By Simon Warburton
Allegro Estate really stood out compared to its smaller cousin. Image courtesy Sue Thatcher/Shutterstock.com
Reading Harris Mann’s obituary – he was British Leyland designer of the Allegro, Princess and TR7 cars which unmistakeably bore the imprint of the late 70s and early 80s – took me straight back down memory lane.
The much-derided Austin Allegro had in fact an unheralded offshoot – the stylish Estate. I know this as my parents had one and where the saloon version was how to put this, a little squat, the Estate had long, flowing lines and actually looked quite jaunty.
Flying the flag
My precocious self at 12 years old was quite taken with the amount of UK components liberally sprinkled about the car and even more precociously, I made a little sticker with a Union Jack, sporting the slogan: “Buy British” on it and put it in the back window, which my Dad liked.
Some years later my first car was a British Leyland Triumph Dolomite – all £150 of it – a cost matched by the stereo as we called it then – occupying pride of place. Getting into the Dolomite, I felt like a Concorde pilot; banks of dials and gauges filled the walnut dashboard while the seats were as soft as the suspension.
Litany of household names
A suspicious smell of petrol was never far away and it was a pretty rusty beast – (£150 mind) – but it was my first car and I revelled in its sporty twin headlights and racy looks.
Until it catastrophically failed its MOT of course and that was the end of that.
But the much-maligned British Leyland or BL, produced a litany of household names; Princess, TR7 – surely everyone wanted a soft-top TR7 with its tartan seats and cool pop-up lights? (A red TR7 convertible used to make a starring appearance in TV programme, Dallas as well as one in The Detectorists), the Triumph Dolomite of course, the fantastic looking Rover SD1 and the ubiquitous Allegro.
Again at 12 and pre-internet, I would write to British Leyland brands and ask them to send brochures of all their models and would pore over them as if they were sacred texts.
(On a similar hunt, I also got the military to send me brochures on becoming a fast jet pilot. That ambition was rapidly extinguished however, as my chronic inability at maths and science soon became apparent, meaning I would not in fact be strapped into the seat of a Phantom jet, being heroically launched off aircraft carriers).
Even Princess Diana drove a Metro – how we marvelled at the ‘L’ edition which even featured the hitherto unimaginable luxury of a mirror on the passenger side – and it’s a tribute to their longevity and sheer volume of production that you still see the odd Metro trundling around today.
There’s one where I used to live in Inverness until recently and it’s in immaculate condition.
Metros sold in colossal numbers. Image courtesy Sue Thatcher/Shutterstock.com
BL clearly had well-documented and long-running industrial issues, which plagued it during its 18-year tenure.
Notoriously strike-prone and hotbed of radical unionism personified by charismatic leader, Derek ‘Red Robbo’ Robinson (take a bow that headline writer), the company was reportedly subject to a staggering 523 walk-outs.
Industrial strife
There is footage of Robbo addressing tens of thousands of workers in a field and calling for approval to strike. He shouts through a megaphone: “All those in favour please show.” Cue a mass lifting of hands and a giant roar of approval.
I think Red Robbo would have given the hardline French car unions at the CGT a run for their money and that’s saying something.
Harris Mann had the misfortune to coincide with that industrial mayhem and the fact so many iconic models still came out is testament to his huge skill.
The grouping of those myriad brands had so much potential to be a genuine rival to gallic hegemony in the shape of the French automotive industry and even perhaps Germany, but government intervention didn’t work and BL finally broke up in the eighties into various constituent parts.
Rover’s magnificent SD1. Image courtesy Glenn Brooks.
I hadn’t intended to write about British Leyland at all – it’s just reading about so many of those cars which shaped my childhood and adulthood triggered a slew of poignant memories.
The UK still has some great automotive names – even if they aren’t strictly owned by British companies themselves – JLR and Mini are two powerful brands indeed.
But I can’t wistfully help thinking what might have been for British Leyland if it hadn’t been plagued by so much industrial unrest, so much that got in the way of making superb cars which people actually wanted to buy and be proud of.
What was your experience of British Leyland cars, good or bad? Let me know in the comment section below.
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