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Were There Wolseleys Here?

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Little is known about the Wolseley brand in the United States, because they weren’t likely sold here. Or were they? Pictured is a ca.-1962 Wolseley Model 16-60. Courtesy of Patrick Foster

By now, most readers have probably realized that I really love odd and obscure car brands, both foreign and domestic. Over the years I’ve owned a Sebring-Vanguard Citicar, a Norwegian Think City electric car, two-stroke Saab 96, Austin America and several others. I learned how to drive on a 1955 Packard and currently own a Rambler Rogue convertible (1 of 920 produced), a King Midget Model 3 and a rare Renault Medallion. Among foreign cars, French and British makes are especially cherished. Oh, and I’m looking to buy a mid-’60s Westinghouse electric car when one becomes available. 

One brand I haven’t covered up to now is the wonderful, whimsical, Wolseley. Wheely? Yes, I wheely haven’t. (Sorry, I couldn’t help myself). It’s one of the more obscure English-built cars from the grand days of the British auto industry. I’ve avoided writing about it until now, partly because there are disagreements as to whether or not it was sold in the United States on a steady, official basis by an importer or licensed distributor. Although a couple of online sources insist it was officially imported here for a short time during the 1940s by an independent distributor, there are others who claim it was not. I wasn’t around in the 1940s so I can’t personally verify it one way or another. I’m almost certain Wolseleys were sold in Canada during the 1950s and 1960s and perhaps the 1970s as well. Any Canadians care to comment?

It would seem to me to be a little surprising if no one thought to set up a Wolseley U.S. distributorship at some point during the height of British-car popularity here, roughly from 1948-1972. That was a period when American car buyers witnessed the introduction of a great many previously unavailable foreign car brands whose home markets, busy trying to rise from the ashes of World War II, were still too poor for their domestic automakers to survive without exports. Most astute automakers realized the best way to replace the absent home-market sales volume was to ship their cars to the United States, the legendary land of wealth and prosperity.

Regardless of whether Wolseley or someone else set up an importer/distributorship in that opportune time, it apparently wasn’t successful. The result is that many of the very few Wolseley cars currently residing in the United States were brought over individually by homesick English ex-pats, British diplomats and foreign service officials assigned to the United States. Or, the cars migrated from Canada.

So don’t worry if you’re not familiar with the Wolseley brand; they’ve always been a rare sight in the United States, although they were fairly popular in their home island. For years I worked in a busy foreign car repair shop where we worked on many unusual brands. I don’t recall seeing a Wolseley in for service. We regularly saw Saabs, Simcas, Sunbeams, Siatas and Citroëns — but no Wolseleys.

An old name

A little history: the Wolseley name comes from Frederick Wolseley, an Australian sheep farmer and inventor of a popular sheep shearing machine. One of his employees, a clever mechanic who’d helped him engineer his machine, was a chap named Herbert Austin, who was destined to become one of the greatest names in British automobiles. 

In late 1893, Austin and Wolseley moved to England to set up a factory in the more lucrative U.K. market. Interested in motor cars, Austin also set up a small subsidiary to assemble cars on a very limited basis. But Wolseley had no interest in cars, so around 1900, he had the automobile operation sold to Vickers, the huge armament manufacturer. Under Vicker’s care, Wolseley Motors grew, becoming Britain’s largest automaker and producing some 12,000 cars in 1921. The cars had a reputation for quality, and an extensive model range offered plenty of choice. 

But in 1927 Wolseley ran into financial difficulties, leading to bankruptcy and a takeover by the well-known U.K. automaker Sir William Morris, who initially operated it as an independent brand. However, enthusiasm caused him to overexpand Wolseley production and eventually it faced receivership. To save the brand, Morris merged it into his Morris Motors empire and quickly began to cut manufacturing costs by substituting many Wolseley parts with less-costly Morris/MG parts. Perhaps not surprisingly, the percentage of a Wolseley car that actually consisted of components produced by Morris/MG grew substantially over time, and Wolseley owners felt that the essence of the brand was fading.

Courtesy of Patrick Foster

After World War II, Morris needed to simplify his product lines to reduce costs and Wolseley products became mainly “badge engineered” Morris cars. Wolseley was merged with its sister businesses into British Motors Corp. (BMC), then later into British Motors Holdings (BMH) and, still later, into British Leyland, as Britain’s automotive industry imploded. The Wolseley automobile brand name finally lapsed in 1975.

To me, the styling of 1950s Wolseley cars appears very “Americanized,” which makes me think they were sold in America during that decade. Additionally, the size of the cars seemed more suited to U.S. customers. For example, the 1957-’58 Wolseley 6/90 was a large-bodied sedan riding a 113-1/2-in. wheelbase and was powered by a 161-cid six-cylinder engine. Its’ slab-sided body boasted a stylish upright grille, a la Mercedes-Benz, as well as tailfins similar to the 1958 Rambler Ambassador. The 6/90 cars could be ordered with stylish two-tone paint jobs that rivaled a De Soto or Edsel.

Where to find a Wolseley

Curiously, today you’re much more likely to find a Wolseley from the 1950s than a Wolseley from the 1970s, probably because there were fewer people in North America that still had a fondness for the once-unique Wolseley cars by then. On the other hand, the British Leyland Wolseleys of the 1960s and 1970s have a much more modern chassis, as well as more extensive convenience features. Based on the Austin Mini — and BMC 1100, 1300 and 1800 series — these latter-day Wolseleys featured front-wheel drive, front disc brakes and Austin’s sweet-though-troublesome hydro-elastic suspension.

I don’t suppose it matters much, because I would buy whatever Wolseley that happened to pop up for sale, knowing that the chance of finding another one already in the United States is nil. Of course, one can always buy a car in the United Kingdom and have it shipped here, if one wants one bad enough and can afford the cost of shipping. Either way, if you’re interested in acquiring a Wolseley, make sure it’s solid and in good running order, because finding parts and service here in the U.S. is likely going to be a challenge.

Good hunting!

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