Can there be a more quintessential expression of ‘Britishness’ than the humble Mini?
Despite the fact that the modern variant of the marque is firmly in the hands of BMW the original remains, at its heart, the very essence of our fair isles. Perfect in design, small but plucky, innovative yet in some ways flawed, discrete and flashy at the same time.
Conceived in response to rising oil prices after the Suez crisis it was, with the memories of World War Two still fresh, an example of where the British come into their own: solving problems in the face of adversity. I wonder, when it's designer Alex Issigonis put pen to paper in the late fifties, he envisaged the world of today where a gallon of petrol is over six pounds and would he have bothered at all.
But bother he did and his deceptively roomy, transverse-engined, masterpiece was born. Soon the Mini became one of the true British icons of the sixties; owned and loved equally by maharajahs, groovy celebrities and the humble man on the street. Just over a decade after its 1959 launch the marvellous Mini entered my life.
Despite the fact that the modern variant of the marque is firmly in the hands of BMW the original remains, at its heart, the very essence of our fair isles. Perfect in design, small but plucky, innovative yet in some ways flawed, discrete and flashy at the same time.
Conceived in response to rising oil prices after the Suez crisis it was, with the memories of World War Two still fresh, an example of where the British come into their own: solving problems in the face of adversity. I wonder, when it's designer Alex Issigonis put pen to paper in the late fifties, he envisaged the world of today where a gallon of petrol is over six pounds and would he have bothered at all.
But bother he did and his deceptively roomy, transverse-engined, masterpiece was born. Soon the Mini became one of the true British icons of the sixties; owned and loved equally by maharajahs, groovy celebrities and the humble man on the street. Just over a decade after its 1959 launch the marvellous Mini entered my life.
I have mainly happy memories of our family’s first Mini. It was a basic
British Leyland 850cc model in dark blue delivered as new in 1972. It had been supplied to my disabled Mum by
the UK
government to help her, as a single parent, to be mobile having two small kids
to lug around and all. Before arrival it
had been adapted to enable it to be driven with just the hands and what a
challenge that proved to be. As a manual car it needed some pragmatic and ingenious
additions.
The observant would see it had two quarter moon controls just underneath the steering wheel. The bottom lever operated the clutch (assisted by a huge servo retro-fitted in the engine compartment), the top regulated the gas and it required much subtlety and skill with the practised fingers of the right hand to balance them to avoid stalling when setting off. This proved to be particularly tricky on hill starts. To the left of the driver, next to the gear stick, was a hand operated brake; an austere lever topped with a white knob connected directly to the brake pedal by a primitive linkage. On top of all this, things like gear changes, handbrake operation and steering were obviously also required. I don’t know how she managed to drive it. I’m fairly sure, looking back, she doesn’t either.
The observant would see it had two quarter moon controls just underneath the steering wheel. The bottom lever operated the clutch (assisted by a huge servo retro-fitted in the engine compartment), the top regulated the gas and it required much subtlety and skill with the practised fingers of the right hand to balance them to avoid stalling when setting off. This proved to be particularly tricky on hill starts. To the left of the driver, next to the gear stick, was a hand operated brake; an austere lever topped with a white knob connected directly to the brake pedal by a primitive linkage. On top of all this, things like gear changes, handbrake operation and steering were obviously also required. I don’t know how she managed to drive it. I’m fairly sure, looking back, she doesn’t either.
Once the driving test had been passed, it heralded the start of convenient travel
but also some
pretty hair-raising journeys. I could
mention a few: Like the time it took us
over 10 hours to get to Butlins in Skegness as navigation was just one process
too many above all the other tasks the adapted Mini demanded of Mother.
Or the time in torrential rain on the motorway when we were suddenly surrounded by lorries and the spray they created overwhelmed the puny wipers. Panicking, she nearly lost the plot and I had to calmly talk her out of just stopping dead in the central lane and letting fate take its course. I’m lucky to be alive thinking about it.
Or the time in torrential rain on the motorway when we were suddenly surrounded by lorries and the spray they created overwhelmed the puny wipers. Panicking, she nearly lost the plot and I had to calmly talk her out of just stopping dead in the central lane and letting fate take its course. I’m lucky to be alive thinking about it.
That first Mini lasted about six years. Towards the end of its life it had fallen foul
of the classic Mini maladies. Rust was
eating away at the inner wings with damp foot wells and spongy sills being the
inevitable outcome. It especially didn’t like starting on cold mornings necessitating
comedic push-starts begged from passing strangers aided by two exasperated
kids. Finally, when the heavily ridden
clutch went, so did the car.
Soon after it was replaced with teal blue Mini: same set up as the first and eventually the same issues. By then we’d learned a clever trick of jump-starting it in reverse gear which was much more effective – most of the time.
Soon after it was replaced with teal blue Mini: same set up as the first and eventually the same issues. By then we’d learned a clever trick of jump-starting it in reverse gear which was much more effective – most of the time.
What I particularly remember was the huge load carrying capacity
they had. Fully packed they could take
four or five compact people plus other stuff such as drums, guitars and
amplifiers. Indeed, it was used as our alternative to a Ford Transit to
transport me and my fellow band members to rehearsal rooms and gigs when we
were budding rock stars. I doubt we’d get away with such excesses these days but,
again, it’s
testament to Mr Issigonis’ clever design that there
was plenty of Tardis-like space with many nooks and crannies to cram full. Amazing really for
such an outwardly compact creation.
Three more Minis followed. My Mum got a red automatic which made the
hand controls simpler and it was mainly trouble-free in the time we had it. By
this time I was a driver, having learned my basic driving chops in our Mini, and
was enjoying the experience for myself. By the end of our Mini ownership I’d driven the
automatic, my sister’s turd-brown example and finally my very own oxidised red Mini 1000.
Thinking back I loved
the dodgem-like road holding and handling. The ability to turn a full ninety degrees from a standing
stop. The
wooden feel to the brakes (that did tend to fade a bit when under heavy load) but, most of
all, the way you could barge around; nipping in and out of traffic with
gazelle-like ease and park just about anywhere you wanted. Today, if I had unlimited funds, I’d have one like a shot.
So, even though they may not be the safest of cars, the most long lived or particularly well-equipped I can assure you if you’ve never had the experience of a Mini in your life (however briefly) it’s possible you may not have lived at all.
So, even though they may not be the safest of cars, the most long lived or particularly well-equipped I can assure you if you’ve never had the experience of a Mini in your life (however briefly) it’s possible you may not have lived at all.
Copyright Anthony Boe 2015. All Rights Reserved
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