Last week I found myself reading through Anders’ recent article on Danish National Drive-it Day (or browsing through the pictures at least) when I noticed his photograph of a Primrose Yellow MGB. Although the car is ubiquitous, it was the owner’s choice of wheels which caught my eye. Large diameter minilites are not unknown on an MGB and while smaller rims look better and rostyles were the factory default in later years, at least the owner had avoided the usual temptation. Notable by their absence were chromed wire wheels.
There seems to be a received folk memory that all British cars of the 1960s and a fair proportion in the 1970s were equipped with chromed wire wheels. This does seem to be a peculiarly British affliction, possibly because our motor industry was especially guilty of clinging to outdated notions of what a sports car was supposed to be, and maybe because of a cultural tendency to embrace nostalgia over progress. I’m okay with the latter point by the way. I positively seek out the past and disapprove of the future with its fancy futuristic notions that shouldn’t be trusted. But regarding outdated notions of what a sports car was supposed to be, consider that BL were still selling chrome bumper MGBs when the Mk1 Golf made its debut, and you could still buy a rubber bumper variant MGB after the launch of the Audi Quattro. The MGB was no great shakes even when new. Compared to the contemporary Ford Cortina Lotus and Mini Cooper S it was already something of a throw-back, albeit one that was attractively styled. Society and culture was evolving rapidly at the time, or at least it was in That London. Despite MG’s aspirations of attracting a younger and groovier customer base, their cars mostly appealed to provincial traditionalists who didn’t live within a one mile radius of Carnaby Street. Whilst the marketing department may have been forceably schooled in what was gear, fab and (later in the decade) far-out, the MGB was never really that kind of car. BL may have later kept up the pretence that “your mother wouldn’t like it” but the average buyer of an MGB was more likely to actually be your mother by that stage. Whilst undoubtedly a sales success, I venture that the sheer number of MGBs still in existence and its status as the archetypal British sports car mean it is the prime suspect when looking for the genesis of the false memory of chromed wire wheels. It’s literally a case of nostalgia on wheels, and nostalgia isn’t a reliable witness.
Bizarrely, these two were sold at the same time. So please, no wires on your rubber bumper MGB!
I’m too young to stand and testify about activities on the showroom floor, but I remember when 1960s cars were knackered old nails still in daily use and I’m confident that chromed wires just weren’t a thing back then. I can probably trace their ill-deserved popularity back to the classic car boom of the late 1980s, when suddenly any old rubbish became worth a fortune (sounds familiar?) before the market crashed when the economy tanked (note this warning from history). Plenty of people were tucked up into expensive rebuilds of cars that were widely regarded as rancid old offal only a few years previously. The prime example of the market at this time was the Jaguar Mk2, elevated to Ferrari money by means of a coat of red paint, retrim in black leather and the finishing touch of… chromed wires. Soon all manner of classics were witnessed wearing horrible charm-bracelet wheels, pre-war technology suddenly becoming the must have upgrade for your Jaguar, MGB, Rover 2000 or GT6. Cars that would never have been equipped with wire wheels from new were now shackled to them. Those cars that may have conceivably had wires from the showroom certainly wouldn’t have had chromed ones, that’s for sure.
The concept of a spoked wheel is nearly as old as time itself, dating back to at least 2000 BC which was absolutely ages ago. The first proposal for wheels made from wire can be traced back to English engineer George Cayley in 1808, but they were not actually produced until Theodore Jones of London applied for a patent in 1826. The French were allegedly the first to use the design for a bicycle wheel. The core design is still familiar today; a centre hub with tensioned radial spokes leading out to a metal rim which is mated to a rubber tyre. The simple design using a single set of radial spokes was ample for the job of cycling, being lightweight and sufficiently strong for the machines of the time. However, such wheels couldn’t be adopted by fledgling motor car manufacturers as the stresses of automotive use were exponentially greater and they would have just folded and collapsed. Their contraptions initially had to rely on wooden spoked artillery wheels whilst two new solutions were developed. Wire wheel design evolved for carrying higher loads by means of tangential lacing, which greatly increased the degree of twisting torque the wheel could bear. Emerging from bicycle technology but given a favourable wind by the motor industry, tangential lacing changed the basic radial spoke appearance of an early bicycle wheel to the inter-laced look of the car wheel. You will note the sound engineering reasons for the tangential wheel, and the lack of any reference so far to chroming. The second automotive technology was the development of pressed steel wheels which became commonplace from the 1920s onwards. Steel wheels were cheaper to produce and more practical for everyday use. Not only were they stronger than wires and easier to keep clean, but they opened the door for the later development of tubeless tyres as you could get the rim to seal properly. By the 1930s, wire wheels were increasingly reserved for sports cars or applications where light weight was an essential attribute. However, if you look at the real supercars of the day, you will notice pressed steel was in the ascendancy.
Quite why wire wheels were even still available by the time the MGB rocked up is a mystery, only explained by traditional people liking traditional wire wheels. In extremis, wires still had their place but by the early 1960s those days really were numbered. Until lightweight magnesium wheels became commonplace in racing, wires still were the preferred solution for ventilating brakes and saving weight. I have long suspected the proliferation of chromed wires on restored Mk2 Jaguars is down to images of Mike Hawthorn sliding a wire shod Jag past the camera. However, firstly you should note that his car was a 3.4 litre retrospectively designated as the Mk1, and secondly Hawthorn wouldn’t have been seen dead on chromed wires. On the contrary, his Jaguar was shod with painted wires on that fateful day when he left the tarmac of the Guildford by-pass. Chromed wire wheels were just not a thing, and that’s where my objection lies.
Just as a car can be aesthetically ruined by the wrong style of number plate, wire wheels are only acceptable if they meet the following criteria. First of all they should be painted, preferably in body colour or black, but certainly the spokes must never be polished or shiny. Next up, they must have been a credible accessory for the car in question. Finally, they must only be fitted where the car’s usage justifies their fitment. Let me offer an example; far more Mk2 Jaguars were purchased new by respectable middle aged professionals than those bought by raffish boy racers. They came with steel wheels and hub caps by default, only sporting wires if the owner was either a new-money spiv or had reason to know the phone number for Coombs (note, you cannot be both). Therefore, your Mk2 Jaguar should be on steel wheels unless you’re admitting to being nouveau riche, or you genuinely plan to drive as if the national speed limit is a concept purely for other people. If you fall into either of the qualifying categories you are permitted to use wires, but only if they are painted. Chromed wires step beyond the outer limits of nouveau riche into something far worse.
The received folk memory that all British cars of the 1960s and a fair proportion in the 1970s were equipped with chromed wire wheels is clearly revisionist rubbish and almost certainly a conspiracy whipped up by the manufacturers of such items. A glance through period press photographs whilst watching old shows on satellite TV will prove it. I’ve outlined the rules above so you can make an informed decision. If you choose to ignore the rules, don’t be surprised if people assume you are some terrible oik, exactly the type of person who had to buy all their own furniture.
I trust this helps to clarify matters.
