Ask the average American to name all the British cars he or she can think of, and you'll probably get a reply something like this:
"MG, and, ah, Triumph. (Pause) Oh, 'Austin-Martin' too, right? (Long pause) Jaguar. And, oh yeah, Rolls Royce. Uh . . . I guess that's all I know."
And what of the Morrises, Austins, Rileys, Rovers, Land-Rovers, Wolseleys, Vauxhalls, Hillmans, Singers, Sunbeams, Sunbeam-Talbots, ACs, Lotuses, Jensens, Austin-Healeys, Jensen-Healeys, English Fords of all sorts, and even Nash and Hudson Metropolitans?
Blank stare.
Obviously, public awareness of British cars in America these days is close to nil. But it wasn't always like that. It was the British who first opened the American car market to imported cars - before Volkswagen, before the accursed Renault Dauphine, and long, long before the onslaught of Japansese-brand cars that many of us drive today.
In 1948, an amazing and quite unexpected thing happened in the U.S. car market. Americans were still starved for new cars following almost four years of WW2 without any appreciable domestic production. A UAW strike was in the process of destroying the year's production of Kaisers, Studebakers, and DeSotos--as well as Fords, Chevies, and Plymouths.
This post-war car shortage led American auto buyers to consider foreign-built cars for the first time since the dawn of the automotive era. Prior to the war, there had been an unlimited supply of reasonably priced and well built domestic product so there was little need for smaller, more expensive imports. In 1948, exactly 9672 brave--and desperate--Americans made a bold and daring move; each one bought a brand-new small British car called the Austin A40.
Some small cars had been available in the US prior to the war, but the American Austins, Bantams and Crosleys--while loved by people they suited--were tiny and too "cartoon-ish" for mainstream America. They seemed more at home in a Shriners parade than on the highway. Even the smaller Willys and Studebaker models, though no larger than an "average" car made 10 years earlier, were not brisk sellers.
The Austin A40 was different. Primarily available in 2-door Dorset and 4-door Devon form, the A40 was also offered as a pickup, delivery van, Countryman estate (station wagon), and later as a sporting four-place A40 Sports convertible. Smaller than the cars Americans were used to, the A40 had a well proportioned, traditional--yet not old fashioned-- body that rode on 16 inch wheels. The narrow interior had more than enough room for four full-sized adults, and the power was sufficient for the roads of the day.
British cars weren't totally unknown in the U.S. A few luxury marques had limited success before the war, especially with the Hollywood set. Rolls-Royce opened a plant in Springfield, Massachusetts, to build cars and chassis specifically for the U.S. market between 1920 and 1934, and the tiny Austin/Bantam cars of the '30s, though widened to accomidate North American derrieres, were built under license from Austin of England. But it was the MG which really made America notice British cars.
Despite a meager production of just 1800 MG TCs for the U.S. market, this definitely was--as later advertising copy was to coin--"The sportscar America loved first." Many were brought back to the U.S. by GIs stationed in England or Europe who had fallen in love with the car's low-slung, racy lines, and positive gearbox and steering. These men were young, dashing, often foolhardy, and generally chilled to the bone, but they ended up changing the way the American public viewed cars from other countries.
In February 1950, it was announced that the Austin A40 was the single British product that had earned more U.S. dollars for Britain than any other - $70 million in three years. 77% of the total production had been exported, although most went to British Empire countries and not to the U.S. But the ice had been broken nonetheless, and British car exports to the U.S. continued to be a valuable source of foreign exchange.
It was, in fact, the desperately-needed U.S. dollars which prompted such exports in the first place. While the U.S. car industry was gearing up to flood the market with "bigger and better" cars, British auto production was used as a means of securing enough dollars to pay war debts and rebuild a shattered economy. "Export or Die" was the slogan, and export they did. Seven years after the end of WW2, Britons were still buying rationed petrol and waiting two or three years to obtain a new car. Of the 176,000 Morris Minors built in 1951, almost 90% were exported.
However, by 1950, American car-makers were pumping out newly-designed cars as fast as they could, every one snapped up by an eager buyer. The Austin A40's had earned a reputation for reliability, and women often preferred them to the large, marshmallow-on-wheels Fords or Chevrolets their husbands bought instead. But buying an imported car was simply NOT DONE in 1950 . . . unless there was no American counterpart.
It was the sportscars, of course, which earned Britain its 30-year place in the U.S. market. The Austin A40 Somerset, which replaced the Devon/Dorset, was 50% heavier (with the same 1200cc engine), 50% more expensive--and a total failure. It would take another 21 years for Austin to equal its 1948 sales volume, not including Austin-Healeys. Fewer than 2100 Morrises were sold annually between 1949 and 1956 - despite generally favorable reviews of Nuffield's volume-car entry, the Morris Minor. Nor did the Hillman Minxes, Standard Vanguards, Triumph Mayflowers, or flathead British Fords fare any better.
Instead, America took to its heart the MG's, Jaguars, Austin-Healeys, and Triumph sportscars that it seemed only the British could build. Domestic competition was non-existent at first, and then missed the mark - the Ford Thunderbird, too big and heavy to start with, bloated into a four-seat boulevard cruiser, and the Corvette just didn't compare to an MGA or a TR3. It was, granted, a sportscar, but in a new and different class of its own.
Through the 1950's and 1960's, British sportscars were familiar sights on American roads. The MG's - TD's, TF's, then the radical (!), streamlined MGA and the old faithful MGB. . . the Triumphs, next slot up in the market, unbreakable and unchanging - TR2's and 3's, the TR4, 4A, and TR250, then the classic TR6 . . . the massive, brutal Austin-Healeys, from the first 100 (for 100 mph) to the last 3000 . . . and finally, at the top of the volume-sportscar market, the sleek, sensual Jaguars, from the first, revolutionary XK120 (which shared top honors at the 1948 Motor Show with the Morris Minor) through the XK140 and XK 150 to the stunning, streamlined, phallic XK-E's of 1961 through the last V12's of 1974.
These are the bulk of the cars that America remembers as "British". Others include the 'Spridgets', in both MG and Austin-Healey guise, from the 'Bugeye' of 1958 to the MG Midget 1500 of 1979, known not-so-affectionately as a 'Spitfidget' . . . the Triumph Spitfire (and GT6), cheerful and easy to work on, always half a step upmarket from the Spridgets . . . the TR7's and TR8's, starting as a dubiously-styled, badly assembled car built to conform to the worst of the U.S. regulations, ending as the desirable, low-production V8-engined TR8 convertible . . . Sunbeam Alpines and Tigers, the former a grand-touring sportscar, the latter an affordable and better-appointed car for those who wanted AC Cobra-like acceleration . . . Lotuses, brilliantly designed, sleek, and usually fragile . . . luxurious Jensens and Aston-Martins, and distinctive, idiosyncratic, and rough-riding cars from Peter Morgan's family works in Malvern, Worcestershire.
By the late 1950's, interest in small, imported cars had hotted up again. From very humble beginnings, Volkswagen had single-handedly created an unbeatable reputation for quality - a largely deserved one, too, based on rigorous standards for mechanical servicing and parts availability that the chaotic and slapdash British manufacturers never achieved. Americans, charmed by the combination of odd styling and reassuringly Teutonic quality, bought enough VW Beetles for everyone else to sit up and take notice.
The British responded by shipping over Morris Minors, Hillman Minxes (in Singer and Sunbeam disguises, too), a smattering of various other BMC saloons, and various English Fords. Independently, AMC also imported a steady flow of Metropolitans, creating another kind of American legend with a generally unrecognized British accent.
1959 was the pinnacle of British car exports to the U.S. 208,000 British cars were sold in America that year (a third of total import sales), plus another 6,000 commercial vehicles (many of them Morris Minor vans and pickups). That compared to 150,000 Volkswagens alone, all but a handful of them the ubiquitous Beetle.
The American manufacturers struck back in 1960, with the Corvair, Falcon, and Valiant. They weren't really comparable to the imports, but they were smaller, cheaper, and more economical to operate than the full-size cars of the day. America temporarily abandoned the imports, and most fell by the wayside. In 1961, just 30,500 British cars found buyers. Only English Ford (plus Opel and, of course, Volkswagen) persevered in the volume import market. BMC tried, but the tiny, revolutionary Austin Mini 850 suffered the fate of its ancestor, the pre-war Bantam, at first. It was saved only by the "pocket rocket" Mini-Coopers that changed the nature of auto racing throughout the 1960's. And while sales of BMC's Mini-based, larger-bodied 1100 sedans were respectable in its MG Sportsedan guise, the car was oddly positioned in the market - too stodgy to be a real MG, but too racy (MG name, twin carbs, etc.) to appeal to the Falcon buyer.
The import boom got going yet again in the late 1960's, when total import sales crossed 10% of the market in 1968 and exceeded a million units (11.2%) in 1969. Another statistic had passed largely unnoticed in 1967; for the first time, the Japanese sold more cars in America (70,500) than did the British (68,000).
This time around, the British tried a little harder. The newly-formed British Leyland turned the MG Sportsedan into the Austin America; Ford continued to sell their successful Cortina until the arrival of the vastly inferior (but American-built) Pinto; and Chrysler, the new owners of Rootes, turned the Hillman Avenger into the Plymouth Cricket.
Did it work? Yes and no. The Cortina had six good years, from 1965 (4800 sold) to a peak of 24,500 in 1968, and was considered a decent bet in the small car market. The racy reputation of the earlier Lotus-Cortinas helped, too. Ford then imported the Capri, but labor unrest and declining productivity ensured that most U.S. versions came from Cologne, Germany and not Dagenham, England.
The Plymouth Cricket followed the mediocre and invisible Sunbeam Arrow sedans, and was sold alongside the French Simca 1204 and the Dodge Colt from Mitsubishi in Japan. It was, to some extent, a victim of Chrysler's confused small-car marketing. The company's wrong-headed decision not to build a small car to compete with the (explosive) Pinto and the (disastrous) Vega not only helped it along the road to bankruptcy but also seemed to confuse the public. The result was disappointing sales for an indifferently-built Plymouth/Hillman, which lasted only two model years (1971-72) with 41,000 sold.
And the Austin America? The less said, the better. An incurable and occasionally dangerous tendency to rust, explosive and expensive transmission problems, and generally confused marketing gave this supposed successor to the cheerful, reliable Morris Minor a bad name it bears to this day.
Even the last British mass-market sedan sold here, the Austin Marina (born a Morris), suffered from the Austin America stigma, as well as more gearbox troubles and general problems of poor built quality. It lasted three years, although selling well over half its volume in the last year (1975). This was due to its lowest-in-the-U.S. sticker price of $2,495, which promptly led to a dumping charge (later dropped) by the U.S. government against BL.
The rest is history, and pretty depressing history at that. The only significant vendor of British cars left by 1973 was BL, and like the parent company in Britain, it was beset with a hodgepodge of aging designs, a multiplicity of components and engines, and an uncoordinated marketing policy. One by one the models died - the Austin America, the Austin Marina, the Rover 2000TC and 3500S, the Land-Rovers, the Triumph Stag, the GT6, the TR6, the E-type, the GT version of the MGB, the lovely Jaguar XJ coupes.
In 1979 and 1980 it seemed as though the tide might have turned. But no sooner had new models been introduced than they were withdrawn; the magnificent but unwanted Rover 3500 SD1 sedan, and the stupendous TR8 and less-powerful but also appealing TR7 convertibles, were terminated due to yet another major reorganization in England.
Even the old, faithful MGB, in 1979 only a shadow of its former self, was withdrawn. This was the ultimate blow, for steady sales of 20,000 to 35,000 MG's each year between 1964 and 1979 (with one exception) were always the mainstay of BMC/BL sales in America. MG had its best American year in 1977, believe it or not - 34,794 MGB's and Midgets found buyers.
By the mid-'80s, the sole survivor was Jaguar. The future looked bright, with a brand-new "XJ40" sedan introduced as the new XJ-6 in 1986 and, at last, a devotion to better build quality and satisfied customers. But the future looked bright because it HAD to look bright: If Jaguar did not succeed, there would be NO British cars sold in the U.S.A. save a handful of Lotuses and Aston-Martins, and of course Rolls-Royce and Bentley--all pricey and esoteric niche cars.
One bright spot was the introduction of Range Rovers in 1989 (a mere 19 years after the British market debut). Coinciding with the rise of yuppie nesting, these luxurious and hugely capable vehicles--the model for what are now called sport-utilities--quickly became indispensible in such rugged terrain as Park Avenue, Malibu and the Hamptons. Followed by low-volume editions of the older, butcher Land-Rover models, the Land-Rover/Range Rover franchise proved enormously popular. It stands as the sole successful reintroduction of a British brand.
If British 4WDs succeeded, though, the last attempt at British car sales in the U.S. just lengthened the failure record. It was the 1986 Sterling, which was the brand applied to a rebodied first-edition Acura Legend, built in England using Honda V6 engines and sold there as the Rover 3500--successor to the V8-engined SD1 3500. Despite the presumably better quality of the Honda running gear, the cars' build quality was appalling. The most appealing model was the last, the Sterling 827i five-door, although these are also the rarest. After three years, Sterlings vanished from the U.S. as Rover had done--twice before.
These days, more Jaguars are now sold in the U.S. than any other British marque--but even Jaguar is now owned by Ford Motor Co. As the story goes, Ford didn't realize what bad shape Jag was in until after they paid upwards of $2 billion for the company. One disgruntled Ford executive was said to have remarked, "There's nothing wrong with Jaguar that couldn't be cured by running a bulldozer through Brown's Lane [the main factory and headquarters]."
The first Jaguar with significant Ford input was the restyled XJ-6 of 1995, and the first all-new Jaguar in 11 years will be the 1997 XK-8. But it won't be until 1999 that Jaguar's ultimate fate will be determined. That's the year for the introduction of a smaller Jaguar sedan that will compete head-to-head with the BMW 5-series--taking Jag into the major leagues, from a production of roughly 60,000 cars to 200,000 or more. After the British government kicked in $80 million to keep a new plant in the U.K., talk of building that car in the U.S. ceased. But it did point out that Jaguar's fate is now set in Detroit, rather than Coventry.
About two years ago came the coup de grace to almost a century of British automotive history. British Aerospace, which had purchased BL Cars from the British government, was to sell the unit after much streamlining. It had vastly reduced the workforce and introduced a range of cars mostly based on Honda platforms and engineering. The new buyer? A German company, one whose products are respected worldwide for engineering and image despite having produced mostly three-wheelers just 40 years before: BMW.
BMW has said publicly that it considers the Rover Group's defunct brands a major asset, naming Austin-Healey and even Riley (!) as possible future lines. But plans to sell the lovely MGF mid-engined roadster in the U.S. were immediately quashed, since it would compete directly against the BMW Roadster now being built in Spartanburg, South Carolina. The Land-Rover/Range Rover vehicles will continue in the U.S., since BMW has no trucks or sport utilities. As for any British marque passenger cars, only time will tell.
It seems fitting to end a history of British cars in America with a quotation from a man who sold British cars for a quarter of a century: "I think we're very fortunate that American people . . . are very pro-British, and I think this has helped us in many ways throughout all of our horrendous problems in marketing British cars. I think any other nation . . . would have suffered a lot more than we have. You know, people have been so tolerant with us, it's been incredible."