BOXY, CLUNKY—AND LOVABLE

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The club of Land Rover lovers stretches all the way round the globe. Paul Markillie compares notes ...

From INTELLIGENT LIFE Magazine, Summer 2010

Sometimes I have had enough and look down enviously at the person effortlessly overtaking, cosseted in leather seats, riding on a soft suspension and able to listen to a CD without a cacophony of clunks and rattles. This feeling has been building lately as I contemplate the future of my 14-year-old Land Rover Defender and its agricultural tendencies. This classic vehicle, born in 1948 from surplus aircraft aluminium bolted to a sturdy steel chassis, is coming to the end of the road.

Health and safety have done for it. The Defender, as the basic Land Rover has been called since 1990 to distinguish it from its fancier cousin the Discovery, is no longer sold in America because it does not have airbags. Its inward-facing rear seats have been outlawed in new models, so it is no longer possible to cram seven people into a short-wheelbase version and a dozen or so in the longer one. And by 2015 the latest model will fail to meet new European crash regulations, so production will cease.

Land Rover says it will produce a new model, although it may not be called the Defender. It will need extensive re-engineering to meet all the new rules and regulations. And that is a problem. The Defender may be boxy and basic, but coming up with a new model that retains anything like the character of the existing vehicle is going to be one of the toughest and most closely watched design jobs in the motor industry.

This is because the Defender is like an old Wellington boot: practical and durable without a hint of pretension, and very well loved. Adding style would turn it into a fashion accessory, and modernity turns it into a Discovery, which Land Rover already builds. And how do you design something that is classless? Turn up to a garden party in one and you could be the lord of the manor or the milkman. Such affection for a mud-splattered shabby old bus might seem quirky and British. But it is more than that.

Land Rovers, from the Defender to the earlier Series I, II and III models, have been sold in more than 150 countries. There was always one in Mike Ilsley’s family in South Africa and he drove them as a conscript in the army. Now an IT executive, living in Pretoria, he drives to work in his long-wheelbase Defender, fully equipped for safaris with a roof-mounted fold-up tent. He also has a 1963 model, which he rebuilt from a barn full of bits. “They have a character”, he says, “which attracts certain people.”

He likens it to the following that Harley-Davidson has with motorcycles that are individualistic and highly customisable. It’s the “Meccano-like feel of simplicity” that does it for him. And like many other owners around the world he wonders how a new model could achieve that when cars are now highly complex and full of electronics.

Around 8,000 miles away (a lot more if you were to go by Land Rover) is another Defender driver, Toshiharu Urabe. He uses his 1998 model for off-road excursions away from his home in Tokyo. What appeals to him is the Defender’s sheer durability. He also has a pair of Range Rovers, Land Rover’s even more upmarket cousins. Urabe teaches emergency management and Japan is prone to natural disasters like earthquakes and tsunamis, so that’s his excuse to own vehicles that can cope with wrecked roads, landslides and fallen trees. He positively likes driving in such conditions, having competed in Camel Trophy events on some of the world’s toughest roads. He can think of improvements, but “actually, my thought is the existing Defender concept is best.”

Another 5,000 miles away, to the south this time, is Neil Abbott of Auckland, New Zealand, who says he loves Land Rovers because they have “no pretensions whatsoever”. And a sense of fun. He drives a 2004 Defender 90, a 1969 Series II, and a 1965 Forward Control, a military derivative of a Land Rover he calls “fab” because it looks like something from “Thunderbirds”. Whichever one he uses, “people will smile and chat”. You don’t get that with a BMW.

Back in the northern hemisphere is Jean-Marc Roque, a Land Rover fan who lives in the Dordogne. His five-year-old Defender takes him on camping expeditions in France and to Scotland, Portugal, Spain and Morocco, and he also has a 1983 Series III. He has even taken his fiancée, Séverine, on a pilgrimage to the Land Rover factory in Solihull. “It was a super experience,” he insists. When they marry in July, Jean-Marc plans to remove the roof on the Series III and use it as their wedding car.

It is this universal love affair that makes Land Rover’s job so tough. It could produce a retro-looking Defender which sits on modern underpinnings, as BMW has successfully done with the Mini and Fiat with its new 500. But it may not work for many Land Rover enthusiasts. As Neil Abbott discovered, owners of older models will sit in a newish Defender and laugh at the heated seats.

For those who don’t like what eventually emerges from Solihull, there is an alternative. Land Rover reckons about two-thirds of all the Series and Defender vehicles built since 1948 are still on the road. With total production now nearing the 2m mark, there are still a lot of old ones out there. This has spawned an independent industry of parts suppliers and mechanics who diligently repair and rebuild them. My local member of that fraternity is Chris Bush, who fixes my Defender. He reckons that even though it has been driven the equivalent of six times around the world, with a bit of care and attention it is capable of doing the same again. That’s 300,000 miles in all. On the way, I will of course drop in on Mike, Toshiharu, Neil and Jean-Marc to continue the conversation.

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