Morris Marina
"Finally. From Britain, there was the Morris Marina. The unpleasant log laid by British Leyland after Communism crapped like an ichy red blanket over the shop floor." Jeremy Clarkson
| Morris Marina | |
 | |
| 1978 Morris Marina | |
| Type | Compact car/Mid-size car |
| Manifacturer | British Leyland - Austin-Morris (1971-1980)
British Leyland - Austin-Rover (1980-1984) Huandu (1998-1999) |
| Production | 1971-1999 |
| Also called | Morris Ital
Huandu CAC6430 |
| Engine | multiple |
| Layout | Front engine - rear wheel drive |
| Mass | ton |
| Predcessor | Morris Minor |
| Successor | Austin Montego |
The Morris Marina was a compact family car produced by the Austin-Morris division of the notoriously infamous British Leyland from 1971 to 1980 (Ital until 1984 in UK and until 1999 in China). It was meant to replace the Morris Minor, which had been on production lines since 1948—something that already suggested its successor wasn’t really developed but rather hastily put together from whatever was left in the warehouses. The Marina was also sold under the names Austin Marina, Leyland Marina, and Morris 1700—probably in an attempt to confuse customers who might otherwise realize what they were buying. It was assembled in Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, and Malaysia—places where it was most likely seen as punishment from the colonial empire. A total of 1.2 million units were produced, meaning that 1.2 million people experienced deep disappointment.
Development[edit | edit source]
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The Morris Marin was British Leyland’s desperate attempt to replace the Morris Minor— a car from 1948 that had barely changed in its 23 years of production. When Leyland Motors took over British Motor Holdings (BMH) in 1968, the new management quickly realized the company had no proper new model. In a panic, they came up with a plan: stretch the Morris Minor, piece it together from random parts lying around in warehouses, and create a "new" car that was only meant to be produced for a few years.
The Marina was a technical disaster—essentially just a Morris Minor with a different body, the same outdated rear live axle, and components borrowed from the MGB and Triumph Dolomite. The car was so obsolete that even BL factory workers preferred standing around burning trash cans over participating in its production.
The design was handled by Roy Haynes, who had previously styled the Ford Cortina Mark II. And this is where the genius deception came in: Haynes gave the Marina an attractive, relatively modern-looking body and a new interior that at least vaguely resembled the 1970s. At first glance, the Marina appeared to be a contemporary car—a perfect trick to fool unsuspecting buyers who had no idea that beneath its good looks lay an ancient technical catastrophe.
In reality, the Marina handled terribly, rusted quickly, and broke down so often that even other British cars seemed reliable in comparison. For British Leyland, however, it was a success—1.2 million units were sold before customers realized they had fallen victim to one of the greatest automotive scams of the century.
Cars[edit | edit source]
Morris Marina[edit | edit source]
The Marina hit the British market on April 27, 1971—and even then, it was clear that it would be yet another nail in the coffin of any British attempt at competitiveness. British Leyland, a black hole for government subsidies, was already so bloated and corrupt that the mere fact they managed to produce the first unit could be considered a miracle on par with completing a five-year plan in four years. Despite all the industrial action, constant strikes, and general laziness, the Cowley factory somehow managed to churn out up to 2,000 cars per week—at least on paper. In reality, most of the time, workers stood around burning trash cans, pondering how to demand yet another pay raise for work that nobody was checking anyway.
As for the car itself, it was a true symbol of Britain’s decaying capitalism—inefficient, hopelessly outdated, and extremely dangerous. The front suspension was still taken from the 1948 Morris Minor, which meant that the 1.8-liter Marina handled much like a fully loaded freight train—or, in other words, not at all. It refused to turn in corners and, on straight roads, had a tendency to decide for itself where it wanted to go instead of obeying the driver. For those unwilling to risk immediate death, BL offered a "safer" 1.3-liter version, with the power output of 60 BHP and acceleration that was more theoretical than practical. Even worse was the 1.5-liter diesel variant—it could technically run on cooking oil, and that sounds cool. However, with it's whopping 37 BHP, diesel Marina was so slow, that it would lose a race against a tractor.
Despite all these flaws, the Marina somehow sold reasonably well—mainly because it was cheap and offered the dimensions of an Escort but the space of a Cortina. Thanks to this, over a million units were sold, even in countries where buyers otherwise had functioning common sense. The export version was sold in the U.S. as the Austin Marina, which was the perfect irony—a typical Brit on American roads, even more pathetic than a Chrysler K-Car.
Production ended in 1980, after over than million Marinas produced.
Morris Ital[edit | edit source]
The Ital was a spin-off of the Marina, which meant that British Leyland took an already tragically outdated car, added some plastic trim, and pretended it was a new model. Italdesign was mentioned in the name, but their actual involvement was limited to advising BL on how to assemble the parts so the car could at least be physically manufactured. The design was handled by Harris Mann, but with a budget lower than the cost of a pack of cigarettes, his creative freedom extended to different door handles and a slightly altered shape for the rear lights.
Mechanically, it was the same disaster as the Marina—an ancient chassis, a 1.3-liter engine with the power of a lawnmower, a 1.7-liter that tried but failed miserably, and a "flagship" 2.0-liter automatic version that had the lifespan of a snowflake in a furnace. A diesel? Yes, in Portugal, they actually assembled a 1.5 B-series with a staggering 37 horsepower—just enough to ensure the Ital would lose a race against a fully loaded donkey.
In 1982, production moved to Longbridge, where the Ital received minor suspension upgrades, but not even parabolic springs could hide the fact that its steering had the precision of a drunken octopus. After a few years, this automotive insult disappeared—along with the Morris brand. The production lines ended up in China, where the Ital lived on as the Huandu CAC6430, dragging out its miserable existence until the late 1990s.
Reputation[edit | edit source]
The Morris Marina and its bastardized brother, the Ital, are cars that should have ended up in the dustbin of history after their first year of production. Unfortunately, the British car industry at the time operated under the motto: "Make it cheap, make it crap, and then sell it as competition to Mercedes."
Out of the 1.2 million Marinas produced, only about 3,000 have survived. The rest ended up in flames, at the bottom of rivers, chopped up into baked bean cans, or simply rotting in someone’s backyard next to a crumbling caravan.
The Ital is an even bigger mystery – for some reason, their numbers keep increasing. Either their owners have an infinite supply of spare parts (which, given the car’s quality, is a joke in itself), or the Ital reproduces by mitosis like a bacteria. Some claim that if you park an Ital in a garage and close the door overnight, you’ll find two in the morning. That would explain why they are still seen in Britain, even though their ancestors should have long vanished from existence.
The only place where these horrors have survived in large numbers is Birmingham – a city that is falling apart as fast as its inhabitants, a place with radioactive fallout worse than Chernobyl and a Third Hiroshima combined. Where acid rain flows down the streets and corpses decompose faster than the British economy, these cars still roam between the ruins of abandoned homes. Nothing can stop them, for even death itself holds no power over them.
Top Gear[edit | edit source]
Even people who love cars despised the Marina and Ital. Clarkson, Hammond, and May saw in these vehicles something worse than bad design – they saw a crime against humanity.
So, they destroyed them.
- Marinas were smashed with hammers and set on fire.
- They were crushed by bulldozers just to make sure they would never drive again.
- Pianos were dropped on them.
- One Marina coupé was dropped on a Fiat Panda.
And yet, like cockroach swarms, like zombies in a city of the dead, they keep reappearing. There are even more Itals now. They cannot be destroyed. Perhaps they multiply in the radioactive fumes of Birmingham. Perhaps someone is secretly manufacturing them in underground workshops, where deranged mechanics shape cursed steel into the form of these abominations.
Marina/Ital Owners Club[edit | edit source]
Not everyone accepts that the Marina is the worst car to ever roll off a production line. Some people are insane enough to worship it.
When Top Gear was destroying Marinas, a cult of fanatics—degenerate outcasts of society—began to rage. Crawling out of their holes like foul creatures, they screamed with mouths full of rusted metal instead of teeth.
They sent threats.
"Top Gear can eat my shit and die!"
(OI MATE VERY BRITISH)
"Clarkson and his cronies should be hung drawn and quartered. Or is that too good for them?"
(Peak Birmingham behaviour)
"I'm going to sent an email to the BBC, and I don’t care if they don’t read it."
(The peak of anarchist rebellion: sending an email. Who knows, maybe even without spelling errors.)
"If I'll see Jeremy Clarkson in the street, I will poo into my hand and throw it at him."
(Yes. These people resolve disputes with the methods of medieval deranged beggars.)
And how do they deal with critics?
- They hang them from poles made of rusted metal.
- They flay them alive and spread their entrails over a Marina’s hood so the car can "absorb their strength."
- Before death, they force them to drive an Ital until the steering wheel disintegrates in their hands and they plunge into the nearest pit of acid.
Marina and Ital fanatics are worse than apocalyptic murder cults. They believe that one day, when all other cars are destroyed, the Marina and Ital will be the only vehicles left standing.
Manufacturing[edit | edit source]
- The production of these cars had nothing to do with modern industry.
- The factories were full of drunk workers. Before they even considered assembling something in the morning, they drank more alcohol than the crew of the sinking Titanic.
- Every day, several dumpsters were on fire. Sometimes, the entire production line went up in flames.
- Workers went on strike so often that no one really knew when anything was actually being built.
- Quality control didn’t exist. It was just a formality—if a car had four wheels and the engine didn’t fall out onto the floor during transport to the showroom, it was good to go.
- The brakes sometimes worked. Sometimes they didn’t. It depended on the day.
And so, 1.2 million of these mechanical disasters were unleashed upon the world. And even though only a few thousand remain, they are still here—like ghosts of a murderous machine that refuses to accept death.
