Volvos aren’t sexy. They just aren’t. And there’s really nothing controversial about that statement.
After all, for many of us the name conjures up images of boxy estates built for sensible suburban families in the Seventies and Eighties. Dad probably works in insurance and plays golf. No, worse than that, he’s a chartered accountant. And still plays golf. Mum is a teacher. There’s a couple of kids and a dog – but a really boring one, for instance a labrador.
And then there’s that whole focus on safety. Remember those adverts for the Volvo 340 with the crash test dummies? They weren’t sexy. At. All.
In fairness, the Swedish marque has enjoyed something of an image change in recent years, thanks to a winning run of crossover SUVs that combine comfort and the latest technology while remaining true to those safety-first roots. They’re actually quite exciting and certainly desirable.
They’re not exactly sexy, but then that’s not really an SUV thing. It was once a Volvo thing, though – and you only have to go back to the Sixties for proof.
In the mid-Fifties, Volvo decided to enter the sports car market. Its first proper attempt was the aptly named Sport P1900 – an open-topped two-seater that arrived in 1956, was built from new-fangled fibreglass and aimed squarely at the US market.
Sadly, the combination of a high price, ugly design and slightly shonky build quality put paid to that lofty ambition and a mere 67 were sold. Most remained in Sweden, where the appeal of a convertible was presumably not quite so great as it might have been in California.
Undeterred, Volvo had another go at it five years later with the P1800 – and this time it hit the jackpot.
The P1800 owes much to Helmer Petterson, the firm’s engineering consultant, and his son, Pelle. Petterson the elder was the man behind the earlier PV444, an awkwardly styled coupé that nonetheless sold like hot meatballs in the immediate post-war years.
Petterson was determined that in order to avoid the mistakes of the P1900 they should seek outside help – and specifically, that they should employ an Italian design house to style the new car. He convinced company boss Gunnar Engellau to go along with his plan and several of the big Italian houses were commissioned to draw up designs.
At which point, things get a little more complicated. One of the Italian studios bidding for the work was Frua, where a 25-year-old Swede by the name of – yep – Pelle Petterson was working as an intern.
Clearly a talented chap, Petterson junior was tasked with drawing up the Frua designs for the P1800. His dad then did his bit and ensured that they made it into the pile put before the Volvo board – but without letting on that they weren’t really by an Italian.
Now, if this were a movie, the board would have chosen young Pelle’s designs then laughed heartily about it when they discovered the truth. And, indeed, they did pick them – but when they discovered the deception, they were none too pleased.
Rather than reveal that it had been styled by a 25-year-old from Gothenburg, Engellau decided to stick with the "Italian-designed" line in the P1800’s marketing materials and poor Pelle never got his due recognition until many years later. Not that he suffered too greatly: he went on to design some of Scandinavia’s most popular yachts and sailing boats and picked up two Olympic sailing medals for good measure. Show off.
Petterson certainly did a wonderful job with the P1800. His surroundings at the time clearly rubbed off and there’s a distinctly Italian feel to those swooping flourishes along the sides and the long nose. The big grille gives it an extra dash of flair, as do the small rear fins. It’s well-proportioned, doesn’t feel derivative and is far more suave than any other Volvo has ever been.
But if the two Pettersons were the men behind the P1800’s creation then it’s a Brit who made it famous.
In 1961, so the story goes, the producers of a new TV show called The Saint were looking for a car in which their lead character, Simon Templar, played by one Roger Moore, could take on the bad guys. They wanted an E-type, but Jaguar wasn’t keen. Volvo was and supplied a gleaming new white P1800.
The result was a connection between star and car only one-step removed (literally) from that between James Bond and the DB5.
If you were a Sixties kid – or a Seventies kid who enjoyed the repeats – you would have dreamed of being the Saint and of driving the P1800. You almost certainly owned the Corgi model. You would have watched in horror as Templar’s car was blown up in a 1963 episode – but then broken into a grin when he took delivery of a new 1800S model soon after.
Moore drove one himself for many years and he will now forever be associated with the model. A man so stylish, sophisticated, suave and – yes – sexy that he could leave people weak at the knees with one raised eyebrow drove a Volvo. Crazy.
Read more:
Forget Mustang, the Stingray is all the American muscle you want
Why the Citroën DS is still the coolest thing on four wheels
