MYSTERY Machine
When a motorcycle is almost a hundred years old, it can be a bit tricky to understand its story. A friend of Odgie’s discovers a slice of living history, a machine hiding several secrets in its patinated past…
he years of the Great War were relatively good to the Birmingham Small Arms company. As a gun manufacturer that may appear obvious, but they were helped by what some may regard as a rather shortsighted failure of the British government to pay attention to world events. It had run down stocks and was in the process of doing away with the old Lee Enfield rifle and replacing it with… er… the German Mauser.
The upscaling of arms production to overcome this shortcoming was quite staggering, with BSA eventually knocking out in impressive 10,000
Lee Enfield rifles a week, along with 2000 Lewis machine guns. Throw in the BSA folding bicycle used by troops in the conflict, plus military motorcycles used everywhere from Flanders to South Africa, and BSA were kept more than busy.
In addition, BSA kept on producing civilian machines – until 1916, at least, when the War Department issued a decree prohibiting ‘the manufacture or repair of any machine designed for mechanical transportation’. Unless it was under permit to the War Office, obviously.
Still, the company was in rude health at the end of the war, and post-war sales could only have been enhanced by successes for BSA riders in various major national trials over the next few years – all five BSA works riders gained gold medals in the 1921 Scottish Six Days Trial for example. Which went some way to offsetting the calamitous TT of the same year, where the twoyears-in-development, brand new, supposedly all-conquering, radically designed BSA racers proved to be fast but ill-handling beasts whose engines steadfastly refused to remain in one piece for Very Long At All.
Notwithstanding that fairly epic disaster, BSA motorcycle sales increased
light V-twin models E1 and E1 De-luxe, the larger 770cc V-twin Model G De-luxe (the most notable changes to the De-luxe models throughout the range were alloy chaincases on both primary and final drives), along with the sidecar models; the 6, the 7, the 7a, the 8 side-by-side two seater, the Commercial Van sidecar and the Tradesman’s Box Carrier. Phew.
If all that wasn’t enough, 1924 was also the year the company zapped out the ohv L Sports model, based on the sidevalve bottom end, with inclined valves in a hemispherical head derived from the Hotchkiss engine in the BSA mudguards, adjustable footrests, rear carrier, big toolbox and stands front and rear. The Model B really did take the world by storm, conquering the utility market at a stroke. Weighing only 170lb, with a long-stroke engine that would slug away if required, allied to a top speed of around 45mph, and offering some 120mpg, the Model B immediately sold in its thousands, and no less than 35,000 Model Bs were sold during its five year production run.
But BSA had more than one round in their magazine. Their 1924 model range was extensive, incorporating the aforementioned L and S, in 350cc and 500cc, along with the 600cc models, the K3 (belt drive), the H3 and the H3 De-luxe; the dramatically in 1922 and again in 1923, with new sidevalve, three-speed sports models, the 348cc Model L and the 493cc Model S. And then in 1924 BSA truly set motorcycling on fire with the introduction of the round-tank Lightweight Model B. It was an inspired move. With the various motorcycle manufacturers engaged in a price-cutting war, BSA pulled the rug from under them all with a brand new motorcycle for less than £40.
For sure it was built down to a price – a gearbox with only two speeds and no front brake (two independent brakes operated on the rear dummy belt rim, which took a court case before BSA proved it was legal), but it was well appointed, with decent
light car. That was followed by the larger capacity ohv S model, based on its bigger brother. Crikey!
BSA marketing of the time wasn’t backwards at coming forwards either. They made great play of their claim to be ‘Leaders in the Industry’, which they backed up by producing 26,042 machines in 1924. Their factory stand at that year’s Olympia show was described as the ‘most complete range ever offered by one firm’. Which may well have been true. BSA’S other marketing claim was ‘One in every four is a BSA’. History doesn’t seem to record on what that claim was based, or indeed its veracity, but as an advertising slogan it certainly has a ring to it.
That slogan must’ve been good enough to persuade the first owner to buy this particular Model L, some 98 years ago. It now belongs to my good mate, Brian. The Regular Reader will be familiar with Brian. It’s always a pleasure to feature anything from his stable. Generally there’s a tale stretching back, but in this case the bike is a relatively new
it, a competition Ajay and a twin as well, I believe. Then they just stuck them on ebay and I got there first.’
We can only speculate as to how long the BSA had been sat over the shop. Best guess would be it was laid up before WW2, and the rider never came back for it. That would chime with the mostly original condition – had it been put into storage later then the chances are it would have been have been modified. For instance, the old acetylene lamps would likely have been replaced. On the other hand, the Ajay and the twin date from after WW2. It’s a reasonable guess that the BSA had been sat there at least 60 years, and possibly quite a lot longer, but the truth is it will always remain a mystery.
It had been well used in its original life. The tyres were worn ‘bald as a coot,’ as Brian put it. So it has had new tyres and tubes, and that old rear light is one from Brian’s stock. But the rest of it is all there, and just as found. I mean, look at the way the front brake cable has rubbed the paint had me in the ditch as well, as we took it off the rollers the clutch grabbed and it fired forwards. You can see how useless the brakes are too, I was very nearly lying under the bike in the water.
‘The story goes that the bike was found above a shop that had been sold. There were some chaps doing security, and one of them saw it. He had a mate who was into modern bikes and they did a deal with the new owner of the shop to buy acquisition. Still, Brian being Brian, it isn’t just a simple case of saw it: bought it…
‘It was my eldest son Paul who first spotted it,’ Brian tells me. ‘He said dad, have look at this BSA that’s only just come on ebay. It looked OK and was only down the road. I rang the fella up and asked about it. It all seemed genuine, so I told him I had a mate who’d been for looking for a flattanker for a while and to expect a call from him. Then I told my mate to jump to it. I didn’t hear anything after that for an hour or so, so I rang the seller again and he said he’d not heard from him, he was getting other calls and didn’t know what to do.
‘So I rang me mate again and gee’d him up, you don’t want to miss this one. The next day I got a call from the seller. It turned out my mate wanted to wait til Sunday to go and look at it, and the bloke had other people ringing him. He was holding it because I had rung first, which was good of him, but he was a bit fed up.
‘Don’t bother with them then,’ I said,
‘I’ll have it meself!’ When things like that are on your doorstep, you need to be on with it. It wasn’t like it was the other end of the country, or even 50 miles away. It was in the next town. And how often do things like this crop up?
‘We picked it up, got it back in the shed, and had a look. The inside of the tank looked clean, so I primed the oil plunger with fresh oil, poured a bit down the plug hole, and turned it over on the rollers to get the oil going round. I could see the magneto was sparking then. So we put some fuel in it, screwed the spark plug back in, and it fired up straight away. It nearly
off the front mudguard. Or not, but we’ll come to that…
To the casual eye, even the more knowledgeable one, the bike is faded and patina’d but in original factory spec. But look closer. Most restored L models have high, pullback handlebars and footboards, as befits a gentlemanly sidevalve, although the period catalogue does show flatter bars and footrests on the Sports models. But all of them have a dummy belt-pulley front brake, not a drum.
Maybe someone has just changed the front wheel? It certainly looks like it’s been a part of the bike for some time. But the braked forks had a casting between the two legs about half way down, for the brake to operate from. No such casting exists here. Maybe it’s been fitted with forks from the round-tank Model B; they never even had a front brake. But they’re a different design completely. And the early forks were all undamped, so these are definitely later – post ’25 at least. But according to Brian Holliday’s usually reliable book The Story Of BSA Motorcycles, the sidevalve models were dropped by then.
That drum brake is also of a different design than the one BSA adopted in 1928. There was a small metal-to-metal drum brake on the earlier Sports 1923 models, but that was dropped very quickly, before the Olympia show of that same year. But even if that was the case, the forks would still have been undamped at that time.
So although it all looks the part, we appear to have an unknown wheel in later forks. Brian confirms that there is a small brake anchor lug on the bottom of the forks, but none on the brakeplate, and the torque arm fitted was too short, so Brian had to make a longer one. Which all means that the front end is another mystery in itself. Then look at the nonstandard flat, almost drop handlebars. And the way the footrests have been turned backwards. Somebody clearly had sporting pretensions, sidevalve or no sidevalve. So the mystery deepens...
Other than that, the bike was indeed ‘as is’, all totally complete, all aged in harmony, all looking like it had never been apart. Well, apart from someone had taken just the mudguards off at some stage, and stripped and primered them. Another mystery why perhaps, but obviously many, many years ago – after their time in dry storage some rust was coming through the primer. Now, as Brian said, anyone can do shiny paintwork. Some can do it quicker than others, but if you put enough paint on, and polish enough off, you end up with shiny. But painting something to look old, that’s a different art in itself.
Brian wasn’t keen to try, but he did know a Certain Chap of the Parish who had experience of such things... So I got the mudguards and performed a few of my trade secrets on them. I’d dropped them back off at Brian’s looking hopefully as he wanted, but it wasn’t until I went to photograph the bike a few weeks later that I’d seen them fitted. And though I say it myself, I was pretty pleased with the way they’d turned out – hands up anybody who’d spotted they’d been recently repainted then? And how fortunate that they were still with the bike and hadn’t got lost along the way...
Brian has ridden the BSA – only over short distances while waiting for its registration to come through – and reports it as very tall geared, but it also pulls very well. It’s certainly a rare old thing, and I really do love it – it’s exactly my sort of old bike. A restored bike to original factory spec is nice enough, and it keeps people busy and parts and preparation firms in business, but you have to really strain your imagination to see back past all the fresh shiny paint and new gleaming nickel. It might as well be an unsold for 90 years shop floor model with no history at all.
Take a genuinely original bike, especially one that carries the twists and turns of the previous owner’s whims – now we really are talking. It takes no imagination at all to look at this bike and think pre-war, a dashing chap about town, cap and footrests both
turned backwards, crouched down over those low-slung bars, hoping the drum brake modification somehow enhances the meagre stopping power, and the damped forks somehow improve the rudimentary handling. Holding onto that long first gear, then hand-shifting into second, while juggling the air and fuel levers with the same hand (no fancy twistgrips here) and the clutch and ignition levers with the other hand. Images of Wal Handley or Alec Bennett feeding a febrile young mind.
It’s a truly remarkable motorcycle, as joyous as it is mysterious, as delightful as it is desirable. And it reminds us of an era when BSA really did virtually rule the motorcycling world, at least in terms of model range and total sales. Whoever walked into the showroom and bought it on the strength of those attributes we’ll never know, and whether it was the same owner who modified it, or whether it passed through many hands before being stored will remain lost in the mists of time. All a great mystery. But which, as I said, gives free reign to the imagination. And the bike’s condition drives that imagination and emotion. You look at it and you can’t just see the past, you can actually feel it. And that’s what makes some motorcycles stand out amongst others.