AUSTIN/MORRIS 1100
Although rather eclipsed by its sister the Mini, the ADO16 Austin/morris 1100 was another Issigonis high point. They are quite rare now, but it’s well worth finding one, says Phil White.
If you’re my age or older, it’s easy to conjure up an image of this car. They were everywhere when I was a kid. Like its equally ubiquitous BMC stablemate the Mini, the car we generally know as the Austin or Morris 1100 actually came in a wide variety of guises, but the base model Austins and Morrises are the definitive ones. This is the car that we were taken to school in, that transported the whole family on holidays with a large bundle of belongings mounted on the roof. Our aunts, uncles and teachers had them. They were part of our families.
It was known within the company as ADO16, Alec Issigonis’ follow-up to 1959’s triumphant Mini. He aimed to create a family car with a little more room than the tiny terror, but using its guiding principles of ingenious packaging and quite a lot of its componentry too. The result was a phenomenal success, becoming Britain’s best-selling car between 1963 and 1966, then again between 1968 and 1971. And no wonder. Styled by Pininfarina in Italy, it was a fresh, modern, good-looking notchback saloon with a cabin that was light, airy and deceptively spacious.
The A-series engine in 1098cc form endowed it with sufficient performance to hold its own among its peers, but what really stood out was its handling. Issigonis elected to use the Hydrolastic suspension pioneered by his friend, Alex Moulton. As a result it had a phenomenally smooth ride, and was almost as knife-edge nimble as its smaller cousin. By comparison, the cart-sprung Morris Minor and 105E Ford Anglia drove like, well, carts.
ADO16 was developed into many variants, thanks to BMC – latterly British Leyland – having a notable predilection for engaging its numerous brands in promiscuous badge engineering. The car’s overall lifetime stretched between 1963 and 1974, during which it was offered as a two and four-door saloon and a threedoor estate. It wore both the Austin and Morris badges, and appeared speciallydressed as an MG, a Wolseley, a Riley and a Vanden Plas. Gentle evolution occurred through MKI, MKII and MKIII generations, and the A-series was employed in 1098cc and 1275cc capacities, developing various outputs between 48bhp and 70bhp. This was a gentle evolution though, and thanks to its solid mechanical foundation mainly involved cosmetic revisions. Certainly the character of the car didn’t alter a bit throughout.
On the road, any ADO16 variant is a lot of fun. The A-series is a pleasant motor in any guise, but in twincarburettor, 70bhp form it is genuinely punchy, giving the Austin and Morris 1300GT, MG1300 and Riley 1300 very decent pace. But even the humble 1100 has quite enough output to be really very enjoyable indeed. Part of its charm is that light, incisive steering combining with a Hydrolastic ride that is more refined than the shorter Mini could ever offer. The result for the driver is almost unending smiles without providing employment for an osteopath.
Whether it wears an Austin or a Morris emblem, the 1100 is fairly sparse inside. The cabin reflects both Issigonis’ ascetic tastes and his penchant for a ribbon-style speedometer. It is worth noting that the rarer and more expensive Vanden
Plas Princess, Wolseley, MG (pictured below left) and Riley Kestrel variants variously boast wood trim, leather seats, Wilton carpet and picnic tables for rear-seat passengers.
Issigonis was a designer of genius, which is one reason why we should all consider owning an 1100. Sadly, we can’t. All his ingenuity couldn’t keep the elements away from 1960s steel. Allied to some poor design decisions on Issigonis’ part when it came to the body structure design, the model’s legendary readiness to rot means that the 1100 is now a surprisingly rare car. Even back in 1975, I watched my father buy one at auction, pillage the engine for my mum’s Mini and drag the rest of the hulk straight to our local scrapyard.
The strangest thing is that despite its scarcity and potential, the 1100 is an incredibly worthwhile car at a highly affordable price. And any example that has survived will have been looked after or restored. These cars are easy to work on, parts availability is healthy, and owners’ club support is readily available. Even better, culturally they aren’t such sacred cows that you should be afraid to modify them if that is your game. There really are very few reasons not to add one to your fleet. If you can find one.