Still going with the open-topped theme, as the month of August stubbornly refuses to offer anything but blistering temperatures and a cornucopia of insects. Japan hosts an impressive collection of giant bugs, and even in Tokyo, the many-legged wildlife is everywhere. Tiger mosquitoes nip at your ankles, poisonous centipedes crawl in the parks, hornets buzz about menacingly, huge dragonflies patrol the skies and an army of giant cicadas deliver a never-ending soundtrack to the whole show.
Even as I write this, despite the double-glazed windows, I can hear the permanent high-pitched din of these wretched animals over the sound of the city itself (which, admittedly, is quite muted). It’s only for a couple months at most, from mid-July to mid-September. Still, summer just wouldn’t be summer without them.
What does that have to do with the yellow Czechoslovakian cabriolet presented herein? Nothing, really. Except that I find cicadas equal parts ugly (and noisy – you have to yell to have a conversation in certain parks at this time of year) and fascinating. Much like these Škodas, in fact. As a piece of industrial design, nothing really works here. Yet somehow, as a whole, it has an odd charm. It’s also a lot quieter than those damn cicadas.
We’ve already had a look at the history of this family of Škodas in some detail back when I found a wagon in Burma ages ago, so I won’t repeat myself here. Suffice to say that the Felicia is a direct descendent of the 440 Spartak, which debuted in 1955. Škoda was one of the only outfits from beyond the Iron Curtain that could really compete in Western European markets at the time.
The 440/445/Octavia two-door saloon (445 pictured above) offered a lot – all-round independent suspension, backbone chassis, very good build quality and a capable engine – for a very low price, making it a common sight in countries that did not have a national car industry to be jingoistic about, such as Benelux, Austria, Switzerland or Scandinavia. They even managed to sell a few in North America. And in Japan too, it seems.
But we’re talking about a specific sub-species of the breed here: the convertible. Škoda had undergone nationalization (like all of the country’s heavy industry) a couple of years after the war, but had a tradition of open-top cars stretching back to the conglomerate’s first automotive attempts in the ‘20s. So there were still a few post-war Škodas keeping their roofs soft and foreign currency coming in for a while, such as the 1945-47 Rapid (top left) and 1101 (top right). The 1102 took over in 1948 and included a roadster variant (bottom right) until around 1952, after which Škoda focused more on saloons and wagons. But the intriguing one-off 1956 Spartak roadster (bottom left) hinted that the Czechoslovak firm was into convertibles again.
And lo and behold, the 450 Cabriolet was launched in 1958. Unlike its saloon and wagon stablemates, this one was to be a very rare sight in its home market – the purpose was to add a much-needed touch of glamour for export.
In early 1959, Škoda gave the range a bit of a shake-up. They ditched the anonymous 440-445-450 model names in favour of Octavia (for the saloon), Combi (the wagon) and Felicia for the convertible – now available with a hard top. Technical improvements included a new coil-sprung front suspension and a slightly more potent 55hp 1.2 litre engine also came on the scene, though it was reserved for the higher-end saloon only at first.
Škoda grafted ungainly fins on the rear ends of their cars in late 1960, displaying a surprising amount of fashion sense for a carmaker hailing from a centrally-planned economy. Some months later, this particular car was shipped over to Japan and sold to its (presumably) ecstatic new owner via Nittsu Motors, who also handled Rolls-Royce/Bentley and Rover imports.
I doubt many of these would have made it to this far-away land back in the day, but given that I also found one in Southeast Asia, there were Škoda dealers far and wide. But the main aim for the Felicia and its ilk were the juicy Western European markets, where the Škoda works had slightly more name recognition.
The Felicia had a number of compelling arguments in its favour, as previously stated. And it was not entering a niche that was filled with that many competitors. Plenty of choice was available in the 2-litre and up segments, but convertible cars were becoming a relatively rare commodity at the lower end of the market. Still, there were enough to populate a comparative table, so…
There were two kinds of small convertibles in 1961: the more “bespoke” ones and the ones like the Škoda (i.e. the Triumph, the Panhard and the Beetle) that were direct derivatives of a saloon. The Felicia’s value proposition is quite evident here, though. Even factoring in the (doubtless substantial) import duties, the Škoda cost a lot less than most of its rivals in this market.
Which still doesn’t make it the obvious choice, truth be told. If we’re really comparing apples to apples, the Beetle, the Panhard and the Triumph all manage to look a lot more balanced than the Felicia. Something was lost in transition (as opposed to translation) when the greenhouse was hacked off, upsetting the proportions of the design.
It’s a common issue in convertibles and two-seater coupés, especially in the ‘40s and ‘50s. The Peugeot 403 cabriolet is guilty of the same disproportion, for example. Even the skilled hand of Pininfarina couldn’t avoid it. The answer would have been to design a proper four-seater convertible and making the soft top longer and add a back window, like what Panhard and VW did. That pushes complexity (and costs) up a couple of notches, though.
For MY 1961, to go with those tacked-on fins, Škoda elected to reposition the gear lever from the column to the floor – again, a very up-to-date move for the times – for the convertible and some grades of the Octavia saloon. Like most Czech cars of a certain age, the ambiance in the cabin is somewhat Germanic in feel. If you were to be sat at the wheel just as they took off your blindfold, you might think VW, Borgward or Glas. This would change (for the worse) with the advent of the rear-engined Škodas later in the ‘60s, and the disappearance of convertibles from the marque’s roster for good (or worse?).
The Octavia and Felicia were replaced by the completely new unit-bodied four-door 1000MB in the spring of 1964, marking the end of the front-engined RWD Škodas – at least in saloon and cabriolet form. Because the 1000MB could not be made into a workable wagon, the Combi carried on until 1971. The cicada’s time in the sun had come to an end. Speaking of which, I had an idea…
Yeah, nope. Looks just as bad on them as it does on the car. Ah well…
Related posts:
Curbside Classic: 1961 Škoda Octavia Combi – Boxy Czech Checks Boxes, by T87
Cohort Capsule: 1960 Škoda Octavia – Iron Curtain Survivor With Permanent Residence, by Rich Baron
Rare cars in the Netherlands as well, so good to see an article on them.
One thing I like in your articles is an overview of the then current market for the car.
However this time I wonder why you made the engine capacity choice key. This lets in expensive cars like the Lancia, and sporty 2 seaters like the Auto Union and Alpine. I do not think buyers of these would be in the market for a Skoda.
One contender missed because of this maximum engine capacity rule is the humble Hillman Minx. In fact, that is the car I thought of immediately when I saw the Felicia. Like the Skoda based on the cheap four door saloon, it is a nicer styled convertible also destined for the lower market. Yes, it had a larger engine capacity but surely has more in common to the Skoda.
Well, you have to put a cut-off somewhere… There were a number of other high-end roadsters aside from the DKW and the Lancia, including the Alfa Giulietta Spider (FF22,000), the DB Le Mans (FF17,000) or the Lotus Elite (FF36,000) under that arbitrary 1300cc bar… None of which would have exactly been “cross-shopped” by the potential Škoda customer, I agree. But that’s what you could get on that market at the time.
But you’re quite right about the Minx. If I were to redo the table and set the bat at 1500cc, I’d ditch the Lancia (too dear) and the Bianchina (too small) and put the Hillman convertible (FF12,990) and the Peugeot 403 (FF13,700) in there, right between the Triumph and the Alpine.
There was a lot of market-specificity too. Likely only in France was the Renault Floride slightly less than the Skoda; likewise in the US much larger-engined domestic offerings would come into price competitiveness – the Big 3 weren’t doing compact convertibles in ’61 but the Rambler American and Studebaker Lark came as ragtops.
Another British model on the list could be the Morris Minor.
This is fascinating to look at. The front fenders look to have been inspired by the 1954 Plymouth – an odd choice.
Overall, I have to agree – this is a mishmash of lines, curves, angles and bulges, but somehow it works reasonably well.
My thought too, and the rear finlets look to have been cribbed from a ’56 Hudson. Another odd choice.
My first reaction was that the front fenders, at least the detail above the wheel wells, were “inspired” (ripped off?) by the 1958 Mercedes 300 SL.
One funky car, it almost makes the Panhard look good.
Is that an Alfa Sprint Speciale (red car) in the background? Would like to have seen some good pics of that beauty! One was for sale near our summer home about 15 yrs ago so stopped to look at it, iirc the price was about $20k, a bargain even at the time. Seems like you always see them in rossa (I think of it as a very feminine automobile).
Well spotted! It’s in the can and it will have its day on CC at some point, for sure! I think I have all the main Giulia/Giulietta derivatives (with the notable exception of the 101 Berlina) either published or in store, including a TZ and a Quttroruote roadster. Alfa otakus unite!
Felicia’s few felicities – sounds like a milksop late Victorian potboiler, that – stem from its resemblance to a potboiler*, here with the top blown right off. (*A caveat: I do not know what an actual potboiler is, but this Skoda, surely, resembles one, if ever anything did).
Her frowny fenders and fatuous fins notwithstanding, it’s actually not too bad, and certainly of interest so far on in time and space from whence it began. I might speculate, though, that the roof is a ringer, the original having long ago been sacrificed in a cornered moment wherein the beast became parked upon its roof – my friends, the swing axles, have a fearsome reputation on these, and if you look at the old PR pics, they outBeetle a Beetle by sitting at rest leaning with rear wheels out about 10 degrees positive camber.
A cicada can therefore better a beetle, if capitals are forgotten. Btw, I shudder to think of the racket if your modified bug was to breed – imagine the sound of a million cheap Czech finlets fandangling like castanets together over the sound of millions the world’s noisiest pairs of legs!
? So what was the “Touringsport” ? .
This thing looks like it might well have had a short period of sales due to it’s cute/weird ness .
The grille instantly made me think “Auto Union” .
-Nate
I rode in a pre-Octavia sedan in about 1958 or 1959 when my father’s sister and her husband came to visit. He was a teacher at a technical college, and in retrospect I am a bit surprised that allowed him to afford even a Skoda at that time. But he was a car lover and indulged himself with it. My mom and I rode up the Brenner Pass and in the surrounding mountains with them. I remember every car ride from that era, as they were quite infrequent.
The Skoda was not uncommon in Austria then, as it was cheaper than other cars of its size and capability.
As to the Skoda’s styling, although it looked rather “modern” when it came out, it was still very much sitting on Skoda’s traditional backbone chassis as had been used since 1933. That explains why it’s so tall, and why the pontoon-ish look doesn’t work so well. This was not a truly modern unibody car.
There was a convertible version of the rear-engined Rapid coupe in the UK, but they were aftermarket conversions rather than factory built.
The styling is a bit, er challenging, I suggest and the saloon perhaps even worse, with glasshouse seemingly elevated twice. Still, great find and nice summary – thanks
Yes, Dion, you’re right – we Tatra87 to expand his mission to include catching an Isuzu Minx and maybe a Nissan Austin A40.
Another one of those cars I never knew came in convertible form, though I can’t say I ever wondered whether such a body existed for the Skoda.
I remember seeing the occasional Skoda sedan as a boy; even then they seemed gawky and oddly-proportioned, being too high for their length. No doubt that’s due to the 1933-style chassis. I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt and assume it’s not the same actual chassis. Unfelicitous.
Perhaps the kindest thing I can say is that it’s a very nice shade of yellow.
My Dad had a green Octavia when I was a baby and eventually replaced it with a somewhat unreliable Hillman Imp…I remember the Skoda sailing up hills in the snow where other cars were getting stuck. Quite an oddball choice in the UK, but our wheels had to be cheap. As far as I know it was pretty reliable….
Skoda were making cars long before the 1920s it is a very old company, Those Octavias sold ok here and the backbone chassis and powertrains were imported to NZ and had a light utility built on them.Some people swore by them others swore at them YMMV.