The story of the Austin 3 Litre is a tale of missed opportunities. What if the British Motor Corporation (BMC) and Rolls-Royce alliance had moved to the next stage of development. Would it have fared better with V8 power and the introduction of Wolseley and Vanden Plas variants? Were its chances of success hampered by a lengthy gestation period and a bungled launch? We’ll never know, but the 3 Litre leaves you with a general sense of what might have been.
BMC and Rolls-Royce announced a ‘technical collaboration’ in January 1962, with Lord Kindersley, chairman of the luxury motor car manufacturer, saying, ‘discussions will be held to examine the problems of both teams’. For Rolls-Royce, it was an opportunity to explore the possibility of launching a smaller and more profitable car than the Silver Cloud, while BMC would benefit from the brand association of working with the world’s most famous luxury marque. The Rolls-Royce-engined Vanden Plas Princess 4-litre R was the only production car to emerge directly from the short-lived partnership, although the alliance led indirectly to the creation of the phenomenally successful Silver Shadow and its sister car, the Bentley T-series. Other projects failed to get beyond the prototype stage, including the Bentley Java: a Vanden Plas Princess 3-litre with a 3909cc six-cylinder F-60 Rolls-Royce engine. This evolved into quarter-scale models of the Rolls-Royce Rangoon and Bentley Bengal, both of which provide a subtle but undeniable link between the Silver Shadow and Austin 3 Litre. The face of a Rolls-Royce, the rear of a Bentley and the centre section of an ADO17 ‘Landcrab’. With such illustrious, albeit tenuous ancestry, the 3 Litre (ADO61) couldn’t fail...
The Silver Shadow arrived in 1965, but it would be another two years before the 3 Litre made its debut at the 1967 London motor show. By then, the motoring world had moved on, so the unveiling of Austin’s new flagship was greeted with an awkward silence followed by a light ripple of applause. The kind of polite clapping you might hear at a village cricket green when a batsman hits the ball to square leg to secure a quick single. Showgoers weren’t bowled over by the cosmetically challenged car, which, for context, arrived in the same year as the NSU Ro80, just a year prior to the Saab 99, and two years after the Renault 16. Hardly rivals, but while this trio looked forward to a new decade, the 3 Litre harked back to a Britain of old. Autocar labelled it, ‘a car that looks right for a judge or a managing director’, but other reviews were less charitable. Even the brochure failed to be enthusiastic about the styling, saying ‘you won’t choose on appearance alone’ and ‘eye appeal will not be allowed to over-rule your discerning judgement’.
It could have been worse. The 3 Litre launched with a pair of rectangular headlights, supplied by Lucas, and shared with the Vauxhall Viva HB. Perhaps BMC was hoping to borrow some glamour from the continent, where rectangular lights were very much in vogue. The company claimed the switch to twin headlights, a positive change, was in response to feedback from customers, who said the lights weren’t up to scratch. Three months ahead of the 3 Litre’s launch, BMC supplied 100 pre-production cars to valued customers, distributors, fleet users, sales reps, technical writers and local government officials, who were asked to provide feedback on all aspects of the car. The late change to the headlights reeks of poor planning, but a prototype photographed in 1963 shows an ADO61 with twin headlights. It’s likely that BMC intended to use rectangular units for the Austin variant, saving the twin headlights for the more upmarket Wolseley and Vanden Plas versions. A Rover V8-powered Wolseley version was built for evaluation purposes, but slow sales of the 3 Litre and fears of robbing customers from the Rover P5B meant that it never came to fruition. A missed opportunity, not least for its likely performance, improved frontal styling and delightful dashboard. The four dials of the Wolseley would have been a marked improvement over the BMC 1800 hand-me-down instrument panel found on the 3 Litre. A Vanden Plas version was also considered but didn’t progress further than a styling mock-up. Dealers showed little interest in the car, so the 3 Litre was robbed of its biggest opportunity to do a passable impression of the stillborn Rolls-Royce variant.
Which meant Austin’s flagship would set sail alone, navigating the choppy waters of a shrinking market for big saloons. For three years, the 3 Litre struggled to say afloat, production limping to just 9992 before the last car rolled out of the Cowley factory in April 1971. BMC harboured dreams of selling 10,000 cars a year, but the 3 Litre never stood a chance. It would be unfair to say it sank without a trace, but it must go down as a commercial failure.
In simple terms, the 3 Litre used the hull and centre section of the BMC 1800, an elongated nose to accommodate a redesigned C-series engine, and all-independent suspension with Hydrolastic units interconnected front to back. To this, add clever load-compensating self-levelling rear suspension, power-assisted rack-and-pinion steering and an alternator to make it a surprisingly innovative car. There were other, less high profile elements, like CV joints rather than Hooke joints for the driveshafts, new engine mountings and a differential mounted in a rubber-insulated casing. Headlines from one of the brochures left the customer in no doubt about the car’s USP: ‘comfort is a three litre word’, ‘a comforting thought’, ‘holds the road and you in comfort’, ‘this is the level of comfort’, ‘the end in comfort’ and ‘tidings of comfort and joy’. The last one didn’t happen, but Austin’s flagship deserved it. Another missed opportunity...
The suspension was both a blessing and a curse for BMC and the engineering team responsible for its development. Early plans were for a car with coil springs at the front and leaf springs at the back, although Armstrong Selectaride and self-levelling suspension were also considered. As late as 1966, the 3 Litre was conventionally sprung, so it’s remarkable that the production version would arrive with such a complex and ingenious set-up. Sir Alec Issigonis famously wanted nothing to do with ADO16, but he did insist on self-levelling suspension. Plans to use rear leaf springs with a combined damper and self-levelling unit came to nothing, which led to the project being mothballed for a while. Step forward Dr Alec Moulton, who created a unique Hydrolastic system for the 3 Litre. The complexity and size of the self-levelling gear made it necessary to separate the rubber spring units from the fluid displacers, with the ride height regulated by a set of hydraulic rams. Moulton, who owned a 3 Litre (MAM 222F) for evaluation purposes, called it ‘a bastard of a car’, but admitted that it represented the pinnacle of Hydrolastic development. As the Alex Moulton Charitable Trust points out, he was probably the only person to emerge from the project with his credibility enhanced.
The engine, a lighter and slightly shorter version of the 2912cc six-cylinder C-series unit found in the preceding A110 Westminster, was a disappointment. Just 124bhp at 4500rpm wasn’t enough to give the 1492kg leviathan the performance it needed, especially when Autocar had already described the unit as ‘dead’ in a review of the MGC sports car. Interestingly, the final 200 3 Litres out of the factory were fitted with the more powerful MGC-spec engine, with black paint rather than the green of the ’standard’ 3 Litre.
Breathing problems, the need to power a pair of hydraulic pumps – one for the steering and the other for the self-levelling system – and the 3 Litre’s weight negated any performance gains. BMC considered using a four-cylinder diesel engine from a Morris truck, and although the 2.4-litre ‘Blue Streak’ engine was also in contention, the 3.5-litre V8 was only a viable option once BMC had merged with Leyland to create BLMC. By then, it was too late.
Reviewing a 3 Litre automatic in 1969, Motor said: ‘When the automatic transmission is set to D1 in which all three gears are used, the performance is adequate without being inspiring. In D2 when the automatic gearbox uses only intermediate and top, the story is different because the car is then very slow, its 0-60mph acceleration time being not much better than for a standard Mini. The alternative manual gearbox version will no doubt be better in this respect.’
It was, but it was left to Downton Engineering to get the best out of the 3 Litre. Boss Daniel Richmond owned an early car (OMW 777G), so it was only natural that the famed tuner would unleash the 3 Litre’s full potential. For £213 13s, a Downton conversion consisted of a modified cylinder head, new inlet manifold with extra SU carburettor, MGC camshaft, a modified distributor, three air cleaners, choke control, progressive throttle linkage and a dual exhaust system, described by Richmond as ‘very necessary’. The result was a car that was quicker and more economical than the factory 3 Litre, with the performance to outmuscle a Jaguar 240. Richmond reportedly racked up 300,000 miles in his modified 3 Litre, which was described by Motor as ‘a pleasantly fast car’. The world needs more ‘pleasantly fast’ cars.
GAN 21J is a so-called De Luxe version of the Austin 3 Litre. In addition to the pre-production cars built for evaluation purposes, a total of 962 3 Litres were produced before the newly formed BLMC unveiled the revamped version in October 1968. Changes included additional soundproofing, softer differential mountings, improved fit and finish of the windows and doors, the rigid door bins making way for ruched pockets, wider and more comfortable vinyl seats, fold-down armrests in the front, a larger steering wheel with horn ring, a new angle for the steering column, more luxurious carpets, solid wheels with chrome hubcaps and front quarter lights. The price increased from £1475 to £1558, with overdrive or an automatic transmission available as extras. Some of the changes were in response to customer evaluation, although a few were implemented prior to the De Luxe model going on sale.
Autocar drove a 3 Litre De Luxe to the 1968 Turin motor show and returned with renewed respect for Austin’s flagship. ‘We probably had preconceived ideas about this long-awaited Austin and greeted it with some reservations. After 2800 miles and comparing it in detail and price with its competitors, we have grown to think highly of it. In particular, we like the substantial, no-penny-pinching construction, restful performance and high quality interior finishings in the British style.’ Two years later, Autocar said the 3 Litre deserved ‘a better and more modern power unit’ but praised its ‘comfort and spaciousness with an air of quality and dignity’.
Fifty-eight years on from its launch, where does the Austin 3 Litre rank on the list of great British disaster stories? Judged on sales, it’s up there with the, ahem, worst of them. A luxury car with an Austin badge was never going to trouble the top sellers, but it fell a long way short of expectations. It’s an even rarer sight today, with around 1 percent surviving death by banger racing, MGC engine transplants and general apathy. Which is a shame, because on the evidence of GAN 21J, the Austin 3 Litre is perfectly pleasant if not particularly fast.
Beauty is subjective, but you could never call the 3 Litre elegant or charming. Imposing, perhaps, but it’s impossible to ignore the link to the 1800 and Maxi when viewed in profile. The rear is the car’s best angle, displaying hints of Bentley, Jaguar, Gordon-Keeble and, this might be stretching things, Facel Vega Facel II. Actually, that is a stretch, but the 3-Litre definitely falls into the ‘nice bum, shame about the face’ category. During our time with GAN 21J nobody had a bad word to say about the styling. A young lad labelled it ‘a proper James Bond car’, while a couple hiking across the moors called it ‘a beautiful old Austin’. The Carlton Grey paintwork of Mike Bennett’s 1971 lends the car an air of opulence and class. One chap, who was extraordinarily enthusiastic about the car, said it was a long time since he saw a ‘long-wheelbase version of the Landcrab’, which, in a nutshell, highlights one of the 3 Litre’s biggest problems. Association with lesser and cheaper models would harm sales, particularly when a Wolseley 18/85 was no less luxurious and an 1800S no slower. If the 3 Litre had launched before the 1800, things could have been very different.
Our first taste of 3 Litre motoring is from the passenger seat, with Mike taking the wheel to talk us through the car’s many idiosyncrasies. Free from the frustrations of the lack of power, this is the probably the best seat in the house. The front doors open at right angles and shut in a manner that’s more a satisfactory clink than a reassuring thud. It’s prestige from a bygone era: dashboard clad in walnut veneer, ashtray and cigar lighter beneath an analogue clock, thin-rimmed steering wheel the size of ship’s helm. The seats, reupholstered in Mike’s car, provide excellent initial comfort but plenty of support when cornering. The speedometer from the 1800 ruins the sense of occasion and reminds you that although you might be a managing director, you’ve got some way to go before you reach the heights of CEO or president. Your kids will be quick to remind you of your status when they discover the absence of picnic tables in the back. A feature reserved for the stillborn VdP version? Probably.
Our turn behind the wheel comes the next morning when the forecast changes from ‘hosepipe ban’ to ‘localised flooding’. We should have paid attention when Mike talked us through the unlabelled toggle switches, because a sudden downpour later in the day results in a frantic struggle to find the lights and wipers. Other complaints include a delicate balancing act for the choke and throttle when the car is cold, a significant ‘thud’ when engaging a gear and a transmission tunnel that robs your left foot of a resting place. It’s cramped in the automatic, so it must be worse in cars with a clutch pedal.
These niggles are soon forgotten once you’re on the move, because the 3 Litre feels surprisingly rapid on the right road. Credit doesn’t go to the engine, which feels woefully underpowered, but to the chassis, which encourages you to press on in a manner most unlike many rival cars of the same era. At low speeds, it’s best to adopt a laid back position – right elbow resting on the window frame, left elbow on the armrest. Mike’s car is fitted with a period correct full-length Tudor Webasto sunroof, which only adds to the sense of occasion. The steering is light enough to be controlled using a couple of fingers but is blighted by a general numbness and feeling of detachment from the front wheels. It’s a shame, because the 3 Litre handles with aplomb, which feels like an appropriate word for the big Austin. There’s a hint of body-roll when cornering, but you can almost feel the back end tucking in when the bend sharpens. This is even more remarkable when you consider the car’s size. At 4700mm long and 1690mm wide, the 3 Litre is a big car, even by today’s standards. That’s the length of a Hyundai Santa Fe – a seven-seat SUV. All the while, the 3 Litre is treating its occupants to the kind of ride comfort you’d associate with a luxury car from the next rung on the ladder. CEO levels of comfort for the managing director on the up. But it’s the accurate steering and composed handling that are the biggest surprises. It’s possible to keep up with modern hatchbacks and crossovers, not by squeezing out what little power is available from the engine, but by maintaining momentum and using a little roadcraft. It’s a car that needs to be driven; with the right engine, it could have been brilliant.
According to Eóin Doyle, writing on the excellent Driven to Write website, BLMC management urged Jaguar to use ADO16 as the basis for the XJ40 programme, initiated in 1972. Jaguar’s former engineering director, Jim Randle, said the proposal, ‘wasn’t treated with great reverence’. Another case of what might have been? Spend time in a 3 Litre and it’s not difficult to imagine the leap from Austin to Jaguar. It has the grace and space; Jaguar could have injected the pace. To focus on the Austin’s zero to 60mph time of around 16 seconds would be unfair, but the fact that it comes at the, quite literal, expense of 15-17mpg is unforgivable.
As it is, the 3 Litre is a hard car to love, but one that’s easy to appreciate. It deserved better than to be labelled a failure and confined to a future of banger races and engine transplants, but at least it has escaped the attentions of those ‘worst cars’ lists you hate reading. This is partly because it is largely unknown, but also because it wasn’t a bad car. Outmoded and old-fashioned, yes, but somehow charming and fascinating in 2022. It also has one of the most under-rated bottoms ever to grace a British car. Thank goodness enthusiasts like Mike Bennett and Neil Kidby are willing to help keep the old dowager alive.
This article first appeared in issue 16 of Classic.Retro.Modern. magazine. Photos by Simon Thompson.