Museum Photo Report: The Great British Car Journey, Ambergate, England – For The Memories, Not The Glamour

The number of UK car museums –with heavily revised and expanded collections such as British Motor Museum (BMM)– available seems to be increasing and has inevitably led to some interesting takes on creating a distinctive offering.

The original, the National Motor Museum at Beaulieu in Hampshire collects the best of as much as possible; the BMM covers the history of the British motor industry with manufacturer support and archive access, as an industry;  the Haynes Museum curates a superb but personal collection; the Silverstone Experience tells the story of modern Grand Prix racing superbly and the Brooklands Museum takes you back to the early days of motorsport and aviation with a great atmosphere, with the London Bus museum on the site too. And there are several smaller museums, often with a distinct twist or history offering a good day out too.

One of the more recent openings was the Great British Car Journey, opened in 2021 after COVID delays. The GBCJ is in Ambergate in Derbyshire, close to the town Matlock and village of Cromford, home to William Arkwright’s mill and arguably one of the birthplaces of the industrial revolution. The plot line of the museum itself is to tell the story of the British car industry over the last 100 years or so, the period in which cars started to become affordable for many. Inevitably, the exhibits feature many cars that not only tell that story, but also work the nostalgia buttons we all have. Whether you’re 8 or 98, the British cars of your formative years will be there, and if Dad had a car, there’s a fair chance it (or something very close to it) will be there. Let’s take a quick photo tour.

Did your Dad have a Daimler Double Six? It might have been this one.

The museum features the cars from the British journey, so the exhibits are predominantly UK built, though not only from UK owned businesses. You can’t tell the great British car journey without Ford, GM or Chrysler, obviously.

There was no bigger player in that journey than William Morris, Lord Nuffield. This is a Morris Minor Series II Traveller, the car that put Alec Issigonis on the road to fame.

Also present, one of the special edition Minor 1000000, built to celebrate it being the first British car to sell a million.

All were lilac; no other Minors were.

If you went to a Morris (or Nuffield) dealer and wanted to stand out, you could get a Riley 4/Seventy Two. This is a 1968 car, the last year of Riley.

Alongside is a Wolseley 16/60 – the same car with different grilles and trim, but the BMC B series engine was in a lower state of tune. Both were twined with the Austin Cambridge, Morris Oxford and MG Magnette, as part of the BMC Farina family. You often need a good map for a British car journey to avoid confusion.

A more recent Morris – an 1800 Mk2, always known as the Landcrab, alongside the car that too many still associate with the Morris, a Marina.

In this case, a 1979 1.3 litre Marina Coupe.

The dramatically styled Princess was Leyland’s follow up to the awkwardly styled Landcrab. Awkward styling was replaced by confused branding, with the car starting with Austin, Morris and Wolseley nameplates, before going to Princess, with no marque as such, after a few months and then being extensively facelifted to create the short-lived Austin Ambassador.

The interior was much easier on the eye though, and as some ergonomists had been allowed in, on the user too.

Over at BMC’s other main market brand, you could have an Austin A30. This is a 1954 car, sharing its 803cc A series engine with the contemporary the Minor.

Going back further, how about a 1930 Austin Seven with Swallow bodywork? Swallow became Jaguar from 1945, by when it was building complete cars not just bodywork for specials.

Or maybe an Austin Se7en, as the first Austin Minis were named?

Here’s one paired with one of the last Mini Coopers (not MINI Coopers) that was purchased in the spring of 2000 and never registered.

A choice of 1978 Mini Clubman estate with the longer, boxy nose, a 1965 Austin Mini Countryman and a 1963 Austin Mini.

A 1981 Austin Maxi 2 – 2 denotes a very mild facelift from 1980.  This car is from the last weeks of Maxi production.

A black grille and new steering wheel were the key elements. The vinyl roof and bright red carpets are almost certainly aftermarket.

The museum could not be complete without an Austin Allegro. The GBCJ goes better than expected with an Allegro estate – practical Dad’s choice.

The estate never had the (in)famous square, or Quartic, steering wheel.

This is not an Allegro – it’s a Vanden Plas 1500. To most people, that’s an Allegro with an old fashioned grille and very traditional interior, with all the leather and walnut you could ask for, up to and including picnic tables.

A bi-focal windscreen was a popular option, quite possibly.

The Allegro’s predecessor was the BMC ADO16, most commonly sold as the Austin or Morris 1100 and 1300 range, and also sold under other BMC brands. This is a 1968 MG 1300 saloon, alongside is just about to be succeeded, by the Ford Escort, competitor the Ford Anglia 105E.

The ADO16 came as an estate too – this is a 1969 Morris 1300.

For the 1966 Geneva Motor Show, BMC prepared this cutaway of an Austin 1100 estate. Seemingly stronger than you might think, it’s still doing the rounds, ultimately owned (IIRC) by the BMM.

Following the Allegro came the 1980 Austin Metro supermini, with a technical make up seemingly a mix of Mini and Allegro.

This evolved into the 1990 Rover Metro, in blue, with the new Rover Group K series engine. This was Rover’s last solo mass market product.

High on the memory scale for me was this 1973 Triumph Toledo. I learned to drive on my Mum’s Toledo, a 1972 car with the shorter bumpers that did not wrap around the corners.

The Toledo was a rear drive derivative for the front wheel drive Triumph 1300, with a simplified and more contemporary interior.

Effectively, it was the Dolomite’s little brother with the same centre section, a shorter tail and missing the quad headlamp front.

The Dolomite was evolved from the 1300TC; the interim model was the front wheel drive 1500TC, now a very rare sight.

This museum also covered the Rootes Group products well, something that doesn’t always happen.  A 1967 Humber Hawk estate, the last big Humber.

Something rarely seen anywhere now – a 1955 Hillman Minx Californian. This was a hardtop version of the Hillman Minx, and effectively replaced by the higher margin Sunbeam Rapier on the next generation.

This is a Hillman Avenger – Plymouth Cricket in North America – a car built to take on the Vauxhall Viva and Ford Cortina Mk2 with Chrysler’s money and capability. This is a 1970 1.25 litre Avenger Super.

The Hillman Hunter (Sunbeam Arrow) was another Rootes product that spawned a family.

This is a 1972 Humber Sceptre, the up market version – the Buick to the Hillman’s Chevrolet if you like. Behind is a Hillman Husky – the tall estate version of the Hillman Imp.

An intriguing amalgam between a Brougham and an Edwardian drawing room.

The UK market got Sunbeam only on the Rapier (and its decontented Alpine version) coupe. This is a 1973 Rapier, in an unusual but period correct purple.

Roy Axe may have blatantly copied the Barracuda, but it did give us a good looking car.

The original Sunbeam Alpine was a derivative of the post war Sunbeam-Talbot saloons, named after its success in the Alpine rallies.  This is a 1955 example.

It was good enough for Stirling Moss; it’s good enough for me and there’s a link to the GoFundMe page below the line…..

Rootes may have had product issues, but few would deny that they could do a good interior, either with US inspired pizazz or traditional English wood and leather. Clockwise from top left, 1955 Sunbeam Alpine,  1967 Humber Hawk, 1973 Sunbeam Rapier and the 1972 Humber Sceptre.

Vauxhall were a key part of this story, and of my memories as my Uncle worked at Luton for over thirty years. A Victor (FB series) VX 4/90 from 1964.

With another nice interior, complete with a grab handle.

A Victor FD, perhaps my pick as the best looking Vauxhall and best looking 1960s UK family saloon.

And the last solo saloon effort from Vauxhall – the 1972 FE Victor. This is a 1974 car, which had been stored from new and taken out only for a trip to an aftermarket rustproofing service. When the owner passed away, the mileage totalled just 90 miles, and there was a spare exhaust system in the boot. Alongside is a 1995 Ford Mondeo saloon.

Later Vauxhall are there too – a 1982 Chevette hatchback,  a 1982 Cavalier, perhaps the most significant Vauxhall of the time, and a 1985 Astra Mk 2 estate.

And of course, the Viva – here are examples of the HB and, behind, the HA models.

The Victor FD was arranged neatly alongside its nemesis – the Ford Cortina Mk3.

Launched two years later, slightly smaller and with a much wider range of engines, trim levels, more dealers and a great launchpad to build on – the Cortina Mk 2. It became Britain’s best seller very quickly, and stayed there until usurped by the Mk 4.

This is a 1972 car; alongside is a Mk2 estate in an ambulance configuration.

The Cortina was ultimately superseded by the Ford Sierra from 1982; this is a 1991 Mark 2, with the larger lights and windows.

There are many other cars in the collection I have not covered – this can be only a taster and the full collection has many other secrets, and the contemporary banners and advertising add some context and memory triggers as well, even if they don’t help the photographer.

Overall, this is a terrific museum, staffed by friendly cheerful staff and volunteers. You are offered a tablet based audio guide, which will also scan the QR codes on the notices for links to narrated stories around some of the cars. Going on Father’s Day probably didn’t help, either, but that’s the way diaries work.

If I had one observation it is that the museum sort of tries to do two things – tell the story of the British industry, which arguably the BMM does better through its manufacturer partnerships and archive access, and also support the memory side of the tale, with the recollection and nostalgia triggers all around. This is something, through the selection and arrangement of the cars, that the GBCJ does very well and could be made into a powerful USP.

You could add, if you take point about nostalgia and memory, an adjustment on exhibit selection – the Great British Car Journey could include some imported vehicles too. You don’t have to be very old for your family car journeys to have been in, say, a VW Beetle, Renault 16, Fiat 124, Volvo 144 or Datsun Bluebird, and their collective influence was obviously massive.

There is another novel offering at the museum, which we’ll see in a couple days too. No spoilers, but there’s a reason there were several collection vehicles in the car park.

Overall, the museum is well worth a British car journey, or more likely a car journey in Britain. Call it a great British car journey destination if you like.