Remembering the Holden one-tonner

For most kids, a Lamborghini was the default poster on the wall through the tweens and teens.

Not this little black duck. Growing up between Goulburn and Bowral, south of Sydney, prized wall art boiled down to one of three choices: motorcycles, trucks and utes. And of the latter, there was one which usually made the cut – the Holden one-tonner.

Here we have a vehicle whose biggest asset also doubles as its name. Whose leaf spring rear, hardy tray and spartan interior were premised almost exclusively around work duties than going anywhere in a hurry. Or even travelling in relative comfort, for that matter.

But then, that’s the legend of this clandestine beast, one that has been largely overlooked for smarter, snazzier headline acts as Holden prepares to shutter its manufacturing operations – and cease local production of the better-known Commodore – on October 20.

The one-tonner was and still is a legend on Australian jobsites. When the very first HQ model appeared in 1971, based on the Kingswood, hard-working tradesman flocked to the simple but robust formula in droves. Ditto the HJ, HX, HZ and WB models which succeeded up until the one-tonner’s demise in 1984.

Finding a poster-worthy example as a teen and tween was a tough assignment, and usually came in the form of a Street Machine-photographed hot rod version.

Similarly today, most of the examples you see on the road are a far cry from the original concept. Fettered engines, Merbau-lined trays and glossy wheels are all regular customisations alongside more powerful engines and interior flourishes. And they’re the cars which aren’t full of rust.

Even so, the opportunity to drive a one-tonner before Holden’s manufacturing demise was begging to be had. And that’s when we first met Illawarra resident Pete.

Thanks to a full-length perimeter chassis, leaf springs, longer wheelbase and unique cab design, the one-tonner was a match for almost many a trade or occupation thanks to its more than 1000kg payload.

The original could be had with both six-cylinder and eight-cylinder engines, mated to a super low diff ratio and a choice of manual or automatic gearboxes.

The one-tonner, or the entire Kingswood portfolio for that matter, wasn’t known for its driving acumen, though the HZ model driven here did bring a significant change in handling thanks to the advent of Radial Tuned Suspension.

Importantly, the one-tonner had adopted modern emissions and safety compliance for the time when the nameplate was put on ice in 1984.

>>

How the world (and world wars) shaped Holden

>> The rise and fall of Australia’s own car

Having driven an almost-new SS-V Redline Ute to our shoot at the spectacular Stanwell Tops – air-conditioned, automatic transmission, car-like driving traits – I naively underestimated the difference in 40 years’ of manufacturing between our two hay-haulers.

Pete was dead right. Clutch? Heavy. Gear shift? Heavy? Steering? Like a gym workout. And that was just ambling out of the car park.

This should all be no surprise given this particular HZ is stamped with a 1978 birth date. Once manoeuvred out of the car park, however, there is something quite therapeutic about the experience. A mechanical edge which isn’t apparent in new cars.

On the road, the HZ simply feels alive, or you know you’re alive driving it – one or the other.

The engine is a highlight. The carburetted 253ci V8 belies its original 130kW/325Nm outputs (we suspect this version, with its lumpy cam and aftermarket bits, is much healthier) with quite a useable breadth of power and a tough, chest-beating soundtrack.

The 253 percolates after a healthy dose of throttle, getting up to street-legal speeds with minimum fuss. Needless to say we stay a long way off the top-end of the rev dial, given Pete is good enough to let us have a drive.

Instead, once the engine arrive at middling revs, it’s a quick double-shuffle before slotting the well-worn four-speed into its next ratio.

Then a corner appears and, before I’ve even thought to apply the brake pedal, the old HZ is pitching over the nose as its touchy front pads clamour the disc brakes with little sensitivity. The big girl leans prominently, but controllably, as I dip into the corner, going about the process very organically.

It might read like a negative driving experience, but the reality is this closet one tonner fan is pinching himself throughout the drive. Bucket list stuff.

Five minutes up the road, and with the climbing value of one-tonners in mind (Pete estimates his is worth about $25,000), the decision is made to turn back and hand the Candy Apple Red number back to its rightful owner.

Nosing the HZ back into its car space, I pull the doorsill-positioned handbrake, turn it off and breathe a sigh of relief before handing the keys back to Pete – all the while smiling like a Cheshire cat.

Poignantly, a modern interpretation of the one-tonner even ambles by while we’re by the side of the road, the VY Commodore-based model that appeared in Holden showrooms from 2003.

While the noughties version was considered a success, it was hardly the same shockwave exercise of the vehicle that preceded it in the 70s and 80s – but maybe history might see it differently.

Then, it’s time to jump back in the fresh-feeling SS-V for the drive home. The difference couldn’t be more stark: fuel injection, better brakes, incredible handling and exponentially improved noise and vibration refinement.

Will the VF Series II model, the last of the line before Holden’s closure, hold the same clout as the HZ in 40 years’ time? There’s an exercise fraught with danger, but you tend to think it will.

Regardless, what a magic experience. The day I drove a one-tonner, weeks out from Holden’s Australian closure – a memory no poster-worthy Lamborghini could ever replicate.