Meet the man who makes David Beckham's Land Rover Defenders

It might be strange to say, but, years ago, I published a story called David Beckham is the best, in a hardback breathlessly described by The Daily Telegraph as ‘a book about fly-fishing’. It was a meandering tale about trout fishing in post-war-torn Croatia and my taxi driver for the trip, Milan. He was the footballing son of a pizza-bar owner, whose admiration for the Manchester United star transcended time and space.

In the same volume, Somewhere Else, I also included a tale titled My new red Land Rover. Now, here I am, more than 20 years later, writing about Land Rovers in a special edition of Country Life, guest edited by David Beckham (also known as ‘the best’). David likes Land Rovers, you see. And so do I.

Land Rovers have changed somewhat in the meantime. The original Defender is no longer built. Not by Land Rover, anyway. For various reasons, not least to do with its vintage architecture that could no longer be sold in the USA, Land Rover discontinued the real Defender in 2016, after the two-millionth had rolled off the line. They replaced it in 2020 with an aluminium monocoque Defender of the modern age, a brilliant henched reinvention that looks hungry for farms, deserts and swamps, but which has — in the eyes of many —lost the character of the original.

The real Defender had a cult following before it was mothballed. Now that no more are being built, the cult has morphed into a multi-dimensional church. Sir Jim Ratcliffe tried to revive the original and made a bid for the rights to carry on making it. Everyone thought this a great idea — except Land Rover, who turned him down. Sir Jim built his own instead, now sold as the Grenadier. Named after a Belgravia pub, the Grenadier also sells for eye-watering sums. This might be because, in setting out to build the original Landy, only as ‘something that doesn’t leak and is comfortable’, Sir Jim’s team inadvertently tried to do what Land Rover was already doing. I mean, if it doesn’t leak and is comfortable, then perhaps it isn’t an original Land Rover Defender?

Chatting to a local farmer about all this only the other day, I was told: ‘I had a Land Rover once. I absolutely loved it. I loved everything about it. The only drawbacks were that it was noisy, uncomfortable, impractical and unreliable.’ Characterful, then.

I no longer have mine, sadly, perhaps for the same reasons. My new red Land Rover was a re-build by one of the then new tribes of Land Rover restorationists, who took the generally immortal remains of an original Land Rover, blasted off the rust and rebuilt anew. All for a burgeoning class of customer happy to trade comfort and practicality for that ineffable thing that is… a Land Rover.

That was how this particular crew got started, working out of a drafty barn in north Norfolk, upcycling tired Defenders for local farmers at first, but increasingly over time for yachties who needed something to playfully yomp about the coast in. Or me, who needed something to yomp along river banks in — only something a teeny bit less ‘noisy, uncomfortable, impractical and unreliable’ than the Series III it was replacing. My new red Land Rover was a 200, but with a Japanese engine and no resident mice. Thus, I could both leave a Snickers bar on the dash overnight and drive it from Norfolk to Dorset without feeling as if I’d just got back from a sortie over Berlin.

The company once known as Hayward 4x4 has long since departed the drafty barn and is now Hayward Revive, specialising in specials and one-off dream-machines. It is one of several firms keeping the Defender alive, reinventing it, but also subtly attending to the quadrant of drawbacks my farming friend highlighted… without entirely eroding them.

Enter David and his special machine, a khaki Series III mohair-top (no resident mouse, I’ll warrant); all polished teak decking and burnished aluminium. Detailing of the sort the head of Bentley design once described to me as ‘the surprise’ includes Marshall speakers, a Momo steering wheel and, best of all, a polished plywood orb of a gear-knob. It’s a beautiful machine.

Our guest editor’s Landy is the work of Graham Mann of Outlander Vehicles in Scot-land, who takes Land Rover rebuilds to the next level of bespoke. Every vehicle that leaves his workshop — more than 50 and counting, with David’s Series III the 16th — is different from the last, but the signature look is yacht-quality joinery in teak and walnut, parts machined from solid aluminium billet, heavy-duty tweed, Scottish leather and analogue clocks and dials. Each machine is a named one-off, but Outlander’s familial DNA is something of a hybrid between a Swinging Sixties sports car and Roaring Twenties craftsmanship: wrapped up in a vehicle first designed to cross moorland with a dead stag on the bonnet.

Graham was into sports machines, originally. He still has a Lotus, an Aston Martin and one of those Wacky Races-esque mid-engined Renault 5 Turbos in his stable. However, his work as a rural property surveyor and an ice-bound Scottish winter in about 2010 forced him to look again at the ‘high-performance’ capabilities of a Land Rover. Every morning, without fail, his TD5 ploughed him through deep snow and kept on going. ‘A Defender can do things no other car can,’ he declares, remembering where it started. ‘Snow up to the bumper and it just drove out. There are cars and then there are Defenders.’

He started to think about how a Defender could be personalised. Graham observed the Land Rover’s natural habitat, the fine houses and remote estates, and wondered creatively about how a Landy could be built to reflect all that: the materials and the craftsmanship, blended with utility. At the time, so-called custom Land Rovers were, to Graham’s mind, homogeneously grey; marketed as bespoke, but really only big wheels and fake leather. ‘That’s not bespoke. Bespoke is making something out of nothing for a particular person. And that’s what we do.’

Graham’s proto bespoke conversion was a Land Rover 90, the Arden. He experimented with making ‘something he liked, that reflected his lifestyle and the things he was into’, with no idea if he’d sell it. For a while, he didn’t — £35,000 seemed a hefty sum for a second-hand Landy, even one fitted out with tweed. Then, however, Henry Dent-Brocklehurst from Sudeley Castle in Gloucestershire picked up the telephone and bought the car there and then. Graham realised, if he followed his passion, there was a market of ‘people like Henry who shared my view of what a Defender should be’.

Mr Dent-Brocklehurst is still a customer, with the Arden returning to base more than once for additional tweaks, including a V8 powerplant — as is Gordon Ramsay, owner of the Evo2, a pumped up Landy inspired by Graham’s muscly Renault 5. And, of course, there is David. Mr Mann has worked on several Landys for the Beckhams, who are clearly fans: a 110, a 90 and the Series III. ‘Everything we’ve done for David is the only time we’ve done it,’ Graham says. ‘Every-thing is a one-off, made to order to his exact specification.’

He works with one other craftsman, called Fulton Bruce. ‘In the end, we’re simply a couple of guys, radio on and inventing things,’ he muses. ‘Take the drinks cabinet we made for David. We go and pull out a plank of teak and start playing, cutting, making. It’s very organic. Everything’s a one-off, made from scratch, on the day.’

This modest statement belies the remarkable quality of his output. Now, his evolving portfolio of projects includes such creations as the Barlaston, a plum-mauve 110 fitted out with yards of toffee-coloured leather, propelled by a Corvette LS3 engine (a 430bhp, 6.2-litre V8), at one end to French Fancy at the other — a more humble Series 2 that, in spite of leather seats, engine and disc-brake upgrades and custom instrument binnacle, still looks ready to ford a West Coast torrent en route to the stalking grounds.

David’s is in the latter camp, pared back and practical, for all its quality — a bit like those clever goals of his. He won’t remember this, but via a friend of a friend of a friend, David signed a Manchester United shirt as a gift ‘To Milan’: the football crazy, Croatian teenager whose dad owned the bar I stayed in on that fishing trip. I posted it over and, as legend has it, Milan didn’t take the shirt off for a week. Whether he swapped his Renault 5 (not a mid-engined Turbo) for a Land Rover, I cannot say.

This article first appeared in the October 22, 2025 issue of Country Life. For more information on how to subscribe, click here