My First Car - Richard Dobson
March 2011
It was 1959 and, in the enthusiasm and recklessness of youth, I bought my first car. It was a Morris Cowley of 1929 vintage, so it was already 38 years old. It cost me all of 14 pounds, cheap enough though still more than my weeks wages at the time. Some people said I was mad, others only thought so. It was a private sale and I duly collected the vehicle from Mr. Smith's home. Not having the luxury of a garage my new possession was to be parked in a side street near where lived at the time. It was quite common for cars of that age to have neither door locks nor ignition, so it would have been very easy for anyone so inclined to climb in and drive away. But in those poorer, but far more honest days, there was no need to worry about it being stolen. (Just don't try to repeat the experiment today!)
Perhaps a brief description of the vehicle would be in order (and apologies in advance to those not conversant with Automotive Technology terms): it was a 1.5 Litre, 4 cylinder, in-line, side-valve engined car of about 50 B.H.P., (or near enough PS, these days) low compression ratio and slow revving, as was the custom then. It was a soft-top (convertible), two-seater with a 'Dickey' seat folded into the boot (I don't know where the name Dickey came from!). It was massively constructed with a heavy steel chassis and craftsman built body. The bumpers were of heavy gauge spring steel (not disposable plastic). It was fitted with something called a 'Dyna-Start', which was a combined starter motor and generator. This was permanently connected to the engine and the starter function was actuated by a small foot switch; so, unlike modern cars, it was possible to do a 'hands free' and silent start up (to the amazement of any on-lookers). But that's enough of the interesting stuff.
I was able to borrow an original Handbook from the Morris Company archives, and restored the car to something like it's original condition and colour scheme.
When I started to use the car, usually accompanied by a few friends, it presented one or two un-expected characteristics and sometimes some 'Road Traffic' incidents for example: modern cars invariably have their petrol tank mounted low down usually under the floor of the boot, the fuel then being fed to the engine by means of a small mechanical or electrical pump via (importantly) a special filter in order to remove any impurities. The Morris, though, utilised a petrol tank mounted high in the engine compartment (a definite no-no these days). There was no pump or filter; fuel flow to the carburettor relying on gravity - rather like a water cistern in the loft of a house. One undesirable result because of this arrangement was that, every few miles, the engine would stop as dirt from the tank had blocked the delicate jets within the carb.
I soon, perforce, developed a routine to overcome this embarrassing problem, leaping out wherever the car happened to have come to rest. I would disconnect the fuel pipe from the engine and blow hard back towards the tank, often swallowing a quantity of petrol in the process. The car would then proceed again until it's next un-scheduled rest.
A more useful feature revealed itself whenever we drove out into the country and invariably visited a pub (just for a half-pint of course.) Even when they were very busy we had no difficulty in getting served . . . as most of the customers would go outside to examine the car (not your average Ford Cortina.)
A minor brush with the law came about one evening when I was stopped and told that one of my rear lights was not working. I had to explain that cars of that era had only one rear light, and a very small one at that. (I think cars manufactured before 1931 were exempt from later lighting regulations.)
An incident which was much more dynamic and noticeable, came about as a result of the failure of an essential component connected to the engine. The car used Magneto ignition (fairly common in those days). One day this item decided it's useful life was over. It was not difficult to find a used replacement in the local 'car breakers yard.' This I duly fitted. The trouble started in setting the original ignition timing (just when the sparks should appear.) This difficulty was mainly because I didn't quite know what I was doing. Anyway what happened was that turning the engine over without correct ignition caused (unknown to me, at first) the exhaust silencer to gradually fill with petrol vapour. Finally the mixture of this vapour and air demonstrated its distinctly explosive nature. There was an almighty explosion which tore the silencer apart while making, of course, a very loud noise. The car, as usual, was parked in the side street and, to make matters worse, it all took place on a Sunday morning. Fortunately no great harm was done to anyone or to the car but the effect on the neighbourhood was rather dramatic. Dozens of mainly bedroom windows were thrown open and heads appeared in all directions, wondering what on earth was going on. 'Was it a bomb or a gas main . . . or an invasion?'
Yes I think we can say, since those days, motoring has become a little boring.