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About this brand
In the grand tapestry of the automobile, few threads are woven with such weight, such over-engineered grandeur, as that of Bentley. This is not a marque of ephemeral, lightweight delicacies. It is a dynasty built on torque, cubic inches, and an indomitable character hewn from solid granite. To understand Bentley is to understand the philosophy of its founder, Walter Owen ‘W.O.’ Bentley. He was not a flighty artist but a locomotive engineer, a man who believed in the unassailable virtue of cubic capacity and unburstable construction. His rival, Ettore Bugatti, once famously dismissed his creations as “the fastest lorries in the world.” It was intended as an insult. It has become, perhaps, the most glorious badge of honour in motoring history.
The legend begins in 1919, in a small mews garage off Baker Street, London. W.O. emerged from the crucible of World War I, where he had made his name designing the first aluminium pistons for aero engines, and set out to build “a good car, a fast car, the best in its class.” The result was the 3 Litre, and it was a masterpiece of his philosophy. With its four-valves-per-cylinder, overhead-camshaft engine, and famously robust chassis, it was a piece of engineering far in advance of its contemporaries. And crucially, it was built to last.
This magnificent car soon attracted a clientele as robust as the machine itself: “the Bentley Boys.” This was not a works-sponsored, clinically managed race team. It was a loose-knit fraternity of wealthy, aristocratic playboys, adventurers, and daredevils who lived life at full throttle and saw W.O.’s creations as the perfect extension of their own personalities. They bought the cars, and then they decided, almost as an afterthought, to race them. The group was led by men like Woolf Barnato, the diamond heir who would become the company’s chairman and saviour; Sir Tim Birkin, a man of terrifying speed and courage; and Sammy Davis, the Autocar journalist who would become an accidental hero.
Their chosen battleground was a new, punishing 24-hour race in provincial France: Le Mans. In 1924, a privateer 3 Litre driven by John Duff and Frank Clement won the event outright. It was the first shot in a war that Bentley would come to dominate. But it was the 1927 victory that cemented the legend. In the dead of night, the factory-backed team, running 1-2-3, arrived at the Maison Blanche corner to find the road blocked by a catastrophic pile-up. The three Bentleys ploughed into the wreckage. Two were terminally wounded. But the third, “Old No. 7,” driven by Sammy Davis, limped back to the pits, its frame bent, one headlamp destroyed, and its chassis held together by little more than wire and hope. Davis and his co-driver, Dr. J.D. Benjafield, nursed the shattered “lorry” through the night and into the next day, somehow, miraculously, taking the chequered flag. It was a victory of pure, stubborn, British grit.
That win unleashed a torrent of dominance. W.O. had already developed the 6½ Litre, and from it, the legendary “Speed Six”. This was W.O.’s philosophy made manifest: a 6.6-litre, overhead-cam, straight-six engine that produced a tidal wave of effortless torque. It was a colossus, and it was unbeatable. Woolf Barnato himself co-drove a Speed Six to victory in 1929 and 1930, cementing a hat-trick of wins that, combined with the 1928 victory of the 4½ Litre, gave Bentley four consecutive Le Mans victories. The myth was cast in iron. This era also gave us the “Blue Train” race, where Barnato, on a bet, drove his Speed Six from Cannes to London, not only beating the famous Train Bleu but arriving at his club before the train had even reached Calais. It was the ultimate display of the car’s dual nature: a dominant racer and the world’s most capable Grand Tourer.
But there was a schism. Sir Tim Birkin, the archetypal Bentley Boy, was obsessed with speed. He convinced Barnato to fund a separate project, against W.O.’s express wishes, to supercharge the 4½ Litre. W.O. famously despised supercharging, growling that it “perverted a good design.” The result was the “Blower” Bentley. With its massive, crankshaft-driven Amherst-Villiers supercharger hanging off the front, it was a terrifying, magnificent, and ultimately flawed icon. It was monstrously fast, setting a 137-mph lap record at Brooklands, but it was fragile. It failed at Le Mans. The cost of the Blower program, combined with the onset of the Great Depression, was too much. In 1931, the company fell into receivership.
W.O. believed his company was being sold to Napier. But at the last moment, a mysterious holding company won the bid. It was a front for Rolls-Royce. The ultimate tragedy: Bentley had been bought by its greatest rival. W.O. was kept on as an employee, but his heart was broken, and he left in 1935. The era of the “fastest lorries” was over. The era of the “Derby Bentleys” had begun. These cars, built at Rolls-Royce’s Derby factory, were no longer Le Mans brutes. They were redefined as “the Silent Sports Car,” built for the discerning owner-driver who wanted Rolls-Royce quality with a more sporting, understated feel.
This new identity found its post-war zenith in 1952 with the R-Type Continental. It was a car that saved the brand’s soul. Designed by H.J. Mulliner, it was a stunningly beautiful, aluminium-bodied, fastback pillarless coupé. With a top speed of nearly 120 mph, it was the fastest four-seat production car in the world, and arguably one of the most beautiful cars ever made. It was impossibly elegant, effortlessly fast, and astronomically expensive. It was the blueprint for the modern Bentley GT.
The 1960s and 70s saw the brand’s identity diluted, as Bentleys became little more than badge-engineered Rolls-Royces. But the spirit of W.O. was merely dormant, not dead. In the early 1980s, a small group of engineers at Crewe, nostalgic for the brand’s sporting past, secretly bolted a turbocharger to the firm’s venerable 6.75-litre V8. The result was the Mulsanne Turbo, and in 1985, the legendary Turbo R. This was the resurrection. It was a 2.5-ton drawing room on wheels that could, with a press of the throttle, unleash a wave of torque so profound it could humble a Ferrari 328. The “iron fist in a velvet glove” was back. The “Bentley Boys” of the yuppie era had their car.
This renewed vigour led to the great split of 1998. In a complex corporate battle, Volkswagen acquired the Crewe factory and the Bentley marque, while BMW secured the Rolls-Royce name. VW, understanding the power of heritage, invested billions with one goal: to restore the Le Mans legend. In 2001, the Bentley Speed 8 returned to La Sarthe. In 2003, 73 years after Barnato’s last victory, the green cars stormed to a dominant 1-2 finish. The circle was complete. That same year, the VW-backed Continental GT was launched. A W12-powered, all-wheel-drive, 200-mph coupé, it was the spiritual successor to the R-Type Continental and a sales sensation, redefining the brand for a new century.
Today, Bentley remains a company of magnificent dualities: the brutal performance of the 1920s Le Mans winner, and the handcrafted luxury of the Crewe craftsman. It is a brand that has survived bankruptcy, a hostile takeover, and decades of slumber, all because its fundamental character, the one W.O. Bentley forged in 1919, is so powerful, so authentic, that it simply refuses to die.
Type
Foundation Year
Country
Founder/s
Headquarters
Type
Foundation Year
Country
Founder/s
Headquarters
About this brand
In the grand tapestry of the automobile, few threads are woven with such weight, such over-engineered grandeur, as that of Bentley. This is not a marque of ephemeral, lightweight delicacies. It is a dynasty built on torque, cubic inches, and an indomitable character hewn from solid granite. To understand Bentley is to understand the philosophy of its founder, Walter Owen ‘W.O.’ Bentley. He was not a flighty artist but a locomotive engineer, a man who believed in the unassailable virtue of cubic capacity and unburstable construction. His rival, Ettore Bugatti, once famously dismissed his creations as “the fastest lorries in the world.” It was intended as an insult. It has become, perhaps, the most glorious badge of honour in motoring history.
The legend begins in 1919, in a small mews garage off Baker Street, London. W.O. emerged from the crucible of World War I, where he had made his name designing the first aluminium pistons for aero engines, and set out to build “a good car, a fast car, the best in its class.” The result was the 3 Litre, and it was a masterpiece of his philosophy. With its four-valves-per-cylinder, overhead-camshaft engine, and famously robust chassis, it was a piece of engineering far in advance of its contemporaries. And crucially, it was built to last.
This magnificent car soon attracted a clientele as robust as the machine itself: “the Bentley Boys.” This was not a works-sponsored, clinically managed race team. It was a loose-knit fraternity of wealthy, aristocratic playboys, adventurers, and daredevils who lived life at full throttle and saw W.O.’s creations as the perfect extension of their own personalities. They bought the cars, and then they decided, almost as an afterthought, to race them. The group was led by men like Woolf Barnato, the diamond heir who would become the company’s chairman and saviour; Sir Tim Birkin, a man of terrifying speed and courage; and Sammy Davis, the Autocar journalist who would become an accidental hero.
Their chosen battleground was a new, punishing 24-hour race in provincial France: Le Mans. In 1924, a privateer 3 Litre driven by John Duff and Frank Clement won the event outright. It was the first shot in a war that Bentley would come to dominate. But it was the 1927 victory that cemented the legend. In the dead of night, the factory-backed team, running 1-2-3, arrived at the Maison Blanche corner to find the road blocked by a catastrophic pile-up. The three Bentleys ploughed into the wreckage. Two were terminally wounded. But the third, “Old No. 7,” driven by Sammy Davis, limped back to the pits, its frame bent, one headlamp destroyed, and its chassis held together by little more than wire and hope. Davis and his co-driver, Dr. J.D. Benjafield, nursed the shattered “lorry” through the night and into the next day, somehow, miraculously, taking the chequered flag. It was a victory of pure, stubborn, British grit.
That win unleashed a torrent of dominance. W.O. had already developed the 6½ Litre, and from it, the legendary “Speed Six”. This was W.O.’s philosophy made manifest: a 6.6-litre, overhead-cam, straight-six engine that produced a tidal wave of effortless torque. It was a colossus, and it was unbeatable. Woolf Barnato himself co-drove a Speed Six to victory in 1929 and 1930, cementing a hat-trick of wins that, combined with the 1928 victory of the 4½ Litre, gave Bentley four consecutive Le Mans victories. The myth was cast in iron. This era also gave us the “Blue Train” race, where Barnato, on a bet, drove his Speed Six from Cannes to London, not only beating the famous Train Bleu but arriving at his club before the train had even reached Calais. It was the ultimate display of the car’s dual nature: a dominant racer and the world’s most capable Grand Tourer.
But there was a schism. Sir Tim Birkin, the archetypal Bentley Boy, was obsessed with speed. He convinced Barnato to fund a separate project, against W.O.’s express wishes, to supercharge the 4½ Litre. W.O. famously despised supercharging, growling that it “perverted a good design.” The result was the “Blower” Bentley. With its massive, crankshaft-driven Amherst-Villiers supercharger hanging off the front, it was a terrifying, magnificent, and ultimately flawed icon. It was monstrously fast, setting a 137-mph lap record at Brooklands, but it was fragile. It failed at Le Mans. The cost of the Blower program, combined with the onset of the Great Depression, was too much. In 1931, the company fell into receivership.
W.O. believed his company was being sold to Napier. But at the last moment, a mysterious holding company won the bid. It was a front for Rolls-Royce. The ultimate tragedy: Bentley had been bought by its greatest rival. W.O. was kept on as an employee, but his heart was broken, and he left in 1935. The era of the “fastest lorries” was over. The era of the “Derby Bentleys” had begun. These cars, built at Rolls-Royce’s Derby factory, were no longer Le Mans brutes. They were redefined as “the Silent Sports Car,” built for the discerning owner-driver who wanted Rolls-Royce quality with a more sporting, understated feel.
This new identity found its post-war zenith in 1952 with the R-Type Continental. It was a car that saved the brand’s soul. Designed by H.J. Mulliner, it was a stunningly beautiful, aluminium-bodied, fastback pillarless coupé. With a top speed of nearly 120 mph, it was the fastest four-seat production car in the world, and arguably one of the most beautiful cars ever made. It was impossibly elegant, effortlessly fast, and astronomically expensive. It was the blueprint for the modern Bentley GT.
The 1960s and 70s saw the brand’s identity diluted, as Bentleys became little more than badge-engineered Rolls-Royces. But the spirit of W.O. was merely dormant, not dead. In the early 1980s, a small group of engineers at Crewe, nostalgic for the brand’s sporting past, secretly bolted a turbocharger to the firm’s venerable 6.75-litre V8. The result was the Mulsanne Turbo, and in 1985, the legendary Turbo R. This was the resurrection. It was a 2.5-ton drawing room on wheels that could, with a press of the throttle, unleash a wave of torque so profound it could humble a Ferrari 328. The “iron fist in a velvet glove” was back. The “Bentley Boys” of the yuppie era had their car.
This renewed vigour led to the great split of 1998. In a complex corporate battle, Volkswagen acquired the Crewe factory and the Bentley marque, while BMW secured the Rolls-Royce name. VW, understanding the power of heritage, invested billions with one goal: to restore the Le Mans legend. In 2001, the Bentley Speed 8 returned to La Sarthe. In 2003, 73 years after Barnato’s last victory, the green cars stormed to a dominant 1-2 finish. The circle was complete. That same year, the VW-backed Continental GT was launched. A W12-powered, all-wheel-drive, 200-mph coupé, it was the spiritual successor to the R-Type Continental and a sales sensation, redefining the brand for a new century.
Today, Bentley remains a company of magnificent dualities: the brutal performance of the 1920s Le Mans winner, and the handcrafted luxury of the Crewe craftsman. It is a brand that has survived bankruptcy, a hostile takeover, and decades of slumber, all because its fundamental character, the one W.O. Bentley forged in 1919, is so powerful, so authentic, that it simply refuses to die.