There is no more enigmatic company in English coachbuilding than Corsica. Its name conjures images of gnarled artisans bashing away at sheet steel in backstreet Bastia, wearing thick oilskin overalls and with a cigarette (roll-up for authenticity rather than lazy Gitanes cliché) hanging out of the mouth. The coachworks’ back catalogue supports such a vision with a scrapbook that includes some of Europe’s finest pre-war cars.
The fact that it was revered enough to be so in-demand at the very top end of the market yet remained wilfully unprolific (and, according to historian Nick Walker, never displayed its wares at major shows) only added to the mystique and the imperative to buy-in. Ironically, the current uber-luxury market mantra of bespoke, self-designed goods handcrafted by an extremely small team of highly skilled artisans (Corsica never had more than 20 staff) bringing the customer’s own vision to life would all have sat very well with Corsica.
Yet, far from the sweltering Mediterranean sun, Corsica was simply named after the North London street where it started, a Highbury road wedged between the railway lines and the A1. Today, Corsica Street is the usual north London parade of yoga centres and vaguely Deco class-B premises converted into luxury warehouse-style flats, but back in 1920 it was a bustling road mixing light industry with residential property. That was when it was founded by Charles Stammers, along with his brothers-in-law Joseph and Robert
