My first car wasn’t really a car at all, it was a van, but a very special van, the Morris J/B. This was Britain’s answer to post war transportation designed for a network for short trips between villages within a radius of six to ten miles. Against the Australian reality of agoraphobic spaces and nothing much in between; through geographic dislocation, the J/B survived in suburbia as an ‘outsider’ amongst the brutish Fords and Holdens. Like the Morris Minor, the Herald, and the A 30 the J/B exuded a sense of eternal optimism against the odds. Though, as the semi ubiquitous bakers van, it performed admirably.
Life with me began in 1984, my cousin and I noticed a green J type parked around the corner in Pigdon Street. It had “The Wooly Jumpers” crudely painted on the side in Dulux house paint. After a couple of months we decided to approach the owners and ask if we could buy it. They agreed, and so it was that the Wooly Jumpers entered into the carnival of student life. If I compress the narrative I can say several things, it carried a lot, was greatly loved, was the setting for numerous episodes and in spite of the absence of brakes, and safety apparatus, a pleasure to drive, the engine safely cocooned next to the driver.
It eventually arrived at the farm, I put it in the shed, the farm was sold, and for eleven years it sat at a winery. Here was a logistics crisis of sorts as I had to decide which of the inoperative vehicles I now owned, the Triumph Dolomite, the Triumph Herald, or the van would be worth repatriating.
The Dolomite had caused a lifetimes angst for little recompense, so I gave it away, feeling sorry for the poor bastard I gave it to. The Herald, a victim of my “partial restoration”, probably remains to this day, surrounded by apples and peaches in the “little orchard”. I would pay infrequent visits as a homage, and at last having moved past the most time deficient stage of life with my smaller children that little bit older, I retrieved the van, and moved it to a new place closer to home. Last weekend I retrieved the engine, and in the process discovered that the van establishes a missing link for a growing retinue of van enthusiasts who covet them, having ignored their beauty in times of yore as I did.
It is just a vehicle, but to me the embodiment of simplicity, and utility, with a humanistic touch. I often wonder, if we followed the example set by Hindustani Motors and still manufactured a Morris Oxford, would I be the first to purchase a “new” Morris J Van. It’s not the getting to point A from point B that really matters, but the journey itself. And the journey, each sequence a little odyssey, connected to people, and the land – such were the frequency of breakdowns, you’d get to meet an awful lot of people.
For images of this vehicle click here