Monty, my 1957 MGA
When I was 17 like all boys I couldn’t wait to get my first car, in those days the most popular cars were old Mk1 Ford Escorts, or Minis, real ones mind you not that German crap, but not me, I had my eyes on something quite different. Years previously my mother had owned a MG Midget for a while, and I was smitten. Well with a little searching and a small amount of luck for £200 I was soon the proud owner of a 10-year-old wreck with about 50 previous owners, no heating, gaffer tape and string holding the roof together, and I loved it. Over the next few years I had 3 more, all Mg’s, loved them all, that is until I saw my first MGA. I’d driven out to the ‘Bear and Ragged Staff’, out past Romsey, as I pulled into the car park there sat a light blue MGA, straight away I was convinced that it was the prettiest car I’d ever seen, little did I know that many years later I buy one.
You can walk in a 1000 model shops and never see a kit or a metal model of an MGA, they are without a doubt one of the least known British sports cars of the 50’s, over shadowed by their big counter parts, the E-Type Jag, Aston-Martin etc. And I have never understood why, I suppose the E-Type and Aston were the real beauties, only ever seen driven by rock stars, whilst the MGA was cheap enough to be owned by almost anyone. No V12 engine here, just a little 4 pot 1500cc giving them a top speed of about 98mph and they are tiny. That period, the 50’s and 60’s, produced some of the most curvy sex cars of the last 100 years, and the MGA is to me a perfect example, impossibly long bonnet, flanked by wheel arches that drop beautifully into the ‘hips’ of the car, blending in seamlessly into that gorgeous rear, if only every car was as feline as this is.
As you grow older childhood love affairs some how fade to become distant wooly memories, until that is a spark of recognition reminds you of your first love, with me it was a stern warning not to buy a boat. Odd I know, but never the less still true. In my late 30’s every precious moment being spent trying to build and keep going an ailing company, I desperately felt I needed a diversion, something else to get my teeth in to, yes I had a wonderful wife and 2 great step-kids, but I still somehow felt I needed diversion…OK I admit it, I was having a mid life what’s-it and wanted a new toy. Well after the odd sailing trip with friends I thought a small boat would be perfect, great for long week-ends away with the wife, the gentle lapping of the waves and all that, you get the idea. So I decided to broach the subject with Barbara, only I choose to do it when my Grandmother was down for a visit, really stupid idea that, I now had 2 fussing women to deal with. Anyway so begins the long preamble, second mistake made, any female now knows something they are not going to like is coming, how? – by the shear fact you’re taking so long to get to the point, anyway I finally arrive at said point.
“So you see that’s why I was thinking about looking out for a small boat to tinker about…”
“Oh no please love, not after what happened to uncle George” pipes in Nan
“Uncle George?”
“Yes you know, he had that what’s it and couldn’t join your granddad in the navy, now what was it, oh you know…”
“yellow streak by any chance…”
“BRENT! – no he had a dickey heart, that was it!”
“Nan what in gods name has that got to do with me buying a boat?”
“Listen smart alec if he had gone in he would have been on your granddads boat when it sunk in Pompy harbor”
“Nan, it was a rowing boat that sunk on the way back from a run ashore, and it sunk because they were drunk and messing around, Nan it was only 15 yards from the bloody shore!”
“Yes, but your uncle George couldn’t swim”
In desperation I look at Barbara smirking at the kitchen sink “Love please tell Nan I can swim…”
“Isn’t that what you had?” Nan having decided that she made her point was as usual changing tack and squinting through her bi-focal’s at some thing in the local paper.
“What, had what?”
“One of these thingy’s, oh you know!” she’s now jabbing said paper I peer over her shoulder to look at the classifieds section of the local rag, joined by Barbara, drying her hands she’s also curious as to what I ‘had’
“MGA, well I’ll be, haven’t see one of those in years, and a good price, red coupe with red leather interior, mind you still a couple of thousand more than I can afford…”
“I’ll get my bank book, after all don’t want you ending up like uncle George…” comes from Nan’s back as she waddles out the door. And so in my late 30’s I rediscovered an old love and became the proud owner of ‘Monty’.
Monty is a 1957 MGA, an early model, a little under 1500cc under the bonnet and drum brakes on all four corners. As far as I know she was rebuilt around 8 years prior, and to be honest is not going to win any car shows. There’s no heating and where the heating system should be is a single battery rather than the two 6 volts that should be behind the seats. No key start, just a single red paddle under the dash to cut the electrics, and the less said about them the better, a real Heath Robinson job with odd wires shooting off in every direction. In fact if I was going to be really truthful Monty was very cheap for a reason, she was a dog, and a dog with a bad case of fleas at that. Which is where Richard at Tipton garage comes in.
Barbara’s family had been using Richard at Tipton for years, maybe 30 or more, and the minute I bought Monty they were pressing me to get him to check her out. Now I should explain that Richard runs a typical small village garage, but with one slight difference, how many garages do you know where the owner use to work for a Formula 1 team in the early 60’s. Now don’t get any ideas, yes Tipton garage has an amazing reputation for working on classic cars, but at heart they are part of that great British tradition, the family run business built on good honest service. After storing Monty all winter in the mother-in-laws barn she was in a right old state, brakes locked and no matter how many oaths and curses were uttered still refusing point blank to start, out goes the call to Richard. Well as he tinkered away under the bonnet he taught me my first lesson about owning a classic like Monty, come rain or shine she’s there to be driven, and if you don’t you’ll end up with a load of trouble. After he got her going she spent the next 2 weeks in his workshop, with her owner sat at home like some expectant father, only in this case the ‘baby’ I was stressing over was the bill. On being summoned to pick her up I felt like a child being summoned to the headmaster’s office, fully expecting a right bollocking for buying a heap of trouble, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. All that came from Richard was lesson number 2, that owning a classic car is an affliction that as time goes by gets deeper and deeper under the skin. He took the time to explain her quirks and glossed over her many obvious faults with a “oh we’ll get round to that one day” there, and a “well it’s working sort of” here. And as he spoke I could feel her coming alive in my mind, yes she was a bit of a dog, but she was my dog and just looking at her has always brought a smile to my face.
A love of classic cars is not the only thing Richard and I share, it’s also the firm belief that any car, classic or not, is there to be driven, not sit in a garage. If you wonder on down to Tipton in Devon you’ll come across the ‘Golden Lion’, the village pub run by ‘Frankie’, a mad Frenchman and his English wife, brilliant food and great company, now sit in their garden pint in hand and you look down on Richards garage, listen a while and the muted bubble of a V12 will rise up to you, wonder past and you’ll see many a classic car parked up, or on the ramps, all share a certain look about them, they’re driven. You won’t find any pampered Ferraris here, no polished rich mans toys, no only cars that are driven. To me there is nothing sadder on this planet than these people who buy classic cars like they ‘buy’ new trophy wives, expensive toys to be locked away from the eyes of the world.
But the real reward about owning a classic car like Monty is driving her, but just how practical is she? I’ve read quite a few articles on MGA’s over the years, nothing new in many of them, all sharing the ending conclusion that they are lovely cars that are at their best on barmy summer days, not really practical for everyday use, what utter rubbish. No doubt written by so called experts who think that they’ve bought toys not cars, but I will say they are at their best on certain types of roads, they’re really not happy at all on motorways being forced to crack along at speeds out of their comfort zone, and rush hour traffic is just a pain. No they’re at their best on country lanes and old B roads where the old suspension and good ground clearance come into their own.
I live in a small village in Devon, every road in and out is a tight lane with passing places every so often, driving along these in Monty is always easier than in modern car, she’s so narrow, but the real place she comes into her own is on old B roads. Cresting a lot of the hills down here you’re often rewarded with a clear view down a twisty road meandering through the next valley, perfect. Off come the brakes and a heavier foot on the throttle rewards you with a pleasing rumble, as she picks up her skirts and flies towards the first corner you’re instantly aware of her sure footedness on these bumpy old roads, the massive steering wheel helps you glide her long nose into the next corner, the tight 4 speed box means your hardly ever moving out of 3rd or 4th, all the time the high Devon banks throw back at you that wonderfully eager engine note. And then you look down at the clocks and realize you’re floating in between 50 and 60 mph, her happiest speeds. Your eyes search ahead seeking out the next corner, with drum brakes all round you know you’ve got to plan ahead, starting to apply brakes much sooner than in a modern car. Before you know it the valley peters out and your looking up the winding hill, foot firmly to the floor, full throttle in 3rd, the engine really picks up now and yet again you’re reminded of how light Monty is, the little 1500cc lump more than enough to get her to the crest. To me a modern car will get you from A to B, a classic will make sure you always arrive with a grin on your face.
But what of the running costs, I mean surely classic cars cost an absolute fortune to run, don’t they? Well here to me comes the perfect use of the term ‘practical classic’, yes if you must buy say an E-type Jag then not only is it going to cost you an arm and a leg to buy, but so is every other bill, and god knows what the fuel costs will be. Buy an MGA though and you’re talking a whole different ball game, for a start my insurance is just £100 a year, fully comp with unlimited mileage, and I get around 30 to 35 to the gallon. When it comes to repairs the car is so simple a great many things I do myself, parts are cheap and readily available, most being standard BMC parts, same as a classic Mini really, and of course I’ve got Tipton Garage for anything a little bigger. In all the years I’ve had her I’ve not often had more than normal wear and tear to sort out each year, so over all I’m always reminded of the fact that she’s not going down in value and cost little to run, now you can’t say that about new cars can you?
Latest News
Well last summer Monty was stripped of all her chrome, wings off, wheels off and up on chocks in the Mother-in-laws garage. The plan was to finally sort out a load of rust on the offside wing from a really poor repair done god knows how many years ago, well as I say that was the plan, and like all good plans it all went to rat shit as I just kept on finding jobs to do on her. All the wheels were repainted, new hubcaps sourced on Ebay, great site for classic parts by the way, and the drums wire brushed and repainted. The undersill was stripped out and a few new coats applied, new chrome bumpers, wing mirrors, indicator lights and at last a new ‘key’ start fitted, oh and new piping for the wings.
Next after digging out all the rust on the offending wing I started to have a poke around here and there, well OK all over, before I knew it I’d ended up rubbing down the whole car. After a few coats of undercoat and hours of rubbing down I set about re-spraying the car with a load of ‘rattle tins’ – yes I know I can hear you gasping from here, but it’s all done for a reason. Now the plan is to allow the car to settle over the winter, a fiver to a pound some areas of rust are bound to re-surface, and so the whole process will start again next summer, only this time I’ll have just a few spots to deal with, hopefully. And once that is done I’ll strip her down for a proper re-spray. Now as I write this in mid-winter a couple of spots have indeed appeared, knew they would; and I didn’t finish until the end of September, just in time for her annual service with Richard, total mileage this summer, ‘nil’!
MGA Trailer
Now I know this is a little odd, but I have a few passions in life and 2 of the strangest are my old 1957 MGA and ‘Glamping!’ The first most people just nod at, I mean OK I can understand that one they say, but ‘Glamping!!!’ Well what can I say it’s to me the perfect way to recharge the old batteries if like the rest of the 99.9% of this country you’ve got to watch every penny. Now the only problem with glamping is that it really is about taking everything, including the kitchen sink, with you, the MGA’s not a lot of use here then.
Which is why I’ve started to look at the whole idea of building a trailer for ‘Monty’, oh, that’s it’s name by the way. Now a quick search on the web soon reveled a load of other people out there with the same idea, such as the couple I’ve reproduced here, but I’m after something different. The wings and wheels are pure MGA, but I love working in wood, and I think it somehow goes really well with the whole ‘Glamping’ thing. And so my initial designs are based very much around a wooden tub.
Well not really sure how far this will go, my real problem is one of time and lack of a workshop. We’ll see, you never know…
Posted by Brent Meheux - 20/1/12 - Tags -monty, mga, 1957
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