A vision of what could of been? Driving the one-off Triumph Fury.

At the beginning of the 1960s, things were looking up for the Standard-Triumph company. Even though the mechanicals underpinning its TR4 approached the end of their lifecycle–they dated back to the early ’50s–the dependable roadster with its box frame still enjoyed huge customer demand. 

The Spitfire, introduced in 1962, served as the firm’s entry model into a roadster lineup developed to suit customer tastes in the most important market, the United States. 

But still, Triumph boss Lord Stokes envied rival British Motor Company, whose MGB, launched in 1962 and slotted between the little Midget and the big Austin-Healey, delivered roaring success in America. With its monocoque body and generous interior space, the B delivered on many fronts. As Triumph was to fill that gap in the market, Lord Stokes asked chief development engineer Harry Webster to create a new roadster based on the Triumph 2000 saloon. 

The goal: Create a larger and more modern rival aimed squarely at the American market. One of the design parameters, though: Use as many parts as possible from the Triumph parts bin. A new David Eley-designed, 2.0-liter inline-six would overshadow the four-cylinder B.

Development of the package took just a few months, after which Webster reached out to Giovanni Michelotti to create a modern body. It took the Italian star designer behind the Spitfire, the TR4 and the new 2000 saloon just a week to create a shape that clearly echoed many of the lines of the successful Spitfire. 

In summer of 1965, the prototype for the new roadster, called the Fury, was ready. Just as the MG Midget had the MGB, the Fury would undoubtedly serve as the Spitfire’s bigger sibling. The sensous shoulder line starting at the front wings and sweeping along the doors with a Coke-bottle hip before sloping gently at the rear was classic Michelotti. 

At the front, the Italian designer came up with a modern and very unique styling element in the form of pop-up headlights, which were very en vogue in the early 1960s. But his decision had to do with more than just trend: The pop-up lights allowed Triumph to fulfill the newer and more stringent U.S. safety regulations without a frog-like front à la the Austin-Healey Sprite. 

Another nod to the American buyer was a wide grille and the obligatory vertical bumper “overriders” with protective rubber. The rear sat low, straight and strikingly different. Instead of tiny round Spitfire lights, the Fury featured custom rear lights nestled in chromed rear surrounds. 

On the inside, there were no cues that this was a one-off prototype. The wooden dashboard reminds us of the TR4; only the haphazard location of switches and instruments hints at it not having been designed fully. The delicate three-spoke steering wheel helped make the interior feel even larger. 

As requested, Eley made use of the new 2.0-liter six that delivered about 90 horsepower. Suspension was via MacPherson struts at the front and trailing arms at the back. 

The Fury would have made a formidable contender in the 1960s roadster market, but despite all the good ingredients, management refused to greenlight the project. “However, it wasn’t because the project wasn’t promising enough. Triumph simply didn’t have the money to invest into another completely new model line,” the late marque historian Graham Robson confirmed in an interview a few years ago. 

“In addition to the all-new 2000 saloon launched in 1965,” he continued, “the new 1300 saloon succeeding the Herald was Triumph’s first foray into the front-wheel-drive market and had to fulfill high expectations. That left no budgets and no development capacity for another sports car, so this Fury remained the only one.”

Later, the six-cylinder engine found its way into the Triumph GT6–a sort of little E-type coupe based on the Spitfire–and, of course, the TR5. The basics of the TR4 would eventually soldier on through the TR6, which ran until 1976.

What happened to this dead end of Triumph’s evolutionary tree? Unlike other manufacturers, Triumph had no problems selling its prototypes to the public, so the one-off was sold as is, where is, with no warranty.

Even though this is just a one-off, the interior carries over the charm of period Triumphs. The same goes for the driving experience.

Today, the rare Triumph is part of an exclusive collection at JHW Classics, an English supplier of classic cars for movies and marketing projects. Owner Jane Weitzmann, who founded the collection with her late husband, doesn’t hide her obvious enthusiasm for all of her cars. 

Among her treasures: a Lamborghini Miura (“Oh, that belonged to Twiggy’s manager”) or a rare Iso Grifo (“John Lennon sat in that one at the London Motor Show”) as well as one of her more modern possessions, one of the 275 or so Jaguar XJ220 supercars ever built, a highly underrated car close to Weitzmann’s heart. 

But today we’re here to experience Triumph’s stillborn outburst of rage, the Fury. It becomes immediately clear that historic and contemporary photos don’t do the Fury justice and that it’s much more than just a larger version of the Spitfire. 

In reality, this 13-foot-long sports car–just a few inches longer than a contemporary MGB–appears more grown up, more welcoming. Even upon close inspection, this Fury could well have been a standard Triumph product. 

At first, Jane takes us around for a short tour of the car. The front, with its chromed grille and the fashionable pop-up lights, gleams in the sun. The bodywork wears a popular, classic ’60s Triumph shade of powder blue. 

At the back, Jane shows us what’s involved when you own a one-off car like this. “They really did make these taillamps exclusively for this one car–no kidding. If these ever broke, I have a real problem,” she says with a wry smile. “I had them 3D-scanned so that, if necessary, I could have new ones made.”

The ornamental “Fury” script is of course exclusive, while the letters “TR” clearly look out of place here. “I am sure some previous owner must have stuck them there,” she says with a sigh. “They don’t look like they ever belonged there.”

A glimpse under the bonnet confirms that the Fury and Spitfire have very little in common. While the Spitfire opens forward by lifting its entire front end, the Fury has a conventional hood. 

The inline-six engine appears clean but by no means concours-ready. “I drive all my cars,” Jane quickly confirms. “I don’t believe in cars just for display. The more they’re driven, the more reliable they become.” 

In addition to so many other Triumphs–as well as Ferraris and Maseratis, Alfa Romeos and Lancias–the Fury’s design came from Giovanni Michelotti.

Let’s go, then.

The black bucket seats designed exlclusively for the Fury are placed low, leaving my legs stretched out almost horizontally, but the cockpit fits me like a glove. Even at 6-foot-4, I have enough space and the windscreen can do its job protecting my head. “The Fury was intended to be more grown up than the Spitfire,” Jane explains. Mission accomplished. At the time of our visit, the Fury hasn’t been moved for a number of weeks, but Jane doesn’t hesitate handing over the delicate keys, saying, “It should fire right up.”

The six-cylinder awakens with a much deeper rumble than its 2.0-liter displacement might suggest. To my surprise, clutch and transmission operate smoothly–rather unexpected for a nearly 60-year-old prototype.

Driving off also holds no challenges. “This is not a prima donna,” confirms the owner. “It’s quite forgiving and–different to some other of my cars–is really easy to drive.” Coincidence? Probably not, as Eley’s men were only allowed to source from the existing parts bin. 

Just a few minutes later, we’ve left the village behind and find ourselves in wide-open spaces between yellow rapeseed fields and green forests, an ideal run for the Fury to show its merits. The high windscreen keeps wind buffeting relatively low, the inline-six burbling along nicely and even permitting early upshifts. There’s an electric overdrive, making the four-speed Triumph a five-speed car, allowing us to roll along at 50 mph at only about 1800 rpm. 

The lack of power steering is only noticeable at a standstill. Once in motion, the car feels light and precise. 

I accelerate harder, wanting to quickly find out where the Fury’s strengths are. I’m impressed by its relaxedness, the larger interior, that six-cylinder engine and that unpretentious aura of a “grown-up” sports car that surrounds this car. The factory never issued performance figures for the prototype–perhaps for the best, as I presume real-life numbers might belie the impressions behind the wheel. 

But it’s also the relaxedness of the owner that dominates this entire afternoon. After we’re done shooting pictures, we take the triumphant roadster to the Black Horse pub–top down, of course. Jane doesn’t worry much about her car, as if to say, “It’ll be fine.” How right she is.

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