Streamlining did not come naturally to most UK carmakers. The square shapes of the ‘20s had been ideal for British designers’ propensity to fashion quite staid and narrow machines. But when the global trend moved towards lower and sleeker styling in the early ‘30s, it seemed the glorious insularity of the Englanders might prevent said trends to take root there. But there were a few early converts, and even fewer happy attempts. Let’s look at one.
In the early ‘30s, MG were operating as a quasi-independent entity within the Nuffield Group. The engines were hewn from the group’s main marques (Wolseley and Morris), but MG had their own engineering department at Abingdon and were pretty much doing their own thing. The range at the time consisted in a smaller chassis dubbed Midget and a larger 6-cyl. car called Magnette. A larger car, the 18/80, still existed in 1930 but it was dropped; the large (i.e. 2-litre) chassis would only return in MG’s range in 1936.
The P-Type Midget was launched in 1933 to replace the J-Type, utilizing the same 847cc OHC engine, but with a new crankshaft and twin carbs, it now churned out a very healthy 38hp. The chassis itself was a bit lower-slung and a little wider, but there were no notable changes to the suspension (i.e. leaf-sprung solid axles front and back). The P-Type did well, but some cleints were apparently eager for a little more oomph. MG responded with the PB in late 1934: the engine was bored to 939cc and 43hp.
The PB also pioneered the use of painted slats for the grille – a gimmick that Midgets would carry through to the ‘50s. Otherwise, there were no big changes. The overwhelming majority of cars were bodied by MG themselves as roadsters. A few were ordered as bare chassis and fitted with custom jobs from a variety of coachbuilders, as was the style at the time. But MG did promote the “Airline coupé” as a high-class alternative for those who wanted to shelter from the worst of British weather.
The term “Airline” did not have the same connotations it does today. Folks typically referred to “airways” when talking about companies that took passengers for a ride in the clouds. There were a number of British marques besides MG that sold cars as Airline saloons or coupés, including Bentley, Rover, Talbot and, perhaps most famously of all, SS-Jaguar. They were all somewhat different from each other, except for one common trait: the rounded fastback design.
I guess “Airline” was synonymous with “streamline” over in Albion. Another curious Anglicism that went out of fashion, then. Unlike fastback designs, which were only in their infancy and would have a long future. The size of the spare tyre here gives some indication of the MG’s scale: it’s really a tiny car.
The shape of the fastback roof is pretty ideal for a sliding sunroof – and indeed many ‘30s cars had these. On the MG, the added bonus are those teardrop-shaped portholes. Contemporary Voisin saloons had a somewhat similar arrangement, proving that great marques think alike.
The MG Airline was designed by Henry W. Allingham, an aircraft engineer turned freelance car designer. Much later, Allingham found widespread fame as Britain’s oldest living man: he was born in 1896 and died in 2009, aged 113.
The bodies were made by Carbodies between 1934 and 1936. The Airline body was used on the PA/PB Midget, as well as on the N-Type. Whatever the engine that powered it, Airline coupés were pretty special and clearly a cut above the common-or-garden roadster. Only 50 or 51 bodies were made, of which most (28) were fitted to PA chassis. The PB and the 6-cyl. Magnette got about a dozen each.
A very rare and desirable little car, then. As an added bonus, our CC has a very fine example of the “MG midge” ornament on its radiator cap. Like a giant silver mosquito, poised atop its metal nest, it stands, ready to poke the ass of the absent-minded pedestrian.
All in all, the Airline coupé is without a doubt one of the more desirable pre-war Midgets. But is it a streamlined car? Well, it depends. By British standards, one could certainly argue it is. But it’s also true that, by 1936, our little MG’s open fenders, flat windshield and high-mounted separate headlamps would neither have seemed overly modern, nor remotely aerodynamic.
But then look at that tail! It’s about as perfectly mid-‘30s as anything. If one were to pick a nit (or a midge), might take issue with the fact that the body looks about two sizes too wide compared to the track, especially at the rear. There’s always room for Airlines to be improved. That’s something that hasn’t changed in the past 90 years.
Now did the triple skylights provide additional opportunities for leaks? And visible on the sides of the roof just behind the door glass are the semaphores for signaling an intended turn, but where was the lever in the cockpit for controlling said pedestrian whackers?
I don’t know for sure about leaks but I suspect they’re the reason why prewar British cars never seem to have cloth upholstery like every other closed car made anywhere else in the world before vinyl came into style in the ’50s.
I realize people were smaller then, but it looks mighty cramped. Not just for comfort, but to have room to turn the steering wheel and operate other controls, especially pedals. Though it sure is nice to look at!
I’m reminded of this video on YouTube where a 6’5″ tall owner is shown getting out of his 1932 MG J2 roadster with the top up:
Hehehe, I hadn’t seen this!
Those roof windows are called “cathedral windows”, for obvious reasons, if you, er, tilt them, rotate them, color the glass, and so on.
Very sweet little car. The perfect toy car that can be driven too. I’d like one for Xmas, please.
I don’t think you would fit in it. The Dad in the Incredibles’ car is probably the best case.
I could see an R.A.F. Hurricane pilot driving one of these.
Its cute, Singer tried an aero sedan around that time that really didnt look nice, that has the trad MG look roof or not.
Beautiful shape, and a lovely colour scheme.
A nice little car designed to accommodate munchkin sized people. Your average American, even one from the 1930’s, would not be comfortable in one.
This is beautiful and I wish I could have it .
-Nate
What a delightful, sparkling little decoration for the mantlepiece. Why, I can just see someone turning up at the Antiques Roadshow with one under their arm. (“We found this under my late grandfather’s bed, and we’re wondering what it is, my husband’s been using it as a drinks trolley”).
Though it is very pretty, from side-on, if a human driver were duly inserted, it would look a bit like they’d pulled on a bathing cap. In truth, it’s more a collection of sweet details than a cohesive creation. The SS Airline pictured somewhat reinforces the point.
I’m impressed by the power output. 43 bhp out of under a litre was something I thought was only in the exotic class then (that is, the Euro racing type). No wonder the MG-ists moaned about the impurities postwar of the OHC going away.
Whilst the word “airline” now conjures nothing but horrific images of an aluminium tube filled to bursting with obese, loud and demanding fast-food addicts farting under the armrest into one’s own petite allocation of alleged “seat” for 19 hour stretches of torture, it once was the inverse: it conjured beauteous, futurist, glamourous optimism, and discreet luxury.
And I still think the word “airliner” is one of the most seductive in relation to travel, bested only by “airship”.