Perhaps the oddest post war vehicle I ever drove was the Wartburg 353 Knight.
In 1945 the Eisenach BMW factory found itself in the Russian zone. Prior to WW2 it had produced a licenced built Austin 7 and was involved with DKW (nowadays Audi) in the production of a two stroke, three cylinder 900 cc engine which had a minimal number of moving parts mounted on a strong chassis frame.
Post war, with an economy in need of hard currency and finding itself in a bloc that had little or no access to western technology, the Eisenach factory took the DKW engine and chassis and built both saloon and estate bodies around the technology succeeding in selling the car in the developing world, some parts of western Europe and throughout the communist bloc.
By the late 1950s the body design had been modernised to one that looked like a slimmer 1956 Vauxhall Cresta featuring a two tone paint scheme and a host of features which, in the west and the UK in particular, were regarded as extras. The car again sold around the world including, strangely, the USA and a few were sold in Ireland but none appeared in the UK.
In 1962 the engine size was changed to 992 cc and improvements were made to the drive train. In 1963 Industria Ltd of London displayed the car at the London Motor Show and, over the next 2 years, sold around 300 examples. In 1965 a new chassis, suspension and more power from the 992 cc engine combined to offer a much improved car, though the body shape was retained. A further 550 vehicles appeared on UK roads before, in late 1966, the Knight appeared.
The new car featured a new chassis, a developed 992 cc engine with only 7 moving parts, and a three box saloon body developed from a design for a Polish built car which never materialised (there was also the estate version, the Wartburg Tourist). The car, compared to the previous model and many of the late 1950s cars still on UK roads, looked bang up to date, though it stood a little too high off the road to be considered good looking.
For £575 (less than the price of a 1967 Mini) the car offered a full 5 seat body made from high grade steel and finished with deep and comfortable upholstery, good interior instrumentation, a heater, reclining front seats, reversing lights, radio, cigar lighter and a very full tool kit - almost all of which were not even offered as extras on many British de Luxe or even so called Super models of the time.
More than all of this the Eisenach factory had retained both pride in its BMW heritage and the belief in quality that had helped the company sell its products for over 20 years in a world where many countries were hostile to, or did not recognise the legitimacy of, the regime under which it had to operate. The low cost and specification led to UK sales totalling 19472 between 1966 and 1976 when the type was withdrawn in the UK under emission and safety rules.
In 1967 my father, tired of constant travelling and working for a company with a dodgy financial position left his job and set up on his own. Leaving behind his company owned 1965 Super Minx he needed a reasonably sized car but was strapped for cash.
The Knight provided the solution and GVR 957E, painted dark green, arrived from Simpsons of Colne to Carlton Rd, Heaton Mersey and joined my 1959 upright Ford Popular (about to breath its last) on the drive.
At first sight the car was everything it promised. The body had a massive boot, inside the passenger compartment was lit by big windows and had a very spacious air, the plastic seats were soft and comfortable, the instrumentation was clear and all the "extras" were there as standard. There had to be a catch. A catch? - there were plenty!
Opening the massive and heavy bonnet revealed a tiny engine. There would be no problem should work be needed in the engine compartment as there was room for another engine. Not that much work was envisaged by the makers for, as the quaintly translated handbook stated, service was required at 1500 miles, then at 30,000 miles, then 60,000 miles - such was the benefit of an engine with 7 moving parts.
The gear change was floor mounted and offered three forward and one reverse as on my Ford Pop but, whereas the Pop and my soon to arrive Cortina Mk II had direct (and very long) gear levers, the Knight had a remote linkage which made the lever feel like a lettuce leaf and made selection on the all syncromesh box hard work. Not that gear changing was a simple matter. There was an intriguing push/pull button which the handbook referred to as the "freewheel control".
When engaged the gearbox and transmission behaved normally and changes up and down would be as easy as the remote gear change would allow. Use the freewheel device and changes up were as normal but, take your foot off the accelerator and the engine would disengage from the transmission and, because there would be no engine braking effect, the car would run freely, the engine/transmission re-engaging on applying the accelerator again.
Changes down could be preselected without the clutch and come into effect by pressing the accelerator though it was "advised" that changes from 3rd to 1st be avoided except "in case of danger".
The engine ran on two stroke mixture where available but generally fuelling was achieved by filling with the lowest octane petrol available and topping up with 2 stroke oil, carried in a can in the boot and applied to the fuel filler by means of a funnel, thoughtfully supplied by the makers.
The car would accelerate quite sharply, even when fully loaded, but ran out of steam quickly and could barely make its top speed of 75 mph and was always followed by a haze of blue smoke.
Braking was by means of drum brakes all round and stopping and steering in the wet when in freewheel, seeking to achieve the best mpg of 29 as opposed to around 25 mpg with the transmission permanently engaged, was an art form that needed to be swiftly learnt if, at best excursions off road, at worst expensive collisions were to be avoided. In snow the car could be lethal.
For all of that, in late June 1967, my father, mother, 16 and 9 year old sisters and I set out from Stockport to Rome. Travelling via Dover, Calais, Rheims, Lausanne, the St Bernard Tunnel and then down the Autostrada, we made Rome in 4 and a half days with my father and I sharing the driving. Fuelling on the way down caused few difficulties. The first service station we stopped at in Italy was tended by an ancient looking Italian "Mamma" dressed all in black.
I had the information regarding the fuel to be used written out in Italian and presented it to her to be greeted with a broad East End London accent and followed by a number of other useful phrases and directions written out for me in a beautifully rounded hand!
We drove through the night down the Autostrada and arrived in Rome around 06.00 and then had to find our way to Rocca di Papa in the mountains to meet my brother. On arrival we found the handbrake wouldn't engage and, as the hotel was on a steep road, we had to disengage the free wheel, park in to the kerb with reverse engaged and chock the wheels with stones.
With the nearest Wartburg dealer in Zurich we were a little concerned about fixing the problem but my brother's Italian, the ingenuity of an Italian blacksmith and the common sense engineering of the Eisenach designers solved the problem. The cable which operated the handbrake had seized and caused the brake shoe on one side to tip so that the shoe was in constant, light contact with the drum. Applying the footbrake pulled the whole shoe onto the drum so braking wasn't an issue but with the footbrake off the shoe resumed its in contact position and the leading edge had worn down and the heat, plus the heat of an Italian summer which offered far less cooling than would be expected at home, had caused some distortion on the drum.
Two days sightseeing without the car saw the assembly removed, a new cable fitted and the drum reshaped by the blacksmith. The new cable came from a FIAT dealer and was adapted for length, the brake shoes were a European standard size and there were no oddball fixings or assemblies to puzzle over.
A few miles tentative driving showed the drum to be perfectly round and the system to be as effective as it could be - as was borne out when the repaired parts were replaced by genuine spares under warranty on return to the UK.
The return trip was by way of Aosta, the St Gothard Tunnel, Altdorf, Basle, Baden-Baden, Brussels and London and was only remarkable for the relative ease of the trip, for a West German coach driver trying to run me off the road near Lucerne, yelling "Communists" as he drove past and the amount of blue smoke we left behind us.
Whilst a fun trip - and a great introduction for a 20 year old to a lifetime's regular driving in Europe - I was not a little relieved to return to my Cortina which, though not as well equipped, was more sure footed, had better acceleration and didn't pollute the world even if I did have to pay United Biscuits 10/- per week out of my £9-17-6d per week salary to use it.
The Knight survived until 1969 when my brother, faced with an urgent, though by no means an emergency stop in the rain near Swindon, learned the hard way that the Knight without engine braking needed more room to stop than the newly introduced B747 on landing and, to avoid hitting a very solid vehicle end on, turned to the central reservation and, promptly rolled the car, proving the sturdiness of the roof and pillars, but bending it beyond economic repair. My brand new tool set was in the boot and when he was released from hospital next day and went to claim the vehicle contents it was missing, the Police explanation being that "it probably flew out when the boot lid opened in the roll. Right - a 2 foot x 1 foot x 6 inch wooden box flew out and became invisible.
|