But British cars did not have to go any where, they just had to climb muddy hills. So with a bunch of bent pipes and some wheels and a repatriated generator engine something was born.
However in England the folks who own businesses do not want to run them. Those folks want to run with ROYALTY. WHEE! They want to become lords, play with mistresses and hunt foxes.
The business of making cars in itself seems rather mundane (with some exceptions) and is, therefore, delegated to the shop foreman who is told to make do with that little engine that almost can. Bend some pipe and see if you can sell a couple of thousand of the critters. One can not sell even one of those critters unless it can make a perfect square turn at speed because that is the way the British roads are built. And with those instructions the shop foremen made some cars and sold some cars. At least for as long as he (the shop foreman) did not act like he owned the place.
So why do you and I drive these things (British cars). Most likely because we equate with the shop foreman. We do not want to rub shoulders with Royalty, don't care to be Lords, do not want (or do not dare) to play with mistresses or hunt foxes. We would, however like to meet the shop foreman and help him out a bit, or better yet have him help us.
It was all because of electricity.
RUINED FOR LIFE
John Ulrich
Growing up in the 60s in Nebraska, I was bombarded by Hot Rod magazine, and lots of Detroit iron. At about the time I became "car eligible," the Mustang, Camero, Goat, and Cuda were introduced, and there was a cheap and plentiful supply of various 50s Chevys and Fords. Hindsight being what it is, a small collection of those cars would now send your kid to college.
The father of one of my friends took us all the way to Omaha one day to see the new Shelby GT350 at McFayden Ford. We were hoping that the dealership would have a 289 Cobra, but no such luck. Anyway, the Shelby was impressive, very expensive, but still a Ford. While my friend and his dad walked around the car for the hundredth time, I wandered across to the used car lot. Way in the back corner was a little red car. It said Austin-Healey on the front, and SPRITE on the back. I was simply spellbound. It was the most desirable car I had ever seen in the flesh. I now know it must have been a MKII. Maybe a trade in for a Mustang or even a Falcon Sprint?
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