Curbside Classic: Fiat 1100D - From 1953 To 2001; From Turin To Mumbai

Recently, Paul Niedermeyer showed us a Fiat 1100 pick up, which was derived at least in terms of bodywork from the 1956 1100 saloon. It was the mainstay of Fiat’s family car offering in the 1950s and into the 1960s, and lived a surprisingly long life in Mumbai, where it served with full public respect until 2023. At the Cohort, Roshake recently posted this black example of the 1100D from Hungary (on Italian plates), and Benoit added a cream example from France (below). Finds that give me an excuse to highlight the model here.

The 1100 range was Fiat’s mainstay family car, sitting above the 500, 600 and 850 rear engined saloons and below the larger and lower volume saloons. In the 1950s, Italy, especially the south of the country, was relatively poorer than several other European car producing nations, so the main volume cars were comparatively more compact and lower powered. Hence, the 1100 was smaller than cars you may mentally compare it to, such as a Morris Oxford, Austin Cambridge, Opel Olympia or Peugeot 403.

The 1100 went through a series of typical evolutionary changes –the original 1953 car was known as the Nuova 1100 and as the Tipo 103 and featured rear hinged front doors and a clear mid 1950s profile, with more than hint of mini Mercedes-Benz 190 or Peugeot 403 to it. Size wise, it was much more compact, with a wheelbase of 92 inches, so it was smaller than a contemporary Hillman Minx but larger than a Morris Minor. Power came from a 1089cc or 1221cc (for the similar Fiat 1200 derivative) engine, based on that used in the 1937 Fiat 1100E.

The evolution included a more powerful variant, the 1100TV (Turismo Veloce) with the distinctive central fog lamp Paul noted on the pickup, more power and smarter trim. There was also an estate version, as Paul showed in the period shots of Innsbruck.

The next big step was the 1956 103E, with more power, across the board smarter trim and the central foglights.

In 1958 came the confusingly named 1100 103D, succeeding the E but not with the diesel engine that may have been hinted at. This was as per the 103E but with a significantly revised bodyshell, featuring front hinged doors, and a longer tail that hinted at tasteful fins.

There was a luxury oriented derivative in 1959, the 1100 Lusso with predictable additions and changes, all fully of their time. By 1960, the Fiat 1100 Special had front hinged doors all round, and a body based on the 1957 1200 Grand Luce but with a squared off roof line and rear boot line.

By 1962, the 1100 had become the 1100D (not to be confused with the 1100 103D) with another reskin, featuring a more cleanly surfaced style, de-finned and with a vague resemblance (as in, “yes, it looks like it, I don’t think it is but are you sure?”) to a shrunken Peugeot 404 or Morris Oxford Series VI (not an Austin Cambridge, as the Fiat and Morris had much calmer grilles). The 1100D lasted to 1966 and was replaced by the 1100R, with another reskin on the same basic monocoque, and which was ultimately replaced by the all new Fiat 128 in 1968. So, a 1953 car, based on some key components from a 1937 car, that lasted until 1968 and into a very different world.

Much of what I have just written could, of course, be edited to read in a similar way with, for example, a Hillman Minx, Morris Oxford or even Ford Falcon substituted for Fiat 1100. A pleasant enough car, unremarkable in many ways but part of the CC nostalgia, social history and industry heritage and understanding that makes us (and CC) tick so well.

But in 1962, the Fiat 1100 story took a turn you may not have expected and which defines the Fiat 1100 for many people –perhaps a billion or more of them. Production started under licence in Bombay (now Mumbai) on the western coast of India, the country’s commercial capital and the gateway to and from Europe and the Middle East. A basic variant, with a 1089cc engine and the body of the 1200 was built by Premier Automobiles, initially sold as the Fiat 1100 Delight. Later, as licensing agreements changed, it became the Premier President and then the Premier Padmini from 1974 until production finally ceased in 2001 –almost 40 years after production in India started, and 50 years after its Italian debut.

There were some technical changes in that period — the gearchange went from column to floor, a series of more modern interiors came and there was a diesel engine option from 1996. But the car was never anything other than a 1100 with some minor changes.

Production figures are scarce but most seem to suggest over a million cars were produced in 40 years; it became not just one of the most popular cars in India and a more economic, cheaper and easier to drive alternative to the Hindustan Ambassador (derived from the 1955 Morris Oxford but also the default taxi in Bombay, in the same way the Austin FX4 was in London, the Crown Victoria in New York or the Mercedes-Benz 200D was in Germany). At the peak, there were an estimated 58,000 Padmini taxis on the roads of Mumbai (London had 22,00 black cabs in 2013, the last recent peak and a number that is now declining).

These were almost universally yellow over black and were known as the kaali-peelis, or the yellow and blacks, in line with Bombay tradition. A few were painted blue and silver, to denote an air-conditioned vehicle that would charge a premium.

One of the kaali-peelis is at the centre of one of the more amusing motoring tales from my life, when I took a journey across Mumbai one evening about twenty years ago.

The trip was around 30 minutes through dense evening traffic, in the dark, and the Mumbai traffic was as irregular as you’d expect. We were squeezed, closed up on, saw extra lanes building at the street lights (which seemed to be either considered advisory, or as the starting line for an impromptu multi class drag race), and got nudged by other cars at least once. Our driver gave as good as he got and the journey peaked with him making what I assumed to be an illegal U-turn on the dual carriageway. He was pulled over by the traffic police in a Hindustan Ambassador but had insufficient cash to pay his “fine”, so I had to pay the 300 rupees for him. At the time that was about £4 sterling, so no big deal, though it was about twice the fare I paid. Neither of us got any documentation for the fine, but we weren’t surprised.

The kaali-peelis were progressively phased out by 2023, as restrictions on taxi age caught up with them. But you just know that the people of Mumbai shed a tear for them.