MG might as well be a synonym for the word roadster. Sure, there were always MG saloons as well, but they were usually badge-engineered affairs. The marque’s real raison d’être was always to provide the Nuffield Group with a dash of open-air excitement – for a reasonable price. Until the Second World War, MGs were chiefly known in Britain and the Commonwealth. But then came the TC, and Morris Garages went global.
The Midget T-Series debuted in 1936 as an already dated-looking little roadster (a drophead coupé was also available) with a 50hp 1.3 litre engine from the Wolseley Ten. In mid-1939, this engine was replaced by a 1250cc Morris motor, producing 54hp – the model became known as the TB. Very few of these were made, as MG switched to war material production in the autumn. Almost as soon as peace returned in Europe, production resumed (as did advertising, as we can see above) with an almost identical car, now producing 54.5hp and bearing the name TC.
Interior space was a little more generous than in pre-war models, as the cockpit was widened at the expense of the running boards, but the car’s overall external measurements stayed the same. As did the construction, which kept the tried and trusted steel panels over ash wood frames. It looked like it had been designed in 1930, and that was not an issue in the slightest.
Unlike the Morgan 4/4 we saw recently, the MG’s little chassis was just as old-fashioned as its body, with (stiffly) leaf-sprung rigid axles at both ends. At least the brakes were hydraulic, which is not something that could be said of all British cars at the time.
The 1250cc engine, mated to a 4-speed manual, is perhaps not the most powerful thing in the world, but with only 850kg of car to propel forward, it’s gutsy enough to make the MG a lively little number. Speaking of which, numbers do not really tell the full story on the car’s performance: 0 to 60 mph takes over 22 seconds and top speed is about 75mph. But when you’re inches off the ground, with the wind in your hair and every single bump is communicated directly to your tailbone, the MG TC feels, as most contemporary testers usually call it, “quite spirited.”
The MG is almost the perfect antithesis of an American car, which may be the reason why it became one of the British car industry’s surprise hits. Not content with shipping these by the boatload to places like Australia, South Africa and the West Indies, MG started selling a lot of these to GIs stationed in the UK, who then brought them back across the pond. Soon, these were being imported to the States in quantities never seen before the war – and they sold like hotcakes, because not only were they fun and exotic, but they were great performers on the track.
Against all odds and logic, MG snapped into inaction by never proposing a LHD variant to facilitate their fast-selling roadster’s newfound American stardom. Perhaps it was felt that this mattered little and that, given the MG works were making as many TCs as they realistically could anyway, this could be rectified when the successor model would be launched.
Another holdover was the dash’s symmetrical layout, which one would have thought meant these would have been planned as both LHD and RHD to begin with. But they were not. The same layout was used on larger pre-war MGs, so the T-Type got this in inheritance, more than anything. The issue many owners had with this layout was that the speedo, being all the way on the passenger side, was tricky to read properly – just one of a myriad of ergonomic quirks that made these MGs so endearingly infuriating.
The aftermarket wheel in this one is noticeably smaller than the truck-sized item that the car came with originally. Operating the pedals is also said to be best done without shoes, to avoid pressing two at the same time. And anyone over six feet tall will apparently have problems just fitting in this tiny cockpit, no matter what seat they pick.
This did not matter, because nobody bought an MG TC for comfort. They were bought because they looked amusingly old-fashioned, yet could be chucked about Watkins Glen for hours at max speed without ever breaking down. Plus, the engine could be pretty easily coaxed to produce over 90hp, and the car could be made lighter, turning the MG into a very decent performer.
Pre-war T-Types (TA and TB) sold well enough, but MG still only shifted about 3500 units between 1936 and late 1939. The TC, sold between 1945 and 1949, garnered 10,000 sales, of which 20% was exported to the United States. Paltry numbers, but this type of car was almost completely absent from that market in the ‘30s, and Britain had quite a few other sporty drop-tops to offer their car-hungry cousins over the ocean. And thus the invasion began – Jaguar, Sunbeam, Triumph, Morgan, Healey and many others followed MG’s lead, pushed by a British government whose motto was “Export or die.”
And if there are still cars bearing the octagon today, even though they’re produced in China, it’s due in large part to the TC’s unexpected success, both at home and abroad. Midget by name and by nature, but giant by legacy.
I was introduced to the marque by a book called “The Red Car” in our school library.
Mostly I read the Henry James Felton yarns about teenage drivers getting killed but this one was about a family discovering the joys of a TC.
They said that, unlike the TD, the TC had
the “go-to-hell look”
I read that too – all about Hap Adams and how he got his red TC
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2909435-red-car
The beginning of a huge fad in the US. Having a sports car and wearing a tweed cap instantly put one in the tribe. My father in law was one of them, and his TD was the first Squires family car, one that lasted long enough for Stephanie to remember vaguely, not that it was a suitable car for a family with a child.
A very cure car but I recall the engines being fragile and not liking high RPM’s much plus these had (IIRC) 21″ tires and handled poorly being easy to flip in spirited driving .
I run with a bunch of LBC owners one of whom has a modified TC.
-Nate
Independent front suspension, who needs it!
In England, if you wanted something even cruder, pre-war you could get a “chain-drive” Frazer-Nash that didn’t even have a rear differential.
As a kid I preferred the TF with its more “modern” styling. The TC looked too old, though in a nice way. The TD was still a pretty common site of the roads but it seemed rather bland, without the TF’s sleeker look nor the TC’s charm. Of course as an adult, I’d say it’s TC all the way.
They sent them everywhere, one was next door to where I rebuilt my EH Holden complete but not for sale next to it was a 55 Velox ute I would have taken first anyway if they were being sold, it wasnt wood based with a tiny easily exploded engine,
Famed auto writer David E Davis almost met his demise in an MG.
Who among us relates to Tatra87’s description of “endearingly infuriating” especially in that unique way the Brits honed into perfection.
As mentioned, MGs were indeed very popular in Australia, regarded pretty much as the Universal Sports Car, for many decades. To highlight its sporting prowess, an MG TC won the first post-war Australian GP held at Bathurst, NSW. Another T-Series MG also placed 1st in our last pre-war GP. Additionally, MG claimed this Title five times between 1928 to 1939!
Fellow enthusiasts might enjoy these fantastic in-period photos of racing MGs (including a couple of legendary Americans) to be found at this link below:
https://club.shannons.com.au/club/news/racing-garage/mg-tc-td-tf-how-a-tiny-british-sports-car-won-the-first-post-war-agp/
I always loved the idea of these, and also the look. I probably would not be so enthusiastic if I ever had a ride one. I always preferred the TC/TD (I could never tell them apart) to the TF. If you are going old fashioned, go all the way.
My dad took engineering at University of Toronto in the 1930s and one of his classmates had a Singer, which was evidently a similar style of open roadster. I have never seen a picture but from a bit of investigation I think it was probably a Singer 9. There were lots of English manufacters of this type of roadster, but MG became the main winner after the war.
“Export or die” was a result of the £4 Billion debt Britain had accumulated in WW2, mostly to the USA.
As a result, in the postwar period half or more of UK auto production was exported. This was facilitated by the “Purchase Tax” amounting typically to 50% of the price on home market vehicles.
MG Cars became especially popular in the USA, until the closure of the Abingdon plant in 1980.