Pardon Monsieur? Un 2CV?

 

1989 Citroen 2CV

In 1934 when Michelin took over the bankrupt Citroen Car Company, they commissioned a market survey.  What vehicles should the company look to develop?  Away from the bright lights of Paris and the cities, France had a mainly rural population.  Cars were expensive and somewhat fragile.  These country folk used the horse and cart as their preferred mode of transport.  If Citroen could tap into this market, they could make a killing.  To do so they would need something new and radical.

A design brief was prepared.  The new car should be low cost, rugged, able to transport four people and 50kg of farm goods at 30 mph on poor rural roads.  It should be cheap to run with a fuel economy of 95 mpg and should be able to transport eggs across a freshly ploughed field without breakage.

By 1939 the Toute Petit Voiture (Very Small Car) was ready for launch and preparations were made for the unveiling at that years Paris Motor Show in October.  However, with the outbreak of war in September, the project was put on hold.  Fearing that the Germans would adapt the TPV for military use, as had happened with the Volkswagen Beetle, the prototypes were hidden across France.  Three of these were only rediscovered in a rural barn in 1994.

1937 TPV Prototype

It took until the 1948 Paris Motor Show for the 2CV to arrive on the world stage.   In the intervening years Citroen had refined the design by improving the engine and developing a four-speed gearbox.

The motoring press were not complementary about the very basic car.  The 9hp engine could only propel the car to a maximum speed of 40 mph.  An American journalist asked if it came with its own can opener.  Despite these criticisms Citroen were flooded with orders, so much so that there was soon a five-year waiting list with second hand examples more expensive than new due to their scarcity.  Even so by 1952 Citroen were producing 21,000 cars a year.

Through the 1960's the car was continuously improved, so that by 1970 the new 602cc engine was capable of 22hp.  The windscreen wipers were now electric instead of relying on the speed the car.  The speedometer received a backlight so a driver could monitor their speed at night and the bench front seat was changed for two separate seats.  Seat belts were even fitted as standard from 1974 onwards.

The last 2CV was built in 1990, a remarkable run for a car that was designed in the 1930's and remained mostly the same until the end of production.  In total almost four million were built.

So why this automotive history lesson?  I shall enlighten you.  Mrs P loves them.

My wife is a huge fan of the Art Deco style.  The 2CV with its curves is unlike anything else.  A cheap to run classic car that evokes the style of the 1930's but is modern enough to remain useful even today.

So what? I hear you ask.  Well dear reader it's like this.

Whilst falling down one of her evening internet 'rabbit holes' she spotted a 1984 example, running and driving with a long MOT for less than a grand.  It sparked a bit of discussion between us.  We could keep it in the garage, it'd be ideal for the youngest to learn to drive in, parts are plentiful and cheap etc.  By the time we'd given consideration to going and having a look, it had sold.  As the saying goes "He who hesitates is lost."  So now I'm spending my spare time scouring the internet for a reasonable and cheap, (emphasis on cheap), 2CV.

Should we get something that we can restore, without too much expense over the winter? Should I try and film the restoration for YouTube to help finance it?  Are we completely bonkers?

2CV or not 2CV? That is the question.

Answers in the comments below please. 

The Healing Consensus of a Pint of Beer.

Bentham Station

It's a grey Saturday morning and I'm in a rush.  Got to get the 8:04 train.  I'm fighting the effects of last night's wine and I could murder a bacon sandwich.  Rushing down Station Road the bakery is open, time for coffee and a sandwich?  No, it's 8:03 and there's a queue.  Better get that train and pick something up at Lancaster.

I reach the platform and I hear the train approach.  A couple of other hardy souls are up at this hour.  Hang on, the destination is only Carnforth, this train doesn't go as far as Lancaster.  I can meet my connection there and at least Carnforth has a cafe, trading on its appearance in Brief Encounter.

I climb aboard an almost deserted train except for the middle-aged woman having a very loud telephone conversation.

"No Clapham.  Yes, not that one.  Yorkshire. Y-O-R-K-S-H-I-R-E! No Carnforth.  Yes, I'm hoping for a brief encounter of my own ha-ha."

I plug in my earphones.

Twenty minutes and we arrive.  My connection to Manchester is on time, just a ten-minute wait.  I approach the cafe and find it shut.  A grumbling stomach and a mild hangover are reminders I should have gone to the bakery.

Piccadilly is busy and I walk with the throng from the though platforms to the station concourse.  A walk that makes a trip to a Weatherspoon's toilet seem short.  There by the departure boards is Tim.

"I need breakfast." 

He nods sagely at my friendly greeting.  We take a short walk to a trendy cafe, where Greg joins us.  We three devour a full English each and feel much better.

Martyn is texting, he is about to arrive at Piccadilly.  We walk back and meet him, ready for a day of making plans and beer, plenty of beer.

We find a small pub on Portland Street, The Grey Horse, just opening up.  A couple of pints in and things are going well.

Grey Horse Inn Portland Street

We want to play together again.  Doing so at a distance is ok, but could we try a proper rehearsal? Martyn doesn't own a drum kit of his own. Tim has one at home.  Should we use an electric one?  Could we record the basic tracks as a band and then do overdubs later from a distance?

The search is on for a venue and date.  We move on to the Old Monkey where there is a quieter bar upstairs.  More beer helps develop a consensus.  Then the message we've all been hoping for.

"Jobs done, on my way bitches."

As only a bass player can, James announces his unexpected attendance at the summit.

He catches up quickly.  He's all in like the rest of us.  Let's do it.  More celebratory pints are quaffed.

Too soon I have to leave.  It's a two-hour train trip home for me and there aren't that many trains to Bentham.

We've agreed the songs to play, we've booked a rehearsal studio for the start of October.  We are, after 26 years, officially, back.

L-R: James Greg, Tim, Matt, Martyn

On Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth

HM Queen Elizabeth II

The Summer of 1977.  I was not quite four years old.  The United Kingdom was celebrating the Silver Jubilee of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II.  

Events began on 6th February, with church services marking the date of her accession to the throne.  A busy year of Royal visits followed, first to the Commonwealth and later around the United Kingdom itself.

That year my dad was appearing in the 25th year of The Mousetrap at the St. Martins Theatre in London's West End.  On Jubilee Day, Tuesday June 7th, The Queen travelled by the gilded state carriage, not used since her Coronation, from Buckingham Palace to St. Pauls Cathedral for a service of thanksgiving.

The Gilded State Coach on its way to St. Pauls Cathedral

That damp June day, my mother and I left my dad to perform his Matinee and walked from the theatre, through the back streets from St. Martins Lane to the bottom of Regent Street.  There pushed forward by helpful strangers to the safety rail, standing on an orange box, I saw the procession pass on its way to St. Pauls.  The magnificent golden coach shimmering in the sun.  The Queen and Prince Phillip waving to the crowd, followed by The Prince of Wales, riding a black Gelding, almost unrecognisable underneath his Guards Bearskin and bright red uniform.  The clatter of hooves, the marching boots and the cheers of the crowd, the unapologetic pageantry are seared into my memory.  I still have the toy Silver Jubilee Routemaster that my mum bought me in Hamley's afterwards.

Corgi Commemorative Silver Routemaster

Little did I realise back then, that this was the only time I would ever see Her Majesty 'in real life'.

That isn't to say I've been deliberately ignoring the Royals.  I've done the tourist trails at Windsor Castle, driven past Buckingham Palace looking to see if the Royal Standard was flying to show if The Queen was in residence.  My primary school was overrun by journalists in 1981 when they discovered Lady Diana Spencer lived in a flat around the corner.  I even saw Princess Anne open the Road Haulage Association HQ in Weybridge back in the early 1990's.  It's just that Her Majesty and I haven't crossed paths again.

However, like so many people I must confess I was surprised by just how emotional I felt at the Queen's passing.  It is difficult to explain just why I was choking back the tears as Huw Edwards delivered the news:

"A few moments ago, Buckingham Palace announced the death of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II"

Even typing the words has me filling up with emotion.

Perhaps it was The Queens devotion to her duty, her longevity, her kindness, her wicked sense of humour, all qualities to be deeply admired.  Maybe it's because my own Grandmother is still alive and the same age.  Whatever the reason, the loss of someone that has been part of everyone's lives for so long has been deeply affecting.

The scenes of public grief have been remarkable, like something from an earlier age.  The Royal Family, having to grieve in public, have shown the sort of stoicism and dignity for which the Queen and the late Prince Phillip were well known for.  For this alone they all deserve great credit.

Watching King Charles make his first address to the nation, in what must be a time of great personal loss, he showed the dedication to duty for which his mother had long prepared him.  It seems that he is trying hard to live up to her example of service and duty.

Having had the benefit of The Queen's wisdom for so long, the whole world is a poorer place without her.  It is almost certain that we will never have another Queen in my lifetime. We will certainly never know another Monarch like her either.

The Queen is dead, long live The King.