London, England - Just about everybody of a certain age will be familiar with an urban myth that has been circulating since my early childhood in the 1950s. The one I mean is about the Rolls-Royce owner whose car broke down on a motoring holiday in the Alps.
According to the version I grew up with, though I’ve heard others since, the stranded tourist rang his car dealer in London, who got on to the Rolls-Royce factory in Crewe.
Within hours, three mechanics arrived in Switzerland by plane with the necessary replacement part, fitted it with great speed and efficiency and sent the happy plutocrat on his way.
Months passed, but still no bill appeared. So, driving through Crewe one day, the owner presented himself at the factory with his chequebook and asked the man at the front desk to tell him how much he owed.
The receptionist went off and returned with the manager who refused any money, telling the customer in horrified embarrassment: “I’m afraid you must be mistaken, sir. Rolls-Royce cars never break down!”
I suspect I was far from alone in remembering that story on Thursday when I read the annual survey by What Car? magazine , based on data supplied by a warranties firm, ranking motor manufacturers according to the reliability of their products.
MALICIOUS
Okay, Rolls-Royce wasn’t among the 37 makes assessed. But strikingly, right at the bottom of the table, ranked the most unreliable marque on Britain’s roads, was Bentley - Roll-Royce’s former stablemate and long-time rival claimant for the title of World’s Poshest Car.
Indeed, if this survey is to be believed, Bentley is not just slightly more likely to break down than other makes. With a Reliability Index rating of 637 (the higher the figure, the less dependable the car), it’s a whopping 596 points worse than top-ranking Honda, on 41 - and 257 points worse than Porsche, in 36th place on 380.
Now, I have no wish to get involved in the flaming row between Bentley and the compilers of the survey. All I will say is that the formula that is used to draw up the table seems fiendishly over-complicated, taking into account failure rate, age, mileage and - crucially - repair costs.
So I suspect the maker may have a point when it protests that this is unfair to exclusive luxury cars, whose parts inevitably cost more to replace if they go wrong.
But whatever the rights and wrongs of the methodology, the gist of these findings is almost certainly true: people who swank around in flashy cars tend to have an awful lot more trouble with them than the likes of me, pottering along in our modest Hondas, Suzukis, Toyotas - or, in my case, a trusty Ford Focus, whose manufacturer comes a respectable sixth in the reliability league.
But, no, my point is not so much to bore on about cars as to consider how we instinctively react to news of the misfortunes of the rich. For if you’re anything like me - and my apologies, here, to owners of luxury cars - you will have greeted the news that Bentleys, Porsches and the like are thoroughly unreliable with a flash of malicious pleasure.
“Ha, bloody ha!” I thought. But why?
I’ve long prided myself on being the least envious of men - and if you’d accused me of harbouring any ill-feeling towards the seriously rich I’d have hotly denied it.
Indeed, I’ve often said it doesn’t bother me in the least that the Duke of Westminster earns more during a single night’s sleep, from the property he inherited, than most of us do from months or years of honest toil.
Yet it is undeniable that there I was, smiling uncharitably at the mental image of all those unfortunate millionaires, pacing up and down at the the side of the road, with steam belching from the open bonnets of their Bentleys.
DESIRE
It’s not as if I would derive any pleasure from the breakdown of a more modest car. Having spent most of my early years of parenthood sitting by the roadside, surrounded by four squabbling boys, waiting for the AA to arrive to fix our ancient Renault Espace yet again, I feel nothing but aching sympathy when I see families similarly afflicted.
Nor have I ever had the slightest desire (well, not since I was about 30, anyway) to own a supercar.
Indeed, on the two occasions when I’ve been instructed by my employers to test-drive cars that cost several times my annual salary - one a Ferrari, the other a Lamborghini - I’ve felt only huge relief when the moment came to hand back the keys. So it isn’t because I covet my neighbour’s goods that I chuckle at the thought of expensive cars breaking down. Nor is it purely the fact (though I admit it added to my pleasure) that eight of the 10 most unreliable models in the What Car? table are built by German-owned companies - including the Bentley Continental GT.
No, I fear the answer must be that there’s something nasty in human nature - in mine, anyway - that makes us think malicious thoughts about many of our fellow human beings, simply because they’re better off than ourselves.
Of course, sometimes such thoughts are fully justified. Who but a saint didn’t feel contempt for the young driver who wrote off his R4.5 million Lamborghini this week, boasting to a passer-by: “It doesn’t matter. I’ll just buy another one tomorrow”?
DANGER
Indeed, I cannot remember a time when the rich were as strongly resented as they are today, or even when it was so widely considered a mark of shame to have done well in life.
Therein lies the danger. For the fact is that, footballers and a few spoilt young Lamborghini drivers aside, the great majority of those who earn a decent living for their families have achieved their success through hard work.
Let us, therefore, resolve to try not to chuckle if we see a flashy limousine or sports car belching steam by the roadside.
Daily Mail