Nick Ward plays with an entire litter and has his faith in the breed restored. Once bitten…

Way back in ’74, half of my first proper pay-cheque was blown on a couple of cheap second hand motorcycles. These were intended as replacements for the poor old Excelsior ‘Autobyk’ that had given seven years of unhurried service since I first legally took a motorized vehicle on the road. The first was a smartish black and silver Triumph Tiger Cub, which, with a new battery and some fresh petrol, started immediately. The other, a tatty ex-WD BSA M20 with a thick tar-like finish, was supposed to be a longer term project. However, despite the apparent eagerness of the Triumph to get going, it actually squirted out all its oil, refused to engage gears, broke the kick start spring and generally misbehaved so badly and so depressingly often that the M20 ended up being finished first.
My engineering skills had been honed on Meccano, push-bikes and Hornby trains, so the Excelsior never presented any nasty surprises – such as left hand threads or engine covers that allow the gearbox internals out when removed. The M20 was similarly basic – see also unsophisticated, crude, agricultural etc. Bearing in mind my lack of mechanical expertise, it is perhaps unfair to pile all the blame on the Triumph itself for never, ever running properly. Due to youthful over-confidence – or just plain meanness – I had never bothered to obtain a maintenance manual, so it’s not surprising that small delicate components tended to fly in all directions once repairs were under way. Putting them back in the correct order was guesswork combined with panic; I daresay there are a few tiny parts still lying in darker corners of the draughty passageway that served as a workshop. The pits might be more accurate.
There was a general feeling of relief when the Triumph went to a new owner after a mercifully short, but seriously troubled stay. Over the next 30 years, I gradually expunged all Tiger Cub memories, little imagining that my past failings and resulting prejudices would ever have to be confronted...

Know your enemy

It all started coming back during a conversation with Andy Tiernan regarding some drawings depicting ex-WD machines. He mentioned that a French Army Cub had just returned from complete overhaul and, knowing of my soft spot for smaller bikes, generously invited me to take it out for a spin. And while I was at it, there were four more Cubs of assorted ages and in various states to play with for comparison.
My initial delight at having the opportunity to ride what was effectively a new machine was rapidly overtaken by memories involving loss of knuckles, temper, dignity and self esteem. I began to wonder what might go wrong this time, whether they could beat me again and, if so, would each one do it in turn or all gang up for a major disaster. This wasn’t really paranoia, more a mounting belief in some twisted theory of automotive revenge.
Unusually for me, maturity, experience and rationality intervened at this stage, and a decision was made to study the beast at close quarters. With a little insight, public humiliation might be avoided in the event of misbehaviour or a breakdown – mechanically speaking, that is. So mugging up began in earnest, the information gleaned was not only interesting and illuminating, but extremely reassuring after all those years of self doubt concerning titchy Triumphs.

New dog - old tricks

It is not difficult to imagine why there was such great excitement in ’52 when the new 150cc T15 Triumph Terrier was unveiled at the Earls Court Show. Here was a four-stroke lightweight with rear springing, modern alternator electrics and a four speed gearbox as standard. Moreover, it was capable of speeds of 60mph plus and travelled at least 100 miles on every gallon of precious petrol – an extremely important factor during the continuing postwar austerity and shortages. With an amaranth red finish, shortie versions of the four-bar tank badges and neat nacelle hiding the rat’s nest of wires and control cables, it certainly had the look of the larger Triumph twins. Best of all, particularly for the younger rider, the hard working little engine with its 7:1 compression ratio really blasted out, making it sound much bigger. Deliveries were eagerly awaited.
But it was not until Spring ’53, that the first Terriers went on sale, during which time there had been much activity at Meriden. Since his early days as designer for Ariel, Edward Turner had adopted a policy of using the minimum amount of metal to perform the maximum amount of duty. Whilst the economical use of materials is entirely laudable, taking it too far comes under the heading of skimping and this is what appeared to be happening with the Terrier.
There were serious problems with the new engine – gearbox and crankcase were a single casting, which turned out not to be as rigid a unit as had been hoped. Furthermore, due to the frugal use of metal, engine cases and rocker covers distorted easily and sealing surfaces for gaskets were insufficient. The oil escaped copiously, helped on its way by excessive crankcase pressure due to wet sumping. Shortcomings that were further exacerbated by overheating caused by a poor oil supply, from an undersized tank, and an inadequate oil pump. All this was beginning to sound horribly familiar.
Another economy was the single frame top tube, which joined the headstock at its base, with only the petrol tank to brace the steering head top. In order to prevent splitting, the tank had to be fitted with hefty internal steel plates. The rear chain guard looked absolutely minimal and even the wiring harness was so mean that wires pulled out of the main switch when steering reached full lock. At least an appalling plan to run the crankshaft timing side directly on the crankcase metal was dropped before production commenced – even so, the white metalled steel bush fitted only just coped.

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