Whatever happened to the Renault 6?
Pity the poor Renault 6. Given its single digit number, it should occupy a seat at the top table of Regie’s legends, sandwiched between the R4 and the R16, and playing footsie with the R5 sat opposite.
But the Renault 6 is all but forgotten, even within classic circles. Far less successful than the Renault 4 upon which it was based, lacking the innovation of the Renault 16, and less stylish than the all-conquering Renault 5, the forgotten one lacks six appeal.
All of which means there has been little in the way of fanfare to celebrate the car’s 50th anniversary. No bunting strewn across the garden path or Fox’s Party Rings circled around a paper plate. PetrolBlog believes this is unfair, which is why it gets its moment in the limelight.
Launched in 1968 in Paris – three years after the 16 – the R6 created a new model line for Renault, occupying a slot between the 4 and the 12. France led the way in the five-door family hatchback segment, with Citroën’s Dyane and Ami 8 joining the R6 in offering a little more comfort and versatility to the people of rural France.
Deliberately unpretentious
The Renault 6 was not a car for the fashion-conscious: the original UK launch brochure was refreshingly free of needless references to the car’s styling. It was deliberately unpretentious because that’s what was demanded by its target market.
Instead, the Renault 6 majored on three primary attributes: space, comfort and economy. “Everything a family car should have,” claimed Renault. How times have changed. These were the days before families demanded safety, cupholders and an infotainment system.
In typical French style, it was delightfully simple yet wonderfully effective. The gear lever was mounted high, below the dashboard, creating a clutter-free floor and a real feeling of space. A front bench seat was standard fitment, but individual front seats with adjustable backrests were an optional extra.
The back seats were equally spacious, but the R6’s main attraction was its estate car-like boot. A large, full-width tailgate opened to reveal a cavernous boot, with further space available by removing the parcel shelf and folding the rear seats.
Its styling might have been more ‘plain Jane’ than Jane Fonda, but it masked a hugely practical and comfortable cabin. And besides, the Citroën Ami had the controversial styling side of things sewn up – playing it safe wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
Petrol-starved motorists
At least it wasn’t in France, where styling sat low on the list of priorities. On the other side of the Channel, the buyers were more demanding, requiring a little joie de vivre to accompany their daily motoring. Renault may have been Britain’s biggest car importer, but the R6 took a while to catch on.
Things changed in 1973 when the fuel crisis focused the minds of Britain’s cash- and petrol-starved motorists. All of a sudden, a cheap and practical car, offering 35-40mpg was in-demand, especially in light of the fact that cars had been getting more expensive for a while.
The 6 could offer two engines: the tried and tested 850cc unit, as fitted to more than five million Renaults over the previous 15 or so years, and the more powerful 1108cc unit, introduced in 1970. Neither offered whippet-like pace – the 6-850 developed 34bhp, the 6-1100 47bhp – but the larger engine was marginally quicker and more flexible.
That said, the increase in power was offset by the additional weight of the 6TL – or Tourisme Luxe – which also offered a few notable extras over the 6L, including individual front seats, front door armrests, a day/night rear-view mirror, vanity mirror, ashtrays in the rear doors and a heated rear window. TL customers could also specify cloth seats as an option.
‘Little Renault 16’
As Britain emerged from the effects of the fuel crisis, the R6 went a little more upmarket through a range of ‘Renault Boutique’ accessories. Everything from alloy wheels to mud flaps and roof racks to front fog lights could be ordered through a main dealer, as Renault’s Cinderella could finally dress for the ball.
It remained on sale until 1980 – although production continued in Spain and Argentina until 1986 – and it had no direct successor. For a dozen years, it occupied its own niche within the Renault range, winning many friends but very few admirers.
The R6 never really won hearts and minds in quite the same way as the R4, R5 and 2CV. Too dowdy to be loved, too little flair to be a showroom star. Even Renault dealers insisted on calling it a ‘little Renault 16’ to give it ideas above its station.
And yet, some 1.5 million people liked the R6 enough to give one a home. Of that number, around 15 are thought to be taxed and tested in the UK, which is too small a number for a car that got us through the fuel crisis, provided transport to growing families and took us on seaside holidays to the coast.
Happy 50th anniversary, Renault 6. You really were the family car we had all been waiting for. It’s just a shame that so few people remember you.
8 Comments
Great to see this site (shatch) back – the respray and alloy wheels have really made a difference, and I look forward to opening it up.
Lovely article about the R6 – some friends had an early red one. I remember thinking it was a bit left-field at the time, but the family were academics and tended to be ahead of the curve in a lot of things. I’d forgotten little details like the exhaust exiting ahead of a rear wheel – so French, and practical, too, as the occupants of the car behind wouldn’t have had fumes shoved up their noses so much.
Those are the kind of details that get forgotten, especially on a car that’s – relatively speaking – rather plain.
Incidentally, the R6 on the main image was owned by my parents. I don’t remember much about it, but it just goes to prove that my parents owned cool cars.
Lovely to read that article, largely forgotten it is but we’ll worth remembering! Thanks
The R6 will always have a place in my heart, because my Dad taught me to drive in one, my Mum’s car. Ours was a bit tired – the clutch bit in the last inch as you lifted your left foot, and the handbrake was effectively useless, but the legacy of this is that I am very, VERY good at hill starts.
My funniest memory is putting it into reverse too roughly, and effectively pulling the gear-lever off; the gearbox was at the front of the engine and the gear knob was at one end of a long shaft that hooked over a convential gear-lever all the way at the front, so I unhooked it, basically.
Imagine my horror and terror as the shifter flopped upside-down, swinging slowly to a stop.
Now, imagine my pride and relief when I went under the bonnet, figured out how the bloody thing worked, and managed to fix it…
Renault 6 – It was my first NEW Car. I bought it in 1970. I enjoyed driving it and had it for eight years. Low powered though it was I was never frightened except when overtaking unwisely on a single carriageway going uphill.
But in my experience its mechanics and bodywork were a disaster., the shock absorbers failed before it was due for its MoT at three years, both the drive universal joints hauled themselves out of joint on full lock, the floor nearly fell out from rust within seven years – it had needed severe welding before each MoT. – Comfortable it was but durable it was not.
Thanks for reading and commenting, Peter.
Your experience highlights why so few of them are left. Such a shame.
My first car – a blue 6TL, graduation present from my Dad, who had owned it for about 5 years. My sister got my Mother’s R5. The 1108 was over-engined for its suspension, with a tendency to understeer, but once used to that it was a great comfy workhorse and, as the back set could be removed with a couple of butterfly nuts, it had the carrying capacity of a small van. After a few years the UJs used to click alarmingly, so I would “tack” round roundabouts when there was room. But in the end I had to get a mate to weld a back door shut as the wheelarch rotted away, then the floor went with it. Such a shame, the engine would still be going today if the body had lasted.
Back in 1983, a colleague gave me a 1972 R6, when I needed a banger for a one-way trip to Spain. She had bought another, and laid up this one, which had been standing in the open for a year, and looked on its last legs.
It was battleship grey, with a rusty roof, shot-through wings, and a bonnet that wouldn’t shut. But after an afternoon of tinkering and a new battery, the engine came to life and the rusty box became a runner.
A week later, free of tax and MOT, set off to teach English in Logrono, La Rioja. I drove it from Calais, through France, into Spain, on what I expected would be a single trip, given the car’s condition. But its reliability proved me wrong and that year we went on jollies with often 5-up, to local festivals, and further afield to San Sebastian, Pamplona, Madrid, even Malaga. The only problem was a brake pipe failed one night, when applying excessive pressure one night when parked with a friend… and we limped home using the parking brake.
A year later, the local fuzz came and impounded it, explaining it had been in Spain too long, and I’d need to pay a fine to get it back! I decided to let them have it (the car, not a 12-bore), and retire it gracefully in the sunshine of a Riojan scrappers.
But, it was a terrific motor, and in spite of its condition it proved amazingly reliable, needing nothing save petrol, oil and a brake pipe. Dead comfy too, and loads of room. It was a characterful, loyal pal for the greatest of adventures in one of the best years of my life.