January came round, and I began my search for a Minor in earnest, and told my parents I would be trading in the Swift in a month's time. When they heard I wanted a Minor, there was some slight groaning, probably mitigated by feelings of nostalgia. In a last ditch effort to put me off a classic car, they insisted that I take a test drive of a Minor before I sold the Swift, just in case I hated it. I couldn't really argue, so I had a look for a Morris Minor for sale near university. I managed to find this one:
It was for sale in Chichester, at a Smart Car dealership, of all places, for £4000. That's quite a steep sum for a saloon, and it was not the model I wanted. You can see from the picture that it has two too many doors, but also it is a 1956 Series II Minor. These have a less powerful engine and worse gearbox than the later Minor 1000s, and also has trafficators instead of proper flashing indicators. However, it did at least have my favourite colour scheme. It was the nearest Minor to me by a long way, and I didn't want to travel many miles to see a car I was not going to buy. A Minor is, essentially a Minor, so I rang up the man to have a chat about it. Being a Smart Car salesman he was unfamiliar with Minors, to put it mildly. I learned that the steep price came from the fact that they had had £700 worth of welding done to it to get it through its most recent MOT, and that it had full service history. I agreed to come and see it that same day. However, I didn't want the salesman to think I was some unwashed youth just wanting a spin in a classic car. So I put on a suit, with a waistcoat. That did the trick.
A couple of hours later I arrived, and the man brought the car round the the front, gave me the service file and left me alone with the car for a few minutes. I climbed into the driver's seat, and shut the the door with a loud "thunk". There is nothing else like climbing into a classic car for the first time, shutting the door and breathing in the interior. It was fantastic. The air in the Minor was a perfect mix between the engine fluids and the smell of the old leather, the kind of smell that couldn't come from anywhere except an old car. The interior itself was beautiful. The red leather had faded over 56 years into a darker, more brown shade, but still looked magnificent. The steering wheel was made of white plastic, with a grey swirly pattern in it that looked great. The wheel itself was also huge, the sort of thing you'd expect to find on a sailing yaught. The horn button in the middle was brass, tarnished heavily from the years and countless hands on it. Everything was different in the Minor. The switches and ignition were all in the middle, underneath the speedo, which itself was a creamy white colour. The switches aren't modern push buttons, but instead are big bakelite pull and flick stalks. There's also a manual choke, essential on an older car. I just sat there for a while, marveling at it. I then had a look at the service file, and wow. When the man had said full service history, he meant it. Every single bill, receipt, MOT, tax disc and scrap of paper relating to the car had been kept and filed. The original bill of sale from 1956 was there, as were some original brochures, and receipts for parts with shillings written on them. It was amazing. I grabbed the salesman and the keys, and we went for a drive.
It took quite a bit of getting used to, to put it lightly. Firstly, you have to start the engine. In the Series II Minor, you don't simply put the key in the ignition and turn. You put the key in the ignition, and switch the ignition on. Then, you pull a separate little stalk, which operates the starter motor. It's needlessly complicated, but I love it. The engine itself fired up instantly, sice the car was already warm.
Then, you've got to operate the pedals. The brake and clutch pedals hinge from underneath the floor, instead of from the bottom of the dashboard, so the way you push them is a bit different, as they curve in the other direction. What's more, the clutch and brakes themselves are not power assisted, so to make them work, you really have to step on the pedals. The throttle, however, hinges from the familiar position, from above, and since it's only pulling the throttle cable on the carb, it's much easier. The carburettor itself doesn't deliver power as instantaneously as fuel injection does, but I prefer it, as it makes power delivery smoother and easier to regulate, which is what you actually need with everyday driving. I did actually find the driving position slightly awkward, and getting at the pedals was a little tricky. That was probably down to inexperience, and the fact I was wearing uncomfortable brogues.
Once we got moving, there was the steering to contend with. It's not power assisted, but thanks to the large wheel and lightness of the system, you really don't notice once you're moving. The rack and pinion system is incredibly responsive and gives great feedback, and is one of the Minor's best features.
Once some speed was achieved, I had to change gear. This is one of the most enjoyable bits of driving a Moggy. You don't just flick the gear lever around like you do in a modern car. You really have to grasp it and properly move it. That's partly because the gearbox isn't quite as refined as a modern car's, but also because the gear lever is very long, especially on the earlier Minor gearboxes. The gears are easy to find however, once you know where they are. There's also one less of them; Minors have 4-speed gearboxes, not 5. It's also very important to remember not to shift into first gear when the car is moving, because first gear in a Minor does not have synchromesh. Long story short, this makes the gearbox graunch horribly if you try to select first while moving, but it's something you very quickly learn.
The view out of the Minor was great. The visibility out of the Minor was not so great. By that I mean that what you see through the windscreen and the windows makes you smile, but is perhaps not the best for seeing outside. The split-screen windscreen on the Series II Minor looks great from outside, and even better from inside. On the side, you get quarterlights, which look brilliant, even if they don't actually do much when you open them except make wind noise. The rear view mirror was tiny, about the same size as the mirror that girls carry around with them to check their makeup with. Mind you, the rear window was tiny as well. This was actually enlarged on the later Minor 1000s, another reason why I didn't want a Series II.
Up until I took the first corner, it was all fine and dandy. However, when you arrive at a junction in a Series II Minor, you have to indicate. Your hand moves towards the steering column to operate the indicator stalk, but you don't feel it. You look down and see nothing there. You scan the dashboard quickly for any likely switches, but there are none. By this time you've been sitting at the junction for a good five seconds. You turn to the salesman in the passenger seat and ask "Where are the indicators?" he points and indicates a small plastic lever underneath the dashboard to the right of the steering column, attached to a vertical swivel so it can move left and right. You tentatively reach out and push the lever to the right. There's a slight sound in your right ear, and you look round to see that a metal arm with an illuminated orange light on it has flipped up and points out a good 10 inches from the side of the car, between the front and rear doors. "That's ridiculous!" you say to the salesman, with slight incredulity in your voice. The salesman shrugs and says "It is a bit odd.". I decided after that I really didn't like the trafficators. Not only do they not self-cancel, but they don't flash or click to let you know they're on, so it's very easy to drive along, forgetting that one of them is standing erect. The flashing indicators from later Moggies can be retrofitted to Series IIs, but that would mean messing around with the wiring, which is my least favourite part of any car, and I would have anal purists on my back for ruining the car's originality.
But I'm waffling a bit now. Suffice to say that, despite the trafficators, driving a Minor for the first time was challenging, but incredibly good fun, and satisfying too. You're really involved in the driving of the car, as it has no aids to help you like a modern car, so once you reach your destination, you really feel like you've driven there, not merely traveled there. One thing I did miss, besides indicators, was a seatbelt. That's right, there were no seatbelts. They were not compulsory on production cars in Britain until 1967, so all Moggies made before then will not have come with them as standard. Of course many Moggy owners have since fit seatbelts to their cars over the years, but the previous owners of the Series II I drove clearly hadn't got around to it. The Series II Minors also have a weaker gearbox than later cars, and the measly 30 horspower engine gets you a top speed of 65 mph, so cruising would be around 55.
After having another chat with the salesman, I unfortunately had to lie to him and tell him I'd think about it and get back to him. In fact, I had no intentions of buying the car, partly because £4000 is way too much for a Moggy like that, and that it was just a bit too antiquated for me.
In hindsight, I actually really liked the way the Series II looked. If it had been quite a lot cheaper, I might have bought it, then fitted some flashing indicators, and dropped in a later engine and gearbox to bring the performance up to scratch. Maybe a project for the future.
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