1975 PEUGEOT 304
Used car addict Keith looks back at his best – and worst – classic buys. This week, a 304 stumbled across by the roadside that made a lasting impression
WHY DID YOU WANT ONE?
I was a frustrated pedestrian back in 1987. Although I’d passed my driving test that summer (first time, phew), I wasn’t yet in the position to be a regular car owner and driver. Call that a consequence of being in full-time education, skint, and not terribly good at saving money. I found myself as a server at Mcdonalds that summer and although the money was good, the commute was rubbish. It either involved a journey on three separate buses, or a good hourlong walk. And since I was averse to buses, I ended up walking. On one of those long, damp rambles, I happened across a Peugeot 304 sitting proudly on the forecourt of (now long gone) Grosvenor Street Garage in Blackpool. It had an ambitious ‘Car of The Week’ sticker and below that a very affordable £495 on the screen. I wandered in, got chatting to the disinterested salesman (who would clearly have rather signed me up to finance on his 1984 Austin Montego instead) and started talking turkey. A deal was struck quickly and the burgundy Peugeot was mine – for £400.
WAS IT A JOY – OR A NIGHTMARE – TO LIVE WITH?
I started to fall for this unassuming little saloon as soon as I’d paid for it, arranged the insurance and tax and driven it home. It was the height of sophistication compared to all my mates’ Escort MKIIS and Chevettes – front-wheel-drive, a vaguely exotic image and a timeless look. Of course, that didn’t impress any of them, but I didn’t care because it was the comfiest car that I’d ever driven at this formative stage in my driving career. I was, however, a little put-out to find just how tightly packed the engine bay was and how difficult it was to work on the first time I opened the bonnet in anger. My memories of its first service are distant now but the yowls and scrapes from me just changing the plugs and getting to the oil filter will live with me forever. Still, it was solid and little went wrong with it in the time that I had it, and unlike many of my mates’ cars at the time, it didn’t have a single spot of rust anywhere on it.
WHAT’S YOUR ABIDING MEMORY OF IT?
It wasn’t a quick car even by the standards of the time and the steering felt like it was set in concrete at parking speeds. But boy was it comfortable, with a soft and spongy ride capable of giving my friends and family an instant bout of seasickness on all but the shortest of journeys. I vaguely remember the comical amount of body roll in corners, too, which I used to good effect on any passengers who annoyed me. I didn’t keep it very long in the end and in a dubious tradition that I’ve managed to maintain to this day, I made a tidy loss on its sale, while thinking that I’d actually broken even – more fool me. I sold it in the end for no other reason than my seasonal job had come to an end and I no longer needed it; I eventually replaced it with a Hillman Hunter. Of the two, can you guess which one I would rather have kept hold of?
WHAT ARE YOUR TOP TIPS FOR BUYING ONE?
Looking back at mine now, I was really lucky because most examples succumbed to terminal rot a long time ago; the British climate played havoc with its bodywork, especially the underside. If you’re looking at one, check the floorpan, sills and suspension mounts. Don’t underestimate minor bodywork damage, either, because replacement panels are near-impossible to get hold of these days. The mechanicals are tough, though, and parts availability isn’t that bad because the engines went on to power later Peugeots. In short, find the cleanest example that you can find (not that there will be many to choose from outside of the main clubs) and be prepared to barter hard.