In 1967 about two months prior to emigrating from Britain as immigrants to Canada we ordered a new car. An Austin 1100 hatchback. Think Fawlty Towers and the ’Gourmet Night’ episode. The car was a small hesitant step up from the original Austin Mini but without the pizzazz. The plan was to ship the Canadian specified left hand drive vehicle aboard the ship that would carry us from London’s Tilbury docks on the river Thames to Montreal, a nine day voyage the last two of which needed to transit the St Lawrence river upstream to Montreal. She was the Russian owned and flagged Alexander Pushkin and was only one year old. Built in the then East Germany, she was a sleek, truly all weather North Atlantic passenger liner as opposed to the fair weather only, ‘high rise hotel on its side’ behemoths we see these days. Because of the then burgeoning jet age, she was one of the last transoceanic liners built and me from Barrow-in-Furness, a town with one of the UK shipyards that had been building such vessels and from where we in fact started our journey. 

After a massive re-fit some years ago of virtually everything aboard her except the still viable ice strengthened hull, the Pushkin is now the well loved British owned and flagged Antarctic capable cruise ship Marco Polo still sailing out of Tilbury albeit not to Canada. Well loved in part because she is only about 25,000 dead weight tons. Today’s passenger, aka cruise ships, typically range from 100,000 to 200,000 dwt. The Marco Polo is thus ‘cosy’ in comparison. Upon arrival at Montreal and after a few days visiting Montreal’s Expo ’67, we planned on driving to Vancouver our final destination, pup tent and Primus stove camping our way across Canada over a period of about four to five weeks. 

The new car was to be blue. The local dealer eventually called to say it had arrived. On showing up to collect it, I couldn’t help noticing that it was white. I also noticed the steering wheel was on the correct side of the car for Canada. At least they got that part right. I was determined to have a blue car and with several weeks in hand before our departure, I told the dealership to come up with a blue one which some weeks later they did. I picked up the car and shortly thereafter we got married and after the reception, started both the car and the surface journey to Vancouver of approximately 8,000 kilometers of which about half would be spent at sea. We headed to Tilbury about 400 kilometres south. This was pre-freeway Britain except for the relatively short M1, one being the dead give away.  We didn’t make it to Tilbury docks until the following afternoon. No sweat however since we would leave on the outgoing tide at 10pm. (the Thames is tidal for about half of its 350 km length). The car was hoisted aboard using a cargo net under each wheel and a shoreside crane. From an upper deck of the ship and holding my breath against potential calamity, I watched the process through the viewfinder of my camera. Russian deck crew members then lashed it down very tightly on the unprotected foredeck with numerous massive diameter ropes along with very heavy duty straps. I was to find out that this was by no means overkill.

The night departure was on time and tired from the long drive, we fell asleep as she plied the calm waters of the river. We awoke to the mayhem of the English channel at its early May worst and to the news from the crew that a Polish flagged sister ship two weeks prior making her first east to west crossing of the season, had encountered gales and growlers (small pieces of icebergs aka bergy bits). We were to encounter only gales. Actually just one. It lasted the entire seven day crossing of the ‘pond’ mostly at Beaufort force 8 (full gale – 62-74 kph) and was a westerly thus on the nose the entire time. The good news was that the ship’s stabilizers did a great job minimizing rolling however the huge waves we were plowing into meant massive pitching. We could stand on the stern and almost literally experience weightlessness as the bow climbed up and the stern plummeted down from under our feet. We felt G forces when it came back up. Located very close to the bow I checked the car’s tie-downs periodically enjoying the driving spray and its taste of salt. (I am a recreational sailor and having been raised in sight of it, love the sea). 

After an overnight stop at Quebec city we disembarked at Montreal and as planned visited Expo ’67 for a few days before starting our long road trip to Vancouver. Canada welcomed us with open arms especially we found, people living on the prairies. It did however take a long time to drive across the prairies looking at the horizon for hour after hour. Many people commented on our little Austin 1100 and especially on its utter unsuitability to cross Canada. We made it but just.

Not long after we took up residence in Vancouver, while driving the 1100 (marketed as an Austin America to unsuspecting Canadians) my wife was involved in a fender bender.) The other party, a woman, jumped out of her car and announced that she was Mrs Docksteader, that she was totally to blame for the incident and not to worry as her husband owned Docksteader motors, a well known Vancouver body shop. The car was taken to the shop in short order and a couple of days later I received a call from Mr. Docksteader. “When and where did I have it sprayed” he asked anxious to match the blue paint. Of course I told him the car was only months beyond brand new so no I had not had it sprayed.

The Austin brand was part of a conglomerate called British Motor Holdings. Mr. Docksteader had contacted them in the UK. They had assured him that the paint was not one of theirs. “They have it wrong” I insisted the car is almost brand new. Of course the paint is one of theirs. “Sir” he said. “this car has been painted recently and whoever did it did a lousy job”. He also said that it had not been properly prepared and not only that, the previous colour was white!

The penny of course dropped. My Barrow-in-Furness dealer, knowing I would soon be long gone to Canada, instead of bringing in a Blue 1100 as I had specified on the order simply and crudely as it turned out, just sprayed over the existing white finish likely with no preparation whatsoever. To their credit BMH Canada accepted full responsibility and Mr. Docksteader got on with painting the car the specified blue doing an excellent job of it courtesy of the now long gone if not lamented BMH.

Predictably, being a British car of the late ’60s, the Austin 1100 was a lemon. Various things soon went wrong fortunately at least after making it to Vancouver. Some were under warranty some not. Memorably the fuel pump failed. The third new one installed by the Vancouver Austin dealership was the first one to work! In 1967 the road to Whistler was gravel from Squamish to Whistler. I drove the route soon after our arrival. The roughness of the ride beyond Squamish caused fluid to leak out of the ‘hydrolastic’ as in hydraulic suspension but only on one side. The car started to list to port (left) emulating a sailboat. By the time we made it back to Vancouver the list was about 25 degrees as was mine. 

After sailing one evening I unlocked the car, started the engine and was just about to release the clutch (remember them?) when I noticed it had a radio. Ours did not! My key I speculated, likely fitted many 1100s certainly the (also blue) one I almost ‘stole’. Why I did not buy the car with a radio I do not know – probably I thought the frequencies used might be different in Canada. Of course they are not. The car started jumping out of top gear. All this and more in less than a year. If we sold it before the year was up we would have to pay import duty so I sold it (to a young mechanic) just after the year was up. RIP. The car that is not the mechanic.

To it’s credit the car did save my life. Late one night I was returning home from the marina where we kept our sailboat. Uncontrolled, ungated railway crossings to my knowledge are unknown in the UK hence I had zero experience of them. In fact I was amazed when I arrived to find that there were and are so many in Canada and the US. It was dark, cold and raining. I stopped at such a crossing not far from the marina. The heater fan was on full and very noisy as were the windscreen wipers. Perhaps I was tired and in a hurry to get home. I was about to move across the tracks. Just as I started to release the clutch (remember them?) the engine hesitated. (what else was new?) In that moment I became aware of a very bright white light appearing it seemed from out of nowhere slightly to my right. It got even brighter and at that point my very urgent attention. I briefly froze and in a second, yes a second, a passing freight train was front and centre. The car’s hesitation in moving off and the powerful beam from the engine, I have always felt, almost certainly saved me from early demise.

I have never owned a British car since.