Triumph: The People's Champion

There have always been British sports cars for the wealthy, the landed gentry, and the raffish playboy. But what if you were a junior accountant or a young schoolteacher with a craving for wind-in-the-hair motoring and a bank account that was more drizzle than deluge? For you, for decades, there was Triumph. More than any other company, Triumph was the people's champion of the sports car world. It built cars that were handsome, fast, a little bit raw, and, most importantly, attainable. A Triumph wasn't a car you dreamed of owning one day; it was the car you could actually go out and buy on Saturday, and for that, it deserves a special place in heaven.

The company was started in Coventry, not by a Brit, but by a German immigrant named Siegfried Bettmann, who initially imported bicycles before building his own, and then, in 1902, motorcycles. Triumph motorcycles quickly became world-famous for their quality and performance. The car side of the business came later, and in the 1930s, it hit a pre-war high with the magnificent Triumph Dolomite, a beautiful and advanced car designed with the help of the great Donald Healey. But the Second World War wrecked the company, and by 1945, it was bankrupt.

Rebirth and the Hairy-Chested TRs

Triumph was rescued from the rubble by the Standard Motor Company, who saw the power of the historic name. Their first mission was to create a new sports car to take on the hugely successful MG in the booming American market. The result, after a slightly wobbly prototype, was the 1953 Triumph TR2. It was a masterpiece. It was a rugged, no-nonsense, and brutally effective sports car. With its tough, tractor-derived 2-litre engine, it could do 100 mph, cost less than a Jaguar, and was practically indestructible.

This was the beginning of the legendary TR dynasty. For the next two decades, the TRs, from the TR2 and TR3 with their cutaway doors, to the beautifully squared-off, Michelotti-styled TR4, and the smooth, six-cylinder TR5 and TR6, were the very definition of the British sports car. They were a bit crude, they were very loud, and they offered more performance-per-pound than almost anything else on the road. The TRs were a colossal success, particularly in America, where they became the go-to car for amateur racers and anyone who wanted a proper, hairy-chested driving experience.

A Touch of Italian Style

While the TRs were busy conquering the sports car world, Triumph was also revolutionising the humble family car. In the late 1950s, they hired a brilliant Italian designer named Giovanni Michelotti to style their entire range. The result was a string of handsome, clever, and often innovative cars. The 1959 Triumph Herald was a small saloon built on a separate chassis, which made it cheap to produce in different body styles, including a pretty convertible.

This was followed by the Spitfire, a brilliant piece of product planning. It was a small, beautiful two-seater sports car, styled by Michelotti to look like a baby Ferrari, but built using the humble, cheap mechanicals of the Herald saloon. It was a direct and hugely successful rival to the MG Midget, and it brought stylish, open-topped motoring to hundreds of thousands of people.

The Magnificent, Flawed Stag

In 1970, Triumph launched its most ambitious car ever: the Stag. It was a gorgeous, four-seater convertible grand tourer, styled once again by Michelotti. It was designed to be a comfortable, sophisticated car for the successful executive. And it had its own, brand-new, 3.0-litre V8 engine. On paper, it was a world-beater, a British Mercedes SL.

In reality, it was a magnificent, tragic failure. The new Triumph V8 engine was notoriously, catastrophically unreliable. It had a habit of overheating and warping its cylinder heads with a depressing regularity. The Stag was a brilliant idea, a beautiful car let down by a single, fatal flaw in its engine design. It became a symbol of the promise and the ultimate frustration of the company that built it.

The Wedge and the End

By now, Triumph, like almost every other British car maker, was part of the ever-expanding, ever-sinking ship that was British Leyland. The brand was starved of cash, and the famous Triumph ingenuity was being crushed by corporate incompetence. The final, sad chapter in the Triumph sports car story was the 1975 TR7. In a complete break with tradition, it was a hard-topped, wedge-shaped coupe that looked like a slice of cheese. It was nicknamed "the shape of things to come," which was unfortunate, as things to come in the British car industry were mostly strikes and factory closures.

The TR7 was actually not a bad car, but it was built with the famously shoddy quality of the British Leyland era, and its radical styling alienated the traditional TR buyers. A V8-powered version, the TR8, was a brutish, exciting machine, but it was too little, too late. The sports car that had been designed to save the company became its tombstone.

In 1981, the last TR7 was built, and the great Triumph sports car story was over. The name was kept alive for a few more years, slapped on the boot of a rebadged Honda called the Acclaim. In 1984, the Triumph name was retired for good. It was a sad end for a brand that had brought so much noise, fun, and excitement to so many people for so long.