Standard, Triumph & related car companies

Copied from the www "During WW2 The Standard Motor Company had operated on behalf of the Government a new "shadow" factory making aero engines. This 1,000,000 sq ft (92.903 sq m) plant in Banner Lane, Coventry, stood idle once the war had ended and Standard's managing director Sir John Black was anxious to find a use for it. Such a large empty factory was also of interest to Harry Ferguson and a deal was struck between the two. As usual Ferguson was to be in charge of design, development, sales and service while Standard Motor Company made the tractors for him."

A cracking film with sound, Minister of Supply visits Standard tractor factory 1948

A couple of early Ferguson tractors photographed on the borders of Yorkshire/Lancashire in 2003

Very nice Pixrobin

As to people who worked at Standard-Triumph, in the period set by the original poster, I must allow as I was one of them. In January, 1967, I joined Standard-Triumph in Export Home Deliveries (EHD). This department was a retail division, a division that encouraged its overseas clients to take delivery of their product in Coventry, use it to tour Britain and elsewhere over a lengthy period, and then import it into their home territory as a "used" vehicle. I was hired because of my fleeting experience in the North American Market (lived there from October, 1964 to September, 1965), so - based on as much - I would be the perfect individual to progress individual orders along the assembly line, meet them in a company Triumph Herald at whatever place they needed to be met, ferry them to the plant for "paperwork" of no significance (since they had paid for the vehicle upon ordering), and present them - at the Meriden location - with their "custom-made" (up to a point) car. Well, it turned out that I was "custom-made", for this job. I knew, with North Americans, at least, the leading players in their political systems, knew the television programs that most of them watched, smoked cigarettes with which they we familiar - Camel Filters - and was generally viewed as a "good egg", one of their own kind, so to speak. So I picked them up at the airport (Birmingham, I suppose), or at Coventry Railway Station, and observed my own rule that - after meeting and greeting - no cigarette reached my lips until the client placed a cigarette/pipe between his or hers. Oh, I was nothing short of a golden boy. And I was - neatly-dressed - if a tad Carnaby Street-ish, close-shaven (not really, because I hardly ever needed to shave, and hardly ever did), handsome in a brutish sort of way (enter, here MikeH, Dutchman - and many others - to deny as much), and with fresh breath and underarms, much cherished by the North Americans. Oh, how I loved that Triumph Herald, a car that could turn in its own length (so a car that could be parked whatever the constrictions), a car that hardly anyone from North America bought, for they desired - and had bought sports cars galore - the TRs, the Spitfires, even Vitesses (the latter being souped-up Triumph Heralds). But the customers enjoyed their time with me, and particularly liked my refusal to accept a tip, as I - dignity, always dignity - suggested that they save such cash against the possibility of their meeting - as they toured their new cars - much worthier candidates in places where the wages/salaries were much lower than in Coventry, the Gem of the Nation. Of course the customers weren't always (though almost always) from North America. Some were Australians, not liking for a moment what they perceived as my obsequious manner (though fully appreciative of my refusing to accept a tip); indeed there we people from all over the world. But my greatest challenge were a group of Argentinians, all men - they had come to study the ways and means of a major producer of automobiles. I took them, after a tour of the entire plant - conducted by others, people without the taint of North American exposure - to the Meriden facility, where they encountered a 1930s Standard car (model not recalled now) which had been rebuilt by apprentices at the location, apprentices who had made the vehicle look akin to something that had just rolled off the assembly line in the main plant earlier that day. I was asked about the vehicle by in Argentinians, in faltering English - Who? How? Why? Summoning up my entire knowledge of Spanish (watching Spanish movies), with a dash of Portuguese (watching Portugese ditto), I replied: " Los Studente fabricato." I was overheard by a Meriden supervisor or manager, who - mightily impressed with my Pidgin whatever - commended me at the time, and subsequently commended me to my boss for my command of languages (as he put it). I received a small pay increase, adding to what I thought of at the time as a not inconsequential nineteen pounds and ten shillings. And all on account of three words in - probably - two languages - though to this day I'm not sure if there was one language or two involved. Based on that experience of long ago, were I asked the same question about the same sort of thing, I would answer: "Los Studente fabricato." In closing what is a warm recollection of my short while - I returned to Canada, this time settling in Toronto, in December, 1967 - with Standard-Triumph, my own car that year was a 1956 Riley Pathfinder 2.5 litre, a car that had its gear-shift to the right of the driver (between the seat and the driver's door), just as it had been when I had learned to to drive in (left-hand drive car) in Hamilton, Ontario. I loved that Riley, for all that I was unable to drag the bench seat far enough forward to be able to floor the accelerator. I am not tall. Herein, then, a story commending my home city's ability to provide job opportunities, my one-time employer's prescience in recognizing a singular attribute (my packet of Camel Filters), and the inability of a group of Argentinians to spot the absence of linguistic skills on my part, for all that they did understand. Yes, for that once bright shining moment I was a master of languages. If there is a demand for such, I later will tell my story of crashing the company's Triumph Herald!

Do tell, do tell!!

Well, I did say later, but a request in show business is a request, so here it goes. I was returning one Friday afternoon to home base, on the highway but within the gates, and was tootling along one of the streets within the plant, a street like all others therein, well in excess of the width of Coventry roads/streets in general. It was after 4pm, and most of the makers/shakers (the people who made, the people who assembled and such) already had left or were preparing so to do. My problem occurred with someone "preparing to do". To maintain the driving thrust of this compelling narrative, I should say that, as I drove along - wise as an owl in the ways of the world - some guy in a Triumph 1300 - a cut above my Herald 1200 - comes bursting from a parking site on my right, ploughs into my (the driver's) side of the Herald. The impact threw me to the passenger's seat at the front of the car, so I had lost control of the steering wheel and the foot pedals. As I righted myself, but still with my body mainly on the passenger's side, I noted a looming metal fence. Quite how I did it, I have no idea, but I did - in a more-or-less upright position - manage to reach the brake with my foot, thereby stopping the Herald as it began the penetration of the fence. The car now stopped safely, posing a threat to nobody, I removed myself (with difficulty) from the severely damaged (save for the front-end) car, and walked back to where the car that hit me was, the driver still inside, and asked if he was okay. Striving to find a reason to blame me for the incident, he asked: "Is that a company car up there? I bet you b------s find a way to blame me for this." He did not ask me how I was. He already had resolved that I - somehow - had placed myself in harm's way by slowing his departure from the plant. He had hit me mid-beam, and - as it later was revealed - the impact of his hitting the car had snapped the back axle of mine, a company car. I asked for a lift to my front office. He declined my request on the basis that he needed to look at the damage to his own car (a broken headlamp, as I recall). Consequently, I walked back to the office, reported the details to my commander, who did enquire as to how I was, did ask if I would be able to work the following (Saturday) morning as scheduled. I replied in the affirmative, and that was that. The car was written off, the guy who hit me was a life-long employee, then serving as one of the foremen on the assembly-line, and such was the ending. The following Monday I picked up a new Triumph Herald, and that was the end of the story, save that I worked that Saturday morning, was black and blue all over, and felt awful. Nary a word was spoken of the incident thereafter. Since I was not of the ilk that would "work" the incident, I considered the matter closed. Black and blue I had been, but that much quickly passed. What bothered me the most, I suppose, was that the driver of the Triumph 1300 never once asked how I was, perhaps because HE was of the ilk that would "work" the incident, though I never paid any attention to his efforts. There, PIXROBIN, the story in full. Not, perhaps crammed with incident, and certainly missing any redemptive qualities, but the story in full.

Hi Longford Lad, You will always get those who don't give a damn and what goes around comes around, we call that Karma in our family so I hope the so called driver you encountered in that unfortunate incident will meet his match one day, if he hasn't already. Thanks for sharing your story with us. Safe driving LL.

C'mon, Longford. You were too distracted wondering why the car wasn't changing gears by itself and how you would order at the drive through while sitting on the wrong side of the car.

Thank you, Dreamtime, for the sympathy vote. I now have to deal with MikeH in London, Ontario, my fellow Canadian, who has given my misadventure short shrift. On this site you meet really fine people, and then there is MikeH, a Hoser.

Ssssh, MikeH, but there may be something of value in what you say. Hold on a minute, though, I learned to drive in Hamilton in a manual. Moreover, I don't know that - in those days - there were any drive-throughs. That is not to say that Hamiltonians did not drive through retail establishments then, for drive through they did, but I think it was against the law. I think you missed the obvious, MikeH - from the time I learned to drive a car while sitting in the left hand seat, I always found that position natural. No wonder I couldn't reach the steering wheel or the foot pedals!

I guess the foreman had something on his mind - and it wasn't a driving force. Soon after the Herald was introduced I accompanied my father when he had to deliver one to the Mercedes Garage on the Great West Road. They wanted to compare it with the midget Audi that had recently been put on market. But, parked on the lot was a Mercedes gull-wing 300SL. I drooled. One of their drivers was delivering it to a customer in Birmingham and asked my dad if I'd like a lift home in it. I was in the dream machine almost before my dad had chance to answer. It's the only car I've ever been in where you had to slow down for the bends on the M1. I got dropped off at the Phantom Coach and just floated home from there. My dad arrived 2.5 hours later. I now own a Mercedes 300SL - shame it is just a 1:43 die-cast model.

Gull-wings are huge money now robin!

Just not in 1:43 scale.

On about security at RR, I thought this one belonged here. On good authority, who is now dead so does not matter. He was in a position to report but turned a blind eye to what went on at work. In the sixties it was suspected that a large fraud was going on with spare parts so security was stepped up, searching of bags and vechicles, to no avail. If they had changed their search tatics they may have found the fraud. It was on a huge scale. The vechicles drove into work empty and drove out empty but drove in and out was the point, new engine, new gearbox, wheels, axles. You name it, it was fitted on night shift. On one instance a total rebuild in one shift.