This car was meant to be a Mini killer. Instead it sent its maker broke

Original story by Tony Davis first published in Drive on 10 July, 1998

Every second advertisement and newspaper article used words like IMP-ressive and IMP-ortant to describe Hillman's new small car in 1963. Closer to the mark was IMP-rudent – the Imp was British small car innovation at its most venturesome, but it was also financial suicide.

In the mid-1950s The Rootes Group (best known for its solid Hillmans and Humbers) began a “what if” small-car design exercise. The funny thing was that Rootes was one of the companies which had so famously turned down VW after the war; aside from that, its directors had made it abundantly clear they had little interest in economy models.

Then the Mini happened. Rootes did an about face and the small-car plan became a big priority.

In a breathless three-year period not only was the design of a radical all-new Hillman small car finalised, but an all-new plant was built in Scotland to manufacture it.

In May 1963 the car hit the market amid enormous excitement. The Imp seemed as radical as the Mini yet was equally sporting.

The Mini was front-engined, front-drive, the Imp was the complete opposite.

Slightly larger, it had a motorsport-derived engine and a hatchback-style lift-up rear window to add to its versatility.

In the UK, 20,000 orders were taken in the first two days. And when the car was launched here in early 1964, buyers seemed equally taken.

However, the early promise quickly faded. As the Imp demonstrated more than its share of teething problems and design limitations, the Mini's success seemed to grow and grow.

“Imp” is defined as a little devil or demon, or a mischievous child. Hillman's version lived up to its name, ungratefully helping to bankrupt its creators. (In 1964 Chrysler snapped up the haemorrhaging Rootes Group.)

The [875cc] all-aluminium engine – produced in collaboration with Coventry Climax, which made the world-beating Cooper and Lotus racing engines – was laid over at 45 degrees, lowering the centre of gravity and making room for a modest luggage compartment above.

It handled well (despite an inelegant tendency to cock its front wheels in the air at speed), and had a nice gearshift and effective brakes. However, its weight distribution was far from perfect.

There were other gripes. The Imp was available only in drab colours, it lacked flipper windows (then considered a necessity), and it was noisy and unduly susceptible to side winds.

Quality was a lucky dip, many Imps demonstrating a voracious hunger for throttle cables, water pumps and other things not generally regarded as “consumables”. The quality story got worse as the 1960s progressed.

Sales continued to fall and the bean-counters battled the situation by cutting costs rather than making improvements to the vehicle.

Nonetheless, the Imp stumbled on for the rest of the decade, finally being put out to pasture in Australia in 1970. Amazingly, it continued in the UK right up until 1976.

However, in 1978, Hillman – a brand dating to before WWI – joined the enormously long list of famous British car marques to fall from the sky.

Once again, pilot error seemed solely responsible. Tony Davis

The Imp may have signalled the beginning of the end for the troubled Rootes group, but that hasn’t stopped the spritely little rear-engined, rear-wheel drive supermini from attracting a loyal following.

Like its giant-killing Mini rival, the Imp enjoyed plenty of on-track success, the devilish little car – in the hands of Bill McGovern – besting bigger and more powerful Ford Mustangs and Chev Camaros to claim three straight British Saloon Car Championships from 1970-72.

Cherished for its sweet handling, agility and sheer unadulterated fun that only a car with an engine crammed into the back can bring, the Imp today is mainstay on the historic racing calendar.

The highlight of the Imp’s little package was undoubtedly the Coventry Climax engine and its own in-house developed transaxle designed to cope with the high-revving nature of the Imp’s 875cc motor.

Contemporary road tests lauded not only the Imp’s performance but also its character.

“For an 875cc car, the performance is astonishingly lively and bears comparison with many family saloons up to 1600cc,” wrote The Motor in its 8 May, 1963 issue, adding that “The gearchange, as we have said is quite certainly one of the best, if not the best we have ever handled”, and, “the Imp can be hurled into corners at speeds which would be suicidal with most saloons and with very little roll and no tyre squeal it just motors round them”.

Rootes had hoped to sell around 150,000 Imps per year, a true rival to the class-leading Mini. But with its quality issues soon becoming apparent, actual sales fell well short of projections. Still, over its 14-year life cycle, some 440,000 of the little rear-engined rockets were produced, including in Australia where they were assembled, marketed and sold as the Hillman GT.

Prices remain affordable, with clean examples in the UK selling for anywhere between $AUD5000 to $20,000 depending on condition, an affordable rear-engined classic if ever there was one.

The Hillman Imp project was led by development engineer Mike Parkes, who, when he wasn’t working for the Rootes Group, filled his spare time racing in Formula One.

Parkes moved to Ferrari’s engineering department in 1963 where he dovetailed designing and engineering the Italian brand’s road cars with racing for the Scuderia in sport cars on weekends.

When 1964 F1 world champion John Surtees suddenly departed Ferrari in 1966, Parkes (pictured in his Ferrari, above) found himself thrust into the limelight, taking over his fellow Brit’s F1 seat. He finished second on debut for Ferrari in France, and added another podium in Italy later that year.

It was a short-lived stint in F1 with Ferrari, however, Parkes’ racing career ending in 1967 following a huge accident in the Belgian Grand Prix. Parkes’ Ferrari rolled several times before he was thrown clear of the cockpit. He was lucky to escape with his life, spending a week in a coma. He also suffered extensive injuries, the worst his badly broken legs, so severe doctors considered amputation.

Parkes (pictured above with Enzo Ferrari) eventually recovered and by 1969 was back at work with Ferrari and keen to race once more. But Enzo Ferrari had other ideas, making the Briton an offer he couldn’t refuse, to head up the Scuderia’s sports car racing program while also continuing his work as an engineer in the road car division. But Enzo’s offer came with one caveat, Parkes would no longer be allowed to race.

Parkes, despite Enzo's big money offer, did refuse and by 1971 had left Maranello to continue racing Ferraris, albeit this time as a privateer.

Another Italian marque had its eyes on Parkes and in 1974, he joined Lancia as principal development engineer on another car that would go on to enter the hallowed halls of automotive icons – the Lancia Stratos. RM