Pure, unapologetic indulgence. That’s why the Brooklands is so unbelievably special. Somehow it slathers the spirit of a pre-WW2 special coachbuilt for aristocracy into an austerity era runout special. A car seemingly snuck out the door while the Volkswagen Group board was busy frowning at the balance sheets. Meanwhile, the Bentley boys and girls had one of their very finest hours.
All we have here, really, is an Azure with a hardtop welded onto its rump. An 18-foot-long coupe with seats for four to lounge in, a cliff face veneer of dashboard peppered with dials and shrouded switchgear, and somewhere behind the polished chicken wire the torquiest engine this side of a Bugatti W16. The 6.75-liter warhorse that traces its family tree back to 1959 knew it was not long for this EU/California emissions-regulated world, and went ungently into that good night, churning out a monstrous 1,048Nm of torque without ever bothering to rev past 4,600rpm. It rumbles malevolently, like a gathering storm somewhere in a distant county.
I love the Brooklands, because it always seemed like a throwback to cars that weren’t really allowed to be made anymore. Because its name is so evocative. Because it’s so eminently, proudly British... even if it does feature some suspiciously German buttons, and its endless, flowing haunches were styled by a man called Dirk van Braeckel. And because it’s so reclusive. An under-the-counter car for those who know. Bentley planned to build no more than 550, but it’s thought only 426 ever left the Crewe factory gates.
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This is the very last example, destined to be retained by the company for preservation. Its stony grey coachwork is lavishly offset by honeycomb biscuit leather and smells like the sort of gentlemen’s club where distant borders used to be drawn, over cigars, brandy, and a game of bridge. If it wasn’t for the flying B emblem, you’d presume the hood ended somewhere beyond the horizon.
It has two handles per door, so passengers lounging in the vast rear quarters can open each side themselves. Tech? Hmm. There’s a quaint built-in phone, a primitive trip computer, and an aircraft’s complement of gauges. Fitting for a machine that came to life in the same building that built Merlin engines during the war.
I feared driving the Brooklands would puncture the aura. That underneath its stately charm and renegade handsomeness, it would be a boat, creaky in the middle like many pillarless coupes and as embarrassingly vulgar as gold-tipped driveway gates leading to mock Greek pillars. But it’s fabulous. You have this vast metal shell draped around you, 16 cow hides, more torque than a tunnel boring machine, and it’s all yours. The sense of superiority is profoundly addictive.
And it’s a true Bentley to drive. Tauter in the ride than you might expect, because this is a semi-sporting luxury express, not a magic carpet. Undramatic under throttle, but deeply, hysterically potent. The brakes feel like they’re from the ‘Winter of Discontent,’ and we’re glad that modern uber luxe vehicles have rear steer, so you don’t need all of Staffordshire to turn around in once you’ve overrun Cheshire attempting to stop. But HMS Victory wasn’t much good in the Crufts agility arena either, and no one minds about that.
Bentley Brooklands (2008)
Price when new: £230,000 (around P17.97 million)
Specs: 6.75TT V8, 537hp, 0-100kph in 5.0 secs, 296kph, 2,650kg
Hero: Glorious lashings of quilted cow and burnished tree going supersonic
Zero: A tad intimidating to park
NOTE: This article first appeared on TopGear.com. Minor edits have been made.
