that's important is the bottom line; if it sells, it must be good. We, however, are of an unfashionable, quixotic breed that still believes there are meaningful values beyond profit margins and market share: beauty, character, pride, purity of design. Measured in those terms, the E-type still ranks among the best.

As we said at the beginning, we don't aspire to E-type ownership, but we don't question why so many others still do. If you're an E-type owner, you seldom have any illusions about the car's faults, but you indulge its idiosyncrasies for the simplest of reasons: they just don't make 'em like that anymore.

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NOTES ON SOURCES

• 2010-03-26 16:06:02 | Bill Gillooly  - The Subframe

  In your story about the E-Type, you mention that the front subframe is built out square tubes of "Reynolds 531 alloy".

  It is important to avoid confusion, that Reynolds 531 is an alloy STEEL. The subframe would be best described as made of steel. Reynolds 531 is somewhat heat-sensitive which is why they brazed it together (bronze soldering) rather than welded it.

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• 2010-03-26 16:20:48 | Administrator

  That's a fair point, although the sentence did say, "now made of steel, a Reynolds 531 alloy," which seemed reasonably clear. Still, "alloy" does more commonly suggest aluminum, so I made that change.

  I've heard a number of accounts that suggest the reason for the brazing was related to labor issues (I'd have to look up the details, but I believe it was the qualifications and pay required of an employee able to braze versus one able to weld), rather than technical ones, but that, too, is a reasonable point.

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• 2010-03-26 16:14:18 | Bill Gillooly  - More on that subframe

  Reynolds 531 is a very strong and light steel, which is why they used it. It is an alloy of steel, managnese (not magnesium) and molybdenum (a mananese-moly steel). It was considered stronger/lighter than a more commonly used chrome-moly steel.

  When you say, that it is more commonly found on bicycles it isn't used on the kinds of bicycles that you ride to the grocery store or around the park. It's used to build the kinds of bicycles that would win the Tour de France. It was a pretty popular material in the high-end bicycle world through the late 1970's.

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• 2010-05-28 21:59:09 | Raphael Kepinski  - Didn't realize

  I had always appreciated this car in pictures but never really thought it more special than a handful of other cars. Yesterday I saw one on the street in the flesh for the first time. I didn't realize how absolutely gorgeous it is. The size, proportions, everything is absolutely as it should be. It was incredible as was the sound it made and the cloud of what could only be described as machinery smell around it. It's no wonder that people spend a fortune keeping it alive.

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• 2010-06-07 12:15:50 | Mervyn Scott  - "E" Type Jag.

  Ref your comments about unreliability , I doubt they were any worse than other contemporary British cars. My experience with a used(pre-owned) Mk11 saloon in the late sixties was that a lack of rust prevention was the main problem , coupled with poor corrosion resistance of first-generation disc brake calipers.I remain impressed with the fact that this was the only car I ever owned with grease nipples on the door hinges.

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• 2010-08-06 09:24:49 | Doug Kennedy  - Hatch

  Nice write-up and I learned some things. Another point of correction or clarification, the "unique swing-open rear hatch" came with the original Fixed-Head Coupe (FHC) in '61, not with the first 2+2.

  While I like the coupe and convertible and would trade my FHC for an OTS, I would say that the FHC is more beautiful than the OTC, easily. Any rear 3/4 or side view demonstrates that well for the original coupe, not the 2+2. Re the covered lights, I disagree and feel lots was lost on balance in the move to open head lights. Yes, I'll put up with: the light dispersal; and a temperamental alignment of the glass, rubber, screws and screw holes; and some fogging glass in the rain for those wonderful lines.

  Ah, one other thing, keep the Amco bars off the front of the E-Type. Especially keep the front of the Series 1 E-Types clean. The resultant "puckered lips" looks also helps degrade the looks of the most beautiful "mass produced" car.

  Thanks again for the nice article.

  Doug
  '62 E-Type FHC

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• 2010-08-06 09:58:56 | Administrator

  Thanks for the correction regarding the hatch; I've amended the text.

  I agree that some of the detailing of the Series II and Series III cars was unfortunate, but I wouldn't go so far as to say it spoiled the car. Naturally, aesthetic questions are very much a matter of taste, however.

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• 2010-12-13 11:36:19 | Charles Hixon

  The nice writeup has one author listed, who keeps referring to himself as "we", as in: "...there's no way we could drive one, let alone own one, without feeling like a prat." Now there has to be at least one of his personalities who ignores the one who feels like a prat.

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• 2010-12-13 12:25:19 | Administrator

  The editorial 'we' can be a pain in the ass...

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