I don’t need to tell you lot that I
love an underdog, and today on Twin-Cam, we have an underdog that absolutely should
have been a world beater. No doubt about it. In the 1960s, BMC had the world at their feet.
They’d just pioneered a revolution in family car design, but because of stubbornness
and a lack of market understanding, the third piece in their puzzle
collapsed straight to the ground. This is a Wolseley 18/85, a version of the
car affectionately known as the Landcrab. BMC, or the British Motor Corporation,
was the result of a merger between the two traditional British motoring giants –
Austin and Morris – in 1952. The two manufacturers brought with them
a variety of marques and models, but through that decade, the models,
at least, were slowly rationalised. And as the end of the decade neared, the need for
an all-new range of family cars became apparent. A single genius was put in charge of these
three projects, a man now synonymous with some of the best cars Britain has ever produced – Alec
Issigonis. The first and smallest of these was ADO 15, and this became the most influential car in
history – the Austin and Morris Mini. The second was ADO 16, and this one sat in the small family
car market, using the same concept as the Mini, but with a bit more room, four doors,
and a gorgeous Pininfarina-styled body. This car became known as the Austin and Morris
1100, and in terms of sales, this one was the barnstormer. The Mini may have been iconic, but
the 1100 was the best-selling car in Britain for every single year that it
was in full series production. Our brilliant pair were launched in 1959 and 1962, respectively, but our new mid-sized
Austin for the ‘60s came along in ’64. But before we get to the car itself,
let’s get a little bit of context and see exactly where the Landcrab came from. But before
we do, a little message from this video’s sponsor. Three years now I’ve been doing this video-making
lark, and the maddening thing about it all is my own change of perception in what I do. So at the
beginning, I was looking up towards people that are doing wonderful things with this platform,
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messaging me, asking for hints, tips, and advice on doing a similar thing. And it’s amazing
that people find me semi-competent enough to ask as part of their own story towards indulging
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treated to a one-month free trial of Skillshare. With that out of the way, we can
work our way back to the late 1950s, when the Mini was in development, but the
Landcrab, ADO 17, was still some years off. BMC had a working relationship with Pininfarina,
who had been employed to style a fair few of the company’s cars – central of which were a
range of saloons that, for obvious reasons, became known as the Farina saloons.
These were all largely the same car, but with subtle differences to suit each BMC
marque. The two mainstream saloons were the Austin Cambridge and Morris Oxford, but these
were complemented by the sporting MG Magnette and luxurious Wolseley 15/ and 16/60, as well as
the top-end Riley 4/Sixty Eight and 4/Seventy Two. Yes. It was a badge engineering
mess. But that’s BMC for you. The Farina saloons may have looked great, but
underneath were a set of very simple mechanicals. A simple overhead valve four-cylinder engine,
driving the rear wheels, suspended on a set of leaf springs. Now, that may have suited
some other manufacturers perfectly well, but BMC wanted to modernise, so they shunned
decades of experience in favour of an all-new car from the ground up, directly borrowing
its concept from the brilliant little Mini. Now I’m sure we all know the story of the Mini,
and if you'd like to see my video on it, then I'll put a card up in the corner, but for now, here’s
a whistlestop tour of what made it so special. It was all about packaging – to get as
much interior room from teeny tiny external dimensions – and Issigonis achieved this by
turning the engine through 90 degrees, mounting it transversely, and driving the front wheels. Now,
neither of these things were new, a transverse engine or front-wheel drive, but they’d never
been executed with such finesse by a mainstream manufacturer. And by the 1980s, virtually every
family car was copying this basic concept. It was clear to virtually everyone at
BMC that this layout was the future, so it was very natural for all three
new cars to use this transverse layout, but while the Mini and 1100 used
the famous little Austin A-Series, such a small power unit wouldn't cut the
mustard wben it came to the Landcrab. We’ll come back to this engine in a moment, but
for now, even as a principle, this point put the Landcrab decades ahead of the competition.
But a transverse engine wasn’t the only key to Issigonis’ packaging genius, as like the Mini and
1100 before it, the Landcrab shunned traditional suspension systems, whether that be ancient
cart springs or even new-fangled struts, because keeping these wheels on the ground is
Dr. Alex Moulton’s incredible Hydrolastic system. Taking its influence from Citroen’s
Hydropneumatics, Hydrolastic shuns traditional springs in favour of four displacers, featuring
rubber springs and pressurised with a fluid, linked through pipes front-to-back on each side, but independently side-to-side. And
it’s designed to combine brilliant, floaty comfort with surprising resistance
to roll and incredible handling as well. But unlike Citroen’s system, BMC’s rubber
and fluid suspension was simple and reliable, and when slung underneath the
Landcrab, it was nothing short of magnificent. To say the Landcrab was
ahead of its time would be an insult, because compared to its contemporaries, barring
the Citroen DS, these things were spaceships. Before we actually get to the real driving,
I wanted to just put this little clip in, because this is of me driving the Landcrab
down an incredibly rutted farm track. 2 or 3, 4 mph in first gear. Really slow, trying to
avoid all the massive potholes. But can you see any evidence of that? I didn't think so.
Hydrolastic just dampens it all out perfectly. I have no idea how Hydrolastic suspension did not become the norm because it is genius. It's
a very simple system. It's a very reliable system. It's a very compact system as well, hence
why it went in the Mini and the 1100. But the whole car just bounces and glides and
it doesn't damp out the bumps especially well. You can feel everything. But it glides over them.
There are no sharp hits of any bump. Everything is very controlled and relaxed
and slightly wallowy, yes, but that's all in the character of it
and it just suits it so very very well. This isn't a car that scoots along the road or
rides just slightly above the road, hovering over it. Instead, it lollops down the road very
merrily, just going about its own business being slightly bouncy but very, very comfortable.
In fact, scratch that. Impeccably comfortable. This car is one of the comfiest cars I've ever
been in. Every single modern car manufacturer could learn a hell of a lot from driving
one of these because it is just joyous. To just cruise about it it's such a relaxing
driving experience, and a few weeks ago on Twin-Cam, I drove an R8 generation Rover 200. And
that car was so capable that I said that I don't think cars have come as far in the past 30 years
as you might think they've done. But I've got news for you. Because I don't think cars have come
anywhere near as far as you think they've done in the past 60 years. Because this car is just
exceptional. It is so comfortable. It just glides. Who knew that ride quality
could be so entertaining? You can see from the camera, because you can
see on all of my videos where I drive the cars there's a little bit of bounce in them. But I'm
sure in this one you can't see a thing because it's so floaty and smooth and just a joy to
pedal about. I love Hydrolastic. I love it. So in addition to the suspension saving space
when compared to leaves or struts, Hydrolastic also allowed a ride that waves over the road
surface. But we aren’t done with the packaging, because the stance of the car plays a big
part in ensuring a practical interior, with each road wheel moved as far into
each corner of the car as possible, increasing the size of the doors, and
increasing physical passenger room. So let's stop faffing about talking about it
and actually look at what it gives us - starting at the back - because it makes sense that way.
The boot. It's a saloon car from the 1960s - so that's kind of what you're gonna get.
But it does have quite a low load lip and that boot goes back a really long way.
It's not absolutely humongous by any stretch of the imagination but that is far bigger
boot than you get on any equivalent car. But here's where things actually get dramatic.
Because this car is small. It looks big. People think it's big. People thought it was big back
in the day. But it's actually quite short, it's just the wheelbase is very long and the roof
line is quite low, so it kind of tricks you a bit into thinking it's a big car, when actually
it isn't. But when you actually sit inside it, you realize that there's a reason it doesn't have
to be that big. Because I have a huge amount of room back here. Like ridiculous amount of room.
And despite it being a relatively low car, I've got a little bit of headroom as well, and
these seats are incredibly comfortable. You just sink into them. I've got an armrest here,
I've got an ashtray because it's the 1960s, and I've got this brilliant view out as well,
and not just because there's no head restraints on the front seats, but because the doors are so
huge and you sit very far back in the car. You sit in line with this pillar really, so you
get a great sideways view out - and also... ...they've not been opened in quite some time, but there are little pop-out
quarter windows in the back as well. So it just feels airy. It feels like a luxury
limousine back here. It feels like I should be chauffeured about the place, meeting
dignitaries and stuff like that. It just feels very very excessive in a very elegant way.
Excessive in terms of space. Fabulous thing. And in the front, things get even better, because
we're blessed with just as much space as we do in the back. In fact, it's a proper reach down to
get to any of the controls, and we'll get back to that point in a bit, but the interior just
feels so spacious. I cannot emphasize enough just how well Issigonis and his team managed to
engineer in space to this car. It's absolutely phenomenal. People always look at the Mini
and think it's an absolute packaging marvel, and it is, taking nothing away from it, but just
having that little bit more room just- this is too much. There's so much space. You just do not need
this kind of room in a family car. It's excessive. But the Landcrab didn’t just blatantly reuse
the engineering already in place for the Mini and 1100, because as with Hydrolastic, they kept
moving the game on just a little bit. And with the advent of a bigger engine, the weaknesses
of the in-sump gearbox could be addressed by strengthening everything up, improving
lubrication, and moving the gearbox back, relative to the engine, making this car’s
gearbox much more bulletproof than the one in the A-Series. And additionally, it pioneered
the use of cables to operate the gear change, something now seen as universal. But
even more work went on with the chassis. One of Issigonis’ dreams was to build a car
so strong that it didn’t need any subframes to mount the engine and suspension, but with
the Mini and 1100, they ran out of time, so for the Landcrab, it was engineered with this
in mind right from the start. So this engine bolts directly to the monocoque of the car, and the suspension units are mounted horizontally,
within this tube mounted to the bulkhead. As a result, these things are tremendously
rigid and rather over-engineered, but this paid dividends in terms of refinement and made the
Landcrab become an unlikely favourite in rallying. So now we do have to come to performance. Because
of course the Mini, which this car is- I was going to say based on. It wasn't based on but the
Mini - it lent its philosophy to the Landcrab. And the Mini is a phenomenal car to drive.
It handles supremely. There is nothing that drives quite like a Mini, and that's why it was so
successful as a racing car, but in the Landcrab it does have little bits of that Mini philosophy
in it. But unlike a Mini that's very bouncy, very raw, rorty in its character - it's attitude -
the Mini is a car full of attitude. This is a car full of character in a much more serene manner. So
it doesn't have the dartiness of the Mini at all. Not an ounce of it. But what it does have
is brilliant road holding. This car feels so precise and exact to drive. I have no inclinations
in this car to go and throw it round some bend somewhere. Instead i want to just guide
it and then it will do the work for me. The Mini is raw and it's like a bit of a terrier.
You want to grab hold of it and and really show it who's boss and throw it around some corners.
Whereas with the Landcrab, you're working with the car and you're very gently guiding
it towards its destination. It is magnificent. Thanks to the power steering
in this one, the steering does feel suitably dead. But
then again I am doing that and there is still a fair amount of movement. It's
just that the suspension is so soft and cosseting that you don't really notice it, but I'm sure that
if I go and chuck this car around a bend - not that I'm going to because it's not mine. It is
an antique - then it would respond magnificently. And thanks to the wheel being at each corner and
a little bit because of the Hydrolastic and the rack and pinion steering, it feels very agile
too. It doesn't drive like a barge. It feels like a barge to sit in and it feels like a barge
to ride in because of the brilliant ride quality, but it to steer it doesn't. To steer, it
still has, despite the power steering, a bit of dartiness to it. A bit of an ability
to get you out of a really tricky situation. And I will say that having a massively
oversized wheel like this - completely unnecessary because there's power steering,
so why didn't they put a smaller wheel on it? So far in this video, all we’ve
heard is good. The Landcrab is fantastically engineered
and is incredibly practical. So did it follow on from its little sisters and
become a runaway success? No. Of course it didn’t. I’m sure a lot of you will already have
clocked the main issue – the styling. It's not everybody’s idea of a good-looking
car. The stance is just ungainly. It's not an elegant-looking car. It's not a rakish-looking
car either. It's just kind of a bit blobby. But there's a very good reason for that, and
it's actually again the Issigonis philosophy, because with the Mini and 1100, one of the ways in
which they majored on practicality was by shoving the wheels right into each corner of the car. And
on a small car, that works fine. It's a small car. But when you translate that over to a big saloon
car, the proportions just completely fall apart. But the Landcrab isn't just a relatively long
car, but it's also a relatively wide car, and it's this ungainly stance that gave the
car that nickname, and so synonymous it’s become with the car that even the owners club is
called the Landcrab Owners Club International. So here’s where we need to
address the badge engineering, because much like the Farinas, the
Landcrab came in multiple flavours. The first to launch was the Austin 1800, followed
by the Morris 1800 in ‘66, which was much the same car just with different badges. But in 1967,
this Wolseley 18/85 came on to the market. As the posh, upstanding member of the ADO 17
range, the Wolseley has its traditional grille and light-up badge, as well as a full wood dashboard,
traditional instruments, and leather seating. And in terms of the styling, I think this
particular spec in this shade of grey shows the best of the Landcrab’s shape. Because
this one seems stately and not too awkward in its dimensions like an Austin or Morris in
a brighter colour. Because there are some fine details, like the subtle fins at each side
of the boot, the lip at the back of the roof, the flowing side repeaters, the
inset, chrome-rimmed headlamps, and the sculpted bonnet with its
intake scoop for the cabin ventilation. But it's when we work our way out that it becomes
awkward. Because the centre section is far too long, relative to the bonnet and boot. It’s
unbalanced. The front windows, for example, are far smaller than the rears for seemingly
no reason. And the angle of the rear glass accentuates its truncated style. But it’s not
as though BMC couldn’t have done anything, as later in the decade, Pininfarina built a
concept that was a reclothing of the Landcrab in an ultra-modern, aerodynamic style.
It bears a shocking resemblance to the Citroen CX that was still nearly a decade
away at the time. But it was never to be. But speaking of Pininfarina, they had a hand
in this shape. Issigonis and his team dictated the centre section of the car, but the front
and rear ends were tidied up by the Italians, not that they improved much. The sheer width
of the car made it look like a monster, and the comically large, smiling grilles of the
Austin and Morris gave it a pained expression. So the styling didn’t do it many favours,
especially considering how good the Mini and 1100 looked, but this wasn’t the
primary reason for this car's failure. Because in the UK, it’s this market segment
that traditionally was the most competitive, so manufacturers had to make sure that their cars
were laser-focused on meeting their buyer's needs. The car people usually associate with
success here is the Ford Cortina, which came onto the market in 1962, when the
Farinas were still BMC’s mainstream offering. The Cortina took Britain by storm, becoming
the default family car for millions, dominating this market segment all
the way through to the early 1980s. And in comparison, I’d forgive you for thinking
that the Cortina was in the class below the Landcrab. Because it looks petite and very
carefully considered in its proportions and dimensions. Plus, it was available as
a two-door, a four-door, and an estate, while the Landcrab was only ever a four-door
saloon. But don’t let perception trick you. The Mk1 Cortina was actually longer than the Landcrab.
It just wasn’t anywhere near as well engineered. But in actual fact, the Landcrab was shorter
than the Farinas. But thanks to Issigonis, its wheelbase was six inches longer, and
although we’ve mentioned that throwing off the proportions, but it did quite a lot more when
it came to people’s perception of the Landcrab. Because a lot of people saw this car's wheelbase
and practicality and thought it was too big for them. That it was outside of their intended market
segment, even if, in reality, it's really quite compact. And here’s where we come back to the
engine, because BMC weren’t helping themselves. One step up from the A-Series was the B-Series,
and this conventional but tough overhead valve lump had already been used in BMC cars for years,
and in 1600cc form, this was the same powerplant that found a home in the Farinas. But in 1962,
an 1800cc variant was engineered for the MG B, and when the Landcrab came around, BMC decided
the new car deserved a bump up to 1.8-litres. But it seems that nobody did any market
research, as only 5% of cars sold in 1960 had an engine around that size, and the
Cortina had a range of power units, from 1200 to 1600cc. And in that range was where I’d
estimate that a third of 1960’s sales belonged. So in one fell swoop, BMC had pushed the Landcrab
up into a no man’s land in the British car market. Below the executives and above the family cars. But looking inwards for a moment, the
B-Series was available here with either single or twin SU carburettors, in this standard
form or sporting ‘S’ form, producing either 85 or 95 bhp, giving the Landcrab a decent turn
of pace, despite its heavy kerb weight. Now I've never driven a car
with the B-Series engine before, and of course it's in loads of BMC and BL
cars, and everything through to the Marina even, had the B-Series, all the way back
through the '50s, and so there are stacks of stacks of cars with this engine, most famously
the MG B. But this one is exceptionally smooth. You just can't hear it. It's just like turbine
in front of me just powering us forward, and with the 85 bhp of this in quite a light car
(relative to modern cars) it really motors along. It's really really easy just to gain speed in
this. The throttle pedal is very light and so you just very effortlessly just ease a little more
power on and at any speed it really comes alive, because it's an old-fashioned overhead valve
engine, and it means it's very torquey. And so with this four-speed gearbox, you don't
even need to change gears all that often, because it just rides on this wave of torque
that just brings you up to your nice respectable cruising speed. Because the Landcrab isn't a
car for all-out performance and high speed. It's for sitting at 65-70 mph and cruising very
merrily. And this engine. It's just so smooth. Whispery quiet. And in fact, most of the noise
you can hear from it is actually from the fan, because of course this, being an early
BMC front-drive car, the engine radiator is on the side. It has a belt-driven fan. And so
most of the noise is fan noise, not engine noise. But if the 1.8-litre B was a misstep, then
worse was to come, as in 1972 they doubled down on their misguidedness by launching
the Austin and Morris 2200 and Wolseley Six, featuring a variant of the overhead cam E-Series
straight-six. Making it a phenomenally rare example of a transverse six and a car even
more removed from its original target market. But we can’t fool ourselves into thinking that
perception and the market were at fault for the Landcrab’s failures. First of all, it
had its fair share of mechanical maladies, all of which were solved, but
when the car was launched, they couldn’t even calibrate the dipstick
correctly. And as with all Issigonis cars, it had some design oversights, and in this
case, they all show themselves inside. Now this excessive space wasn't originally met
with excessive luxury, because in the Austin versions and the Morris versions of the Landcrab,
Issigonis did his thing that he did with the Mini and more importantly the 1100, because
the dashboard of these cars was incredibly spartan. You just had a huge shelf and you had
a little strip speedometer in front of you. Nothing else. Issigonis was a big big fan
of minimalism, and in this case it was a bit too much. It suited the Mini and 1100 very well
because they were small cars. They were cars of the people. But the Landcrab is still very much
in the Issigonis mould, but it's not a people's car. It's a family car for people that are at
least relatively well off in the 1960s, and so they expected a certain level of luxury that in
the Austins and Morrises they just didn't get. But don't let that take away from what we
actually see here, because just things like the door bins - just like the mini it's got enormous
door bins to the side, but this car, of course, has wind-up windows as well, so it's posher than
a Mini. And we get fresh air ventilation and all the heater controls are very neatly integrated
to the bottom of the dashboard. You've just got everything written on the lower dash rail. These
little tiny switches below. But here come the issues, because I'm sat here driving the car, and
it's a very commanding driving position, but it is like a Mini so the steering column is straight, it
comes with a slight angle and it's very horizontal really and you have to sit on top of the steering
wheel rather than in front of it. And in this kind of era, seat belts were not compulsory, but
they were starting to become fitted to cars and I think it was '65 they became compulsory
to fit but I'm not 100% sure, so this car does have seat belts, but being from this era,
they're fixed belts. There's no inertia reel here, and so when you've got this seat belt on, you're
locked back in your seat. And so if I'm driving here and I want to use the indicator, that's
great. I've got my little indicator stalk with the flashy light on the end of it - very BMC -
and all is well. My gear lever is there to hand. Again, it feels like a big car. You want to extend
your arms out to use everything in it. The door handle is there, the window winder absolutely
fine, the handbrake even is just there - this umbrella-style handbrake lever. But if I want
to turn the lights on? If I want to use the windscreen wipers? If I want to use the ashtray?
Or I want to adjust any of the heater controls? Just about. You've got to have a lot
of leeway given in your seat belt, and then it kind of stops functioning. So to
adjust these heater controls down here, the pure size of the car is getting in the way
of the basic ergonomics. Because it's so big you've got to reach down. The ignition key
is all the way over there. I think that one is wipers, that one's light, I think. Not 100%
sure. But everything is just so far away from me. It's excessive. And here starts to show
up that excess is not always a good thing. So the quick version of that is that the
Landcrab’s interior, though very clever, is an ergonomic nightmare. It’s just difficult
to use. And in an Austin or Morris, it feels low rent too. It’s almost as if the
factory forgot to fit the dashboard. It’s astonishingly unsuitable for a big family
car, and that made it undesirable. People wanted an interior that looked chic and gave them
trinkets to play with. But BMC gave them nothing. But, you might be thinking, what about the
Wolseley? Well, it does have a proper dashboard while retaining the shelves below, but there’s
still no sight of something like a rev counter. Because a Wolseley is not a sporting car,
and the Landcrab doesn’t suit that anyway. But the Cortina did. The majority of people like
a car that looks sporting over one that’s well engineered, because at the end of the day,
it is all about perception. And with nothing to wow people in the dealerships, nobody was
going to buy one. The Landcrab only averaged 40,000 annual sales, a heck of a long way
behind the projected 200,000 per year. BMC were so scared, in fact, that they
kept building the Farinas through most of the Landcrab’s production run, and in
1969, 30,000 Farinas were built by BMC, while only 20,000 Landcrabs
crawled out of the factories. And in this era, we weren’t just being bitten by
the chic Cortina, but also the compact executive, in the form of the Rover P6 and Triumph 2000,
two cars that this Wolseley very easily could have competed with, and the Six definitely
did. But it didn’t have anything to attract that kind of buyer. Not the styling. Not
the interior. And certainly not the badge. It’s madness. This car had every potential
to be a world beater. But its design team took their hands off the wheel for just
a bit too long and ended up with a car completely unfocused on any market segment.
If only it had a shorter wheelbase, a smarter appearance, a smarter interior,
a smaller engine, and a lower asking price, history would have been very
different. There’s no doubt about that. And at the end of it all, everything has to
come down to price. The Landcrab’s surface specification doesn’t overly matter, because
trinkets don’t cost much, but engineering certainly does. We’ve already seen
the engine pushing the Landcrab up into no-man’s land, but sit down for this one. Because according to my Motorists’ Guide for
July 1968, a brand-new Mk2 Ford Cortina 1600 GT would have set you back £965. But a basic Austin
1800 was up at £999. And for the average motorist, walking into a showroom, I’ll let you
guess what they’d drive away in. And if you wanted the luxuries of a Wolseley,
that would be 1082 of your finest Sterling. The Mini and 1100 weren’t just hits, but they
were generational talents. And the Landcrab is a brilliant car too. There’s no doubting
that. But everyone knows the issues that BMC and later British Leyland faced. And this
car is the beginning of that design confusion. Despite being 1965’s Car of the Year,
people weren’t sure what it was, and people certainly weren’t attracted to it. And
the story was repeated again in 1968 with the huge Austin 3-Litre, then again in ‘69 with the smaller
Maxi. And those two cars matter here because, for the sake of saving money, they used the
same doors as the Landcrab. So even today, nearly sixty years after this car’s launch, people
still confuse it with two different BMC cars. And that’s how they remember the Landcrab.
As a confusing and undesirable car. But in the midst of that, it's the one of the
three that Issigonis always maintained he was most proud of. The Mini
sold over five million units, and the 1100 was the best-selling car in
Britain for years and years and years, but he still maintained that this was the best
car that he designed. And as a piece of history, I think we should see it in the same way. As a
genius piece of engineering with a set of flaws that encapsulate the man that designed it. And on
that note thank you very much for watching. If you enjoyed the video, then please do click like
and subscribe to Twin-Cam as well. I'm forever indebted to my wonderful Patreon supporters,
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