Clark Gable, does that name ring a bell? In the 1930s, he's Hollywood's rising star. He hasn't shot "Gone with the Wind" yet, but he's already a playboy with impeccable style. Above all, he was one of the first famous customers of the young English marque Jensen Motors, founded in 1934 by two daring brothers. Around 1935, the American actor, having caught wind of their talent, asks them to build him a convertible on a Ford chassis with a V8 engine. That unexpected spotlight propels the Jensens onto the glorious road of car manufacturing. And it's worth noting that later on, plenty of stars will be seen behind the wheel of the Interceptor.
More than a century ago, back in the 1920s, brothers Alan and Richard Jensen were already drawing elegant bodywork in a small workshop in the Midlands. In 1934, upon the death of the founder of the coachbuilder W. J. Smith and Sons of West Bromwich, they take over the firm and establish Jensen Motors Ltd. They reject standardization and champion a craftsman's approach to their art, producing one-off models tailored to their clients' wishes. In the shadow of Bentley or Jaguar, the Jensens turn out cars with a solid reputation, refined design, and an affordable price. They work notably with Ford and export to the USA, where they get a fairly warm welcome. Back then, much like a tailor dressing a man, they elegantly clothe British or American chassis. Then, in 1939, the Second World War breaks out, putting a brake on the marque's creative drive. Like many manufacturers, they back His Majesty's war effort, taking up the production of ambulances and tank turrets.
Once peace returns, Jensen resumes normal business and launches a high-end saloon, the PW "Straight 8," with a Meadows inline-eight and a Moss gearbox. That engine, too fragile, is dropped in favor of an Austin six-cylinder. But the wrangling with that very same Austin, protecting its Sheerline, halts production. Jensen then gives up luxury coachbuilding to become a subcontractor, building among other things the bodies of the Austin-Healey 100. Creative and scrappy, the brothers roll out the very first "Interceptor" in 1949, a name synonymous with power and speed. This fastback coupe, finely detailed and designed by Eric Neale, is first fitted with a 4.0-liter Austin six-cylinder producing around 130 hp. This very first generation was reportedly built in just 88 units through 1957, in coupe and convertible versions. As the story goes, Canadian rally driver John Stricken even asks them to fit a Chrysler Hemi engine, prepared by Briggs Cunningham and capable of 250 hp. The Jensen brothers, knowing the chassis wouldn't hold up, had to reinforce it and heavily modify the car. But wasn't that, in the end, their core business? Custom work, made to measure.
Then one day, it's the Swedish marque Volvo that asks them to build its sports cars, pushing these small English craftsmen, somewhat against their will, into the industrial age. 6,000 units of the P1800 leave their workshops between 1961 and 1962 and prove to Alan and Richard that you can do volume while staying demanding. Jensen would become, at that point in its history, a showcase of English automotive expertise in a world rebuilding after WWII. The legendary Roger Moore, incidentally, plays "The Saint" behind the wheel of a P1800, back when Jensen was assembling the early series. Simon Dutton would replace him later, in the 1980s, at the wheel of a blue Interceptor.
The one we shot with Thierry, and the one we're going to talk about, is the most accomplished model in the family, the Mk III. The first version is unveiled at the London Motor Show, at Earls Court, in October 1966. The design is by Carrozzeria Touring of Milan, but lacking the technical capacity to produce it, the first bodies come out of Vignale in Turin, in steel rather than fiberglass. With Italian quality disappointing Jensen, assembly is brought back to West Bromwich as early as 1967. The engine, for its part, is borrowed from Chrysler in the USA, a big V8, thirsty but very sturdy. The chassis, along with the rest of the finishing, is of course British. The Interceptor blends Italian style, American muscle, and English craftsmanship. The producers of Fast and Furious wouldn't hesitate to customize one for the sixth installment of the long-running saga.
Jensen rolls out its Mk I then Mk II models, from 1966 to late 1971, when the first Mk III appears. Fitted with GKN alloy wheels, ventilated brakes, and central locking, it's the best-selling of all Jensens, with some 3,432 units through the end, in 1976. First equipped with a 383 ci engine, the engineers then go for a big 440 ci. Depending on the year, the Mk III changes its chassis prefix, G, H, then J. Thierry's, a 1973 model, is therefore a J-series, 440 ci, Saloon body.
At the same time as the Interceptor, in 1966, Jensen introduces the FF, Ferguson Formula, the world's first production car to adopt permanent all-wheel drive, and an ABS braking system, the Dunlop Maxaret, derived from aviation. Fourteen years before the Audi Quattro. At the time, a genuine technical feat. To tell the two models apart, just look for the double vent on the front wing that marks the FF. Its front end is stretched by 10 cm to house the transmission. Above all, the system encroaches on the cabin on the left side, so the Formula only ever existed in right-hand drive, cutting it off from the American market. All this technology further weighs down the car, already close to two tons, and its price soars by 30 percent. Though technically superior, the Ferguson Formula would remain commercially marginal. The very last FF Mk I, for its part, catches the eye of a well-known enthusiast, Mitch Mitchell, drummer of the Jimi Hendrix Experience, who has it painted a unique purple, a nod to Purple Haze. Hendrix himself drove it whenever he got the chance. Near-sighted and without a license, he would have felt right at home in this automatic with a big V8, at least according to Kathy Etchingham, his partner at the time.
In the end, the sky darkens for Jensen from 1975, and the company goes into survival mode, drawing down its stock. It files for bankruptcy in 1976. The last Interceptor leaves West Bromwich in September 1976, and 700 workers are laid off. The name is later revived on and off. The Interceptor is brought back in the mid-1980s in a very small series, the S4 with a Chrysler 360 engine, then the SV8 with an Audi V8 unveiled in the late 1990s, before one final bankruptcy in the early 2000s.
Today, the Interceptor is a sought-after GT, a grand tourer built for long distances and high-end travel. Rare, it won over Thierry Chave, an epicurean gentleman who has made cars his whole life. And as is often the case, it all starts with a childhood memory. Thierry first owned the Interceptor as a Dinky Toys model, in lemon yellow. He always loved it, that little car. So when the chance came, he didn't hesitate. For him, this car ticks every box.
"Rare, distinctive, a four-seat coupe with a big engine that pulls hard, automatic gearbox, leather everywhere, and of course air conditioning. Originally the car was Cherry red metallic. Then repainted canary yellow, then dark brown metallic with a beige vinyl top. I was quick to strip it off, to deal with the corrosion it was hiding, and because I can't stand the stuff! In the end I went for a light bronze from Lexus-Toyota, Oxide bronze metallic."
Imagine the rumble of that huge 7,212 cc lump when, happy as a kid, he turns the key. The spring sun, already hot for the season, sets the flawless bodywork ablaze with a thousand glints. We settle into the leather seats, stretch our legs, cameras on our laps, instantly wrapped in that scent unique to old cars. The electric window drops, elbow on the door, the wind rushes into the cabin. A dashboard packed with dials greets us, worthy of a flagship. Ah, those grand volumes! You'd think you were in a hushed cabaret of the seventies. Pretty incredible.
And off we go! We slip through the streets of the old town. Driven by the V8, the two tons glide over the asphalt, heading for the riverbanks, the industrial port of Bordeaux, and the winding roads made for the engine's rumble. A bit of a cliche, that image, but it's the honest truth. "Once you're settled into the seat, the driving position takes you by surprise, sitting all the way to the left, right against the door, far from the passenger." The very wide console, all leather and wood veneer, offers as an armrest a large storage box, also trimmed in leather, that locks with a key. "The moment you press the throttle, the surge is instant, a giant hand pushing you toward the horizon, with force and vigor, but no brutality." The sound recalls, and for good reason, the golden age of Uncle Sam's finest muscle cars. Spellbinding. The gearbox works through its three ratios with extreme smoothness, barely noticeable. Kick down, the lower gear engages at once and the car catapults you to the next. The chassis is rigorous, the very comfortable suspension soaks up the road's flaws with a smoothness worthy of the best English limousines. Roadholding is good, only the rigid rear axle on its leaf springs reminds you it's there, on very rough roads. Body roll is kept in check by the anti-roll bars. Braking, four big ventilated and assisted discs, inspires confidence right away. The rear seats stay tight, each with its own glovebox and ashtray. The trunk, of generous size, is an invitation to travel.
After that fine drive, back to the garage, and here we are surrounded by his collector vehicles, his 1936 MG TA, his Triumph Bonneville, his wood-bodied Austin Seven, and of course this 1973 Interceptor with the paint barely dry. And Thierry tells his story. He's a man who invites you to take your time. Time to settle into a club chair, to enjoy a glass of Chablis and a plate of Spanish ham, sliced thin on the machine. Go ahead, you too, drop a New Orleans jazz record on your turntable, and follow the guide.
In his garage, closer to a museum, his cherished treasures sit surrounded by countless objects picked up over the years. Retro lamps, a service Colt .45, a GTO grille, and of course his gentleman racer gear and leather helmet. Thierry shows us, with emotion, his first pair of driving goggles, a gift from his father, sitting among the tools and enamel signs. A hushed, very seventies mood, in his cosy corner scented with cigar smoke.
Born in 1956, he knew the great age of the automobile, that huge burst of creativity when carmakers moved faster than lawmakers. "Speeds on the roads weren't limited yet, few people drove, you could really do whatever you wanted! And besides, cars were a mark of good taste." Drawing on his cigar, he pictures himself as a boy, on those walks around Square Violet, in the 15th arrondissement of Paris. Before reaching the traditional green gates of French parks and gardens, he always passed that tiny RMA workshop, "réparations mécanique auto" (auto mechanical repairs). There, the smells of grease, oil, and gasoline washed over him. Fascinated too by that lift, long gone from garages now, a hydraulic model with a big central ram sunk into the ground, spinning 360 degrees with a soft hiss. Sixty-five years later, he still vividly remembers one of his first birthday presents, a Fiat 2300 estate, pale blue-mauve, black roof, red interior, white steering wheel. A Dinky Toys again, the collectors' brand. "So, as far back as I can remember, I always dreamed of working with cars."
After the usual early-career wanderings, the young enthusiast gets into the trade. He starts out as a salesman at Mercedes, then moves through a Volvo dealership. "Run by a former rally driver and a bookseller, the venture didn't last long. But I learned a lot." He would then climb the ranks, at Lancia and Jaguar, up to running dealerships. "Those were great years," he recalls, "until, all at once, without much warning, everything collapsed, with the recession and the oil shock of the early nineties." With his severance from Jaguar, Thierry treats himself to his first classic, an Oldsmobile 442 Cutlass, from the sixties, powerful and thirsty.
A few years later, close to retirement, Thierry launches "Chromes Automobiles," his import-export business for vintage American cars. Still based in the southwest of France, he quickly realizes the market leans more toward small British cars. Classier machines, with far less thirsty engines. "I was buying all the cars I'd dreamed of as a kid, basically!" And for ten years, Thierry has a field day. On the business side, the results don't match the commitment, but passion wins out and our gentleman has no regrets. "I'd invest in five or six cars, and sometimes I had to park one in my little downtown garden, much to the dismay of Anne, my wife." He imports cars in decent shape, needing only a light refresh, a respray, an interior, or some mechanical tuning. Once they're ready, he runs ads in the papers.
That work brings him into contact with figures from the classic scene, including his old friend from Pessac Automobiles, a second Thierry, Thierry Lafond, who introduces him to prewar cars. "For Chromes Automobiles, we often set off together to buy cars, wherever we sensed a good deal. He had this handy flatbed truck to haul them, and he was never short on good advice." Ah, yet another Thierry. And looking closer at Mr. Lafond, you realize his garage would make plenty of collectors turn pale. Wait, an Olive Green Porsche 911? To be continued.
In the meantime, from Frank Sinatra to Cher, from John Bonham, Led Zeppelin's drummer, to novelist Harold Robbins by way of actress Lynda Carter, the Jensen has always drawn a certain crowd. And now Thierry Chave, driving with a smile, following in the footsteps of legends from another era.
This article first appeared in speedarticle Post 008
