The Bentley Mark VI, when it was launched in 1946, was a small revolution for Rolls-Bentley. Not the chassis itself, which was almost identical to the stillborn Mark V of late 1939, but the fact that most Mark VI chassis were clad with the “standard steel sports saloon” body designed by Blatchley, devised by Rolls-Royce and made by Pressed Steel. This was the first time a Rolls-Bentley car came with a standard body.
But there were still many active coachbuilders around who could dress a Bentley with something a little more bespoke. Often, the rolling chassis would get a two-door coupé or convertible body – either a one-off, or as part of a very small batch of similar cars. A few Mark VIs were even bodied abroad, or as station wagons. Not that many got a four-door body like our CC.
We’ve been in this location a few times before, as some of you may have picked up. This is a tiny open garage under a house (and quite near mine) used as overflow parking by one of Tokyo’s most famous British classic car connoisseurs and dealers, Mr Kiyoharu Wakui. I always keep an eye on this parking space – it can lead to very nice surprises.
A few weeks later, the very same car was parked in front of Mr Wakui’s house. Which did help for interior shots, as the other place is kinda dark. But I digress. Let’s examine the Bentley’s particulars, first.
The Mark VI chassis was bang up to date for the mid-‘30s: it featured the marque’s first independent front suspension (with coils, as first seen on the Mark V), a live rear axle with leaf springs and hydraulically adjustable dampers. The brakes were servo-assisted, but still mixed – hydraulic up front, mechanical for the rear.
The engine was also a well-known quantity from, again, Rolls’ prewar stable: a 4257cc straight-6 with an F-head (a.k.a inlet over exhaust) providing an unknown but “sufficient” amount of power to the rear wheels via a 4-speed manual gearbox.
For some reason, RHD cars like the one we’re looking at had twin SU carbs, whereas LHD cars had a single Stromberg – why? Your guess is as good as mine. From MY 1951, the engine grew to 4.6 litres, but our feature car is a ’50 model.
So that’s the chassis we’re dealing with. Again, perfectly good for the ‘30s – still acceptable in the early ‘50s. To keep that prewar zeitgeist alive, the obligatory thing was to get the chassis only and shop around for a body.
Indulge my avowed passion for classic coachbuilding as we ponder the many options available. Clockwise from top left: VandenPlas, James Young, Abbott, Windovers, Hooper, Rippon, Gurney Nutting…
…Park Ward, Harold Radford, James Young (again), Abbott (again), David Joel, Freestone & Webb… And that’s just in the UK. Some folks wanted their Mark VI with a more continental look.
Still clockwise from top left, we have Facel (France), Worblaufen (Switzerland), Franay (France), Ghia (Italy), Graber (Switzerland) and Pininfarina (Italy).
But no. Whoever bought this chassis back in 1950 chose to get a body from H.J. Mulliner – the Bentley clients’ most popular choice for external coachwork, beating even Rolls-Bentley’s own in-house coachbuilder, Park Ward. Over 300 Mark VI chassis were bodied by this H.J. Mulliner, i.e. about a third of all special-made Bentleys between 1946 and 1953.
But which body should one pick? A classic razor edge saloon? A classy close-coupled coupé? A modern fastback sedanet? A surprising pontoon four-door? A sexy drophead coupé? Or just something completely different? H.J. Mulliner were only too happy to oblige.
Our well-heeled automotive gourmand picked the “lightweight” sports saloon and must have paid quite a packet for it. Eventually, the Bentley would have been sold off and advertised in specialist publications like this 1958. I’m surmising this could be the same car – there weren’t more than a dozen made that particular year, probably. And this one’s colour seems to match, except for the bonnet, which is now black.
This design evolved over time: here’s what a late Mark VI “lightweight sports saloon” from H.J. Mulliner looked like from 1951 onward, with more integrated fenders. The greenhouse looks the same, though. And as this Autocar feature makes clear, the lightness expressed here, while not evident in design, is true of the car’s construction. At least, the metal bits.
What was decidedly not lightweight was the cost: in 1952, a standard steel saloon (above) set you back £3674, whereas the Mulliner four-door was north of £5100 and could go quite a bit higher, depending on desires and optional extras.
Let’s take a gander at what is behind these aluminium doors and plunge into a world of unrepentant decadence then, shall we?
Nice club atmosphere. The A-pillar looks incredibly thin, making this interior quite a bit airier than expected. I am a little surprised at the rather plain nature of the upholstery. I’m sure it’s top-quality leather, but just having it like that, unquilted? Again, very prewar. Just like the controls on the steering wheel hub. The obligatory retrofitted A/C unit is tastefully concealed…
That’s the spot, right there. That’s where you want to be in a Bentley Mark VI, especially a coachbuilt saloon. Vive la ploutocratie! Home, James, if you please. And don’t crush too many peasants.
Bentley sold about 4000 of the 4.3 litre Mark VI (1946-50) and over 1200 of the 4.6 (1951-53); just over 1000 cars got a body that was not the standard steel saloon. The issue with this particular one, I feel, is that you really have to know your onions about Bentleys in general and Mark VIs in particular to immediately tell it’s a coachbuilt car.
Nor is it immediately evident that it’s a ‘50s car. As in fact, it’s really prewar. Except, you know, in when it was built. Old world chic, when done by experts, is beyond mere considerations like temporality.
With the relieving exceptions of the Facel, the Graber and the Pininfarina, the collection of specials looks like the portraits hanging in some mouldering country house hall, each visage a bigger horror than the one next to it, as if the entire aristocratic line was not merely inbred but involved in unseemly ways with knackered horses, buck-toothed dogs, and possibly jabberwockys.
The Standard Steal was itself no oil painting, but at least it kept itself upright and plain. Perhaps something of a mobile painted wardrobe of the plainer sort, lots of timber inside and good for keeping one’s clothes dry, but unlikely to frighten small servants.
As the author states, one would really have to know one’s HJ Windyover from one’s Nutty-Gurney and which schools they attended to know this Japanese PG Wodehouse edition from the one knitted together by the ancient doffed caps crafting at the factory, though perhaps that was the point: if one didn’t know – and I am one such – then one was not one of them.
Upon due consideration of the lineage, I am personally rather glad of that.
“For some reason, RHD cars like the one we’re looking at had twin SU carbs, whereas LHD cars had a single Stromberg – why?”
Could it be steering shaft interference?
I like it very much, although I would have insisted on the hinged badge bar for access to the crank hole as shown in the Autocar piece.
Talking to the owner of a standard saloon it seems his biggest headache was finding a set of Whitworth tools to use. The ones that came with the car had disappeared years ago, new ones are apparently not made, and he was reduced to renting them by the day at some astronomical price. The car itself was almost a beater and not otherwise expensive to own, but alas…
These cars of course looked incredibly old-fashioned in the 1950’s, but with the passage of time the thoughtfulness and intent of the lines can become apparent (The Messrs. Windovers’ offering being the exception). It was a design direction that died out, but it had its moments.
What a beauty ! .
Whitworth tools are certainly still made and sold, Moss Motors and other prewar British vehicle spares shops all sell them .
Not for everyone but I have fond memories of riding around the greater Boston area in Pop’s 1937 Bentley St. James Coupe in the late 50’s ~ mid 60’s, in 1969 (+/-) my idiot middle brother ruined it by leaving the engine filled with tap water (aluminum head) in January in Rochester, New York, a hole popped out in the cylinder head and they scrapped the car dammit .
-Nate
Good to know. I was going by what the owner of the car told me. I’m not in the market for Whitworth tools myself. 🙂
” … my idiot middle brother ruined it by leaving the engine filled with tap water (aluminum head) in January in Rochester, New York, a hole popped out in the cylinder head and they scrapped the car dammit .”
Did they shoot him for that – or at least disinherit him?