MGB: From Everyday Hack to Enduring Classic

Back in the early ’80s, when I was spannering through college, I was less than thrilled to be sent out in the shop’s navy-blue MGB hack. Chrome bumpers, wire wheels, and a tired hood—it looked as weary as Rigsby’s. Yet compared with my Triumph TR4, Ford Cortina GT, or Mini Cooper, it was a revelation. The B actually handled. It didn’t twist when parked on a curb, the top worked, and—miracle of miracles—there was space for me, my girlfriend, and the dog.

At first, I sniffed at its modest 1.8 liters. But around Norfolk’s lanes, with the hollow growl of its B-series engine, clickety gearbox, and flickering Smiths dials, the MGB proved nimble, reliable, and fun. I even grew fond enough to service it and buy it a new top. So how did this best-seller earn its reputation as “Brown Windsor soup on wheels”? And 60 years on, can we see it in a different light?

1963-MGB Roadster

When MG unveiled the MGB in 1962, no one guessed it would outsell the MGA so decisively. Sid Enever’s design, styled by Don Hayter with input from Pininfarina, delivered a modern steel monocoque at a bargain £950. The press loved it, praising its blend of handling, comfort, and affordability. But time and politics weren’t kind. U.S. safety rules saddled it with rubber bumpers in 1974, and by then, newer rivals like the Datsun 240Z made it look old.

It wasn’t for lack of ideas—MG engineers had sketched replacements from the start. But corporate infighting, British Leyland’s Triumph bias, and the closure of Abingdon in 1979 sealed its fate. Even industry bosses later admitted they’d underestimated the strength of MG’s following.

Today, the MGB endures as an approachable, dependable classic. Perhaps it never had the glamour of an E-Type or the firepower of a big Healey, but for countless enthusiasts, it was and is,

the sports car that delivered. Personally, I’d rather remember that chrome-bumpered B by a Norfolk dyke, picnic in the back, than the boardroom blunders that consigned MG to history.