In the beginning there was a Morris Minor. This car has undoubtedly changed my life more than I could have imagined.
The Morris Minor is almost universally recognised as an objectively awful car. It’s slow, uncomfortable, unsafe, unrefined and generally unappealing to most people of sound mind. I recognise all of these indisputable shortcomings. And yet. And yet somehow, inexplicably, I have owned one of these terminally useless machines for nine years now. Believe me, I have tried on many occasions to drive it into the ground, to demand the impossible of it, to beat it into submission. But die it will not. The cockroach scuttles back into rude health each time, and I am left with this ridiculous underpowered millstone around my neck.
It has survived abuse, neglect, extremes of heat, cold and altitude, abandonment at borders, near-abandonment in the desert
When I bought this faded grey poached egg on wheels (or rather when it was dragged out of a shed in deepest rural Oxfordshire and I handed over actual legal tender for it) I decided that I wouldn’t make the mistake that many people do, which is to sell their first car and spend the rest of their days regretting it. Three days later, in August 2012, I managed to pass my driving test. So the journey began.
And what a journey it has been: this plucky little car has crossed mountain ranges, deserts, countries, continents, rivers, floods, disputed territories and even active minefields (yes, the exploding kind). It has survived abuse, neglect, extremes of heat, cold and altitude, abandonment at borders, near-abandonment in the desert and even a 300 mile per week commute to work. And amazingly, in all this adventuring, it has only been on the back of a breakdown truck once.
Other cars in my life have come and gone, staying for a while until I decide that I need something different. But not this one. We’ve been through too much together; we’ve experienced the world together; we’ve faced everything life could throw at us and come out the other side, sometimes limping but usually laughing.
It always amazes me how many owners of classic cars talk themselves out of actually driving them because it’s too wet, too cold, too hot, too far or too difficult. They forget that these cars were made to be driven, they’re what our parents and grandparents used as everyday cars. It can be done.
I could just about tell you where the oil goes but much more than that was entirely witchcraft to me
But for some, the idea of ‘putting too many miles on the old girl’ is simply too much, or the worry of an unexpected breakdown is insurmountable. To those naysayers and doubters I would like to point out that when I bought this little car, aged seventeen, I could just about tell you where the oil goes but much more than that was entirely witchcraft to me. Then within a year I had driven across Europe to Istanbul and back, and not spent a penny on having work done by a ‘proper’ mechanic.
The crucial thing to remember is that these old cars were built by humans, and therefore they can be maintained and repaired by humans. Their manuals tell you, the owner, what you should be doing to service the car every few thousand miles. They are relics from a time when we took personal responsibility, we cared for our possessions, kept things well-oiled and mended them when they went wrong. How far have we come since then?
I admit that there have been a few issues along the way: breaking down on a busy roundabout the first time I drove to school and having to push the car to a nearby garage for a friendly old mechanic to un-stick the points; motoring through a tunnel in Istanbul only to find that the accelerator pedal was stuck fully down so the only way to slow down was to turn off the engine; changing a head gasket in the Sahara Desert in over 45 degree heat; stalling on a slip road off the M40 and having to leap out, starting handle in hand, and crank the damn thing over before the traffic got going; the wiper motor helpfully deciding to eat itself during a damp holiday in Scotland; an over-ambitious attempt to cross some deep floodwater on the way home from work; all of the oil falling out of the engine in Austria.
I could go on. And on. And I will, if you so desire, in future articles where I shall regale you of some of these amusing mishaps and scrapes that have befallen me over the years of adventures in this car and others.
“The Morris Minor is almost universally recognised as an objectively awful car. It’s slow, uncomfortable, unsafe, unrefined and generally unappealing ”
This is the only time I have heard this car described in such a way. Have you looked at its entry in Wikipedia? “Design classics like Alex Issigonis’ Morris Minor car could be competing alongside great artworks like Constable’s Haywain and pieces by JMW Turner” and “It was the first British car to sell over a million units, and is considered a classic example of automotive design”
I owned a 1972 Traveller and it would cruise up to Scotland from the south of England at over 70 mph. The handling was quite good, it was fairly comfortable and the hydraulic brakes perfectly adequate. It did over 120,000 miles with us and my 2 sisters and I all learnt to drive in it.
Compared with cars designed & built 50 years later it obviously doesn’t perform as well, but compared to its contemporaries it was brilliant. And it has that indefinable ‘charm’. Otherwise why would you have kept yours for so long?
I hope you continue to enjoy yours for many years to come!
I wholeheartedly agree with you David. I probably should have added ‘by modern standards’ to to my statement.
And I would sooner drive a car like a Morris Minor across Africa than a modern equivalent, for the simple fact that they can normally be repaired on the fly, with a twig and some string.
Don’t worry, my Morris-bashing is very much tongue-in-cheek. You can’t go through what my car and I have experienced and not have the utmost respect for its sheer ability to keep going.
And yes, for its time it was a remarkably good small car. Having owned and driven a few prewar cars, I can imagine that if you had learned to drive in an Austin Seven, getting into a Minor for the first time would have been a revelation.
I certainly won’t be parting with mine. I have come close on a couple of occasions but I’m now very glad I didn’t.