At the end of al-Baladiya Street in Darayya (Rural Damascus, southwestern Syria), a black Jaguar sits by the roadside. Time and disuse have left their mark on it, yet it remains there.
From a distance, it may look like just another old classic car. But getting closer to it, and then to its owner, opens the door to the story of a man who does not see it as a rare metal machine, but as part of his life and a long memory that has stayed with him despite everything that has changed around him.
Saeed Bitar, the owner of this rare Jaguar, does not speak about it the way people usually speak about an old or valuable car.
His language with it is different, closer to companionship than ownership. When he wants to sum up the relationship, he says simply, “The car and I have grown old together.”
At first, the sentence may sound like an emotional exaggeration. But what he says next makes it feel more like a description of a life shared between a man and his car over decades, until it became more than just a means of transport.
It came by chance, and stayed through companionship
Saeed Bitar says the car came to him in 1985, after it had belonged to someone dear to him who was preparing to emigrate.
He recalls that the owner told him at the time that the car “suits no one but you,” then sold it to him at a low price, making Saeed feel as if he were living a dream.
For Saeed, the Jaguar was neither a deal nor a carefully planned purchase. It came, as he says, by chance. But that coincidence gradually turned into a deep personal bond, making it hard for him to imagine his life without it.
According to him, only three cars of this model remain in Syria, which partly explains the curiosity it sparks among car enthusiasts whenever it appears on the street or in photographs.
Yet what matters to him most is not its rarity on the market, but its place in his memory.
Not for sale
Saeed says he has received several offers to buy the car, some of them tempting. He also went through times when he was in urgent need of money, but he could not let it go.
He does not offer an economic explanation for his refusal, nor does he speak about its future value or investment potential. His reasoning is simpler than that, but heavier for him.
He says that if he sells it, he feels as though his heart would leave his chest. Then he adds in his simple dialect that the car “is not leaving my heart.”
That phrase nearly sums up the whole story. For him, selling the car would not mean giving up something old that could be replaced, but parting with a piece of his personal history, something that remained beside him while the city changed, life narrowed, and losses grew.
A living being
When Saeed describes his car, he does not stop at its specifications or exterior design. He sees in it more than a beautiful shape or a well-known name in the automotive world.
He says it is marked by solidity, stability, and strength, and that passengers do not feel its speed even when it is moving fast.
But what most reveals the nature of his relationship with it is the way he looks at its shape. He describes it as a “work of art,” then begins breaking down its features as if it were a face or a living being: it has eyes, a nose, a mouth, fangs, and ears, and it resembles a leopard.
In that description, the car moves from being an object to something with personality, features, and mood. Perhaps that is why he also says he feels it is “upset with me” because of the condition it is in today, a condition he insists is beyond his control.
At that point, the story is no longer only about a car, but about an intimate bond between a man and something old that has accompanied him for many years.
A British model that combined luxury and performance
Saeed Bitar’s car belongs to the classic Jaguar Mark II model, a British four-door saloon produced between 1959 and 1967, and considered Jaguar’s most successful model at the time.
According to data from the Jaguar Daimler Heritage Trust, a total of 83,701 units of this model were produced, including 27,848 units of the 3.8-liter version, which was considered the most desirable.
This version was equipped with an engine producing 220 horsepower, with a top speed of 125 miles per hour, around 201 kilometers per hour, and acceleration from 0 to 50 miles per hour in 6.4 seconds.
The Jaguar Mark II was also known for its presence in international saloon car races and rallies. In Britain during that period, it came to be associated with two contrasting images: it was widely used by police forces, while also appearing in some famous criminal cases, including its use as a getaway car in the Great Train Robbery of 1963.
This technical and historical background adds another dimension to the story. The car Saeed owns is not merely an old vehicle, but a recognized classic model. That explains the interest it draws from vintage car specialists, and gives his attachment to it a dimension that goes beyond emotion to include heritage value as well.
From the street to the screen
Saeed says his car also appeared in the TV series Milh al-Hayat, produced in 2011 and directed by Ayman Zidan, which portrays a period of Syrian history between 1946 and 1958.
But its presence in drama remains a secondary detail compared with its presence in his daily life. For him, the story is not about the car passing in front of a camera, but about it staying by his side all these years.
He adds that the car has retained a striking visual presence even as it stands parked by the roadside today. He used to wash it morning and evening, and devoted Fridays to polishing it to preserve its “royal” black color.
The war passed over both
When Saeed shifts from talking about the car to talking about his life, the tone grows heavier.
He speaks of difficult days they lived through, of much crying, and of grief that entered homes. He recalls the loss of his son as a deep personal wound, one that places the whole story in a different context.
At that point, his attachment to the car becomes clearer. It is not merely a hobby, nor a form of emotional indulgence, but part of what remains.
In a city like Darayya, which bears the scars of war, displacement, destruction, and slow return, some things become more than objects. They turn into what is left of an earlier life.
That is why the Jaguar remains part of his day despite its current condition and the repairs it needs.
Its significance is not limited to being an old car preserved by its owner. It also carries traces of family life. A small strip of fabric still hangs from its rearview mirror, placed there by his daughter when she was two years old, and has remained there ever since, for around 33 years.
Between those who value its price and those who know its meaning
Not everyone sees the car in the same way. Some see its market value, others think of its rarity, and some are drawn to its classic design and wonder how much it might be worth if restored.
Saeed, however, stands in a completely different place. For him, the car’s value neither begins in the market nor ends there. He does not measure it by that logic.
What he sees in it cannot be measured by rarity or restoration costs, but by the years he spent with it, by what remains of his former self within it, and by the meaning it has gained over time.
This contrast between those who see it as a rare car and his own view of it as part of his memory gives the story its clearest human dimension.
In the end, Saeed Bitar’s Jaguar in Darayya does not seem like merely a rare classic car, but something tied to a long life, still present despite everything that has changed.
For the Arabic version of this article, click here.
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