My first vintage car was a baptism of fire into the world of antique automobiles.
One of the joys of driving old cars is that you never quite know what’s going to happen next. As a pilot of a historic machine one is constantly listening for new rattles and squeaks, in the knowledge that any one of these unwanted noises could put a stop to your pleasant afternoon’s drive down a country lane. This ever-present niggling doubt can be off-putting to new recruits in the field of classic car ownership. But when your vehicle is pushing 100 years old you have no option but to approach every completed journey as a triumph of optimism over likelihood and every breakdown as an opportunity to get to know the car’s ever expanding list of foibles.
It was fitted with a starter motor as standard. This, helpfully, was no longer working
Enter stage left the magnificent 1922 Citroen 5hp which passed through my ownership a few years ago. I was ecstatic to be able to get hold of my first proper Vintage (pre 1931) car, and it wasn’t even a common-as-muck Austin Seven! A deal was done and the now former owner was amused that I planned to drive the 100 or so miles home from Sussex to Oxfordshire rather than hire a trailer. Well these cars were made to be driven. And my Morris Minor doesn’t have a towbar.
Just starting the car could be an ordeal in itself. It was quite advanced for a small car of its time because it was fitted with a starter motor as standard. This, helpfully, was no longer working, so a good strong pull on the starting handle was required. But not before you had turned the fuel tap on (the gravity fed system involved a petrol tank behind the dashboard), tickled the carburettor until fuel was dripping all over the road, flicked the choke (a roughly cut metal disk that swung in front of the air intake, no filter), and made sure it was in neutral so you wouldn’t run yourself over.
All this before you could attempt to crank over the massive 856cc four cylinder side-valve motor and, in theory, it would splutter into life. Some time later, after much swearing, fiddling with the choke, turning the fuel tap off, cranking again, turning the fuel tap on again, finding some gloves to relieve the newly formed blisters on your hands, eventually the damn thing would run for more than three seconds.
The transmission brake would become soaked in oil from the gearbox, causing great plumes of smoke to billow from it as you hurtled towards a T-junction
Bravely setting off into the dappled shade of the Sussex country roads, I had no choice but to become quickly familiar with the fact that reverse gear was where you would expect first to be, and the three forward gears were also handily jumbled up as well. A reminder that this car was very much from the dawn of motoring, when there was no set formula for how a car should be laid out. Sadly, but probably safely, the accelerator and brake pedals had been swapped around to put them where you would find them on a modern car. Not that either had much effect upon the car’s motion.
The earth-shattering 11bhp that this little engine managed to produce would propel it to an official top speed of 37mph, although I only ever achieved this on a very long hill descent in Dartmoor (more about that ill-fated journey to the West in another article). And the brakes were as good as non-existent too. For starters there were no front brakes, just drums on the rear wheels and another on the end of the gearbox. This transmission brake would become soaked in oil from the gearbox, causing great plumes of smoke to billow from it as you hurtled towards a T-junction at the bottom of a steep hill (there’s a story for another time too).
This was not a refined driving experience
Apart from these minor issues, driving a Citroen 5hp is exactly the same as any car. Except the lack of power, fourth gear, speedometer, or any dashboard gauges other than an ammeter, seatbelts, windscreen wipers, indicators, key, windows and driver’s door, to name but a few of the modern niceties missing from this ancient machine.
The few components it did have, had a tendency to jettison themselves from the vehicle at inconvenient moments. During the course of my short ownership, parts which made a bid for freedom included the cooling fan, the carburettor, the gear knob, the entire gearstick, one or two wheel nuts and even the prop shaft. This was not a refined driving experience.
When you put your foot down (with 11bhp, you drive everywhere with your right foot flat on the floor) the engine would begin to shake and at high speeds (20mph+) the whole car would rattle and things would fall off. But you wouldn’t notice them over the unbearable screech of the gearbox’s straight-cut cogs, until top gear, third, was reached and a conversation could just about be had.
Despite this long list of problems, dangers, mishaps and idiosyncrasies, I genuinely miss this little car. Every journey was an adventure and every arrival was an achievement. When the voyage is more important than the destination I can think of no more exciting a mode of transport.