Auntie makes a comeback: Rover 75
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fter years of under-investment in the bosom of British Aerospace, life as the UK division of BMW became something of a culture shock for the managers, designers and production-line workers of Rover. Far from a cost-cutting, German shroud being lowered over Longbridge, Cowley and Canley, the company was suddenly placed in a position where budgetary constraints were a thing of the past, and managers did not spend their whole time financially scrutinising every request from the creative departments. BMW CEO, Bernd Pischetsrieder, made it very clear to the press from the beginning of BMW’s tenure of Rover that BMW had complete trust in the UK company’s ability to produce exciting and desirable cars without any German interference.

In the wider world this view was met with a degree of scepticism, but Pischetsrieder was true to his word – and from February 1994, BMW’s only tangible involvement with Rover was to provide a much-increased amount of investment.

Rover’s new model plans at the time of the BMW takeover were to a degree rather dependent on Honda – and this was most obvious in the make-up of the two mainstream “portfolio” models, the HHR and the R3. The MGF was refreshingly British, but it was also a fringe model, which was developed as much by the UK’s specialist producers as it was by Rover Special Products.

With the small/medium range due for launch in 1995, there would be no immediate rush to embark on their replacement – the main focus would be on the replacement of the aged 800 and, surprisingly, the comparatively fresh 600. Both models relied to varying degrees on Honda licensing agreements, and although the Rover 600 was a young and good-looking car, it cost BMW dear to produce. As far as BMW’s management were concerned – and Bernd Pischetsrieder in particular – it was clear that a large car should be the first Rover product of the financially re-invigorated company.

From late 1993, Richard Woolley had already been working on a model to replace the 800. Basically, the new car was conceived as a re-bodied version of the existing car, but enjoyed a more fluid look that evolved the styling theme that had started with the acclaimed Rover 600 model. Although the plan made sense in a typical Rover “loaves and fishes” kind of way, it would have left the company with the unenviable task of further developing the rather wooden Rover 800 chassis in order to compete with future rivals. Funnily enough, while it may have seemed that there was little hope of honing the Rover 800 into a fine-handling sporting executive, the backroom boys proved that the task was not beyond them by producing the fine-handling Rover 800 Vitesse Sport, introduced in 1994.

When BMW entered the fray, therefore, preliminary development of the 800’s replacement had already commenced.

Of course, given the position of the new management in relation to Honda, the desirable situation for them was to drop the Rover 600 as soon as possible, because apart from anything else, if Rover were to return to the US market, they would be unable to do so with their best large car in years – thanks to Honda’s restrictive licensing agreement. That being the case, the focus of the Rover 800 replacement was soon shifted to become an 800 and 600 replacement – spanning both sectors. Cynics would say that the plan was hatched thus in order that Rover’s new car could be positioned in between BMW’s 5- and 3-series models – and in part that was true – but it also allowed Rover to slim down their range of individual platforms by one. There was also a degree of logic in this: the Rover 800 and 600 models were actually rather similar in size, and the only real distinction between the two in the 800’s favour was the fact that it offered a V6 version. Given that Rover’s KV6 engine was moving towards completion, it made sense that this range of engines should form the mainstay of the new car – allowing further cutting of Honda’s apron strings.

Development of the new car, initially dubbed the RD1, was given the go-ahead by BMW top brass in the closing months of 1994 (surprisingly, once the Mini replacement was underway) and Rover were soon working on the engineering for the new car.

Because Rover were given a free hand in the earlier stages of the design programme, it comes as no surprise that Richard Woolley’s design was adopted almost entirely without modification. As Woolley himself stated at the time of the car’s launch in 1998, “There was only ever one design, one clay model and one glassfibre model. The production car is completely faithful to the finished clay. Everyone in the design studio wanted to see the first ‘reveal’. The reaction was instant and unequivocal – the spontaneous applause of the studio staff told us all we needed to know. Their entire work is concerned with the way things look, and experience proves that we can trust their collective judgement.” In the times of design-by-committee, this made a most refreshing change.

The early clay model of the RD1 also so impressed Rover and BMW’s upper management when presented to them that there was no need to tinker with what was essentially a superb styling effort.

Unlike the exterior, which was a clear and focused design effort from day one, the interior – more precisely, the dashboard – was the subject of some soul searching. Two schools of thought emerged from the design process: the first being what was essentially, an updating of the classic design, which graced Rovers up to the P6 in 1963 (and would have proved somewhat akin to the design that graced the later Jaguar XK8) – and the second, something more radical, which was based on the idea that modern design could meet traditional materials and construction methods. The two designs progressed on their parallel ways in at the Rover styling studios – and the separate themes developed right up to the point of their unveiling to Rover and BMW’s upper management. It was certainly a “heart versus head” situation and Chief Interior Designer, Wyn Thomas described the situation thus, “…after agonising right up to the day of the presentation, the heart won, and so did the more radical theme. It is thoroughly modern, yet also thoroughly Rover in its friendly and comfortable ambience. Although we were making a bold new design statement, we were also determined to make this an interior that was really good to live with in the long term.”

With the radical design proposal – that was rapidly approved by management – came radical thinking on how the structure of the dash could incorporate high-quality, traditional materials. It was formed from a single-piece moulding that unlike many rivals, was covered by soft-feel plastics all over – Wyn Thomas stated that he was less than happy with the opposition, which in all cases, used quality plastics only at the top of the dash, where they were most obvious. The dashboard's wood was used in a rather ingenious way, as Wyn Thomas explained: “We wanted to return to the idea of wood being an integral part of the dashboard structure, rather than applied decoration. That is why we have three large sections of the main dashboard, carrying items such as the clock and the air vents, crafted in the finest burr walnut veneer with high gloss lacquer. We did consider alternative treatments, including metallic finishes, or straight grain and matt finished wood veneers, but nothing approached the richness and warmth of the chosen wood. We also considered it essential that it should be standard on every Rover 75 model – it would not have been right to have a visually cost-reduced version.”

Once the design of the new car was all-but frozen, and the minutiae of the engineering solutions were being developed, the project was given a new codename: R40. As one insider, privy to many of the engineering programmes within the company stated, “project codes tended to change too frequently – it is important never to read too much into these re-titling exercises”.

In terms of engineering, now that there were no budgetary constraints, Rover pulled out all the stops when it came to body-in-white design. The single most important aspect of its design was to achieve the highest level of structural rigidity possible. The reasoning behind this was quite simple: crash performance and passive safety could be extremely tightly controlled, but more importantly from the driver’s perspective, with a stiffer hull, the handling of the car would be more accurate because there would be less of the negative effects of body flex to add to the equation. It was a policy that had served BMW extremely well in the past and would prove to have the same benefits for Rover – especially given the fact that the Rover 75 emerged even stiffer than its in-house rival. Of course, BMC in the past had produced the phenomenally stiff ADO17, but in later years, these ideals had become watered down by subsequent cost-cutting measures and changes in priority (Honda never considered body rigidity to be that important).

The requirement for body stiffness would be the reason for the large transmission tunnel and structural cross-member under the bonnet. Many elements of the motoring press concluded that the “transmission tunnel” belied the fact that the R40’s floorpan was, in fact, an adapted version that of BMW’s 5-Series. According to one insider, this was never more than an unfounded rumour. The cost of adapting the rear-wheel drive BMW’s floorpan for a front-wheel drive Rover would have been prohibitive, if not somewhat pointless. However, the large transmission tunnel would allow relatively easy conversion to rear wheel drive (barring the lack of space for a rear differential) – and that would prove somewhat fortuitous in later years…

Suspension design also followed the carte blanche principle which had been applied to the interior, exterior and structural design. Up front, where previous “Ro-ndas” had increasingly come to rely upon wishbone set-ups imposed upon them by Rover's Japanese partners, there was no question that the R40 would employ anything but a McPherson strut layout. The engine/gearbox/suspension package would also benefit from the inclusion of a perimeter-type front subframe – lessons learned in the past concluded that the benefits afforded by a subframe (insulation from road and powertrain noise) outweighed the extra weight of such a set-up.

Where BMW and Rover were at variance was in what constituted the ideal rear suspension set-up. During the early stages of R40 development, BMW had been strictly a “hands-off” master to Rover, but over time, the Germans became increasingly influential in moving the programme along. In PR-speak terms, this change of policy resulted in “considerable research and debate”, but what it actually meant was that the once-harmonious R40 programme began to suffer delays. It could be said that the tradional culture at Rover had been one of crisis management and budget-watching – now freed from such constraints, it was almost as if the engineers did not know what to do. Certainly, Rover investigated many rear suspension set-ups before BMW stepped in and imposed their Z-axle arrangement, first seen in the BMW Z1 roadster but popularised in their then-current 3-series model.

Fully loaded 75 dashboard indeed displays a wonderful mixture of traditional materials and advanced design – the wood was also more than decorative!

Much development work ensued, adapting the arrangement to work on a front-wheel drive car, and the British engineers honed the system to such an extent that it worked beautifully when married to the pillow-soft suspension settings chosen for the production version. When BMW began to exert their influence on the R40 programme, it became clear that they possessed clear ideas as to how the car would ride and handle.

The BMW range of cars had established themselves as being the “ultimate driving machines” – steering sweetly, cornering crisply, and above all possessing those quasi-sporting qualities that keen drivers so love – and that the motoring press sometimes go overboard on. This reputation, earned over two decades of sustained success, was a formidable one – and something that would be difficult to emulate in their British offshoot. However, Rover did need a definitive set of brand values – and BMW were keen to accelerate that process as quickly as possible. BMW needed to ensure that Rover began to move rapidly towards possessing its own strong brand values, whilst not competing directly with their own products – not an easy feat considering the fact that up to the point of the takeover, Rover aspired to meeting BMW head-on in the marketplace. So, BMW developed a new direction for Rover – playing on an ideal that was already present in Rover’s products in an embryonic form: that of the “olde worlde” gentleman’s car. What this ultimately meant for Rover was that, like it or not, they were to become a manufacturer of cosseting cars – vehicles that possessed a uniquely “English” character (even though no-one could easily define what that actually meant) – and as such, they were to have a warm interior ambience and soft, yielding suspension.

As in all strategy decisions, the first tangible results would be seen in promotional campaigns – and the rather questionable, “Relax – it’s a Rover” slogan was soon attached to the company’s adverts.

The Rover 75 received a fair amount of criticism for being a little cramped in the rear, but one has to say that in terms of ambience, there was little in the class to touch it. The style of the seats bears a deliberate resemblance to the those Rover P6.

What this meant for the R40 programme was that the chassis settings were tuned (rather like the 400's had been before it, but obviously more successfully) to major on comfort. David Linley, Rover’s chief chassis engineer at the time of the launch of the 75, was quoted as saying: “The Rover 75 can travel as quickly on demanding roads as an overtly sporting saloon, but does so in a thoroughly refined and relaxed way”. The question as to whether this emphasis on a relaxing drive was the correct direction for Rover to take would be answered soon after the launch of the 75.

Increased tensions between Rover and BMW would affect the latter stages of the R40’s development: the problem came with the fact that Rover tended to develop a car one way, whereas BMW favoured another – and because BMW were in charge, they would end up imposing their will on the British company. The fact that BMW were now operating as project masters meant that the final stages of the R40’s test and development programme would be scrutinized.

Cutaway clearly shows the transverse power unit (the KV6 in this case) and Z-Axle rear suspension arrangement. Clearly, this was also the most impressive Rover yet in passive safety tests, being in possession of a stiff shell and up-to-the-minute safety kit.

An example of this variance in philosophy was BMW’s instance late in the programme that Rover should redesign the sunroof aperture of the R40, as there was a visible seam. In terms of development resources, the extra time and finance to effect this change (several months and over £1 million, not to mention an entirely new roof panel) were seen by Rover as being wasted – but BMW were insistent about this seemingly insignificant detail. The whys and wherefores of whether BMW or Rover was correct on this issue are less than clear-cut, however: on the one hand, Rover justifiably felt happy about allowing the design to make production with this compromise, whereas on the other, BMW with their obsessive attention to detail felt that this was not right at all – perceived quality could be affected and that was an absolutely fundamental part of the BMW marque’s core values.

In reality, neither party was entirely wrong or right – Rover were keen on cost engineering, BMW had no such constraints.

The end result: delays and further mutual suspicion between Rover and BMW. However, one happy benefit of the increased development budget was the fact that the R40 was a remarkably well-tested car prior to its launch. Many prototypes were built and test drivers clocked up millions of development miles in places as diverse as the USA and Germany’s ex-GP circuit, the fearsome Nurburgring.

This did not stop BMW meddling with the introduction of the new car: the plan had always been for the R40 to make its world debut at the Geneva Motor Show in the spring of 1999, but with very little notice, BMW forced the unveiling of the car to take place at the British Motor Show at Birmingham in the autumn of 1998. BMW were keen to show their new model to the world, and the idea of a UK launch was a very appealing one. However, this moving forward of the launch date had the rather negative effect of creating a delay of several months between the unveiling and the general release to the public. What made things worse was that the press were soon reporting that the Rover 75 had been delayed due to a raft of quality problems. The truth of the situation was of course, that there were no delays, and the company was suffering from a case of premature launch syndrome – something from which the MINI had also suffered, following its presentation at Geneva in 1997.

If bringing the launch of the Rover 75 forward had proved to be a questionable decision, it paled into insignificance compared with the monumental faux pas committed by Bernd Pischetsrieder himself!

The 1998 Birmingham motor show had marked the arrival of two very significant British cars: the Rover 75 and the Jaguar S-Type; and although, strictly speaking, these cars were not rivals, they were viewed alongside each other in a comparative light, and were certainly vying for the limelight. In that context, the Rover 75 had come off very well indeed. Whereas, there had been a mild sense of disappointment at what was seen as the Jaguar’s contrived styling, the Rover had been greeted with almost unanimous praise. Richard Woolley’s handling of the new car’s styling was considered masterful, combining retro detailing with a progressive yet advanced body shape. The mechanical make-up of the car had also been deemed extremely promising – the 1.8-litre K-series engine was considered a suitable entry level power unit, but understandably most media attention was fixed on the KV6 engine, now available in 2.0 as well as 2.5-litre versions – and now a full-time production power unit, as opposed to the almost hand-built version found in the Rover 800. So, the Motor Show launch of the Rover 75 had passed off exceptionally well – Rover executives throughout the NEC were bullish in outlook and basking in the praise coming their way.

However, Pischetsrieder, was in no mood to woo the world’s press at the launch of the Rover 75 – he was still smarting from the effects of the Pound’s strength in relation to the Deutschmark, and the Government’s procrastination over the state subsidy that BMW had asked for to assist with the renovation of Longbridge. As with all new model launches, a press conference had been planned – to be led by Pischetsrieder – to announce the new model. It was scheduled for 4pm, but this time came and went, while the BMW CEO and Rover’s BMW-appointed chairman Walter Hasselkus sat together in deep discussion. Obviously, this was going to be no ordinary press launch by the proud boss!

At 4:30, Pischetsrieder finally stood up and addressed the assembled journalists. He pulled no punches – essentially Rover was in the midst of a deep crisis and drastic action would be needed in order to safeguard production at Longbridge. “Short-term actions are required for the long-term future of the Rover Group”, he stated. “Talks are taking place with the British Government about the whole problem.”

It was a stark announcement to make – and if nothing else, it completely undermined all the good work achieved by the engineers, designers and craftsmen in the Midlands, by overshadowing the launch of the car and highlighting the troubles of Rover. Autocar’s Steve Cropley summed up the feelings of the assembled press perfectly: “…we were all a bit stunned, both by the content and timing of what Bernd Pischetsrieder said. We had all been feeling pretty enthusiastic about the 75 and the unveiling had gone well. Huge crowds, lots of applause. And the car did, quite genuinely, look very pretty and right for the job. Unlike some BL/BLMC/AR creations of the past, it had absolutely nothing to apologise for. So it seemed bizarre, even grotesque, that the company's top man should choose to undermine the moment so thoroughly. He deflected the media from praising the car the way they would naturally have done, deflated the workforce who must have been on a high, and introduced a degree of buyer uncertainty that could have been avoided.” An insider put it in more stark terms when recounting the effects it had on the morale of the Rover staff at the time: “The reaction inside the company was simple, gob-smacked amazement, followed rapidly by panic. Some clay modellers from the Gaydon design studios left that week (convinced that shutdown was days away); as there is always a European shortage of their skill, they can more or less move wherever they like. That Pischetsrieder press conference was possibly the most ill-advised and expensive in history.”

Using the launch of a vital new product to publicly question the viability of a factory (and one that the new model was not even planned to built in!) was unprecedented within the industry – and essentially a huge error of judgement to make. So the newspapers and magazines of the following few days carried stories of “Rover in crisis” rather than “Rover’s brilliant new executive car”. OK, so Pischetsrieder was frustrated by the entire situation, but if anything, he had done more damage to Rover by this one ill-considered speech than he could have possibly imagined in his worse nightmares.

PR-blunder aside, the press warmly received the Rover 75 when they finally did get their hands on it in the following weeks – without doubt, it was a huge leap over the 800 in just about every area. The sense of relief in the press was almost a tangible thing – once again, Rover had managed to get it right. Autocar magazine summed up the achievement made by the chassis engineers as follows: “In some areas, the 75 is quite brilliant. The ride quality, for example, is truly astounding, particularly at low speeds. Interior noise insulation has also reached a new level with this car. Rover can therefore justifiably claim to have created the most refined car in the class. It can also be proud of the manner in which it managed to create a distinctive and clear cut identity for the 75 without it feeling contrived or overdone.” Steve Cropley went further, however: “It is also a car whose suspension is so quiet and smooth it beats most cars in our ‘Best Car In The World’ luxury comparison. The truthful assertion that the 75 is quieter than a Rolls will impress buyers”.

If there were a fly in the ointment for the Rover 75, it would be the confused messages it put out to prospective buyers. To some buyers, the retro theme was a good thing, to others, it was not: there was also the matter of its size – slightly too small to be a convincing BMW 5-Series class rival, too big to be considered alongside the 3-Series. To be fair, this was pretty much what BMW had intended when they laid out the specfications for the R40, and it was after all designed to replace two model ranges; but in the minds of executive car buyers, the Rover 75 simply did not seem to fit in easily to any single pigeonhole. There was also the matter of the handling set-up – selling a car so obviously set-up for comfort above handling, as it had been, was always going to be a risk for Rover, and there was a heartfelt belief in the press and among certain buyers that as much as they wanted the Rover 75, it was perhaps aimed towards older buyers. As a junior executive car, that was always going to be a problem, as that “breed” of buyer was known to favour more sportily set-up cars. Autocar again: “The 75 is not a bad-handling car, but neither is it an inspiring one. For the majority of 75 buyers this will not matter. It remains to be seen how Rover will market the car, but the whole ethos of the design seems to be targeted towards the more mature user-chooser, rather than younger, more enthusiastic drivers. For the former group, the 75 may well be the best front-wheel-drive car in the world. The rest may be inclined to look elsewhere.”

However, the company as a whole was also suffering greatly from the strong Pound, and so, as the summer turned to autumn, Rover’s domestic sales took a nosedive (caused in no part by the company boss himself and his ill-advised speech!) – and soon, the ever-fickle media were publishing pictures of unsold Rovers occupying green-field sites around the country. Confidence in Rover continued to fall and as a result, and the Rover 75 soon fell victim of this, delivering disappointing sales. Rover continued to put a brave face on things and for the 2000 Geneva Motor Show, they showed the 75 Sport model – a prototype which strongly hinted that the company wanted to develop a more driver-orientated version of the 75. However, time was running out for Rover, and BMW had lost patience waiting for their “investments” to mature.

Rover put on a brave face and revealed the 75 Sport prototype at the 2000 Geneva Motor Show – the Press were already speculating wildly about Rover and their products, and one journal carried rumours of a return of the Triumph name.

By May 2000, it was over, and BMW had sold out to Phoenix. As part of the deal, the Rover 75 would remain in production, but its production line would need to be moved, lock, stock and barrel, from Cowley to Longbridge. The Birmingham factory would now be responsible for the production of all of the newly-named MG Rover Group’s cars – and as a result, within a year of going into full-scale production, the Rover 75 was on the move!

The task of moving an entire production line was nothing if not gargantuan – essentially, the decision on whether, how and when to move it lay with the logistics staff at Longbridge. Devising a plan would take months – these men did not have the luxury of time: they were given 48 hours to ascertain that this task was not impossible – and once this decision was taken, it was down to them to decide how best to go about it. My abiding impression of the whole episode is stark admiration for the engineers, planners and managers who orchestrated the whole move – far from being deflated by the events that were unfolding around them, they got their heads down and embarked on the challenge with a huge amount of determination. Once committed, deliveries of bodyshells from Cowley to Longbridge commenced within the week – and in order to accommodate the hiatus in production that would result from the changeover, production was ramped up at Cowley in order to build up a stockpile.

In anticipation of MINI production at Longbridge, the CAB2 assembly building had been prepared – and an easy solution would have been to transfer Rover 75 production into the newly vacated area, but there were arguments against this. Firstly, CAB2 would form the basis of a future high-volume model strategy, and to place the Rover 75 line in there would have compromised the company; secondly, CAB2 provided a convenient (and covered) area in which to store the pre-built Rover 75 shells that were by now, arriving in large numbers from Cowley (now known as BMW Oxford). In CAB1, production of the Rover 25 and 45 was completed on individual tracks, whilst the Mini and MGF shared theirs. As the Mini was due to be phased out in October 2000, the MGF would end up with its own line, so in order to accommodate the 75, the 25 and 45 lines would be integrated into one track (itself a huge task) and the new car’s line would be placed where the 45’s once was. The majority of the work took place during the summer break, which was extended to three weeks – and part of this time was taken by the Longbridge team disassembling then transporting the entire 75 production facility from BMW Oxford to Longbridge. In MG Rover’s press release concerning the entire event, it states that “An excellent working relationship was maintained with the BMW Oxford plant in co-ordinating the wholesale ‘swap’ of production facilities” – and there is no reason to believe this was not the case, because although BMW Oxford “lost” the Rover 75, they gained the MINI, which guaranteed large production volumes for the foreseeable future.

By early October 2000, and within the deadline set by BMW, the Rover 75 was in production at Longbridge and because the move had been well-planned and the production engineers had done their homework (some visited the Jaguar S-Type production line at Castle Bromwich in order to study build processes there), the quality of the Longbridge Rover 75 easily matched that of those produced in Oxford – in fact, over time, the quality of the Longbridge-produced 75s exceeded the standards set at Oxford. Much of this was down to intelligent design – “design for production”, as an insider called it – something that Honda had brought to Rover during the 1980s, as well as the production methods that BMW had set out for the car in the latter stages of the R40 design process.

The first major model-making decision taken by the new management was to give the go-ahead for the estate version of the 75 – a model that had been fully developed alongside the saloon, but had never been given the green light for production by BMW. Events had overtaken the car and in the furore that had surrounded the months leading up to the sell-off of Rover BMW had held off giving the car the go-ahead. Needless to say, Phoenix Consortium’s management saw no barriers to the car's success and no reason to prevent it from going into production. Within weeks, they showed the car – called the 75 Tourer – to the press, a long time before its due launch date, something that would become a trademark for the new company.

Arguably even prettier than the saloon, introducing the Rover 75 Tourer was another great decision made by the management of the MG Rover Group.

The second decision was to develop a sportier model, somewhat akin to the Rover 75 Sport recently shown at Geneva – although unlike this model, the new car, codenamed the X10 (and X11 for the Tourer) would proudly wear the MG badge. Unlike the Rover 45, which was always considered the weakest link in the MG Rover line-up, the 75 was already undoubtedly a star, allowing MG Rover’s engineers a much better starting point to base the performance saloon upon. In the way that its smaller brothers, the 25 and 45, had been re-engineered in order to become fully-fledged MG saloon models, the X10/X11 was also given the same treatment: Peter Stevens re-jigged the styling, while Rob Oldaker headed the chassis team which made substantial changes, re-focusing the car significantly. In a nutshell, the technical changes made to the chassis were legion: the subframes which carry the suspension were attached to the monocoque by aluminium rather than rubber mounts. The springs were uprated by a full 70 per cent, and were complemented by uprated dampers and ant-roll bars. The cosmetic additions (new bumpers, dechroming and boot spoiler) were heightened by pretty new 18-inch wheels shod with Z-rated tyres. The X10 and X11, like the X20 and X30, were shown to the press in January 2001, some months before they were ready for sale – much interim development work had yet to be completed, as well as the selection of a name.

When the definitive launch came in the summer of that year, the name followed a historical theme: ZT for the saloon and ZT-T for the Tourer. Unimaginative perhaps, but it was a knowing and respectful nod to the company’s history, and for that, at least, MG Rover should be applauded.

MG ZT being put through its paces for the camera: the subtle retro of the Rover 75 had been replaced by aggressive purposefulness. Buyers liked the new car, and sales in the UK soon lifted appreciably.

Newly independent and shorn of their German paymasters, MG Rover came across all confident with the MG ZT, and the press and public alike have greeted the car warmly. Autocar magazine were very impressed with it, naming it one of their top ten cars of 2001 and summing-up thus in their road test of the ZT 190: “The ZT makes MG Rover a formidable contender in this competitive market. It can offer buyers a choice of limousine-like refinement in the 75 or genuine sporting appeal in the ZT. It is a tribute to Rover’s engineering that it produced such convincing yet different cars from such similar underpinnings.” But it did not stop with the re-branding of the current car: the fascinating announcement was also made that there would be a pair of “Extreme” MG ZTs to top the MG Rover range. Where the current ZTs and Rover 75s were front wheel driven, the Extreme models would be rear wheel drive (hence the hefty transmission tunnel proving useful to MG Rover) and powered by a Ford-sourced V8 engine displacing 4.6-litres. These models were devised to fight BMW in the performance saloon market (who would have thought Rover would play this game pre-2000?) and become a breed of latter-day Rover Vitesses. At the time of writing, the Extreme models (available in 260 and 380bhp versions) had not been officially launched to the press, but development versions had been spotted at Longbridge and a launch date of “spring 2003” had been hinted at by the company.

So, the future of the Rover 75 and MG ZT would appear to be bright. Certainly, MG Rover have ensured that they are offering what the customers want (witness the rapid appearance of LPG versions of the car and a 1.8-litre Turbocharged version to meet the demands of the tax-man – and the Vanden Plas-badged long-wheelbase model, to capitalise on demand for that type of vehicle) and the car itself is still young and fresh enough to withstand a few more years on the marketplace.

It is true to say that the excellence of the R40 has been down to two factors: Rover’s ability to develop a world-beating front-driven executive car, and BMW’s money with which to finance the programme. Without either one of these, the car would not have emerged as the excellent car that it is: and as the cliché goes – the Rover 75 was a car that absolutely no-one needed to apologise for. The car suffered from slow take-up, but no-one was to blame for that but BMW’s boss Bernd Pischetsrieder: had he not torpedoed the company at the car’s launch and so undermined its value and the employees’ morale in the process, the Rover 75 would surely have sold better in those early and most vital months. As it was, events overtook the car anyway, and it is a tribute to the fundamental excellence of the car that it has managed to survive and flourish in the way that it has.

MG Rover’s own confidence in the car has allowed them to follow the plan of shortening it to form the basis of their next mid-liner – something they would not have dared to attempt in this most competitive of classes had the 75 itself been a less-than-proficient car.

The long-wheelbase version of the Rover 75, announced in the spring of 2002 marked the welcome return of the Vanden Plas-badged Rover; it certainly paid more attention to the Vanden Plas marque ideals than past efforts such as the Rover SD1 and Metro models which wore that badge.

Copyright © 2002 Keith Adams, with contributions from Sniff Petrol, Steve Cropley, Greg Allport (MG Rover Communications), “an Insider” and Kevin Davis.
Proofed by Declan Berridge