Inside the British factory still making 1930s supercars

"We get 150 to 200 cars a year through our workshop," continues Stote. "Quite a lot of people hang onto them. They were bought by those who were interested in cars rather than just a mode of transport. It's not unusual to have a customer come in with several boxes and a ladder chassis frame saying: 'I've had this car since I was a student in the '50s, my daughter's getting married and I've promised she can go to her wedding in it.' That's the sort of thing we get."

Alvis produced around 22,000 cars during its original, 49-year lifespan, of which a whisker under 5000 remain. But under Stote's guidance, that number is slowly climbing. Alvis now runs a continuation business alongside its rich parts and servicing work.

Proffer a spare £325,000 (or so) and you can order a new car made from those bewitching blueprints, with a choice of half a dozen bodystyles and a 3.0- or 4.3-litre six-cylinder engine built to original specifications but with enough modern technology (and a slick Tremec gearbox) to help it sail through emissions tests.

You can have a new one, built as a continuation car and with a modern registration, or if you keep navigating Alvis's Narnia-like parts warehouse, you will end up in another facility, chockful of pre-loved chassis looking doe-eyed for a new owner and a fresh lease of life. It's a chance to own a shiny, reliable new Alvis wearing its original plate.

"Part of the pleasure for buyers is the journey of their build," says Stote. "They can come and see it, sit in it and be part of it. And they know the final car is unique to them."

It takes up to 5000 hours to reinvigorate an old Alvis, with nigh on all the parts being built or sourced locally. "We're in the heart of the UK automotive industry, after all," I'm cheerily reminded.

Kenilworth isn't just a place to indulge in nostalgia or unearth a curiously convenient barn find: it's a British car-making success story amid a turbulent landscape.

We drive a brand-new one

"Would you like a go?" asks Alan Stote, despite temperatures loitering below zero posing a stern challenge to the period-correct Blockley tyres of this dazzling 4.3-litre Vanden Plas continuation.

Callam Roberts is my willing assistant, the chipper 24-year-old taking a break from the workshop to show me the ropes and how easily the car dances to his command.

The modern six-speed gearbox snicks through simply and the morning gridlock is a cinch. Every twitch of your hands or feet instigates movement beneath. It's easy to see why hustling cars like this demanded notable skill in their heyday. But with a welcome dash of modernity for its more prosaic components, you can focus on car control rather than merely keeping the thing ticking over.