Isn't she cute? It's a Hillman Super Minx. Don’t worry if you didn’t get that first try. Few people in the US seem to have heard of these.
That's the color scheme I had, too, although mine was faded from years in the Florida sun. I purchased it at a used car lot, actually heard it was "only driven by a little old lady to and from church." Didn't believe it for a minute, but that line seemed essential to the car buying process to nineteen-year old me. My uncle, a mechanic for Mercedes at the time, checked out the car and broke into guffaws when he looked under the hood. "The thing is powered by a sewing machine!"
The engine did have a sweet little ticking sound to it. Got decent gas mileage, too, when I could calculate it. The speedometer cable broke and I drove for nearly two years not knowing my speed or miles traveled. This must have been A Feature of the car, because it was broken on every Hillman my mechanic checked in the junk yards. (By the time I bought the car they had long ago stopped importing them from England.)
My mechanic Joe had worked at a local Mercedes dealership, but left to open his own shop. Because he was an old friend of my dad and uncle, he agreed to work on my car. I loved driving into his place. The lot had Jaguars, Lamborghinis, Maseratis, Mercedes - and my boxy little Hillman!
Joe told me that he enjoyed the car because there was enough room for him to work, unlike many of the fancy ones where nearly every square inch under the hood was occupied. My engine took up maybe half the available space - hence my uncle dubbing it a sewing machine. Joe checked for Hillmans in every junk yard he went to - even out of state - and had a collection of parts. The two parts he/we needed that he never found were the above-mentioned speedometer cable and the nut that held the fly wheel pulley on.
The fly wheel pulley fell off near sundown in front of the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach.
There’d been a rattle under the hood for several weeks, but my dad kept saying he couldn’t hear it, it was nothing, etc. I was on my way to a party and heard a clunk when the part fell off. I stopped the car, ran back and picked up the mystery Piece!Of!My!Car! that looked important. And was hot. But, hey, the rattle stopped! Scared that when I turned off the engine it wouldn’t start again and being a broke community college student not willing to pay for a tow, I drove home with a close eye on the engine temperature. Made it to our driveway, strutted into the house in my party dress and heels, greasy pulley in my hand, and announced to my dad, “I found the rattle!”
He about fainted.
Oh, yeah, important bit of info. My dad was a mechanic, too. I handed him the pulley and asked for his keys so I could go to the party. He was so shocked he gave them to me.
Well, the fly wheel pulley nut was missing from every junker Joe checked. Another Feature, I suppose. He rigged up something. Whatever he did, the repair held.
I really loved that goofy little car.
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