The history of the British owned elements of the motor industry in Australia is not as straight forward as you might have expected. The story is not simply of cars being built up from knocked down kits in facilities near the docks in Sydney or Melbourne; there were almost always variations aimed at increasing sales by increasing the suitability and compatibility to Aussie needs and tastes. One observation could be that as the manufacturers tried harder at meeting those preferences and needs, the further they seemed to be from satisfying them.
Prior to the second world war, Morris, Austin and Rootes all either imported built up cars or assembled cars with locally produced bodies on imported chassis on a contract basis by Australian businesses, which for Rootes included Holden, just as Vauxhalls were also assembled by Holden. After the war, and to meet Australian trade and tax policies and industrial ambitions, the model changed to building cars with increased local content and soon more specifically tailored to the Australian market.
Between 1945 and 1949, Rootes, Morris and Austin all established or purchased existing local assemblers and started building and adapting cars for the local market. GM, through Holden, Ford and, a little later, Chrysler also established factories capable beyond assembly, building adapted versions of European and US vehicles for the Australian and New Zealand markets principally, though some from all of them got to places like southern Africa and even into the North America and occasionally Europe.
Rootes Australia assembled versions of British designed Humber and Hillman models, frequently sold under mangled versions of the familiar British branding. Aside from the branding, changes were minimal, and as sales faded the venture was absorbed into Chrysler Australia in 1965. Rootes Australia’s fate was not helped by Chrysler also assembling Simca Arondes in Adelaide.
William Morris, personally, purchased a site at Victoria Park in Zetland, on the edge of Sydney and home to the city’s racecourse, in 1947 and by 1950 the Nuffield Organization was assembling Morris Minors and Oxfords for the local markets.
By 1958, BMC Australia, a combination of Austin and Morris and headquartered in Zetland, was building cars specifically tailored for the local market. Specification changes for an Australian market were initially fairly minimal: some toughened suspension components, a bigger (or the biggest engine) and some monsoon window rail deflectors and sunvisor, and expect it to sell. The competition from the likes of Ford and Holden, with North American raw material and local design teams was too much for this to endure.
Typical of this period was the 1957 Morris Marshal – more familiar to the UK market as the Austin A95 Westminster. Trim details and the front bench seat were the main differences.
Then came first real Australian specials – the Morris Major and Austin Lancer. These were derived from the Wolseley 1500, itself derived from the 1948 Issigonis Morris Minor, but fitted with the 1496cc B series engine and a new body. The Australian Austin quite closely matched the Wolseley; the Australian Morris (above) had more specifically tailored sheet metal, and both went through a variety of changes, before the ADO16 Morris 1100 superseded both.
BMC Australia followed up with the Morris Nomad, which to be kind, looks like a prototype Maxi crossed with an ADO16. In some ways, it was – the Maxi, initially at least, was a blend of ADO16 and ADO17 Landcrab with a hatchback for ergonomic, not space efficiency, reasons, and the Nomad was that visually. It was an ADO16 with the taller E series 1500cc engine and a rear hatchback.
BMC also offered the ADO17 Landcrab , in Austin 1800 form, which by 1968 had achieved a local content level of 95%. There were differences to UK cars, especially in ride height, sump guards and gearing. But BMC had bigger ambitions, to tackle Holden, Ford and Chrysler.
The car developed for this task was the Austin Tasman and Kimberley – a six cylinder derivative of the Landcrab (the name sticks and rightly so), but with new front and rear bodywork, a revised roof line and rear window and new door skins, with a three inch wheelbase stretch. (Once you know that’s the origin, you can’t not see it.) The squared off style matched well with the contemporary products from the competitors, and size wise, it was also comparable, especially if you factored in the efficient packaging of the Landcrab.
But while it was a six cylinder engine, it was only 2.2 litre (developed from the Austin Maxi four cylinder), with no larger or V8 option. BLMC, as it was by now, knew Australia needed more. It needed a truly bespoke, Australia-first car. But BLMC, worldwide and not just in Australia, had limited resources. Fortunately, there were options in the cupboard.
By 1970, there were two projects of potential relevance to this requirement – one just finishing and one just starting. And this is where the story gets a little murky.
P8 prototype photos from www.aronline.co.uk
From 1967, Rover, backed now by Leyland money, had been developing a large saloon to replace the Rover 3.5 lite P5 saloon, to take on Jaguar and Mercedes-Benz. This was to be, by European standards, a close to full size car, with a wheelbase of 108.5 inches, powered by the Rover, ex-Buick, V8 stretched to 4.4 litres and styling by David Bache, Rover’s long standing design chief. Bache was always keen on his cars creating an impact, and the P8 was no exception. The car had a definite North American feel, and has been described as imposing, even brutal, and had some intriguing, even complex, engineering under that skin.
The car was built on a base unit structure, like the earlier Rover P6 (2000, 3500), a de Dion rear suspension with self-levelling, double wishbone front suspension and a ring main hydraulic system powering the self-levelling suspensions, the steering and brakes, Citroen style, and a Girling anti-lock brake system. This prototype P8 has survived in the back storeroom of the British Motor Museum, and is now a little worse for wear, but you can see where Bache wanted to be with it.
Testing the P8 stared in early 1970, by which time Rover was in the BLMC group, with Jaguar, and the tensions started to rise. Here was the company that had bought Jaguar planning to build a Jaguar competitor. An unsuccessful crash test in early 1971 is now quoted as the end date for the P8, but a lot of effort and money had gone into this car, and naturally BLMC would have been loath to see that go to waste. This is when the P10 project took a new and central importance
P10 crash testing, from www.aronline.co.uk
In mid 1970, BL started the development of the P10, later known briefly as the RT1 and then as the SD1, at a different point in the market to the P8. Rather than a full premium product with complex engineering to compete with Mercedes-Benz and BMW, the P10 was to be pitched lower in the market, competing more with the Ford Granada, Peugeot 504 and Opel Rekord/Commodore, possibly using Triumph branding.
The SD1 as we know it now, was to be a car to contrast, not compete, with Jaguar. Through an internal design competition and a lot of Rover vs Triumph politics, a very different car appeared, with a much more modern style, a hatchback, covering a lower and wider price range with the 3.5 litre V8 being the largest option, and no wood and leather interior. David Bache provided another very modern shape, which made a huge impression in 1976 and has stood the test of time.
In 1969, Leyland Australia had made a pitch for funding to develop a specifically Australian market full size saloon, to take on the Holden Kingswood, Ford Falcon and Chrysler Valiant. Leyland granted AUS$21m, around £150m now, so there was not a huge amount to work with.
Given this desire to compete with the American Big Three, the engine choice was the obvious one of the Rover (nee Buick) V8 or the 2.6 litre BLMC E series six cylinder, the rear axle and transmission came from Borg Warner in Australia, and were common to the Holden, Ford and Chrysler as a consequence of the local content rules. Michelotti is usually credited with styling, and there were long-standing links between Michelotti, Triumph and Leyland of course. But that still left a lot of work to do.
There are two main theories on the engineering origins and execution, neither of which has been fully proved or disproved. The first is that the car was the Rover P8, with a Michelotti styled body, which may have been commissioned by BLMC as an alternative to the Bache proposal. The second theory is that it was a rebodied SD1/RT1/P10, which may itself have been a severely de-contented P8, with Australian or a Michelotti styling. Above, clockwise from top left, the production specification P76, a prototype Rover P8, a P76 Force 7 Coupe and Michelotti’s proposal for Rover-Triumph P10.
Taking these in sequence, the wheelbase of the P76 and SD1 was 2.5 inches longer than the P8, and many aspects of these cars were much simpler than the P8, including the suspension. That, plus the fact that the styling does not look like 2.5 inches were added to the wheelbase (if anything, it looks like they were taken out) suggest that the idea of the P76 as Micehelotti’s P8 is probably not accurate, at least as put as simply as that. But could it be a derivative of a Michelotti P10 proposal? The nose of the Force 7 Coupe suggests something.
The second option has stronger evidence – the wheelbase of the P76 and SD1 are the same, as are the front and rear tracks, and the suspension layouts are also very similar, with MacPherson struts at the front and a live rear axle with coil springs and radius arms at the back, though of course, the manual transmission and rear axle are different. There are credible records of Leyland Australia decamping senior people to Michelotti to finish the styling, including the nose and the rear profile. Does that account for the long overhangs and bulky tail? Another tale talks of Michelotti reworking some Leyland Australia styling in a week, and Leyland shamelessly utilising the association. I can’t arbitrate, other than to say both cannot be accurate. What is accepted is that the Australians insisted on a larger boot (trunk), dictating the rear profile and giving Leyland bragging rights, as the only car to take a 44 Imperial gallon drum in the boot. How you were supposed to handle 450lbs in and out is another issue.
So, I suggest good money could be put on the following scenario – a common floorpan and shared suspension principles with the SD1, possibly derived from the P8, Borg Warner transmission (manual or automatic) and rear axle, steering from Jaguar, mounted to a Michelotti styled and Leyland Australia finished body, powered by a development of the Rover V8 engine or the 2.6 litre straight six version of the BLMC E series engine, which was also used on South African assembled SD1s rather than the UK built Triumph developed six of the UK Rover 2300 and 2600. Fitting a different straight six into an engine bay may not always be easy, but if it’s already been done it’ll be easier.
Looking at the basic layout of the Leyland P76 against its competitors, you are struck by many similarities. They were all within 6 inches in length, one inch in width and a quarter of an inch in wheelbase, at 111 inches, relatively large for Europe and at the cusp of compact/intermediate size in the the North America market at the time. The 1976 Mercedes Benz W123 was 110 inches, the 1977 European Ford Granada (probably Europe’s closest equivalent) was 109 inches. Engine ranges were not dissimilar either – Chrysler Valiant 3.5 to 5.9 litre six and V8 engine, the Holden 2.8 to 5.0 litre and the Ford 3.3 to 5.8 litre – Leyland were clearly trying to compete directly with these, adding a lightweight aluminium V8 into the mix.
This scenario, based around a pre-prepared style, also gives an explanation into how the P76 came to market three years earlier than the SD1, although you could suggest that the SD1 is actually a rebodied P76, developed as a reaction to the failure of the P8. Also, you can sense that David Bache at Rover probably didn’t mind the relatively long wheelbase Australia asked for, as it would have eased fitting passengers into the low slung SD1.
Much of the development work was completed, not by Leyland Australia, Rover in Solihull or Triumph in Coventry but by MG in Abingdon, an organisation that had spent fifty years taking items from the parts bin of a larger parent and producing something credible, if not always complex or even complete. Taking the pot-pourri of parts that we suspect are under the P76 and creating a viable car is not a world away from process that led to the MGB, for example.
So, in June 1973, the P76 came to market, with a range of Deluxe (simple headlight, bench front seat and column gearchange) and Super (four headlights, bucket seats, better carpet and so on) in six cylinder and V8 forms, and the Executive, V8 only, smart interior and power steering as standard.
The six cylinder cars had around 120 bhp and offered a 0-60 time of around 14 seconds. The V8, with 195bhp, could do this in 10 seconds, and the car was generally accepted to have fully class competitive handling. Rack and pinion steering and servo disc brakes helped separate it from the competition as well. Leyland made much of the aluminium engine’s relatively low weight, contributing to making the car perhaps 500lb lighter than the competition, with commensurate benefits on performance and handling.
Leyland had some fun with the marketing, naming the paint shades in a unique and memorable way. Home On Th’Orange, Am Eye Blue, Bold As Brass, Peel Me A Grape (a metallic purple), Hairy Lime and Plum Loco were all offered.
The P76 got a favourable press reception. It was Wheels magazine Car of the Year for 1974, getting credit in comparison with its competitors for being lighter, more powerful, in V8 form at least, spacious, comfortable and a good cruiser. Some reports called it technically advanced – I’m not sure I’d use that term but it may well have been a step ahead of the competition in various ways. Leyland seemed to have built a relatively advanced and well performing car, on a tight budget, which showed all the signs of being able to truly compete with the major competitors, without excuses, and within Australia’s home content guidelines. Early demand was strong.
So, what could possibly go wrong? Well, not everyone went for the styling with the long overhangs, visually undersized passenger cabin and oversized rear boot counting against it. Less subjectively, the build quality quickly got a poor reputation, with excessive panel gaps causing leaks, cars started rusting, the exhaust was inadequately insulated and burnt the carpet whilst the flimsy interior fittings came loose, as did the windows, the six cylinder was considered slow by some and the V8 prone to overheating. There was industrial strife in the Leyland and in the supply chain, and rumours persist that one or more of Holden, Ford and Chrysler put some pressure on Borg Warner over supply of the transmission and rear axle to Leyland. This is not definitively demonstrated but there is often no smoke without fire….
Leyland’s ambitions for the P76 can be measured by the fact that one was entered for the 1974 London–Sahara–Munich World Cup Rally, and it did well, finishing 13th of 19 finishers, from 70 starters. Leyland were sufficiently impressed to market a special edition Targa Florio version, with special paint and stripes, named of the circuit of Sicily known as the Targa Florio and on which the P76 won a stage of the rally.
By 1974, less than a year after production had started, things got very serious. The supply chain issues (whether through industrial action or inaction), were limiting production volumes, warranty claims were going up, there was an energy crisis and V8s don’t do well in those, there was a credit squeeze and Leyland Australia was consequently having cash flow issues. Back in the UK, BL itself was facing a full blown existential crisis, which resulted in a government bailout and takeover in February 1975.
To make it even that far, casualties were sacrificed, and in October 1974, BLMC had to close Australian production completely. Some 18,000 cars were built, 60% of them V8s, and it was sold only in Australia and New Zealand. Around 650 cars were assembled in New Zealand in 1975, from kits from Australia supplemented by some locally made items. That was the effective end of the assembly of British designed cars in Australasia, after around 60 years, and many changes in the relationship between the countries and the peoples.
In terms of production, there was only ever the saloon, but two other variants nearly made it.
An estate car was built in prototype form, with styling looking even more North American and less European and with a rather awkward rear passenger door profile. Only one example was actually built, and it still exists coming out for car shows and the like. There’s no reason to believe that this would not have been as competitive as the saloon could have been.
A three door hatchback coupe version, known as the Force 7, with completely revised though related styling that looked like a mash up of North Americana and European design elements. A similarity to North American products, perhaps a Dodge Challenger or AMC Marlin coupe is perhaps the easiest way to describe, with the added factor of a hatchback not dissimilar to the much smaller Ford Capri, and in fact very similar in several ways to the Rover SD1. Some may suggest this is more evidence of shared engineering, some may say coincidence; I suspect the answer is in between the two. Around 60 were built, most were scrapped but it is thought ten still exist, all in Australia.
The P76 has built a loyal, if relatively widespread, enthusiast base across Australia and New Zealand including our feature car’s owner, the cheerful and friendly Russell, who happily submitted to photos in Westport, South Island NZ, last Easter.
And the name? This was the first and only car explicitly badged as a Leyland, anywhere, since the luxury Leyland Eight 50 years earlier. And P76? The official answer from Leyland was that P76 was the start of Chairman Lord (Donald) Stokes’s army number; some say P(roject) (19)76. But, thinking about its hidden heritage, is it a Rover project code? Make your choice, but whichever way you call it, I don’t think anyone can deny that the P76, for all its strengths, lost out against Australia’s demanding operation and commercial environment, and that the root cause of that failure probably does not reside down under.
Quite a post! Always love to learn more about the Aussie stuff – whether British or US sourced. Morris Marshal? Never knew that one…
I’m glad the Rover P8 never made it to the assembly line. Atrocious. What the hell was Michelotti doing designing cars without his reading glasses?
The Leyland monster itself (Where did you find that green one, btw?) is probably the ugliest European-designed saloon of the ’70s. And that was a decade with plenty of competition. Badly planned, poorly made. Deadly Sin for BL in the antipodean markets.
The Kimberley made some sense, but a completely new stand-alone model like the P76 was just money down the drain. And badged as a Leyland, too. Something in the drinking water at BL HQ, perhaps?
Btw, Roger, it’s cool to add some reference to other CCs that may be germane to a new post. In this instance, a rather long piece by Paul back in 2011…
https://www.curbsideclassic.com/curbside-classics-american/australias-edsel-the-1973-1974-leyland-p76-the-car-that-killed-leyland-australia/
Hi Tatra87, thanks for the kind words. Yes. i should have tagged Paul’s earlier piece on the car.
I saw the feature car in Westport, New Zealand in April – it’s not a garage queen but is clearly in safe hands with Russell who has a to do list of things he’s working on. I saw one in the British Car Museum on Hawkes Bay (currently closed) as well.
Yes, the P8 is visually challenging…not Bache’s finest hour by any means.
That was interesting. Suspect the green feature car is a P76 Super; the otherwise externally identical Executive had a rubber strip on the bumpers.
Did the X6 Tasman & Kimberley really get different door skins? I thought the 1800/2200, the Maxi, Austin 3L, X6 (and (in cut form) the Panther DeVille!) all shared the same metal with differences only in the glass, soft trim and door handles.
I don’t think they got different door skins, and in fact I’m not clear where the wheelbase increase was – fore, aft or both even. The styling was very like the still born 4 door Maxi saloon, FWIW
That second picture reminded me so much of a ’73 Satellite 4 door.
I really enjoyed this piece on a car I knew nothing about, from the parallel universe(s) of the Australian/Kiwi markets
The 44 gallon drum in the boot is not the big deal P76 owners make it out to be a 44 will also fit in the boot of a 55 Morris Isis or Oxford I know I fitted one as a long range fuel tank when we had carless days and a ban on week end fuel sales, it seemed like a good idea at the time and in a Isis the immense weight was balanced by the incredibly heavy engine at the other end,
You skipped over the Morris Major a bit it was by far Leyland OZ best effort they were very popular you also missed the Austin Freeway which was a six cylinder Bseries engine installed in the A60 BMC bodies, there wasc another Freeway model made from the Austin/Morris 1800 like the six and the Major/lancer cars those appeared on the Kiwi market as did the Tasman Kimberly twins, shockingly unreliable and with the durability of wet newspaper survivors are extremely rare.
There is one Fore 7V in New Zealand it is Lord Stokes car, yes one was sent to the UK the similarity with aspects of the Rover 3.5 are not an accident they actually had one there in living colour.
Here’s the Austin Freeway wagon, BMC’s early 60s Holden fighter, based on the Austin A60. The Freeway and it’s sibling, the Wolseley 24/80, had a six cylinder version of the B series 1622cc engine.
As far as I know they were competitive with the Holden and Falcon. I can vouch for the Wolseley being a nice drive, in a slow motion, dignified kind of way.
Here’s the factory ute prototype. Unlike the sedan and wagon, it was built on a separate chassis.
This vehicle was used around the factory for several years. Eventually it was found in the bush and rescued.
Fascinating, I never heard of the P8 before! Ugly but ambitious—almost French. I’ve heard about the P76 and the 44-gallon barrel as a design specification, but why? Do Australians regularly haul such things???
No, we don’t, but it didn’t strike us as odd at the time. I think it was to underline how much space the boot had, rather than to suggest you actually do this, as some of the other three had oddly shaped boots with severely limited vertical space.
We had a P76 on a property I lived on we bought 44 gallon drums of kero regularly nobody dreamed of using the Leyland to haul them how the hell would you get it out aside from that we had a perfectly serviceable AB120 International flat deck and a Falcon ute, far more suitable.
Being able to get a drum in the trunk made me think of classmates who tried to see how many beer kegs they could get into the trunk of a K-car and what it would do to the suspension.
Somewhat amazed that the Tasman/Kimberley got new door skins, when George Harriman’s insistence on using and reusing the Landcrab doors in the UK contributed so materially to the failure of the Austin 3 litre and styling shortcomings of the Maxi. Different times.
Sorry, with the which, now? Was this Mr. Michelotti unwell or drunk or elsewise cognitively impaired?
Terrific article, interesting story well and thoroughly told, but my god, it’s hideous!
Gyarsh, what’s not to like? In the words of Avram Belinski, “Oy sheeyoot!”.
Very interesting – I had never connected the P76 with any Rover designs.
BL Australia models were usually a little ungainly looking, but the P76 takes the biscuit – it is so very much too wide for the front and rear tracks.
Oh dear, I remember it well. On the one hand I wanted it to succeed, as there were so many areas in which the Big 3 seriously needed a good swift kick in the pants, but despite Leyland’s advertising the P76 was just same old, same old, but uglier.
I found the styling unbelievably ugly. Okay, I’ll admit I have no formal training, but as a kid who’d been drawing cars since he could hold a pencil there’s an instinct you develop. I saw so many fundamental flaws, mistakes, errors (roll out the thesaurus, cut and paste, every synonym applies), I just could not believe they’d put this steaming pile into production. Surely Michelotti would not do this! Why oh why hadn’t they left his concept alone, rather than letting the janitor’s three-year-old loose on it after hours? Those flat sides with hugely-flared arches – when you almost needed to use binoculars to find the wheels they were so far inset. Stupid! The fenders going straight to the corners with no attempt at plan-view curvature to integrate the sides with the front and rear. Even Ford’s US ultra-box seventies designers didn’t do this, and for a very good reason, as we can see. The overdetailed rear, with so many lines and angles going every which way to no discernable purpose, with those awful taillights like something I see first thing in the morning before I rub the sleep out of my bleary eyes. I could go on, but…
Having grown up in a family with generations of Morris and later BMC cars all around me, I guess you could say I wanted to barrack for the home team. But rather than let out a rousing cheer, the P76 made me hold my tongue, and look down at my feet with shame. It was embarrassing.
Totally agree with you on almost every point.
I am not on side with the notion that Italian design is necessarily awesome or sexy or beautiful or meritorious or superior or even sound. Designs warranting those adjectives have come from Italy in general and Michelotti in particular (BMW Neue Klasse…), but designs warranting those adjectives have also sprung from the pens of French, German, Swedish, American, Spanish, Australian, Argentinian, Brazilian, Canadian, Korean, and Japanese designers, probably among others.
Italians are people, too. They poop and belch and catch colds and drive trucks and buy tampons and laugh at bigotted jokes and overestimate themselves and do halfassed work—just like everyone else. A great deal of boring, undercooked, overwrought, cartoonish, ridiculous, and unsound design has come from Italy. Oh, look: yet another anybrand car designed by Bertone (or Giugiaro, or Pinin Farina) lookin’ just like every other anybrand car designed around the same time by Bertone (or Giugiaro, or Pinin Farina). I just have never found the putative inherent magic in Italian design to be a real thing; it strikes me as more of a marketing campaign slow-baked into a mythical legend.
Daniel, the Italians had a good run for a while but even Giugiaro was oversold. As a case in point, he displayed a striking lack of range with the front-wheel-drive Volkswagens of the 1970s. They were entirely too creased and folded for a brand whose design language had been so heavily steeped in curves. I can only imagine (in horror) what he might have done to Porsche back then.
Roger, this is a terrific story. It’s too bad British Leyland didn’t succeed. One might point to them as an example of how mergers can be tricky. Whatever advantages there may have been in increased economies of scale can all too easily get washed away by much larger and more complex problems.
The P76 has the mark of an automaker new to a given market. They just didn’t get the subtleties of styling a larger car with a significantly American flavor. I would hope that if Leyland had survived in Australia that the second-generation models would have been a lot less odd. (Hope is a good thing, no?)
Italian design houses had their heyday between the late 40s and early 1960s, the influence from this period of creativity is indisputable, but I don’t believe any new designs beyond were any better or more innovative than what a large car company’s in house team could do, even if they were staffed by designers influenced by Italian past/present work. Guigaro’s folded paper origami may have been groundbreaking but it burned out about as rapidly as a trend ushered in by Harley Earl.
There are many amazing Italian designs from the 70s and 80s, don’t get me wrong, but many are propped up higher on a pedestal than they deserve to be by a combination past laurels, foreign intrigue and production scarcity.
Hi, Daniel.
I missed this the first time around.
I always enjoy your writing, be it a write-up or a comment. Coming or going, your stuff always makes me laugh, and think, and want to debate.
But if you look behind all the facades and all the marketing BS everywhere, you are left with the realization that underneath it all people are pretty much the same. While that may be reality, I try to enjoy every culture’s assigned/chosen identity/place in the big scheme of things because it’s kind of fun.
It’s a big show. Everyone has their costumes on and are playing their part. The stage is lit and the show always goes on.
Of course it’s all marketing BS. But, isn’t almost everything?
I recall P76 was often referred to as a P38 as it was only half a car. In the early 80s I was a lad and used to get great joy by running down rubbish bins. We used a mini for a while but it kept getting stuck on rubbish bags and we often had to get out and rock the car off the bags. So, we ended up with a bright yellow P76 V8 Executive which made short work of the bins and bags. I remember a row of about 20 shiny bins in Lenah Valley, Hobart being levelled in one go. Glass and crap everywhere. We often went home with fish heads stuck in the grille and tea bags hanging off the anti roll bar. It never got stuck. And the roar of the mighty 4.4 as we escaped was glorious! Of course, I don’t condone such behaviour now.
Check out those panel lines. Flat at the boot (trunk) top and out by a good centimetre as it heads to the bumper.
This has to be one of your best, Roger. Chockfull of stuff this local didn’t know, and the way you parse out the origins is very compelling.
Michelotti had a direct hand in most of his work, he was the archetypical freelancer which is why his imprint is with so many marques. But sometimes stuff associated with him is not necessarily the case; he made claims on the Alpine 110 for which he was only half responsible in a previous convertible A108 – the Alpine team making the headlights flush and making it fastback. Don’t think his was the final hand on the P76 though.
The sedan is a nice shape and so is the wagon, but that coupe is a shocker.
I was hoping I’d someday learn about this car. I’ve long had a interest in the Australian car industry, but almost exclusively with the funhouse mirror/alternate universe products of the American big three in Holden, Ford, Valiant, but have seen the Leyland P76 passingly brought up in writings about them and always wondered what the deal was with this ugly boxy car that happens to bear one half of an infamous British name, another subject I’m also always interested to learn about. Didn’t disappoint!
I have to echo Daniel Stern’s sentiment about Italian car design above, it’s not always great and when it is it tends to be derivative of itself. In the case of Michelotti designs I’m left cold on the bulk his work, the BMW neue klasse and many Triumph designs are really all I find appealing, but neither seem like designs nobody outside Italy could accomplish(the BMW and DAF 44/46 being Corvair derivative and all). It’s a mix of brutalist and gauche in the rest of the designs with the P76 being the worst, but I absolutely see where it came from in Michelotti’s design rolodex. The Fiat Shellette looks awfully like a 2 Headlight P76 Deluxe, right down to the long overhangs
Ha! Great call on the Shellette. Still not convinced this was a first-hand Michelotti shape though.
Well, it seems your work is just as good through very long range binoculars, Mr Carr. Bravo.
The slide into the dust for British cars was long-term. Local engineers tried their best to make things like the dowdy Farina Austins relevant with things like the local Freeway six, but no-one except a loyalist was going to buy one over an All-Aussie (my arse!) Holden, or a flash and smooth Valiant. Add then an advanced but under-engineered FWD 1100, with bus steering and wonky-screamo gearbox to compete against dull but tough, very easily driven Japanese cars, and the rush to the exits was on. Add the chronically unreliable 1800 with the same features for big cars, and most said “no”. The Kimberly was the ridiculous peak, ultra-comfy and smooth at speed, but otherwise useless – undriveably heavy to park, slow, and atrociously unreliable. It was quite unfinished. They even blocked the passenger flow-through vent to try and cool the carburetor!
On top of this inelegant pile of cars that were at best begrudged, Leyland tried to plonk the crowning glory of the P76, clearly well before anyone had finished styling it. It was ridiculed in the day, rightly. The build quality was actually not much worse than the locals of the day, who would sell you new cars with rust, but the six was unfortunately not capable of keeping its head gasket in place.
But here’s the ultimate kicker. This órrid-looking turd, resting on a bed of simmering resentment from the previous insults offered, was a bloody good car.
Jag rack steering, decently located live coil rear, brakes with a proportioning valve (and standard boosted discs), superb seats, massive room, half the wind roar of the competitors, and excellent go from the 4.4 V8. Not one of the others offered this stuff, or came close in refinement. Imagine a sumptuous fat V8 ’70’s French car. Neither Holden or Ford produced anything close until the late 1980’s.
Wheels magazine is sometimes apologetic for giving this beast the COTY in 73′, but they shouldn’t. Eyes wide shut, as the looks of the thing demand, it absolutely was the best.
Wheels has repeatedly excused themselves by pointing out they gave the award to the V8s, not the six. But they’ve never given the award to part of a range before or since.
Actually, they did, and it was only after the 2nd debacle that they would only give it to cars good across their range. I’m talking of the Camira (J-car), where they only gave it to the four speed manual SL/X (!). The five speed had a poor-to-awful gearchange, and too-tall gearing anyway. The auto was just badly engineered, taking 17 secs to 100km/h vs 13.5 in the four-speed. Ofcourse, the car turned out to have other unforeseeable reliability problems (much like the ’85 COTY Magna), and a shocking rep followed.
All Aussie cars had boosted front discs Justy only in Australia you had to option them, they competed in a different market in NZ where even under powered British cars had boosted discs so naturally they came as standard equipment right from the HR onwards.
In ’73 when the Leyland emerged, the basic Val, Falc and Holden only got unpowered drums, all atrocious.
I got to ride in one in 1974, my parents were moving to a new town and a real estate agent drove us around in what I think was a V8 model. My Dad and I were excited to get this oppurtunity as the P76 was big news back then, I remember it being roomy and comfortable and with that intoxicating new car scent.
Leyland tried hard with this car with all the advanced features over its competion, I would love to drive one to see how it stacked up against the other 3.
In sedan form I don’t think the styling is that bad, the front detailing lets it down a lot from some angles, if you look at the picture of the rally version, the wide wheels and tires help a lot, and I can’t help it , I like the Targa Florio version so there.
But I do agree with Mr Andreina, the coupe is a shocker
I had one for several years in the early 1980s – one of the last NZ built 1975 post-mortem cars. A teal blue V8 Executive. A wonderful car, powerful and relaxing to drive and with very reassuring handling. How many of the styling experts criticising the looks have seen it in the metal? Dramatic and very stylish in real life. The critics are forgetting, everything had bloated wheel arches and looked under-tyred on standard wheels in the 1970s. Build quality was also generally dreadful across most countries except maybe Japan. And rust prevention was bad everywhere, including Japan.
You have a point about looking better in the metal, though the wheels still lost
The other part that really jars is that front clip; it’s a strange concoction of conflicting, odd shape outlines. Unfortunate given it’s the ‘face’ of the beast. Something simpler, perhaps closer to the front used on the Triumph 2000 Mk.2 or Stag would have cleaned that up no end, though the lights on the P76 do look a bit on the small side by comparison. Is the height of the panel is greater? By 1973 large rectangular units wouldn’t have been a complete novelty either and could have helped.
An excellent tale, Roger. I find it fascinating how Australia became such an automotive battleground. That region got so much attention from so many entrants. Some of whom provided popular vehicles.
Yes, I cannot get on board with the styling. It is *almost* there in so many ways, but sadly none of the design features was totally right.
When, exactly, did Rover finally solve the overheating issues of that aluminum V8? It certainly had that problem when Buick and Oldsmobile used it in the US from 1961-63.
My speculation, JPC, is twofold. Firstly, that the country originally founded for whites as a prison became a cradle of unionism (and for sure, elected the “abomination” of the world’s first Labor government in 1904). And logically attached to that were notions of protection for local jobs, at any cost. The conflict between the protectionists and others was defining in the early political history of the nation from its formation in 1901. Eventually, exacerbated by the Depression, protectionism became the default position of all – “a fair Australian price for an Australian product.”
Secondly, largely because of natural resources (including massive land area itself for stuff like wool or wheat or cattle), the place became wealthy. World levels of dough, in pockets, anyway. (Pockets of the rich mainly, but I do digress).
So, by the time of, say, the ’40’s onwards, you have this recognizably white middle class, in a politically stable place with potential for any entrepreneur worth his salt to make some money. All he had to do was make all of his [enter it here] locally, and he’d just made a nice new earner in a captive market (and boy, did we make one of EVERYTHING!). Culturally, and by some Empire-protection-racket laws, legally, this meant most of the origins of your [enter here] were from “home”, the cloying name many Aussies called mother England up until the ’70’s. Hence the English carmakers.
Protected, insulated, and backed by money from “home” – or the new and more realistic “home” of the good old USA , ever since WW2 – all this meant that cars could be adapted to local needs or wants. And hence the bizarre world of variations you see on this site. Which appears thus a most competitive market, but economically wasn’t really.
In fact, I do wonder if a single manufacturer here ever REALLY, actually, independent-of-govt-subsidy-and-import -rules, made any money at all.
Btw, I know Jack S himself about economics, or, for that matter, the social impacts thereof, which is why I headed this a speculation, Counsellor C!
P76 vs Falcon
Wow, that looked like a XA GT too. With all the car carnage was this the Gone in 60 Seconds of Australia? lol
Also spotted the Road Warrior Gyro captain!
Fascinating detail but underneath it’s the usual BL saga of over ambition / under resource / flawed execution / inability to recover.
And it looks like a car drawn by a 5 yo.
Coke bottle styling was big in the late 60s and very early 70s. It was on the outs before the mid 70s.
One tiny thing Roger only Leyland didnt have a larger than 5 litre V8 on offer Ford had the 351 cube Cleveland 5.8 L Holden offered the imported 350 cube Chev smallblock 5.7L and Chrysler a 340 and 360 cube V8s Leyland at 4,4 litres was a little underdone in the go department, the Leyland engine was quite choked too by its erxhaust it needed better breathing to make it go, they were raced in standard production racing in New Zealand but won nothing. It was though some minor changes could be made for homologation in subsequent years but of course the Leyland show folded so that could not be done. Factory specials in limited production were raced by other makers and those cars werent available in other markets so it could have been done.
I doubt if Holden put pressure on Borg Warner re diffs and transmissions, since Holden built their own 3 and 4 speed manuals in that era. On the A/T front, the Trimatic,and the TH 400 and either Saginaw or Muncie behind the Chevrolet 350.
Ford and Chrysler were bigger customers of B/W then, and they could ( if they did?) more pressure to bear. Rant over, and thank you for your work.