You Never Forget The First Ones

Jowett Bradford van in vintage motor show. Photo: Harlequin9 - stock.adobe.com

A STORY OF A BRADDY AND A HUDDY

WORDS DAVID MCCARTHY I could hardly credit the coincidence. I was leafing through a favourite UK classic car magazine and found, side by side, features on two unlikely partners, a Bradford van and a Hudson 112. My first two cars! Now years later the memories flooded back from days every keen motorist remembers, the struggle to get on the automotive ladder, and the gambles taken to achieve it.

The Bradford, rather quaintly considering its limitations, has retained a certain lustre, probably beyond its deserved place in our motoring world, and examples are often shown by dedicated enthusiasts at classic car shows. As for the Huddy, a development of the Terraplane on a more modest scale, there are still nice ones around, though they are oddities.

The Bradford was a utilitarian van designed and built to get British tradesmen mobile in the post war era. I inherited mine from my older brother Tom for £40 ($80) when he was working on an Ashburton farm, as he had gone upmarket to a Volkswagen. Older brothers featured for many of us in that era of hand-me-downs, including cars. At that time I was teaching in Lower Hutt, and to reach the overnight ferry at Lyttelton in the pre-tunnel days meant

crossing the Port Hills, a trip that could test any flaws not apparent on easy flat driving. Even Tom rated it enough of a challenge to follow me over in case there were problems with such things as radiators, but there weren’t. In my mind’s eye I can still see the little van being hoisted high over the Hinemoa and lowered into the hold. I was a real motorist at last!

I had loved cars from an early age, especially the big Americans of the 1930s and 1940s of which there were a large variety in the rural areas where we lived. Later there was the weekend parade around Cathedral Square which featured many Ford V8 coupes (the usual stars of such events), some Chevs and similar, as well as the popular Morris 8 sports and even the occasional Zephyr convertible. Max Merritt, the rock’n’roll star of Christchurch in that era, had one as I recall. Our family once had an impressive 1929 DeSoto, first owned by my grandfather, but when it finally pleaded for retirement, and American cars were virtually unavailable, Dad switched to English cars, initially an Austin A40. The big yanks had the pulling power and the suspension for more comfortable trips on our often-testing roads, and also stylish dashboards, steering wheels and grills. The big motors and interior setup appealed, but I was not to know then that their day was coming to an end here, through a complicated series of events.

But if a big American car was the dream, the Bradford was the reality. It was a faithful servant, a product of its time. Crushing financial restrictions on importing cars post war meant bringing in small-engined cars, which gave a greater supply for agents and allowed increased price margins. But the government of the day took a set against American cars in favour of English ones to help get Britain moving again. Never mind that the American fleet had just recently saved New Zealand from a possible Japanese invasion. The government did get into some hot water soon after, when it was revealed that it had bought several large Chryslers for its own use while denying others, especially the transport industry such as cab drivers, the same opportunity.

My version of the Bradford had an ash wood frame, which produced its fair share of crashing from the back doors, especially over obstacles such as railway lines and road ruts. The major problem for them by the mid ‘60s though was lack of speed. I had the mortification of being hauled over by a traffic officer one morning for travelling too slowly through the Stokes Valley gorge, which at that time of day carried a lot of traffic. The memory has sometimes softened my frustration at excessively slow drivers over the years. I couldn’t tell the traffic officer the truth. Once achieving 40 mph the Bradford (top speed 50 mph on a perfect day, even though some early English testers claimed more) became quite difficult to control on a tight road, the steering being a weak point in terms of feel at any time. In an emerging world of Zephyrs, Holdens, Falcons and Vauxhall Crestas, not to mention the sprightly Mini and its offshoots, we were out of our depth. The brakes could trap the unwary. They used a Girling rod system similar to a pre-war Ford 10, and they failed once when I was approaching a pedestrian crossing. Braking could be agonisingly slow and driving with that in mind kept the speed down at the best of times.

The Bradford was based on a pre-war Jowett, without much time for redesign. The beauty of it was its two cylinder opposed “boxer” engine, of just over 1000 cc, closely related to the 4 cylinder Jowett Javelin. The Javelin, designed during the war years (its modern appearance based on a Lincoln Zephyr design with more than a few hints of the Lancia Aprilia), was revolutionary in war-torn 1947 Britain. Most British and American cars continued prewar-based styling at that stage. An example of the handsome Le Mans winning Jupiter sports version was owned by a fellow college student, to the great envy of the rest of us.

Virtually all production of Javelins and Bradfords had ceased by 1954 after a disastrous 75 per cent drop in exports the previous year and the sale of Briggs, the company who constructed the bodies, to Ford. The Javelins, and to a lesser extent the Bradfords, had attracted criticism of the transmission, but the Javelin was an imaginative car for that era and it retains a strong following. By the 1950s the Bradford had done a stirling job but the public wanted more sophisticated performers. That sweet little Bradford motor, a Jowett staple tracing its roots to 1906, never failed to start (starting handles were essential then of course) and never let me down, not altogether the expectation among cheaper older cars of that era. It is the abiding memory of my first car.

My girlfriend (later wife) rather appreciated the quirkiness of the Bradford and even when the back of her seat gave way on a date, she accepted it was another of its foibles rather than any ill intent from the driver. One night a large vehicle wanted to share a road-works lane with us. The damage was only to the mudguard but rather to my dismay the insurance company opted to write it off.

The Hudson came to me via a local policeman who was fettling it for use after a long period off the road. Word was passed on in the pub (where else?) that it was available for around the Bradford insurance price and it might suit me. A yank tank - too good a chance to pass up, especially after the owner sang its praises.

The Hudson 112 was quite well known in Britain, hence that article in the English classic car mag. Hudson had been pioneers in the States of CKD kits sent to their own factories in England and Europe for assembly. Though little known then, the Hudson 112 was heavily promoted here in 1938 with nationwide radio and newspaper advertisements including the familiar mystery-cararrival buildup. The suppliers were Dominion Motors and other Austin dealerships. The coming of war and its after effects drastically shortened their marketing life compared to the superseded Terraplane, which was well known and respected. It had been decided, rather oddly, that the Terraplane name, used since 1934, was now out of date. The 112 was the wheelbase, and the car was pitched as cheaper than the Terraplane had been, and was more economical. There were two versions, and there were also Hudsons with 118, 122 and 129 inch wheelbases, the top line running a V8. There were coupe versions of the 112, and a rare convertible. It is claimed that only three of these were built in 1938, one being the pace car for the Indianapolis 500. The deluxe version was over £600 ($1200) and had leather upholstery, an 8 day clock and a built-in radio, among other extras, at a time when radios were rare. Our family cars didn’t include one until 1958.

The selling angle was the economy (up to 25 miles to the gallon) for the size of the 6 cylinder motor which developed 85 bhp. It had a price that started at about £435 ($870) which brought it much nearer to smaller European car rivals than most new American cars at that time. An Australian road test timed the standard car doing a respectable zero to 50mph (80kph) in 13 seconds (versus the Bradford at 47 seconds), and the car had several innovative features, most notable being a dual braking system. Hydraulic brakes were not new, though some were more reliable than others. Hudson sought to reassure owners by including an automatic mechanical back up system if the hydraulics failed. This was operated by the brake pedal through an emergency connection to the handbrake cable. There was a column gear change (mine had been altered to a floor gear change Terraplane box), quite innovative then, and if you wanted to spend up on the deluxe version, an Electric Hand semi-automatic column change developed by

Hudson with Bendix. It was similar to the British Wilson pre-select gear change in principle. Hudson marketing emphasised space for three front passengers, not possible with a floor shift. The Electric Hand also appealed to drivers who struggled with manual shifts in pre-synchromesh cars. Significantly, Hudson provided a separate manual gear lever attached under the dash so that if the electric wizardry failed it could be quickly fitted on the floor for physical changes. A veteran American observer recalled recently that he saw several Hudson Electric Hand models in that era and every one had the floor lever permanently fitted. The forward opening hood was another major selling point, somewhat unusual in US cars. Hudsons, when they were still Hudsons, had a good reputation here and elsewhere for their go anywhere ruggedness, reliability and innovation. Things like oil-bath clutches with corked plates, and modern suspensions kept them in play.

But whereas Hudson, and associate brand Essex (also popular here) had been claimed to be the biggest six cylinder sellers worldwide during the 1920s, the brand was under pressure by the time the 112 appeared. In fact it could not be said to be a commercial success, sales in the US of Hudsons in 1938 dropping sharply to close to 70,000. Had the company, like most of its peers (including Jowett), not picked up wartime engineering contracts from the Government, it might not have resumed post-war, when it struggled for survival before exiting on the back of the disastrous Hudson Jet, a compact car before its time.

Though not mentioned in New Zealand press releases, the 1939 model Hudsons also had Autopoise - another company innovation with an absurd name. It was basically an extra stabiliser bar system added to the front suspension, which acted on the wheels to keep them tracking true in high winds, rutted roads and if a sudden puncture occurred. Or so the theory went.

There was delay in getting my Hudson on the road because nobody had crucial parts for the valve train. It was eventually found that Vauxhall car and Bedford truck bits fitted. My Hudson had a rough exterior, but it was very reliable and very comfortable with a nice burst of power, totally foreign to the Bradford. But its best days were behind it. After a few early trips I knew better than to set it any serious tests. It didn’t track quite truly, and I was later shaken when it was alleged that that was because it had once crashed off Paekakariki hill into a large tree, killing the driver. Its one major fault was how the lights would occasionally, but suddenly, fail. I had to crawl briefly under the car on the driver’s side and adjust a wire that restored them, but during that time you were vulnerable, especially on a twisty road. Strangely, a satisfactory cure seemed to elude any expert I consulted, short of a complete rewire, which would cost more than the car was worth.

Time to move up to the modern world and my first European, a Fiat 600 and about as far from a Hudson 112 as it was possible to get. An alleged friend sold it to me, and I found on arrival of the papers that it was a 1959 model, not the improved 1961 as he had claimed, the exteriors being identical. He was off-hand about this and because of employment relationships I didn’t press as hard as I should have. Lesson learned – be wary of some of their owners.

101 Harman St PO Box 9164 Christchurch 8149 New Zealand Phone 03 338 4307 email office@veterancarrims.co.nz

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