Taking a crack at the military market, Norton developed this handsome sv twin. Sadly it was not to be. Signalman Reynolds, JE, does a brief tour
of duty.

Simple fact of life: motorcycle makers need to move bikes through production, out of the despatch department and on to customers who will pay for them. If they offer a wide range of bikes in various colours, the process becomes more complicated and the possible pitfalls are greater, so a production man’s dream
is to have one model made in one colour, to make his life really simple. Ah, if only it was so easy.

The only time bike factories enjoy that sort of run is when the country is at war, and production is concentrated on a chosen model. All you have to do in
that situation is get the military to pay a profitable price for the bikes, but production chappies generally aren’t occupied with the mere commerce of the company. In peacetime life is more complicated, but the military still need to be mobile and their business is well worth having. That’s why Harley-Davidson bought out the Armstrong motorcycle division, the established supplier with specialised knowledge of the large North Atlantic Treaty Organisation market. I’m told there were politics behind that, but as I don’t know what they were, there’s no point guessing. It clearly suited Harley to move aside from their fancy pants normal output and invest in producing smaller, more nimble machines and, as Harley are firmly in the business of making money, it’s a profitable venture.

Many British makers produced specialised bikes during WWII and the years preceding it, when the British Army was tooling up in response to a certain Adolf Hitler’s nasty ambitions. From 1936 to 1944, the military bought 442,157 motorcycles, BSA heading the list with 127,851, followed by Norton (89,061) Matchless (80,916) Royal Enfield (49,255) Triumph (47,144) Ariel (39,667) James (6141) and Excelsior, with 2785 of their little 98cc Welbikes. They actually got an order for 5000 in 1939, but maybe the feedback from the paratroopers it was issued to wasn’t too enthusiastic, so the call-off rate fell short of expectations.
That Norton figure is especially significant because, when they landed a contract in 1936 to supply the 16H side-valve single as the standard military machine, they began to cut back on the racing that had built their worldwide reputation and finally just lent bikes out to their old team riders for the 1939 season; they could see what was coming and were tooled up and ready. The factory had its first proper production line installed to smooth progress and output, which averaged
close to 10,000-a-year over the period of building the 16H for the Allies. Compare that with the most profitable years of the same factory in the late-50s/early-60s, when they were turning out 7000 bikes a year, using the very
same wooden production track designed and installed by Joe Bates, who had been recruited from the rival BSA works. There’s proof of the increased output you can get with one model to make; I’m discounting the military 600cc Big Four sidecar outfit, which was made only in small numbers.
Triumph, led by the wily Edward Turner, took the honours away from Norton when their TRW side-valve twin was selected as the standard machine for the newlyformed Nato in the early-50s. With its stylish headlamp nacelle and telescopic forks it made the old single look outdated, and the exhaust note was much more civilised. Not that irrelevances like these would sway the military
mind, whose criteria included reports from their own riders on comfort and ease of handling and comparators such as the Range of Action at Average Maximum Speed, or how far a squaddy could travel across country if he was in a hurry.

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