Jaguar MK2 And Ford Zodiac - In The Company Of Spies (Part 2)

The Zodiac is a big, friendly car to drive, soft but by no means American in its behavior. Its smoothness and torque, plus the sweet thrum from its six-cylinder engine, would have made anyone used to more humble Fords feel distinctly pampered. Inside, there is a feeling of width and easy living on the sofa-like seats, although a glance behind reveals relatively little legroom, the space presumably having been sacrificed to the cavernous boot.

The atmosphere is cheerful and undemanding with a simple Facia, a ribbon speedometer set in fake walnut, plus minimal controls and warning lights, while the Jaguar has gauges that demand a certain level of interaction. The Ford is synthetic, idiot-proof and international in its style, with nothing to offend but nothing to delight, either, whereas few could easily dismiss the Clubland charm of the Jaguar, with its glossy use of veneer and real leather that gives such a feeling of wellbeing and decadence.

Considerable thought must have gone into making the gearchance of the Ford work so easily. It is light, precise and undemanding, with a useful amount of punch in third that will whisk the Zodiac up to 85mph if needs be. The ton will come up within the mile if you feel inclined to use 5000rpm, which I didn’t.

Ford cabin is more rock ‘n’ roll than drawing room

The Ford is lighter than the Jaguar by nearly 400lb, so while the 2.4 feels pleasant enough when you are loafing around, the performance is not really there when you go looking for it, although it makes sophisticated and willing noises. This beautiful preserved car has one of the better Moss gearboxes I have used, but the Zodiac’s full-synchromesh change is much more user-friendly. I like the lazy, rather cinematic feel of the Ford as you go through the gears on its light, smooth clutch, but the truth is that both cars are very flexible, so there is little cause to change gear.

On the road the Zodiac, gaudy and insubstantial perhaps, feels just that bit more eager than the Jaguar. Its handling is softer, its steering less precise than the Mk2, yet there is nothing basically wrong with its unassisted helm or the way in which understeer builds up gradually but considerably. An essential lack of rubber on the road can make rapid progress interesting in the Ford, whereas the hooligan element of the 3.4- and 3.8-liter manual Mk2s is sadly missed in the gentle-natured 2.4. It has none of that urge in reserve that makes drifting and slewing these cars so irresistible.

Ford Zodiac MK 3

Nearly 50 years on, it seems the much more familiar of the two and perhaps, for me, that’s its problem. The reams of prose expended on these baby Jaguars has rendered them cliché-bound; a petrified vision of hell somewhere between Heartbeat and a charity-shop classic-car calendar. Which is a bit unfair; it remains a masterful piece of styling that should have looked dated by the mid-‘60s (the original 2.4 appeared in 1955, don’t forget) yet eschewed the fashions of the day simply by refusing to participate in them. Curvaceously bullet-nosed, it had its own visual language that only referenced other Jaguars. It looked, sounded and felt expensive but it wasn’t, and that was the genius of Sir William Lyons.

If the Jaguar is a cliché, the Zodiac seems more like a piece of folksy nostalgia, a truer vision of the way we used to be

At the heart of its appeal was the twin-cam XK power plant, a piece of machinery that was as visually seductive – with its proud polished cam covers as the Zodiac’s power plant was anonymous and utilitarian. Just your basic and unassuming generic straight-six, although highly receptive to tuning and favored by AC.

If the Jaguar is a cliché, the Zodiac seems more like a piece of folksy nostalgia, a truer vision of the way we used to be. The fascination of the Ford is that it’s like a giant toy, seeming to teeter on its tiny wheels with its body threatening to overwhelm them at any moment. It looks impressive without being gross – like the MK IV range that supplanted it – and, unlike the Jaguar, I have a true recollection of these cars. When I was a kid in the 1970s, there were still quite a few around, the preferred transport of the 10-bob millionaire or the ageing greaser living out his Eddie Cochran fantasies. But their ranks thinned out rapidly as rust and banger-racing claimed them, despite the fact that, with 77,000 built between 1962 and ’65, the Mk III was one of the more popular big cars of its day.

Ford Zodiac MK 4

Perhaps Harry Palmer was assigned the Zodiac because he was subordinate to Jock, but had the gold Jaguar been a 2.4 (stand by with the ‘pause’ button on the DVD control), the two cars would have been surprisingly close in perceived status – separated by about $350 and a lot less than you’d think in terms of all-round competence. In 1965, anyone below the age of 40 would have thought himself very lucky to be driving either of these executive status symbols, particularly a humble civil servant on $2100 a year plus allowances.