THREE ICONS DRIVEN

The Minor inspired affection from the start, and that grew into the huge international following it has today. Nick Larkin discovers why

If the last Morris Minor left the roads of Great Britain surely the country would sink beneath the sea, accompanied by a mass farewell chorus of the cars’ trademark gearchange ‘parp’. They are the linchpins of the classic car movement, we all know that. But what I really want to find out is how that happened. Why did Minors star at the Commonwealth Games closing ceremony in 2002 and at numerous Lord Mayor’s shows? And why are several men of a certain age, normally responsible members of the Morris Minor Owners’ Club committee, celebrating the 70th anniversary by performing The Full Monty? The car makes people do these things. Grown men go all gooey. Younger people who think an early Toyota Yaris is obsolete are equally afflicted. The cars get names such as Gertrude or Clarabelle. They always die rather than get scrapped. People devote years of their lives to restoring Minors, groups drive them abroad and tuck them up in the garage like they’re bedding down a much-loved pony. Let’s consider why. First, the Minor looks cuddly, round and friendly. It evokes a largely bygone Britain of crumpets with honey at four o’clock, potholefree country roads bordered by hedges and honeysuckle, district nurses working for a well-funded NHS and orange film around Lucozade bottles. Morris Minors could surely never add to air pollution. And even today, they’re such a usable proposition. Handling is still safe, you can get 40mpg, and you can make them go better and faster. Most important, the folk who own these cars and the way in which the Minor, an inanimate object (so we’re told) brings them together, is what makes this little Morris an Arthuriansized legend. So, let’s meet some of these amazing people, along with their incredible (and very different) Morris Minors.