Big Resto: Sportshatch
Having owned this Sportshatch once before, it’s eventual restoration at Mike Edwards hands was almost inevitable
Second time lucky: Mike Edwards’ epic hot Vauxhall revival.
Many of us have been there. Owned a car, enjoyed it and then, after much deliberation, sold it on. Sometimes with the proviso ‘I’d like first refusal if you ever…’ – of course, if you state that then you shouldn’t be selling it. Perhaps, we add it to soften the blow somewhat.
Well for Mike Edwards, what happened next was of the hammer variety. ‘I’d seen the 1976 Sportshatch in Auto Trader in 1985, bought it and ran it for a few years,’ he explains. ‘After a while it got too rusty for an MOT, so I put it in a lock-up, thinking that I would do it up at some point.’ In the intervening couple of years
Mike had taken ownership of an HP Firenza and then, another Sportshatch. After considering whether he’d ever get round to restoring his first Droopsnoot, he decided the time had come for them to part. ‘I thought I’ll sell it to someone who will do it.’ Of course, the next owner promptly whipped out the engine and gearbox, before selling the car on.
Field of nightmares
OK, so Mike had another two hot Vauxhalls with which to entertain himself, but that’s to negate both the driving pleasure had in his first Sportshatch and the emotional bond that he’d formed with the car.
‘I really regretted getting rid of it, especially when I heard what had happened. Luckily it went to Dietmar Wood in the Droopsnoot Group (DSG). I remember speaking to him shortly afterwards and he said: “It’s a real shame – if he’d just needed an engine and gearbox, then I could have given him a choice”.’
Full of good intentions, its new owner initially stored the car in a barn, but the onset of time and a shifting of priorities saw it then transferred to a field – where it stayed for seven full years. ‘By this time the owner of my then current Sportshatch – who’d emigrated to Australia – contacted me and asked if he could buy it back, which he did. When OVR became available again, I had to have it.’
Mike travelled to North Wales with friend John Payling, who brought a trailer. They found the car in a state of extreme decrepitude. ‘A branch had fallen on the passenger door at some point. There was mould everywhere, and foliage growing in the headlamps.’
Slowly, slowly, catchee… tinworm
By now Mike had progressed from renting several lock-ups for his cars to renting a unit, with room for three to four cars, on a farm. After jet-washing the
mould off – ‘it didn’t look so bad when it was wet’ – he took it inside, and began appraising the job ahead.
‘When I opened the bonnet I could see straight through the inner wing, through the bulkhead, into the passenger compartment and then out through the floor again. I think if I’d sent the body shell to a professional, it would have said “find another shell”.’
Having had his Firenza HP’S shell restored by a body shop, a car that required a fraction of the work he anticipated that this would entail, he was also aware of the size of bill that another professional restoration would have generated. ‘I kept reading things on the web – people who’d done big restos, making lots of repair panels. And then there were videos on forums – all very inspiring stuff.’
Starting slowly, he got going. First up, the chassis rail on the driver’s floor – or that should be, the lack
‘Bit by painstaking bit, Mike restored some integrity to the car’s structure’
of a chassis rail on the driver’s floor. And the lack of a floor! With both inner and outer sills gone, there was no strength in the structure and the car couldn’t be jacked up. ‘I made a section and fitted it, before constructing and welding in a new floor. With the sill repaired, I could then anchor the chassis rail to it and the bottom of the door pillar was now solidly located.’
Mike recalls thinking that the LHS chassis was good. ‘When I tried to locate the repair on the RHS using the gearbox crossmember between the two, it fell on the floor as soon as I touched it – my reference point wasn’t much of a reference.’ However, bit by painstaking bit, he worked towards restoring some integrity to the basic structure of the car. ‘I’d pick a bit, cut it out and replace it. Spending ages doing a piece and thinking it’s only three inches long – but one way of looking at it, was that’s a bit I now don’t need to do. The element of time was also on my side, I thought I can mess around with this for ages before I’ve got to decide if it’s too bad.’
By the time he got to that point, his thought processes had shifted to ‘it can’t be any worse than what I’ve already done.’ He cites the fact that this stage of the process was just a case of cutting bits of new metal, shaping them and welding them into place. ‘An 8’ by 4’ sheet of steel is £35. I think I used two. It was a while before I used Vauxhall panels on it, and that’s where the expense lies.’
On its uppers
Luckily a propensity for parts hoarding played a key role in all aspects of the restoration. ‘I’ve always been of the mind: if I see a part and it’s a reasonable price, then I buy it. I’d been gathering lots of spares for a long time, and 10 or 15 years ago they were a lot cheaper. Sometimes you just get lucky. I bought a box of balljoints from a chap who had a VX and in it were two pairs of new discs – they’re not an easy find. I also got lucky with a local scrapyard in Whitchurch, which went into administration and had all sorts of OE parts. I spotted a Magnum radiator, a driver’s door skin for a Firenza and I must have the biggest stock of inner wheelbearings.’
He found replacing the box sections at the top of the rear wings, where the tailgate hinges are located, quite complex. Having fabricated replacement U-sections, once in they didn’t flex and that necessitated cutting a bit out of each in situ to fit the tailgate and then re-welding.
After welding the passenger side door pillar back in (removed to replace the closing panel behind) it was clear the branch impact had had a serious effect, so out it came again. ‘I welded a bar to the floorpan and used some bits of wood and a scissor jack to push it out again until it all lined up. I spent a lot of time getting trying to get the panel gaps good, but this was the British Motor Industry in the Seventies so there’s only so far you can go.’
Without doubt though, the biggest challenge was fitting the car’s signature Droopsnoot front. ‘I had a pair of genuine, but standard, Magnum front wings, as such they required cutting back to make a flange; I was paranoid about doing them in the right place and getting the angles right.’
He started by measuring the current wings along the swage line, but with a ¼ in difference from one side to the other they were of no use as a reference. ‘It
was just a case of cutting them roughly, putting the nose cone over and then trimming back a little at a time – then welding the flanges and strengthening pieces in afterwards.
In total the body restoration took a staggering seven years, with Mike painting the car in its original Extra Dark Wine using ‘some plastic sheeting and a modern cellulose equivalent, an acrylic 1k lacquered paint’ – again, his training included talking to friends and a bit of internet research. ‘Originally I painted the car panel by panel, but I had some trouble with repairs showing through, so I redid it.’
Let’s get mechanical, and other bits
It was now time for his focus to turn mechanical. ‘Compared to the body restoration, the mechanical side of things was relatively straightforward.’ The back axle and rear suspension were restored, and the first components to go back on the car. He had the engine’s crankshaft checked and polished, before rebuilding the bottom end with new gaskets fitted all round. The gearbox was next, with a new clutch also fitted. Once mounted on the front subframe the front end was jacked up to allow it to slide under, and then connected in place.
‘The rest of the mechanicals was relatively simple stuff; discs, wheel-bearings, etc,’ he says. ‘All new cooling pipes were added and a lot of the wiring is new including both sections in the engine bay (one for lighting, one for the engine). When I redid the Firenza instead of buying the metres required I thought I’d buy a reel, which was pretty much the same price – I’m glad I did.
Inside it retains its original, if a little faded, Bold Red Plaid interior, which considering its time in North Wales is astonishing. ‘The DSG has had the tartan re-manufactured, but it’s nice that this cleaned up so well.’ Mike bought material and made the carpets from scratch. In all, from start to finish, the restoration took him nine years to complete.
There are still areas for improvement, he says. The paint is little thin in places, where he’s almost gone through while polishing. ‘I may have it professionally painted at some point, or have another go myself. The body is all flexing a bit. There’s a small crack by the droopsnoot nose cone, but it’s a better fit than the pros did on my Firenza.’
And that sense of satisfaction is what Mike takes most pride. His meticulous work has ressurected it like a phoenix from the flames (or a Magnum from a field), saving one rare beastie that would otherwise have been for the scrapper – and that’s to be applauded.
‘I took it to a show at Cholmondeley recently and a chap came up and told me that he used to have one of these,’ says Mike. ‘I braced myself for the inevitable Chevette comment, but he pulled out a picture of his car towing his boat around France. That conversation made all the hard work worthwhile.’