IF you have never heard of Brylcreem, nor possessed a hairy Harris Tweed sports jacket with leather buttons or have no idea what a Merlin or a voltmeter is, then turn the page now. A chap should wear a sports jacket, cravat and cheese-cutter hat to drive the MG TC. It is that sort of car, redolent with atavistic associations of pilots stepping from Merlin-engined Spitfires, elegant Brylcreemed young men in wind-blown white silk scarves and perfectly groomed women gushing about Big Band dance music.
A head turner in its day, 61 years later the MG TC still stops people in their tracks — not for the currency of the technology but because more than any other British motor car it looks the quintessential sports car. Styled with no concessions to aerodynamics — other than shaped front lights that in aerodynamic terms are mounted back to front — it slices through the air in precisely the way that house bricks don’t. And there is nothing finer to drive through sunny spring-green country lanes in Hertfordshire on an April weekend.
The TC is built on a chassis with an Ash wood frame bolted on top. The 1250cc naturally aspirated twin carburetor engine breaks wind loudly as it urges the car from zero to 60 miles per hour (forget kph for the duration) in a nippy 22 seconds and strolls on to a cracking 78 mph flat out. That sounds modest but, in the open air with no seat belts and all the weather protection of a roller skate, it feels very rapid indeed.
The semi-elliptical leaf spring suspension is hard enough to pound your liver to pate yet keep the 19 inch wire-spoked wheels sporting boxy 4.5 inch cross-ply tires firmly on line through the twisting lanes around Sarrat. The heavy steering finds all the weaknesses in your deltoids and pecs such that you eventually wind up built like a trucker.
With the hood up and through a tight corner, you can actually hear the wooden frame creak like an old square-rigger; then again, it might have been me. Wonderful! The history of the TC started when, to get back into production quickly after WW2, MG (Morris Garages) of Abingdon Oxfordshire had little option but to re-vamp its pre-war model, the TB. Thus, just five weeks after the official conclusion of the war, the TC of 1945 was born. It had the same big 19in wheels, fold-flat screen, crude semi-elliptic suspension and slab-sided body with ash framing as the pre-war TB. The body was made wider to give more elbow-room to its passengers while synchromesh on second, third and top gear made it more pleasant to drive.
Rumor has it that the synchromesh box was developed because women wanted to drive and had no idea how to double de-clutch and therefore could not change down. There is a Ph.D. somewhere in that early flowering of political correctness. Hydraulic brakes operating substantial drums were another welcome improvement over the TB. The operating systems on the car may be crude pieces of engineering by modern machine standards, but its instrumentation puts 21st century cars to shame.
It seems anathema to most modern drivers to know what is going on in the engine compartment, but I for one want to know when the oil pressure begins to drop before the little red “Hey-guy-your-engine-has-just-seized-so-call-your-remortgage-advisor” light comes on. Surely you would like to know your battery is not receiving nourishing portions of volts or indeed, how many it has to spare? No? Then don’t complain when your expensive tiptronic automatic car fails to start and the greasy tow truck pops round to haul the teeth out of your gearbox. One of the great failures of the modern motorcar is that it is impossible to monitor what is going on and anticipate problems. Perhaps it was just because many of these simple yet rugged chariots were sold to ex-pilots who relied on instruments that they were so well equipped. Water temperature in degrees, oil pressure in pounds per square inch, voltmeter and ammeter; that’s more like it!
American servicemen stationed in the UK during the war became major export buyers for the TC and laid the foundations for the long-term love of European sports cars that still exists. Most of the 10,000 car production run went to the US. The TC as with any car of its age — the test model was 61 years old — has always needed and still requires constant maintenance. The odd leaky water pump gasket or dribble of oil has to be attended to and provides a major portion of the attraction of the ownership of a piece of motoring history.
“Most weekends I find something to change, check or improve,” said the owner of this particular TC, Les Tomkins. He bought the car 40 years ago and has regarded it as “work in progress” ever since. “This is not just a car, it’s a hobby and an endlessly fascinating piece of history,” he mused, casually removing an ex-butterfly from the gleaming radiator cap with his jersey cuff. An art director for major movies, he regularly attends car boot sales and auto-jumbles, buying pieces of original MGs or simply items that look in character. The leather case for example, complete with red reflectors and strapped to the luggage rack, looks entirely right and testifies to the underlying utility of the car.
First registered in December 1946, this venerable and utterly delightful vehicle was built at a time when people drove for fun. Yes, really! It was demanding to drive yet generously rewarded the effort in the greening lanes of the English countryside. When in the driving seat you would swear you heard the sound of a dance band somewhere with the distant deep rumble of a Merlin coughing into life.
The Chinese may have bought the MG brand and it will stay alive in some form or other. However, the legend of the T series is mercifully unassailable; and it was a privilege to drive.