(1970s chirpy music) The Princess has got a bad reputation. By the time
it featured as Terry Scott’s suburban car in the ever-so middle-class, middle-of-the-road
“Terry and June”, it was seen as just another unreliable mistake from British Leyland. But the
Princess was front wheel drive – something large family cars flocked to in the 1980s after the
Vauxhall Cavalier showed it was the way to go. It had a forward-thinking design, turning
its back on boring three box shapes like the Ford Cortina that launched just a year
later. And it focused on a low drag shape, just like Citroën, to get the most power
and fuel efficiency from the engine. But being produced by British Leyland in the
1970s, becoming successful was beyond even this car’s reach, and almost as soon as it had launched
it was forgotten, and Ford’s boxy Cortina went on to rule the roost. So just what went wrong? This
is the Princess and Austin Ambassador Story. (music) When the British Motor Corporation or BMC launched
their new large car – the Austin/Morris 1800 in 1964, it was expected to be another Alec
Issigonis triumph, like the Mini and the 1100 before it. With good reviews from the press,
BMC started gearing up to build 4,000 a week, but with an awkward driving position and styling
that split opinion, sales were a disappointment. BMC was subsumed into Leyland Motors to form
British Leyland, and it quickly became apparent BMC had been skimping on development; they had
very little in the pipeline to replace their best-selling models. A replacement for the older
1100 was prioritised first, as it was the older model. The 1800 would have to limp along with
poor sales until BL could fund a replacement. An internal report in 1970 projected growth
in the large car market in the 1970s. I’m sure a lot of money was paid on the research,
but their conclusions were pretty obvious to most casual observers. The new larger mk3 Ford
Cortina had just been launched and was quickly becoming Britain’s favourite car. BL didn’t have
anything new to compete with it – the Morris Marina that was about to launch had been sized
to compete with the older, smaller Cortina. So, BLs design team started work on a successor to
the 1800, or Landcrab as it had become known. BL had poached designer Roy Haynes from Ford,
fresh from his work on the mk2 Cortina. He persuaded a young colleague, Harris Mann to
go with him, who’d worked on the Escort and the Capri. Roy didn’t stick around long though.
He didn’t like the way things were done at BL and left after little more than a year. With Alec
Issigonis off designing a successor to the Mini, this left Harris Mann as the influential
new talent for the Austin and Morris brands. His saloon version of the Austin Zanda
caught the attention of BL’s management, and they invited him to produce a
design for the 1800’s successor. Mann was in love with the wedge shape and
its ability to produce something stunning, aerodynamic and practical, so his initial
sketches for the new project, dubbed “Diablo”, the Spanish word for “devil” would have a low nose
and high rear end, inspired by Grand Prix cars. A three-box shape was entertained, but ultimately
rejected – British Leyland should be known for exciting, forward-thinking designs. It may have
been influenced by Pininfarina’s rejected restyle of the 1800 in 1967, but even if it hadn’t,
British Leyland’s management would surely have been aware of it and it may have influenced
their interest in a new, radical design. The wedge shape contrasted with the rest of
the car industry that had been chasing exotic American shapes in pint-sized form. Harris
Mann looked instead to the European continent and more avant-garde shapes that companies like
Citroën were producing. Britain had a new-found fascination with European package holidays, and
holidaymakers would see very different car styles on their summer trips, so it made sense to bring
some of that exotic European style to suburbia, and with the UK likely to join the Common
Market, that European styling would help sell the new car on the continent once it
became cheaper to sell British cars abroad. By August a full-scale clay mock-up was
ready. The shape hadn’t changed much from Mann’s original sketches. Some of the awkward
kinks were ironed out, such as the rear door, and by November the team had something they
were happy with. The front would use large trapezoidal headlights, a departure from the
simple round headlights used on many other cars. Alternate designs for the front were produced though,
including some with round headlights. Today, an aerodynamic shape is created in
a computer, and checked in the wind tunnel. In the early 70s designers would create
a design they thought was aerodynamic, and by the time it came to wind tunnel testing of
scale models there were only small changes that could be done to make it right. Harris Mann’s
original sketch proved to be quite aerodynamic, getting a drag factor of 0.4. That’s nothing
compared to the 0.34 the Citroen SM got, but a lot better than its competition. The
windscreen wipers would be concealed by the bonnet line, and care was taken with the front
end to make it as streamlined as possible. Surprisingly, given the shape, the car wasn’t a
hatchback, although it was considered as the car was developed, as well as an estate version.
Hatchback cars hadn’t sold particularly well in the UK, and there was no expectation
that was going to change any time soon. The official reason for making Diablo a saloon was
BL felt only small cars worked well as hatchbacks, although this didn’t make any sense as when
they said this, they were just a year away from launching the hatchback Rover SD1!
It was also said British Leyland worried it would cannibalise sales from the similar
Austin Maxi, also a large hatchback. There’s no direct evidence for this, but it’s likely
that with the Maxi and SD1 being hatchbacks, BL felt that offering the Diablo as a
saloon would give more variety for customers who weren’t hatchback fans. That wouldn’t stop
enterprising coachbuilders like Crayford offering hatch conversions when it launched though!
The wedge shape with its low nose had presumed a front wheel drive layout. Although it was
traditional and preferred by customers of larger cars to have rear wheel drive, BMC had been using
front wheel drive on many of its cars since the 1959 Mini. BL thought that changing to rear wheel
drive would send the wrong message – like BMC had backed the wrong horse or something. And with
the Landcrab also being front wheel drive, the new chassis wouldn’t be a million miles away from
the old car, reducing the cost of development. The shape was designed to incorporate both
the B-series engine from the old Landcrab, and the new E-series engine that had the
advantage of a 5-speed gearbox. A 5th gear was becoming increasingly popular as
more people took to fast motorway driving. With the smaller Morris Marina being
wrong-footed by the new larger Ford Cortina, BL was intent the Diablo wouldn’t make the same
mistake, and the size was further increased, although it would still be shorter than European
rivals such as the Peugeot 504, and Opel’s Rekord. With the shape looking towards the continent,
the suspension would follow the same pattern. BMC had fitted many of its cars with Hydrolastic
suspension, similar to the hydropneumatic suspension fitted to Citroëns. BMC was working
on a new version called Hydragas that would be fitted first to the upcoming Austin Allegro.
Diablo would use the same system. The setup was made intentionally soft to give a smooth, upmarket
ride, and it was coupled with low profile tyres, or what passed for low profile tyres in
the early 70s(!), to give a good balance of smoothness without roll. The new car would also
be available with Dunlop Denovo run flat tyres. The rather exciting, racy codename of
Diablo was replaced by the humdrum ADO71. As work progressed there were concerns
about fitting the E-series engine. BL predicted existing Maxi and upcoming Allegro
sales would use all their E-series capacity, so ADO71 would have to make do with the B-series
engine and miss out on that 5-speed gearbox. (So Smooth - Danny Kean, Doug Maxwell) ADO71 was launched as the Austin 18-22
in February 1975. The striking design was immediately apparent – a new shape for the 1970s.
Harris Mann must have been proud. His design had made it through with only minor changes, unlike
the Austin Allegro which was radically different from the original design and had been nicknamed
the “flying pig”. The “18” part of “18-22” was the 1800 4-cylinder engine version, and the “22” was
the 6-cylinder 2200cc engine. An automatic gearbox was available, with “1” and “2” manual override
gears that like many automatics were rarely used, but British Leyland pitched as giving
“optimal performance in 1st and 2nd gears”. In the 70s, luxury wasn’t measured in the number
of tech gadgets in the car, but whether the car had carpet flooring or adjustable seats. The
18-22’s seats not only adjusted forwards and backwards, but up and down as well! There was a
light in the boot, and under the bonnet. Not that British Leyland mechanicals or electrics would
give drivers any trouble on dark nights of course! The ultimate in 70s style, the top of
the range models were appointed with plush velour seats and wing mirrors on both sides
of the car. It also got power assisted steering, a lesson learnt after the old Landcrab’s
heavy steering had been criticised. These were touches rarely seen at the time.
The marketing material also made a big deal of the optional laminated windscreen. Yes, a
laminated windscreen was optional in the 1970s! The rear passengers kept warm using vents
from under the front seats. Warning lights were illuminated from a single bulb using fibre
optic cables at a time when fibre optic lamps were the latest fad. Another warning lamp told
you if you needed to put your seat belt on, and there was a sensor under the passenger
seat to detect if someone was there, and so if the warning lamp needed to come on.
This might all seem pretty fancy, but unless you got the top of the range model, the radio
was an optional extra! It’s maybe unimaginable today that we used to drive around with no
entertainment, just our thoughts for company. All this luxury was part of BLs plan for
the future – Austin Morris, and the Wolseley sub-brand, yes the 18-22 was also sold as a
Wolseley, was going upmarket. According to Austin Morris’ managing director, they were
ceding the mass market to the competition, at least for larger cars and was becoming a niche,
luxury player. The motoring journalists liked BLs new car, praising the handling, and its
ability to soak up the miles in comfort. As the marketing material would proclaim –
it was “The car that’s got it all together”. But what wasn’t “all together” was British
Leyland’s finances. When British Leyland had been born in the late 1960s, 4 of every 10 cars
sold in the UK came from their factory gates. By the mid-70s it was less than 3 in 10. In 1974
BL had begged a £50M loan from the Government. But a mere £50M, £530M today (in 2021 $720M USD,
€620M, $980M AUD) wasn’t enough to save BL. In just 12 months they’d burnt through all
of that cash and declared bankruptcy. With no private investor willing to sink their money into
a business with so many problems, and with massive layoffs projected in marginal seats, the ruling
Labour Government nationalised the whole shebang, one of a long list of industries and business
nationalised in the 30 years since the Second World War including coal, steel, gas, electricity,
water, the railways, the Bank of England, medical services, telecommunications, the Post
Office, the National Bus Company and Rolls-Royce! In all this melee, BL was trying to sell their
new Austin 18-22. It was a bit like trying to sell umbrellas in a hurricane! It didn’t help that
production was delayed by trade union action. You knew I couldn’t make a video about a 1970s
British car and not mention them, could I? Even while production was ramping up ahead of the
launch, the Cowley factory in Oxfordshire was hit with a 4-week strike. Ironically the TV coverage
of the strike blew the reveal of BLs new car. Maybe it was the excitement around the new car,
maybe it was a desire to buy British and keep BL afloat, the marketing worked and initial demand
for the Austin/Morris/Wolseley 18-22 was high, with dealers seeing overwhelming demand. One
distributor reported customers were offering Peugeots, Citroëns and even BMWs in part exchange.
All of these cars were considered more upmarket than the lowly Austin/Morris brands, and showed
the well-appointed interior and striking design had struck a chord with the buying public.
All BL had to do was produce thousands of well put together cars, and they had a hit
on their hands. Yes, you know I’m going to talk about unions again! This would make a good
drinking game wouldn’t it, drink every time I mention the unions in a British Leyland video!
Just 2 months after launch, the Cowley factory was at a standstill once more. This time workers
downed tools in solidarity for Morris Marina workers who were being told they needed to work
a 4-day week because there wasn’t enough demand. The next month there was a strike at tyre producer
Dunlop, making it hard to drive completed cars off the production line! Two months after that
there was a strike at a components supplier, so production stopped once more. British industry
was becoming a joke around the world, and it was making efficient car production almost impossible.
Government ownership had forced a hard look into BLs finances. The result – the Ryder Report –
suggested an end to badge engineering and a merger of the separate Austin and Morris dealerships.
The Austin, Morris and Wolseley marques would disappear from this new car, and the old Princess
marque would be revived. Maybe British Leyland were trying to hark back to happier times with
a brand name that represented 1950s luxury, and maybe they could capitalise on the feeling this
car was a cut above the mass-market Austin name. So, a new start for the desirable Princess, and
a car that bankrupt BL could hopefully charge a premium for. But with ongoing strikes, there were
no cars to sell. Customers would look at other domestic cars, or increasingly foreign imports. My
family was one of them, going from a Landcrab to an Audi 100 in 1976. And when customers switched,
they found competitors cars to be more reliable, and after that revelation there was no going back.
It didn’t help that the Princess’s poor reliability made national headlines, showing
that underneath the exciting continental lines, the Princess was old school, dodgy British
Leyland. It didn’t help that the company was on a financial diet, meaning any quality improvements
had to be done on the cheap. Oh, and the Ryder report had recommended that BL needed a new small
car, so all funds were diverted to producing that. Quality would improve, slowly, and
good work was done to achieve that, but like school nicknames, once lumbered with
a reputation it’s next to impossible to get rid of it. Never mind you were made captain of the
school rugby team, if you fell over and got a concussion on your first day you’ll be known
as “Pavement Face” until the day you leave! Those now optimistic sales projections
vanished, and the Princess became just another car painted with the brush of British
Leyland failure on the nightly news. Even sadder, the Rover SD1 would launch a year later, and would
follow the same pattern – lauded by the press, long waiting lists and public excitement would
give way to apathy once strike-induced waiting lists and poor quality made it a car to avoid.
Vauxhall would start selling the well-made Opel Ascona as the Cavalier that
soon outsold the Princess, and Ford updated their top selling Cortina. One of
the Princess’ headline features when it launched, the fasten seatbelt warning light seemed to
symbolise the car’s fate. It had seemed like such a good idea when it launched, but after 6 months
of living with it, it was just plain annoying. The first update appeared in 1978 as
the Princess 2. The original car had been criticised for its slow acceleration. The
B-series engine was updated to the O-series, giving improved performance. The top of the
range 2.2L 6-cylinder would be replaced by the E-series engine, as sadly BL had spare capacity
to use it in the Princess. The car still didn’t get a 5th gear though, even though the E-series
engine could be fitted with a 5-speed gearbox. The 1.7L engine was more powerful than the old
1.8L and still fit under the 1.8L tax bracket. A new 2.0L capacity engine was of course more
powerful, and snuck under continental tax rules. But as for other updates, these were harder
to spot. Entry level models got more features, the aerial moved from the front to the rear, an
ashtray made an appearance in the centre console and the car got side indicator repeaters. Hardly
ground-breaking changes, and motoring critics, who had been full of praise just three years
earlier, now decried the car for its lack of reliability and lack of prestige, and maybe those
avant-garde looks weren’t forward thinking but actually a bit ugly. How times had changed.
British Leyland would have more luck with the 1980 Austin Metro, and the focus was on repeating
this success with the larger Maestro and Montego, the latter of which would eventually replace
the Princess. That was 5 years away, which meant the Princess had to soldier on with minor
updates like better seats and sound deadening. Or would it? The success of the Metro had the side
effect of freeing up some money for an update. The design team went away to work out
how to make this a car for the 1980s that could take on the Vauxhall Cavalier and the
successor to Ford’s mighty Cortina. First to bite the dust was the top of the range E-series
engine. With Austin Maxi production ending, that engine was going the way of the dodo, so
this was more of a necessity. To make up for it, the smaller O-series engine would get twin
carburettors to give it a little more power. Dropping the larger E-series engine
meant the bonnet could be lower. This was integrated into the restyle, along with
Morris Ital headlights, to give the front a new look. But the rear got the biggest change. Ever
since the Princess had been launched, the public had been clamouring for a hatchback – something
the car seemed destined to become given its shape. The world seemed to be moving to hatchbacks
in 1980. Vauxhall’s Cavalier had a hatchback, and Ford’s successor to the Cortina, the Sierra
would as well, so that’s what the Princess became. To accommodate this, the chassis needed a lot of
changes around the back to keep it rigid. With all that front end work the design team changed
almost all the body panels. At the same time they spent time cleaning up the design to reduce
the panel gaps and improve the fit and finish. Inside there was a complete redesign. The
dashboard was all-new, as were the seats. The update would get new luxury features like electric
front windows, a sunroof and power door locks. Some thought of reintroducing the car as
a Wolseley to give it a nostalgia-fuelled bump to sell it as a premium car, now production
issues had been solved. However British Leyland, or Austin Rover as they’d become, had too many
car brands as it was, so the decision was taken to make the car an Austin once more, but to give it
a model name that suggested the Princess was still a little bit special. Say hello to the
Austin Ambassador Y reg, Y reg, Y reg! Calling their car the “Ambassador” was maybe a
little hopeful, giving the car a sheen of opulence it didn’t seem to warrant. Ferraro Rocher would
try something similar ten years later, selling something you could buy at the local corner
shop or petrol station as an unexpected treat at the Ambassador’s reception. “Monsieur, with
these Ferraro Rocher you’re really spoiling us!” Austin Rover had hopes of more than doubling
the admittedly low sales of the Princess, but when they launched the new Austin Ambassador,
the public’s reaction was less than warm. The team had wanted to do a big styling update on
the car, to move it as far away from the Princess look as possible, but after all that work and
money, and changing almost all the body panels, it looked essentially the same. In fact, with the
Morris Ital front and rear lights they managed to turn a ground-breaking design into something,
well, bland. You only had to look at the mk4 Cortina to see how much of a styling update
could be done without changing the chassis. The public wasn’t falling for this Jedi mind
trick. They’d wanted a hatchback, which they got, but they also wanted more power, and
here was a car with a smaller engine, and it still didn’t have a 5th gear
that would have given it extra pace. Features like a 5th gear were almost table
stakes for a family-sized car in the 1980s, especially for the top-of-the-line model.
Austin Rover seemed to have been investing their money in all the wrong areas, but maybe
the designers were hampered by a limited budget, a limited selection of engines and gearboxes,
and having to use hand-me-down lights from the Morris Ital, but surely there were
more creative answers than what we got? But the most damning part of the Ambassador
was its fit and finish, which despite specific work to remedy, seemed no better than the old
car. And as drivers would find out over time, the interior quality was actually lower
than the old Princess. Over time Ambassador seats would break down faster than Princess
seats. A saving grace was the suspension, a refinement of 20-year-old technology that still
felt class-leading after continuous refinement. The Ambassador was always a stopgap
solution until Austin Rover’s saviour, the Montego arrived. It never threatened the
sales of the Cavalier or Ford’s new Sierra, that were selling about 10 times as many cars.
The Ambassadors worldwide sales were hampered by the fact that, unlike the Princess, it
was never made as a left hand drive car. The Princess, like so many British Leyland
cars, started off with such promise, and ended in embarrassment. But it should be remembered
for a design team that dared to push British Leyland to make a cutting-edge, class-leading
car that hoped to take on Europe’s finest. The Ambassador would be replaced by the
Austin Montego, a car, like the Maestro that hoped to follow-up on the success of the
Metro to bring Austin Rover back to prominence. To see how the Maestro and Montego
faired, click on the video on the right. If you want to hear a bit more about the
Princess, click the “Optional Extra” video. Thanks for watching and see you in the next video.
