CC Museum: Manoir de l’Automobile, Part 3 – Postwar French Cars

French cars of the ‘50s, ‘60s, ‘70s, ‘80s and even a few from the ‘90s – the main event of this museum, in other words. A whole room dedicated to Alpines, with pretty much every single model present… Peugeots galore, Citroëns aplenty, Renaults running rampant and, lest we forget, a smattering of Simcas and a pinch of Panhards. Plus a bunch of other marques that may or may not be familiar to most of you. Let’s jump in.

Structuring this post was a bit of a challenge, obviously. I’ve tried to arrange things by family rather than by marque or by era. The biggest of said “families” was the one sired by the diminutive Renault 4CV (1947-61), the Gallic Beetle that was the first French car to pass the million-unit mark.

The 4CV’s successor was the Dauphine (1956-68), seen here in its slightly improved Gordini and downright sporty 1093 versions.

With their trendy Frua-designed bodies, the Dauphine-based Floride (1959-64) and R8-based Caravelle (1963-68) coupé and cabriolet were the equivalent of the VW Karmann-Ghia.

The legendary R8 Gordini showed that a boxy family saloon could be turned into a sports car if you knew what you were doing. Which Monsieur Gordini certainly did.

The final rear-engined Renault was the R10 (1965-71), essentially the R8 with a (bad) nose job. But the 4CV family does not end here, far from it. Now come the Alpines and the specials…

The idea of using the extremely popular 4CV platform caught on petty quickly. This particular special was designed by Ghia and made by Chapron from 1954 to about 1956 and marketed by Autobleu, which was the equivalent of Abarth for the Renault 4CV. About 80 were made, including some cabriolets.

Marginally more successful and bodied in GRP by Brissonneau & Lotz, this handsome little drop-top was launched just as its main backer, racing driver Louis Rosier, died from crashing a Ferrari 750 Monza on the track. About 200 were made between 1957 and 1959.

Which leads us, logically, to the first Alpine. Still a 4CV in fancy dress, but this one had a little more appeal. The body, manufactured by Chappe & Gessalin from 1955, was genuinely light and Alpine very quickly proposed highly modified optional versions of the 4CV’s little engine (30hp and 43hp), improved suspension and a five-speed gearbox.

The A108 was the follow-up, launched in 1958 and graduating to the Dauphine’s 845cc engine.

From 1960, the A108’s nose was redesigned to improve its aerodynamics. Now, it’s starting to really look like an Alpine…

A lengthened version was also proposed, allowing for actual rear seats to be included. Not that this was very convincing – less than 100 of these were made between 1961 and 1965.

Then came the A110 (1962-77) – the real McCoy, for Alpine fans. Engines were bigger and performance vastly improved. The star product was the berlinette, but cabriolet and four-seater versions were still in the game, at least in the ‘60s.

It would take too long to go through the whole Alpine range one by one, so here’s the rest in one photo, with two A110 Berlinettes on the far side, the six-headlight A310 (1971-76) that still had a 4-cyl. engine in its tail, and, in the foreground, the A310 V6 (1977-84).

In 1966, Alpine produced about eight A210 prototypes for grand prix and endurance racing, using either 1.3 or 1.5 litre Renault Gordini engines. They won their class – both the 1.3 and the 1.5 at Le Mans in 1967.

We will close this massive 4CV-related portion of the tour with this thing, made by a Bordeaux-area mechanic and racing driver named Raymond Rispal. The body was made by a local coachbuilder on a 4CV platform; the engine was significantly revisited by Rispal himself, taking it to over twice its initial output. It won several races in its class in 1954-55, driven by its creator.

Next, we come to the Citroën flat-twin family. Not as sporty (or numerous) as the Renaut 4CV, but the little gray tin snail still had its descendants. We start at the beginning with the O.G., the one and only corrugated iron 2CV, seen here in regular and pickup flavours.

The first official Citroën derivative was the Ami 6 (1961-69), featuring a completely different and oh-so-peculiar body and a larger 600cc flat-twin. Then came the Dyane (1967-83), a failed attempt at killing the 2CV by keeping its worst traits and making it uglier.

Here’s one you may have missed: the UMAP, a GRP coupé made by Chappe & Gessalin (who bodied early Alpines) grafted onto a 2CV platform. The placard is wrong about the engine, which was either a 14hp 425cc, a 19hp 435cc or a 26hp 500cc, the latter two being non-standard, highly modified Citroën twins. About 50 units were made between 1957 and 1960.

Many Méhari-like vehicles that were produced around the world – in Vietnam, Guinea-Bissau, Senegal, Iran, Portugal… The Pony was made in Greece and was quite a little success, both at home and abroad, with over 30k units made from 1974 to 1984, when the power plant switched to a Ford Fiesta 4-cyl.

The 2CV was not the only air-cooled flat-twin in town, back in the ‘50s and ‘60s. Panhard’s twin was a different animal, more fragile but also far more performance-oriented. They were used in the marque’s own 4-door saloons, but had a far more interesting life in smaller contraptions…

Some, like the Junior (1952-56) were made by Panhard themselves. This odd but cheerful little roadster was a surprise hit for the marque: they were thinking of selling 500 and ended up making about ten times that number.

A very strange beast, this Marathon. The design was originally made by Hans Trippel, inspired by the earliest Porsches. A couple of French investors bought the Trippel design, modified it a lot, and put a Panhard twin in the back. An unknown (but doubtless tiny) number of these GRP-bodied cars were made by the Rosengart factory in 1953-55. Three are known to survive.

The most successful proponent of Panhard-powered sports cars was Deutsch-Bonnet, badged as D-B. A lot of these were raced, some by Bonnet himself. Charles Deutsch designed the bodies. Their collaboration stopped in 1962, with Bonnet taking over production and switching to Renault engines.

Deutsch, for his part, continued working with Panhard and designed the CD coupé, initially for racing with a special 700cc engine. But Panhard figured a small run of civilian variants could be viable, so a more fleshed-out 850cc version was launched in 1963, in 60hp Standard and 80hp “Rallye” trim. It was more of a racer than a cruiser, so only 180 units were made in two years.

René Bonnet, meanwhile, devised his own solution for high-performance racing on a shoestring budget. The answer was switching to Renault power and from FWD to a mid-engined layout. Not that the AéroDjet made much of an impact, racing results-wise…

In parallel with the mid-engined Djet, Bonnet kept the legacy D-B designs going for a couple of years. Still FWD, but with the Renault 4’s 4-cyl. engine instead of the Panhard twin.

Which leads us to the Matra section. René Bonnet’s Djet was the first mid-engined sports car, but it also cost a bundle to develop. By 1964, he had to find new investors, which came in the form of the French defence industry’s leading missile manufacturer. By 1966, Bonnet had been Djettisonned from the deal. In 1967, Matra launched their first in-house car, the M530 – now with a Ford V4 in the middle. They then teamed up with Simca, which became Talbot in 1980 when the Murena was launched. This was the last mid-engined Matra, and the last car they produced under their own name.

Let’s do the Peugeot RWD family, a welcome break from all those weird little machines we’ve had up to now. The 203 was the grand-daddy of it all: first Peugeot with a unit body, completely new engine and design: the postwar Pug was born in 1949. That black car is not a ’50 model, by the way – more of a ’58-59, in my opinion.

In 1955 came the 403 – the first Peugeot to feature Pininfarina’s input. Otherwise, it was a 203 with a bigger engine, though when said 203 was retired in 1960, its engine was recycled in a low-budget version of the newer car called the 403-Sept. That’s what the black saloon is.

Next came the 404, born in 1960. Engine capacity up to 1.6 litres, completely new front suspension, copy-and-paste Pininfarina styling (which is still better than most). The high-end coupé and cabriolet derivatives were now manufactured by PF as well.

No 504 saloon on display, but would you take two Pininfarina two-doors instead? Launched in 1968, the 504 was initially a 1.8 but soon made the jump to a full 2-litre and featured (on many but not all models) Peugeot’s first IRS. And the (in)famous PRV was first seen in the 504 coupé, back in 1974.

Simca grew to become the third (and some years second) biggest French carmaker by volume in the ‘50s. What with their extremely popular Aronde, the sexy derivatives of which included a hardtop coupé and the even fancier Facel-bodied Coupé de Ville, and their purchase of Ford’s local branch in 1954, what was once a minor Fiat assembly firm became a big company.

In 1958, Simca bought what remained of Talbot-Lago, mostly for the real estate. There were a few leftover chassis and bodies, so those were put together with Simca’s own ex-Ford flathead V8. Not an ideal solution, but Talbot had no more engines of their own, being reduced to purchasing BMW V8s (which they never actually paid, allegedly).

This is one of that handful of final Talbots, sold in 1959-60. A sad end to the last of the prewar grandes routières.

Jarring transition, but the French Isetta was actually built in the same factory as the car we just saw. Talbot rented part of their factory space to Velam from 1955 to 1958. These were sold in France, Belgium and Spain, but failed to gain traction. Between 5500 and 7000 units were made.

Even the creation and successful campaigning of a land speed record car did not persuade the masses to purchase the Velam. Crazy cool design on this one, though.

Another attempt at a Franco-Italian two-stroke two-seat minicar came in 1958 with the Vespa 400. It was more of a car than the Isetta, but still a tough sell when second-hand 4CVs and 2CVs were starting to be available in large numbers. Production stopped in 1961.

I give up – what is it? Looks like the Lambretta script on the front end, so it could be a Willam. But none of the ones I’ve looked up fit this exact shape.

This was far easier to identify: it’s a Mini-Comtesse, made by ACOMA from 1973 to 1979. It’s a single-seater three-wheeler FWD powered by a 50cc engine. This was arguably the first mass-produced voiture sans permis, i.e. cars for people without a driver’s license. Nowadays, that market has become rather large and is dominated by the likes of Axiam and Ligier.

Speaking of Ligier, here’s their other product. Bizarre to have a company that makes 50cc microcars and Formula 1 racers, but nothing in between.

I kinda skipped over the whole F1 room at this museum. But if those are your thing, I imagine there are few places in Europe with a more interesting collection.

This museum, by the way, was opened in 1991 by Michel Hommell. He was a racing driver originally, but soon got into publishing, launching several famous francophone automotive magazines from the late ‘60s onward. Circa 1990, he decided to try his hand at designing a car, mostly for himself and a few friends. Thus the Hommell Berlinette came to be in 1993.

Hommell set up a factory and a test track in Lohéac, next door to this museum, and started manufacturing his cars on a small scale. The public showed interest, so the initial run of a dozen or so Berlinettes had to be followed by a new batch, and then another, and so on. A drop-top Cabster variant was even mooted, but remained a prototype. Power came from a mid-mounted Peugeot 2-litre engine mated to a 6-speed gearbox.

In 1999, the facelifted Hommell RS was launched, followed in 2001 by the more powerful RS2. Production was put on indefinite hold in 2003, as costs were spiralling out of control.

In total, Hommell produced about 260 cars, including the couple of one-off roadsters seen in this museum. Personally, until taking these pictures, Hommells were machines I had only ever seen in (French) car magazines.

Another fairly recent French sports car marque was MVS Venturi. This is allegedly the very first one made, in what should be 1987. The engine was the ubiquitous PRV with a turbocharger, placed amidship. Venturi made 188 units of this particular model, but others followed until the company pulled out of the sports car game in 2000.

Let’s get back to the “family” concept I laboriously tried to introduce at the start of this post with the rear-engined Simca. The 1000 arrived in 1961 and was manufactured until 1978. Simca themselves made a number of variants, including the fire-breathing Rallye specials, of which the III was the spiciest.

The Simca 1000 platform was also used to add a touch of Italian glamour to the range, by way of the Bertone-styled 1000 Coupé (1963-67). In 1968, the dainty demoiselle was given a bigger engine, a front grille (the radiator had migrated there) and became the 1200 S – somewhat sportier, but still very pretty. The last ones were made in 1971.

GRP specialists Chappe & Gessalin wanted to launch their own sports car and did so in 1966. The backbone chassis was done in-house, but most of the mechanicals were of Simca origin, including the engine. Marketed under the CG brand, these little coupés (some convertibles were also made) had a fair amount of success. Alas, Simca had to chose between CG and Matra and picked the latter, so production stopped in 1974. About 400 cars were made.

The Renault that changed everything was the R4. This is its cheaper, very low-production R3 variant (1961-63), but the basic elements are the same: a water-cooled 4-cyl. engine driving the front wheels, torsion bar suspension that entailed a longer wheelbase on the right side of the car, and a hatchback.

The R5 (1972-84) was essentially a rebodied R4, something more appealing for the urbanite clientele of the ‘70s. And the ones who liked a little extra power could get the Alpine version, of course. The Turbo was a different animal: its engine was located right behind the front seats. But what a legend.

Gradually, all of Renault’s lineup became FWD. The Régie planned for a new large-ish family car, applied the R4 principles to it and out came the R16 in 1965. Nobody had ever thought of putting a hatch on a car in this segment, yet it worked. That particular car is a 1975-77 model, by the way.

Renault did not stick to the R4 formula too rigidly, though. For the R12 (1969-80), the hatch was not included, the rear wheels got a beam axle setup and the torsion bars were traded for coil springs. Didn’t harm the car’s success in any way, even in its Gordini guise.

What an insipid-looking thing the R14 was. Yet it wasn’t a bad car. It featured Renault’s first transverse engine, MacPherson struts up front and the R5’s torsion bars at the rear. Mix-n-match, lozenge style.

Woah! This isn’t the R18 I remember. How did they ever manage to stuff a V6 in there?

No idea why my camera decided to partially blur the car here. Maybe because it’s so fast? He he… Anyway, this is as close as Renault ever got to making an executive saloon in the same ball-park as Mercedes, BMW and Alfa Romeo, performance-wise. It has an AWD transmission and the top-notch leather interior as standard, but ended up being a bit too heavy (ad expensive) for its own good. Only 800 units were sold in 1993-95.

The front-drive Peugeot story starts with the adorable 204, which arrived perfectly formed in 1965 with a transverse all-alloy engine and, as per usual, tastefully restrained Pininfarina styling. The 204 was given a nose job and a slightly bigger engine in 1969 to create the 304, thereby assuming the role of FWD coupé/cabriolet variant as well. The 204 saloon and wagon carried on till 1976; the last 304 — the wagon — made it to 1980.

I was not aware that they raced 304s, back in the day. And in four-door form, as well. The dash is 100% stock, showing how old-fashioned Peugeot could be sometimes with that linear speedo and column shifter looking more like the early ‘60s than 1972.

With the 104 (1973-88), Peugeot went straight for Renault’s jugular in the supermini segment. This one is a bit special, though, being a 1980 coupé dressed to impress. The only representative of the -05 generation is, appropriately enough, a 205 GTI – Peugeot’s greatest hit of the ‘80s.

That leaves us with the big Hydro Citroëns to explore. Potentially, there could be a lot to see, but it seems Michel Hommell prefers Peugeots and rear-engined Renaults. We do have a DS, or rather a D Spécial with the 4-speed manual, i.e. the base model, mislabelled as a 1969 car when it’s clearly a ’72-73 model.

With the impressive number of Maseratis included in the museum’s display, the presence of at least one Citroën SM is not just expected, but necessary!

Last hydro Cit was this CX Prestige that used to belong to the proprietor of Ouest-France, the largest regional newspaper in, you guessed it, Western France.

Let’s end things on a high-class note with a few Facel-Végas. Here we have the smaller 4-cyl. Facellia models in chronological order, even if the placards don’t say so. The silver cabriolet is an early model car (1960-61), the middle F2B coupé is the improved/facelifted version, but still features Facel’s own 1.6 litre OHC engine (which was a major cause in the marque’s collapse). The Facellia III arrived in 1963 with a reassuringly bulletproof Volvo engine, plus a bit more room in the cabin for rear passengers.

Mesmerizing machines, these Excellences. The only French-made 4-door hardtop and Facel’s only saloon model – with suicide rear doors, too. Power came courtesy of a Chrysler V8. Around 150 of these gloriously over-the-top cars were made between 1958 and 1962.

Finally, the marque’s last big V8 coupé, the 1962-64 Facel II. Probably the sexiest of the bunch, certainly the fastest. About 180 made when Facel-Véga closed shop in late 1964. Tragic end, but at least they gave it their best shot.

That’s the end of the tour, folks. Hope it was as much fun for you as it was for me. Like any museum, the exhibits do change from time to time – there were no Lamborghinis when I was there, for instance, but other visitors have reported seeing several. Certainly worth a re-visit, if you’re ever in the area.