Think Panther and you think big slopers, but their lightweight bikes were very popular in their day, too. Steven Myatt peers at a Model 60 a post-WWII holding operation

Writing about Dibbo’s Sloper Panther a couple of months or so ago, I wrote: “They (Panther) used several engine configurations across those years - including a very interesting wide-V V-twin introduced just before WWI - but they are most famous for that original sloping set-up, using the engine as the forward stressed member.”

I know it’s naff to quote myself but, even as I was writing that sentence, I was thinking to myself that I don’t know anything like enough about Phelon & Moore’s smaller, non-sloper bikes. I decided to revisit the brand and learn more. In particular, I wanted to know about the post-war lightweights, which sold in good numbers back then but are fairly rare nowadays and aren’t considered to be high up the list of desirable and sexy motorcycles of the 50s.

But let’s start even further back: Way back, before WWI, that V-twin was intended to be a luxury sidecar-lugger, and work began on it in 1912. It was to be a wide-V, 6hp 750, and used the new Claudel Hobson carburettor. It was a cleverly-designed machine; once the tank was removed the engine could be pivoted forward for ease of access. The capacity crept up to 770cc and the original three-speed ‘box was replaced by a four-speed unit.

In total six V-twin-engined prototypes were made but it was slated for a 1915 launch. It never made it into production for obvious reasons: the military had no use for something so advanced or so complex, and P&M’s wartime production was dedicated to their 31/2hp single. It was a very handsome machine, and would have cost £81-18s, compared to the single’s tag of £65-5s.

The military version of the single was first used by the newly-formed Royal Flying Corps, who sent four of them to every squadron. The P&M machine was also deployed on the British Expeditionary Force’s landing in France, and a couple of hundred were ordered by the Imperial Russian Army.
After the war the RFC - which became the RAF - was a good customer for P&M bikes, and the relationship was a fairly close one. The company prospered through the inter-war years.

When it became obvious that another war was not just on the horizon but was heading towards Britain all too quickly, P&M assumed they would get contracts to make bikes for the military. For whatever reason or reasons, it just never happened. The company was more than bitter about this. P&M, along with most of Britain’s motorcycle manufacturers, was given over to military production. The company settled down to spend the war producing high-quality components for military aircraft, but weren’t able to sell bikes to either the Army, or their established customer, the RAF. Civilian production didn’t stop completely, at least early on, but less than 200 Model 60s were made in the first full year of the war