Museum Classic: 1957 Morris Minor 1000 Tourer – Driving Dad’s Car, Almost

I shared a photo report from the recently opened Great British Car Journey museum, and teased that there was something else, other than a great collection of memorable British cars, to attract the Curbivore. Here it is, billed as Drive Dad’s Car. An opportunity to drive one of the cars from the collection around the museum grounds, with an assumption or suggestion that your (first) preference might be the car your Dad drove, as they say, “back in the day”. So, purely in the cause of research and the interests CC reader……

The museum itself is an account and celebration of the British motor industry, over the last 100 years or so, and the journey it’s been through. Hence the museum’s name. And given the nature of the collection, focussed on British cars and a strong emphasis on affordability and memory (more Austin-Morris, less Aston Martin) it’s also a chance for families to recall those family events and memories, like the long journeys to Devon or Scotland in a Hillman Super Minx. A neat twist on the Great British Car Journey title.

The museum offers a selection of cars to pick from, ranging from a pre war Wolseley to a Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow.  All your favourites are there – a Cortina, an Imp, Minis, an Anglia, Austin A30, MGB, Rover 3500 or P4, a Hillman Avenger, a Morris Marina or a Viva. Where else can you drive a bright green Allegro?

So the first question, and in my case a very easy one to answer. What car to choose? An instant answer – the 1957 Morris Minor 1000 Tourer. Please, not a Convertible, but a Tourer. It wasn’t a sports or glamour option but a throwback to the pre-war folding roof style, though it did have glass rear side windows, not sidescreens.

The reasoning for this choice was very simple and in keeping with the museum’s ethos. Back in the early 1960s, our family lived in Matlock, 5 miles up the road from the museum and Dad drove a Morris Minor 1000 Tourer, a 1960 (I think) model. Its most notable journey, IMHO, was my first ride in a motor car. In 1964, it was traded in for a Hillman Minx saloon, starting Dad’s almost 25 year association with Rootes and its descendants. Truly, it would be as close as I could reasonably get to driving Dad’s car, and in the right place too. A no brainer, as they say. Dad’s was pale blue, always a popular colour, and still frequently spotted, for a Minor.

Formalities completed, into the car with the instructor, the friendly, cheerful and patient Kath, who is also a rally instructor and circuit racer. Get settled, adjusting the seat. It was all the way back, it seemed, but not quite far enough.  A quick tug and push and it moved a bit, enough just. Since that was the only adjustment possible, we were soon at the dashboard walk about. Which didn’t take long, as there are only four buttons (lights, wiper, choke and pull starter), an indicator stalk and a horn button. The gearshift is conventional H pattern, unsurprisingly, but there was no synchromesh on first. Hopefully, we wouldn’t need to stop often.

The weather was not up to lowering the roof, so a quick and easy pull start and we’re off. A quick scoot round the corner for the photo (that phone box is actually a flat cutout but a convincing one) and then onto the drive itself.

For various understandable reasons, such as timing, insurance, vehicle registration and customer ease, the route is around a figure of 8 between the buildings on the museum site. This is actually an old rope works, with various relatively long buildings.

The drive itself took in a closed car park area with a set of slalom cones set out and then along the main car park, site access roads and round the other buildings (with other businesses in them) on a marked out route with some logical priorities and an identified speed limit. The day we were there was actually Father’s Day, a Sunday in mid June, and the driving was pretty popular, with a steady flow of drives in progress. The site is several hundred yards long, and we got into third gear and up to around 30 mph. So, this isn’t going to be a full road test, but the offer was a drive in Dad’s car, and I’ve seen people buy cars after shorter test drives.

Still, you need some impressions. It is only fair to remember that although this car is a 1957 model (which has somehow gained a 1964 period registration) and I was “recreating ” a few years later, the Minor is essentially a 1948 car. Subsequent changes were a bigger single piece windscreen, a different but still spartan and simple dash and the use of the BMC A series engine in place of the Morris Motors pre-war side valve unit. This car has a 948cc unit, with 37 bhp, and could do 0-60 mph in 26 seconds, and ultimately reach 73 mph, though not today.

The driving position was just about satisfactory, but I guess we’re taller than we were in 1948. There is enough space around the pedals and gear lever, with no console, an upright seating position and a fairly distant toe board, but the pedals are offset to the centre of the car by the wheelarch.  With so few minor controls, dash ergonomics are not really an issue, other than the sightline to the central speedometer which is cut through by the steering wheel. Entry and egress are fine, as is visibility.

Every account you read tells you that the Minor was, measured against its contemporaries,  easy to drive as a result of Alec Issigonis having understood and managed the weight distribution, the independent front suspension geometry and rack and pinion steering. There is no power steering of course, but with the relatively large and high mounted wheel, the steering weight was easily manageable at low speed and as speed rose. It didn’t seem unduly low geared either, and as far as I could tell on the short drive sufficiently communicative. The ride was firm and the car didn’t feel to roll as much as you’d expect given how tall it felt.

There was no synchromesh on first gear, but even so first to second changes were easy enough with no request to double declutch. Second to third was also an easy change, as long as I remembered that the lever was not sprung in the same manner as a modern Alfa Romeo one, to the third-fourth plane.

The biggest disappointment was probably the brakes – the unassisted drum brakes felt very weak and the effort required high.  The museum’s vehicles are maintained well and to UK MoT standards, although for a car like this, the MoT is no longer a requirement, and I could accept it was wear or an adjustment issue, but for anything faster or on public roads I’d have hesitation.

As I said this is not a full review, and was never going to be. For that, I suggest you read this, from Autocar in 1964, when a Minor 1000 Deluxe was tested.

The Autocar test car was the later 1098cc version, with a higher final drive giving improved cruising and fuel economy rather than improved acceleration.

Why was this not called the Minor 1100? The only reason I can see is to avoid confusion with the then new and innovative Morris 1100 saloon (ADO16), a car that I have called Issigonis’s masterpiece and which could stand comparison with any competitor in Europe at the time. The ADO16 came in 1962, the same year the Minor took the same larger engine. You could excuse Issigonis for being puzzled – he was asked for a 1962 answer to the same question he’d answered in 1948 and BMC continued to offer both for the rest of the decade. But he was probably also privately flattered.

There was a first circuit of the site, with another run through the slalom as well (“Nice line through the cones” says Kath’s inner rally instructor) and round twice more. The classic Minor noises were apparent, and that special, friendly unique Minor exhaust gurgle was there too. There was something about being in sequence of cars including an early Mini, a Healey 3000, a Hillman Imp and a Rover 3500 that seemed to put the world at ease.

Overall, as an experience? It was great fun, informative and nostalgic, even if I can’t remember Dad’s Minor. He may not have it that long; objectively compared to his later, more modern cars, it had some significant deficiencies in overall comfort and space, performance and practicality. But it was always the car he most fondly remembered and had the most family stories about. Driving it, you can see why, and also why many thousands of other families will say the same, and why I suggest it is Britain’s favourite classic car. Almost every family will have one in the photo album, every one will recognise it, and smile fondly. It deserves its place in our national memory, and on our national mantelpiece. It’s no accident that there are still over 20,000 registered in Britain.

And I got to use the trafficators.

 

Related CC reading:

Curbside Classic: 1955 Morris Minor Series II – Britain’s Favourite Car, Bar None, And Rightly So