You
expect one thing, you get another. Typically with classic British
sportscars you might predict lightness and a phenomenal chassis, but you
don’t necessarily put brutal power on the list. Think Lotus Elan or
Cortina, which are all about performance over power. Seeing a Marcos,
the first thought might be along those lines, expecting fantastic
handling to make up for small capacity up front. But, like TVR and even
Morgan, this Marcos represents the time when a British company went a
bit loopy and started throwing big, bluff V8s at their little cars.
Things got brutal, fast. And then the owner of this particular car
decided to make his brutally fast. This
beautiful 1985 Marcos Mantula is the result of a ground-up rebuild by
Martyn Phillips in the UK, who stripped the car down to its last nut and
bolt and remade it into this glorious example of all that is good and
proper about classic Brit metal. Lithe. Lightweight. Fast. Utterly
beautiful. It’s so low that you just trip over it, just 41.5 inches (one
metre!) high. There’s not a straight line to be seen from its acres of
long nose through its flowing flanks and high rump to the sloping tail. Then he strapped a 5-litre V8 in there. And the strangest thing is, that just seemed like the sensible thing to do. For
me, this Mantula is another step in the rediscovery of a great marque
that has disappeared from the public eye; another niche British classic
all but consigned to history. For Martyn, this car is something far more
important. It’s the culmination of a driving ambition that goes back to
his youth and pictures of Marcos cars stuck on his wall, picked from
brochures that he’d sent off for. It’s
also a fine example of what you can do when you set your mind to
something. Building this Marcos was a classic journey of discovery for
Martyn, a self-confessed enthusiast rather than expert builder, where he
found out just what he was capable of. It shows that dedication and
passion are commodities that you can’t put a value on. Why
choose a Marcos? They’re not something that everyone has heard of – but
they’re not easily forgotten once you’ve seen one. For some people it
could be a Countach on the wall, but for Martyn it was a Marcos – and
for a long time owning one seemed as likely as getting a Lamborghini… The
Marcos name was created in 1959 from conjoining the surnames of its
founders, Jem Marsh and Frank Costin. The latter had made his name
designing airplanes such as the legendary Mosquito for the De Havilland
aircraft company, and his know-how of wood monocoques led to the first
plywood-based Marcos sportscars. Kicking off with the 475kg Xylon GT
(yes, you read that number right), there then came the iconic 1800GT and then the snub-nosed Mini Marcos, a not very pretty but still somehow appealing aerodynamic take on the classic Mini platform. This
Mantula is one of a relatively rare breed. Only 170 were made as part
of Marcos’ second wind in the ’80s when it bounced back from its first
bout of bankruptcy (this is a British company after all, so engineering
always came before sensible book-keeping).
Based on the original
GT, the Mantula was just that little bit tighter in its design; more
modern looking, with more defined curves that further accentuated its
long lines. It also introduced a 3.5-litre Rover V8 as the roaring heart
of the new model. The Mantula went through various GT and other
variants before the bulging Mantis model superseded it in the ’90s, but
Martyn’s eye was fixed on the purity of the classic Marcos shape. Martyn
initially scratched his automotive itch via building a Jago Geep kit
car – but pesky Marcos kept cropping up at meets he attended. Although
not a kit car in the traditional sense, a large proportion of Marcos
were sold in kit form, both as a less expensive route to ownership and
to take advantage of various tax breaks. Martyn just couldn’t get away
from them, but would still have to be patient. Like, two decades-worth
of patient. An
MG Midget was his next long-term love, but then in 2008 the inevitable
happened after the result of something I’m sure most of us do: some
anything-but-innocent eBay trawling. Up popped this Mantula, in need of
both a quick sale and a lot of care and attention. The
Mantula’s then owner had the car in a mid-project state, partially
disassembled and taken off the road with a known – and major – issue
with the chassis rails, but was emigrating to Canada literally the next
week and couldn’t engineer a way to take it with him. The gateway to
dream Marcos ownership suddenly opened up for Martyn, and a short while
later a slightly tatty Mantula and a box of bits were sitting outside
his garage at home.
That must be when panic could have set in –
and maybe did a little. With the wafer-thin bodywork removed and
suspended from the garage roof, the wiring, bulkheads, ancillaries and
finally the running gear were all carefully extracted, leaving just the
Mantula’s simple box-steel frame. This is where optimism would only get
you so far.
CHAPTER TWO
Limited Space, Limited Time, Unlimited Dedication
Undaunted,
Martyn just got down to work. He’d previously taken a welding course at
night school, so bought himself a MIG welder, mugged up with a wiring
guide he’d downloaded, and got on with things. Sensibly, he put himself
under no pressure or self-imposed deadlines, and stuck to a methodical
approach. Over five years, and in a cramped single garage with limited
space and basic tools, the Mantula was reborn. It’s a salutary lesson
about putting quality time in to get a quality result out. From the moment Martyn picked up his new toy, he also kept a personal and incredibly detailed diary of the work involved on his personal blog.
Starting in March 2008, every milestone was recorded as the Mantula was
gradually dissected down to its component parts, before being
meticulously restored, rebuilt and refined. It’s a great read and
reinforces just how much effort was put in, not just in hard graft but
in tracking down suppliers and the right partners to help with key tasks
he couldn’t handle himself. Although
the bodywork was going to be relatively easy to patch up, being made of
woven glass mat, the chassis was a different matter. The protective
powder coating applied by the factory was always known to be a pretty
desultory affair, so the whole thing would need to be repaired and then
re-coated. Rotten sections were all cut out and new pieces let in;
Martyn also added additional bracing to further stiffen the car. A year
into the project the chassis was sent off to be zinc primed followed by a
double top coat of polyester powder coating, then finished in factory
blue. All the sub assemblies were also removed and dismantled,
shot-blasted and coated before being put back together. Alongside
getting his hands very dirty, Martyn also delved into the car’s
history. At first, the results were confusing and initial research ended
up down blind alleys: this seemed to be the car that didn’t exist…
Marcos Heritage Spares, who are the guardians of build sheets and
chassis details for pretty much every Marcos built, came up empty. There
was no chassis number. Where was this car from?
The story was
gradually revealed as he followed up leads and tracked down previous
owners. The car was obviously a competition model, as it featured a
factory-fitted FIA-spec roll-cage, used uber-thin bodywork and lacked
all the refinements that Marcos cabins usually had. This was a stripped
down racer, for sure. It
turns out that the Mantula was built in 1985 by the Marcos factory for
the Alexandra Palace Motor Show (the second year of coupé production)
but then handed over to Rover V8 engine specialist John Eales to settle
some financial wrangling. He then used it as an engine development
platform for almost a decade, campaigning it at various sprints sporting
light silver paint and a low rear spoiler. In
’96 the car was sold on and the new owner road-registered it; at this
stage it was assigned an age-related plate, as it was effectively built
up using new parts. The forward Perspex windows were replaced with glass
and electric side windows installed, though the lightweight rear screen
was kept. Through one final owner, who installed a new dual exhaust
system and custom alloy fuel tank, the story led to Martyn. The
condition was poor, but the potential of the car was joyful. It had
fully rose-jointed suspension; a ZF limited slip diff; a blueprinted
3.5-litre Rover V8 with twin SUs; Koni 8212 shocks and adjustable rear
anti roll bar; Girling 4-pot callipers with vented discs front and
oversize drums at the rear. Apparently even the shocks were special,
part of a lightweight series developed by Koni for the iconic six-wheeler Tyrrell Formula 1 car. Throughout
the build, Martyn was completely open to advice: he took advantage of
the support of the Marcos Owners Club and followed a number of other
rebuilds, whilst at the same time seeing more and more people follow his
own progress. He was getting contacts from all around the world, with
people asking questions or offering tips. Although he took on a great
portion of the work, there was no question about bringing in experts for
specific jobs. The
car has seen plenty of different engines over the years, but Martyn has
up-gunned it further. Early on in the project he bought a 5-litre,
cross-bolted Edelbrock short-block from V8 Developments, lighter and
more powerful than the Rover, which then sat in his poor daughter’s old
bedroom until the time was right to start on the engine bay. V8D then
got to work, stripping off swappable ancillaries from the Rover V8 and
adding their own Stage 3 heads, Edelbrock carb, a Stealth cam and
MegaJolt ignition. There
was no chance of using the archetypal circular air filter, but by luck
the straight-through would just fit in the natural bulge of the bonnet
created for the original engine setup. Despite the big engine, the
Mantula is thought to have pretty much perfect weight distribution
because of the block sitting low-down and quite a way back. Out
back, after trying out different options (including a four-pipe setup),
Martyn opted for the tidiest solution, routing twin pipes either side
of the centreline before bringing them back together into a single oval
tip.
FINAL CHAPTER
Paint, Polish, Performance & Presentation
One
important milestone was to get the car back on the road and settled
into its new form before starting on any finishing touches. Concerned
with the restored but fragile bodywork developing cracks or other
issues, Martyn ran the car in with a bare cabin for a very noisy and not
altogether comfortable 12 months. Only
then, confident that everything not just fitted together but would stay
together, and that no major issues would likely rear their head, the
Mantula was be prepared for its final flourish There was the option of
going completely off-piste with the colour, but Martyn decided to retain
a thread to its history and opted for a silver, albeit a much darker
shade. It’s actually a Mercedes colour, Palladium Silver. The split rims
were also returned to their gold shade, having been silver and gold
previously. Although
Martyn had a clear vision of how the car would be mechanically, the
interior was the one thing that came together late in the project.
The
cockpit had been a glass-fibre shell with vinyl seats and a ratty panel
holding back a vomit of cables, wires and brackets. Martyn started
afresh with a blank wood template and cleaned the whole fascia up to
give himself this clean and modern look. The dials had been hidden
behind the wheel, which made them basically useless, so moving them
centrally made perfect sense. The Marcos switchgear was a bit Victorian,
so Martyn took more modern, sturdy and appropriate looking units from
an MG. After
a lot of research and discussions with his trimmer, he opted for this
uncluttered, sleek cabin style finished in black leather and silver
diamond-stitch on the material elements. The dash top is finished in
Alcantara to reduce glare, and the cabin was sealed using Dynamat
Extreme proofing material to try and reduce the heat coming from both
the engine up front and the transmission tunnel that bisects the
cockpit.
During all this time Martyn had deliberately kept the car
out of the public gaze, wanting to wait until he was satisfied with the
result. Back in 2013, and with five years of graft put in, he was
ready, and the car took pride of place on the Marcos Owners Club stand
at the Classic Motor Show in the UK – which is where I first gawped at
it. Last
year saw Martyn gently refine his Mantula; little things here and there
as issues cropped up. The main thing was the headlight power: with the
original sealed units you might as well have a couple of candles mounted
out front, and after some near misses at junctions (remember just how
low and long this car is; a super loud horn helped in the short term)
Martyn upgraded the beams to halogen units. The
Mantula was also unleashed on a dyno. And immediately tried to leave it
in quite a startling way. Even heavily strapped down, the featherweight
car began to move about alarmingly as soon as the revs rose, and the
attempt was abandoned after at around 2,800rpm. The figure must be in
the 300hp range, which with 820kg to play with is positively volcanic. Being
practical in the wider sense is a more difficult, and perhaps
unachievable, goal for a car like this. It’s just not like any other
normal car you can drive on the road. Sure, it already looks so unique,
but it’s all about driving position and visibility combined with the
respect for what’s up front and what’s beneath you. Seats? There aren’t
any. The padding simply follows the contours of the car, so there’s no
adjustment. The pedal box comes to you…
Four-point Willans
harnesses hold you in place – so much that the handbrake is tough to
reach. Martyn now sees why a lot of people move the handle… You
don’t simply ‘get in’ to a Marcos. You more step down into it and then
slowly thread yourself into one of the narrow apertures either side of
the engine. It’s like a gym exercise. The bulky transmission tunnel
divides you from your co-pilot to such an extent that you can just about
see shoulders and above. Out
front, I have been in few cars that give that immediate sense of being
so low to the ground and so reclined that at first you constantly strain
your shoulders to try and see up, over and down the miles of bonnet
that stretch out ahead. You have to learn to relax into the position and
accept that what’s there is what you’ve got.
The power bulge in
the bonnet further reduces visibility, and the rear view is non
existent: but as ever, these are all things you quickly got used to –
though never becoming normal. The
Marcos a glorious thing to drive though, or even to be driven in. With
its long wheelbase and super low aspect it’s utterly planted through
corners, with the proviso being that you have to be incredibly careful
with your right foot: you can break traction in an instant. The V8
growls away up front, sounding unrefined in the most positive sense of
the word. It’s not tuned up to a thousand: it’s just a monstrous
American V8 in alien surroundings. There’s
a different track front to back, with the rear a little wider. Checking
the Revolution split rims in detail, Martyn realised that the wheels
were different sizes: but again not what you’d expect. It’s actually the
fronts that are wider, perhaps to compensate for the extra width of the
Atlas axle at the rear. What’s
next? Stopping being boiled alive is one thing. The seating (lying?)
position means that your lower half is right next to the full heat of
the big V8 and the expanse of sloped glass exposes your top half to the
full glare of the sun. Martyn has sensibly already cut in cockpit vents
and plumbed in piping, but needs to connect them up to the intakes at
the front. A small inline electric fan will back up the natural ram air
effect. The
engine sounds ferociously raw, but is being partially throttled by a
silencer. The issue is that the silencer presents the lowest part of the
car, meaning that getting anywhere in modern urban Britain, a place
embattled by speed bumps and poor roads, is not so much fun. A
smaller task is that having a single, cursory windscreen wiper means
that Rain-X is the fall-back for keeping any kind of visibility in the
wet. However, this is not really a car you want to take out on a damp,
slippery road surface, unless you like visiting hedges backwards at
speed. The
Marcos is one of those head-turning cars; something you just don’t see
every day, and one that Martyn has sensitively updated. His main issue
is now going to be avoiding any more of those ‘accidental’ eBay
searches; his mother-in-law worked for Jensen, and the idea of a
four-door project sounds all too appealing when mentioned…
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