The Talbot Samba was so damn weak it could rust in freezing fog. What a shabby, French, spit-bucket-of-bolts travesty it was.

What else could you do but love it?

Rust:

You eventually learnt not to fear the brown crackling. At times it may even have been holding the beleaguered Samba together. Though that does mean spotting a nice example today is harder than watching Michael J. Fox play Operation .

Evidently the Samba’s fragile frame also made it lighter than a bag of crisps. It was only attached to the road by gravity and whatever heavy shopping you could pack in the back. This made for a unique handling experience – nippy without ever being fast, fun without ever being safe, stiff, rigid, brittle and staunch. Nothing else in the world, outside of a Paraguayan supercar, could make contradiction appear so beautiful.

Rusty Lee, TV Chef:

The Samba was the very last car produced by Talbot (once part of America’s Chrysler brand). It catapulted out of the factory like a badly fixed wheel-nut in 1981. By that time Talbot had lost any hope of regaining its identify after having most of its showrooms hijacked by Peugeot. Ever heard of Simca (Société industrielle de Méchanique et Carrosserie Automobile)? Up until 1980 that was essentially a Talbot brand without the illustrious T.

After bailing Europe for financial reasons, Chrysler abandoned their concern with Simca and the Sunbeam-producing English Rootes. France took up the slack with Peugeot/Citroen and immediately ensured their car manufacturing became as muddled as their allegiance during the Second World War. Apart from commercials, Peugeot only really used Talbot as a giant swappable spares bin.

If you wandered (lost) past a Peugeot dealer in the early-mid 1980’s you would have noticed the Talbot logo displayed in fetching red and silver somewhere up near the Peugeot name. Parts and engines were shared between the two for as long as Talbot produced cars (the badge name was employed until 1990). But sourcing anything more extravagant than a fan belt from the dealer meant a three-month wait and a bill to scare both Fat Wallet and Access away to the nearest bus stop.

Owning a Talbot Samba was always going to be a messy business, and that’s before you had even opened the bonnet.

Rust Avenue, Mississippi:

Many argued that a Samba was actually just a lowered Peugeot 104. They are not far wrong, both cars shared the same chassis and 954 cc base model engine. Though these doubters obviously disregarded the sheer joy of having the Talbot logo perched on the grille. It is a little like owning a Ford; you know you belong to a club of salesman and van drivers, but that shiny sea-blue insignia still looks good against any substance or colour – even on the GT40.

Inside, Samba owners were treated to a basin of grey plastic and hastily stitched cloth. The steering wheel was a Citroen reusable classic (every AX got one), the doors less padded than a Frisbee, while the interior space and elbow room just about equated to a Jaguar XJ6’s glovebox.

If we appear to be moaning and groaning it is only because we care. We want to be hard on the Samba because we love it much. It shows that no matter how badly designed and engineered a car is, sheer character can seal the deal. The Samba had personality in crunchy, rusty bucketfuls. If you did not smile while inside one you were clearly dead, or waiting on the side of the motorway for the RAC.

As fearless as Sharon Osbourne’s plastic surgeon, a Samba could carry everything and more. Holiday suitcases were like pillows to this car, fat relatives merely a challenge. The rear bumper would be touching the ground and the seats desperately trying to retain their stuffing, but the Samba did not know the meaning of the word quit. Why Talbot never paid homage with a red and gold Rouke’s Drift special edition we’ll never know.

Rusty Schwimmer, Actress:

We would recommend care like a midwife when seeking out a used Samba. Oxide covered examples are most prevalent and generally best avoided, unless you can find a still intact convertible or – holiest of all grails – an 80 bhp Rallye version. Who gives a damn about a bit of rust when you can drive an eighty horsepower mayfly? The drop-top is pretty enough for forgiveness providing it can still keep out the rain.

Try as we might, we could not find a single respectable Samba on eBay.co.uk and so concede failure with our heads held low and lapels raised high. Terribly sorry, chaps.

Everyone should treasure their thoughts of the chin-up little Talbot – so nimble and willing – no matter how many times it needed a roadside breather. You just have to remember what crap it had to work with in the first place.

[story by Chris Laverty]