If you were in the market for something sporty, rear-engined and eye-catching in the early Eighties, there was only one natural choice. No, not the Porsche 911, you bore. It was a Japanese import with quite possibly the greatest name of any production vehicle. Ever.
Allow us to introduce the Suzuki Whizzkid, or the Suzuki SC100GX Whizzkid, if you really want to show off.
Images: Lee Brimble
A car called the Suzuki Cervo was launched in Japan in 1977, with a wheezy 539cc, 28bhp three-cylinder two-stroke engine to meet Kei car regulations.
When it arrived in the UK in 1979, it was given a mighty 970cc 47bhp four-pot, nicknamed the Whizzkid, and instantly attracted a cult following.
In all, 4,693 were sold to curious British buyers in its three years on sale, but thanks to bodywork that rotted quicker than banana skins, there’s only 20 left on UK roads.
First thing to mention is it’s small. Like, freakishly small. Like, ‘I have bigger boxes of cereal in my cupboard’ small.
At 3,190mm long and 1,220mm wide it’s only a whisker longer, and a good chunk narrower, than a Smart ForTwo – and that’s only got two seats, the Whizzkid has four.
Well, I say four, you’ll need to be tiny to fit in the back – far better to lift the hinged rear screen and use them as additional luggage space on top of the 911-style front trunk.
While you’re around the back, take the time to peruse the engine, slung out over the rear axle (Suzuki had to add ballast to the front bumper to balance out the heavier 970cc engine, you can do that when it only weighs 655kg all-in), and the triple strakes in the fat C-pillar – three lines echoed in its modern incarnation, the Ignis.
Driving it involves several sensations that in isolation shout “extreme danger”, but as a whole add up to an immersive and life-affirming experience. Things such as the steering wheel, inexplicably angled to the right (while the pedals are set off to the left) and with a quarter-turn of play before anything meaningful happens.
Or an overwhelming sense of vulnerability, given that Fiat 500s loom like monster trucks in the rear-view mirror.
The Whizzkid is not a fast car, as its official 0–62mph time of 16.5secs proves, but forget that immediately. Because with your bum millimetres from the road, and face millimetres from the windscreen, it feels fast.
No, more than that: it feels keen, plucky, up for a scrap and with that engine rasping away behind me, I quickly forget its age and rarity and insist on revving it to 7,000rpm, and throwing it unsympathetically into every corner. It’s like one of those over-energetic, yappy dogs. At one point I let out an audible woop. Odd.
Oddest of all is that those strakes aren’t just a cynical afterthought. There is DNA from the Whizzkid in the Ignis.
It might have sprouted wheelarches and an extra pair of doors, been raised in a pseudo-SUV manner and the engine might now be up front, but the Ignis is shot through with the same enthusiasm only small Japanese __cars seem to nail.
You drive everywhere with your foot to the floor, wringing the engine’s neck, because that’s how they’re driven. And Suzuki still does it better than anyone else.
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