The 1978 Midas and its talented creator appear largely forgotten. Neither really ought to be.
Even amongst those who breathe petrol vapour for pleasure, Harold Dermott is not a household name. And this is a pity, for he is intrinsically linked to two of Britain’s cleverest and most dynamically accomplished enthusiast cars. That they represent polar opposites upon the affordability spectrum is largely irrelevant – both are equally rare sights today.
But while one is rightly celebrated as arguably the pinnacle of road-car development, the 1978 Midas remains a neglected automotive footnote – a matter which not only belies the craft and ingenuity of its design and construction, but also speaks volumes as to how the automotive world values its innovators and outliers.
Having graduated with a BSc in mechanical engineering, Harold Dermott joined BL in the early ’70s, working on engine development for Jaguar. However, following the notorious Ryder Report, prospects looked bleak for a young, ambitious engineer, and having departed the embattled carmaker, he obtained the rights to Continue reading “Little Wonder”
DTW might wonder if symmetry is overrated. Sean is sure it isn’t.
There’s a lot to be said for a well-balanced world. At least I think so though, never having experienced one, I can’t be sure. Nature has a liking for symmetry and does its best. Sure, one side of our face is never a complete mirror image of the other, and there’s always the odd flatfish, but that’s splitting hairs and, generally, it seems that nature abhors asymmetry.
And so to motoring. Based on the ‘if it looks right, it is right’ principle, to my way of thinking a car that is supposed to go round both left and right corners should be symmetrical through its longitudinal centre. And, at first glance, most cars do seem symmetrical when viewed from the front, back or top. That suits me, since I have always had a liking for symmetry that, in the past at least, has bordered on the obsessive. Continue reading “The One-Sided Argument”
As soon as cars got wide enough, it was taken for granted that you would fit three people in front. So the bench seat was joined in the 1930s by the column mounted gearstick allowing three people to sit abreast in comfort. Of course, as GM’s rather coy little illustration above suggests, the bench had other attractions but, for most, it meant you could squeeze more people in.