Back from the Brink: Maestro & Montego
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n short shrift of becoming the BL Chairman at the end of 1977, Michael Edwardes formulated a plan that would bring the range of cars kicking and screaming into the 1980s. He had already turned his attention to the Metro and now he needed to get a plan of action in place for the mid range cars. Initial work had begun on the mid-sized hatchback ADO99 earlier in 1975, but in the climate of uncertainty prevalent in the Ryder years at British Leyland, it was slow going. This intended replacement for the Maxi and Allegro enjoyed a leisurely development programme, until the point that the TM-1 was axed, when it suddenly became rather more important to the company’s future plans.

Funding was always a worry – and because of the stop-go nature of industrial relations at the time, the Government was reticent about giving the ailing company any more handouts. Edwardes and Ray Horrocks thoroughly evaluated this programme and viewed it as a viable car on which to base their future corporate strategy. Because the ADO99 programme had been given full managerial backing, the newly invigourated programme was renamed LC10. With this change in project number, a door had finally been closed on the past – the long-running ADO model numbering system, that had been around since the mid-Fifties was no more.

Harris Mann sketch for the proposed mid-sized hatchack. What emerged was rather more conservative...

Within double-quick time, Edwardes approached the Government to lay out his plans: There would be the LC8 small car (the Metro), the LC10, the mid-sized hatchback and notchback to replace Allegro, Marina and Maxi. There would also be the LC12 and LC14, the sports model and the LC14, a larger, more luxurious version of the LC10 – latter day SD2; whether these cars would appear in the fullness of time would depend on how successful the LC8 and LC10 were.

Now, Edwardes was well and truly at the helm of the company and was in a favourable position with the Government, he quickly secured this funding in order to finance this essential new model programme. As explained previously, he cancelled projects where necessary, in order to focus resources on the new cars, killing the development of anything else that was considered superfluous to these plans.

And there were some interesting cars that did not see the light of the day to make way for the Maestro and Montego:

·   Allegro Four with two-tone paint – thankfully we did not see that one!

·   Rover SD-1 Estate: Michael Edwardes used to run one, but we could not.

·   Princess Estate: Potential to be a useful load-lugger.

·   Triumph Lynx: Speke closure and a questionable sales potential were responsible for this one's early demise.

The choice to the Government was an easy one: they could continue to invest in the beleaguered company, knowing that industry in the Midlands would be decimated by any decision that involved closure. Labour had a lot of MPs in the Midlands at the time in marginal seats. Going into the 1979 Election was going to be tough enough without having alienated the electorate in the Midlands by potentially pulling their jobs from beneath their feet.

Government were also acutely aware of the fact that Edwardes had laid out plans to close several factories in the Midlands and although, they knew that these painful cuts would be needed to save the car company, it cannot have made knowledge of this any less painful for the men in Westminster. Edwardes also would not start closing these factories until after the General election in 1979, so in the run-up, it would make good press to accede to the wishes of Michael Edwards and give him the finances he needed.

So although the Politicians had been appeased, what exactly were the LC10 models and how would they fit into the market?

The first decision made was to push ahead with the hatchback car. There was a universal love for the saloon in the UK market, but as it was important for British Leyland to re-establish successful export sales, the LC10 would be the first of the two cars to be launched. The LC10 saloon would follow rapidly after, within the space of a year in fact, but as the two cars shared a great deal of their underpinnings, the development of both cars would be run together.

In terms of European volume sales, the LC10 would be the major seller, so plans were rapidly drawn up rapidly for a Two-box hatchback in the mould of the Volkswagen Golf and upcoming mark 3 Ford Escort. The B-class of cars in the European market was rapidly growing and since the arrival of the Volkswagen Golf in 1974, the template for the cars in this class was set: Front wheel drive, engines in the range of 1100cc and 1600cc, a 94-96 inch wheelbase and importantly, a hatchback rear door.

The car would employ almost completely conventional engineering unlike the Metro, as dictated by engineering chief, Spen King – Hydragas suspension was not considered, the Maestro would be suspended by the VW formula of front MacPherson struts up front and trailing arm rear suspension. This was no doubt, a political decision made by King, who was a man who always preferred a conventional engineering solution. He believed that the extra weight and cost of Moulton's suspension system was no worth the benefits that it offered. In reality, by the time the Austin Ambassador appeared in 1982, the benefits of the system had been demonstrated in the best possible way.

This quaint photograph demonstrates that CAD/CAM was used extensively in the development of the LC10, helping speed up the process of productionisation. Much of the stressing of the body was processed on these systems before prototype building and so, therefore, the Maestro was blessed with impressive torsional rigidity.

The question of what engines were to be used in the LC10 was a more easily resolved dilemma. There was no money to develop new engines, so the Venerable A-Plus engine would be used in the entry-level Maestro and a development of the Allegro/Maxi E-Series engine would be used in the 1600cc Maestros. A lightly modified version of the E-Series unit, called the R-Series was devised to power the LM10 until the thoroughly revised version, called the S-Series could be produced and pressed into service.

The R received some of the developments planned for the S-Series, the ones that needed little development such as a modified water pump and a clever electronically controlled carburettor, but it was nothing more than a stopgap. In 1600cc form, the R-Series with its siamesed bores and lack of water jackets between the cylinders, the engine proved to be more efficient than the former 1485cc and 1748cc versions, because in this displacement, the inlet and exhaust valves, which were considered too small for the 1.7-litre engine and too large for the 1.5-litre engine, were perfectly-sized in this interim engine size.

The S-Series was a useful improvement over the R, incorporating a belt-driven overhead camshaft, fully ECU controlled timing and a more compact induction system, which allowed for a much lower bonnet line on the LM11 than the LM10 Maestro, the recipient of the S-Series.

Why Austin Rover never went straight to the S-Series in the Maestro was simply the old time constraint argument yet again, they would not manage to get the S-Series finished by March 1983 and so the stop-gap R Series was pressed into service.

So illogically, when the Maestro was released, it was heralded with having a new 1600cc engine, but when the Montego followed, 13 months later, this too was heralded with the new engine; the S-Series. R was dropped from the Maestro barely Six months later, killed after barely eighteen months!

Politically, the use of the E-Series engine was an expedient move because within British Leyland, there was major excess in capacity for production of the OHC engine at Longbridge. The O-Series engine that was used in the Princess and the Rover 2000 was at the lower limit of its engine capacity in 1700cc form and would be too big in displacement for its intended market. The O-Series also had the disadvantage of physically being a larger unit than the E-Series and, therefore, more difficult to package.

The A-Plus engine in 1300cc guise was still a very efficient engine, thermally, and with addition of electronic control for its SU carburettor, it would improve on its remarkable potential for economy. There was no question that the old Mini and Metro arrangement of a gearbox-in-sump would be used, as it would not be good enough for the market it was intended for: four gears in your 'box would not do. Also, the lack of refinement in this arrangement might suffice in the Mini and Metro, but for the LC10 and its middle-market pretensions, nothing less than an end-on gearbox with a five-speed option would do.

British Leyland had designed a new gearbox to meet this task, but Ray Horrocks made the decision that the cost of putting this in production would have been too much and so, shopped around for an alternative unit. The best in the class at the time was the slick shifting 'box in the Volkswagen Golf, so an arrangement was made, early in the LC10's development to buy in four and five-speed units, straight off the production-line at Wolfsburg. This would erode into the profitability of the LC10, but the compromise was considered to be worthwhile. There were also further talks with Volkswagen to co-develop a diesel engine for future use, but these amounted to nothing.

Both engines would need to be mounted the opposite way round (i.e., turned around 180 degrees) in the Maestro engine bay than they would in their predecessors. The reason for this was so that the VW gearbox could be mounted on the end of the engine – a happy side effect of this was that the electrical ancillaries on the A-Plus series would be at the back of the engine, against the bulkhead, not at the front of the engine, exposed to the elements, as they were in the Mini and Allegro, to the disdain of their owners.

The question of styling was never an issue, where it had been in the development of the Metro. David Bache, as overall chief of styling and design at British Leyland had taken control of Maestro styling from the point of its go-ahead in 1979. He quickly oversaw the development of a glassy, five-door design that had echoes (but not unpleasant ones) of the Maxi and Allegro, but with styling cues from the Rover SD-1 thrown in for good measure. The design for the Maestro was officially attributed to Ian Beech by Austin-Rover at the car's launch in March 1983, but the concept was very much the creation of David Bache's.

There was also a proposal forwarded by Harris Mann, the stylist of the Allegro and the Princess, but this car, shown to the BL board late in 1979, fared badly in comparison with the Bache proposal, so was not pursued. But the existence of this car demonstrated yet again that there was still a great deal of competition within the company, this time, between the Solihull office (David Bache) and the Longbridge Drawing office (Harris Mann).

Harris Mann had proposed this hatchback design for the LC10; very similar to the Bache-designed Maestro in its proportioning, but with distinct GM Europe design cues (the 1981 J-Car Cavalier in particular). It is debatable that the car would have sold any better than the Maestro, but it did look a more “conventional” design. It also paid none of the homage to its predecessors, the Maxi and Allegro that Bache's version drew inspiration from.

When the design was signed-off in December 1979, the engineering for the car followed a predictable path. The marketing department within British Leyland ensured that the styling clicked with targeted buyers, running countless customer clinics to ensure the detailing of the car was just right. Not much tweaking of the neat and tidy Bache concept was required, but significantly, the cars that the LC10 was pitched against were generally first generation family hold-alls such as the Mk1 Golf and Renault 14. The most fearsome opposition to the car was still in development, such as the MK2 Golf and Opel Kadett/Vauxhall Astra.

Production engineers worked on the Maestro, developing it so that it would have all the features that would be required in a car of this class. The underpinnings of the LC10 ensured that it had a long wheelbase of 98 inches, as it would need to share many parts with the LC10 saloon, a larger car. The development of the Maestro was governed somewhat by the need for it to sit on a shared floorplan with the larger LC10 saloon – the Montego, as it emerged, needed to be a larger car than the traditional booted hatches, such as the Volkswagen Jetta, being pitched at competing with the larger fleet car competition such as the Vauxhall Cavalier.

The development of the LC10 models centred on tuning the ride and handling to be as competitive as possible, so Spen King and his team aimed for a compromise of taut handling and an accommodating ride. With the basic components of MacPherson struts up front and trailing arms at the rear (the classic set-up of the day), the ride was never going to offer the compliancy of the Hydragas suspended models, but with long wheel travel and variable rate springs, a very good ride/handling compromise was reached.

The design of the interior followed corporate thinking, with a low-line dash and well-shaped seats. Like the Metro, British Leyland wanted to make the interior of the LC10 as practical and adaptable as possible. Like the Metro and its predecessors, the Maestro had a dash-top shelf and voluminous stowage areas.

Vanden Plas interior was a very habitable area and very civilised, note the wood capping on the doors. What are not evident in the picture are the gruff and unrefined engine, the sloppy gearbox and ponderous steering.

One “advancement” that the production engineers wanted for the Maestro, was a solid state, all electronic dashboard display. The reasoning for this was simple: the marketing strategists wanted to portray a high technology image for the Maestro. Drivers would not see the electronic carburettor control or the high technology wiring that the Maestro contained, but they would see the digital dashboard, so in March 1983, when the Maestro was launched, the top models would come with the said item.

But, not only was the instrument display digital, with LED readouts and computer, but the electronic package also included the synthesised voice of Nicolette Macenzie (ironically, from New Zealand), which would warn you when your fuel was low or you needed to fasten-up your seatbelts. Needless to say, this option was short lived and the thankfully, the voice synthesiser had a volume control/off switch. Most owners made use of it!

As the LC10 neared production, the design and implementation of the LC10 saloon went ahead. Whereas the Maestro was pretty much the product of one man, the LC10 Montego was not. David Bache left British Leyland in somewhat acrimonious circumstances in 1981 and when he left, the Montego was well advanced in its development and production engineering was also well under way, but the styling had yet to be signed off.

Above: Digital dashboard was the talking point for the Maestro – literally. The synthesised voice of actress Nicolette Macenzie made sure of that.

The Montego was taking shape behind the Maestro as the larger car it was designed to be – the wheelbase was modestly stretched by 2.4 inches but due to engineering changes detailed later, the Montego was given a lower bonnet line and longer, more tapered nose. The major changes were to the rear of the car, where the boot was added, but in an inelegant way, rather like most notchbacks created from saloons.

Because the doors from the Maestro were used, there was the need to add a sixth-light to accommodate the extra length. The problem was that the extra rear side windows were incorporated to look like an extension to the rear screen, like a huge wrap around swathe of glass. The end result could not be happily integrated into the styling and this rear aspect no doubt spoiled what could have been a tidily styled “Eurobox”.

When Bache's successor, Roy Axe, took the reins at the head of the Austin Rover design department, he looked at the Montego, aghast. He was hamstrung because the need to get the car into production was so great that there was no money or time to modify the styling of the car in anything other than a superficial way. He knew that the car had odd proportions as a side-effect of being based on a smaller car, but worse than that, the odd proportions were one thing, the Montego's obvious ugliness was something else entirely.

The reality is, of course, that when the design of the Montego lost its way in 1982, Axe should have been given the chance (by delaying the launch of the car) to take charge of the project and give it a wheels up facelift. As it was, his hands were tied and the car styling was frozen weeks after he joined the company and the die was cast – Austin Rover were hell bent on getting the car on to the market for spring 1984.

During this time, the Maestro was nearing production at Cowley. The factory had been enlarged and the production line was installed, fully robotics, like Longbridge but more advanced, at a cost of £147million. The new line was in place and the final range of models was being finalised for launch.

When it appeared on March 1st 1983, the Maestro was greeted with huge enthusiasm, maybe more so by the dealers than the public, who after some horrible years selling some horrible mid-range cars, they now had something new and competent. The Maestro was immediately lauded by the motoring press for its tidy styling, contemporary feel, excellent economy and good practicality. It continued the good work that the Metro had done in winning new friends, but unlike its smaller brother, the Maestro was up against some very good competition.

Performance was excellent, given the vintage of the engines – the 1300 version being especially good, delivering brick acceleration, backed up with excellent fuel economy – this showing that despite its vintage, the A Plus engine was still a remarkably efficient power unit. The 1600 version was not quite so efficient; it delivered the goods and nothing more; the result was good economy and adequate performance, but in a theme common to both the A Series and R Series engine, its refinement was not up to scratch. Thankfully, both engines had good torque characteristics and the sound insulation of the Maestro was good, so you did not need to extend the engine to make reasonable progress and the noise produced may have been of a gruff and uncultured nature, but at least it was reasonably quiet.

Handling and ride were good; the chassis being blessed with good ride quality and cornering, which was only limited by the mean width of the tyres that were specified with the Maestro at the beginning of its production run. It may not have been blessed with French car levels of ride subtlety, but a good ride/handling compromise was reached and it was far better than the Ford Escort and Volkswagen Golf.

The range followed the conventional wisdom of the class and came in a logical “stepping stone” of models, starting at the 1.3 basic models, through the higher spec A-Plus engine models to the R-Series engine fleet sellers and right at the top; the Vanden Plas and MG Models. Only the Vanden Plas and MG Models came with the Digital dashboard and from a customer’s point of view, they were regarded as a mixed success.

Nicolette was soon found to be nagging drivers that they had left their doors open or their engines were running low on oil pressure. All well and good had she been telling the truth, but very often she was not. As with all early electronic dashboard systems, the system had the disadvantage of suffering from variable build quality - and like its rival the Renault 11 Electronique, it managed to give the digital dashboard concept bad name in the eyes of potential customers. I remember vividly running out of fuel in my Vanden Plas version one evening and only being given the “Warning Low Fuel” warning, after the car had come to a halt, lifeless.

It was not that the public disliked the Maestro, it was just that they were not particularly excited by it and so, in its first months on the market, it did not make a huge impact on the sales charts. Why this is so demands an explanation.

By the Mid-Eighties, car buyers were divided into two groups: Mister Private, who bought and run his car with his own money and Mister Fleet Manager, who did not. Mister Private become exceptionally image conscious and the car that he wanted was the Volkswagen Golf. The Golf had an image of indestructibility, which had been earned through decades of building reliable and desirable cars – it also looked good and did not lose value at the speed of a piano being dropped off a cliff. Mister fleet manager wanted a car that was reliable and he wanted it cheap. The Escort had the might of the Ford marketing machine behind it and Uncle Henry, therefore, had the UK fleet car market sewn-up. When the Maestro was launched, it could boast neither Private or fleet appeal.

The other problem was, of course, the Austin-Rover marketing machine, which still did not understand properly how to sell cars. The message banged out by Harold Musgrove's company was one of pushing the company forward without really marketing the individual cars. Messages such as, “Austin-Rover – now we're motoring” were typical. This may have been an attempt to curry favour with the patriotic vote, making it a duty to buy these cars, but people had become less willing to give the company yet another break.

Not only that, but they did not really know how to pitch the Maestro in the market, trying to sell it as a Sierra rival as well as an Escort rival, straddling two classes. Unfortunately, this ploy only managed to confuse potential customers. The Maestro, unfortunately, was also saddled with the image of unreliability that had come part and parcel of being a car built by British Leyland. The early Maestros lived up to this reputation magnificently, suffering from slack build quality, which led to repeated carburettor maladies, build niggles and high-profile electronic problems. The net result of this was that these teething problems managed to alienate fleet buyers, who had been stung in the past buying products of British Leyland. If the fleet managers were jumpy, they would not buy the product and that would be a disastrous result in a market that two thirds of the cars sold were company cars.

Speaking of company cars, the Montego followed the Maestro onto the market thirteen months later in April 1983. Launched in the South of France, the pleasant surprise for the less speculative parts of the Motoring media was just how different the Montego was from the Maestro, when it did appear.

As explained before the Montego incorporated a slightly longer wheelbase, a lower bonnet line and stretched overhangs at the front as well as the rear. The range of engines was vastly different to the Maestro's incorporating the following engine range:

Displacement	Type	Power output
1275cc	A-Plus	69 bhp
1598cc	S-series	86 bhp
1994cc	O-series	100 bhp
1994cc	O-series EFi	115 bhp

Where the Montego differed from the Maestro was that the O Series engine was used in conjunction with a brand-new Honda gearbox, which resulted in a far more pleasant gear change than the obstructive VW-sourced box in the smaller models.

Montego range on display at the launch in 1984: It looked sufficiently different from the Maestro to be seen as an entirely new model, but different it may have been, handsome it was not. The MG Version shown at the front also sported a solid-state dashboard, like the top model Maestros, but it proved so unpopular, it was withdrawn from the model in under a year.

More variance from the Maestro was the Montego's new dashboard and interior. The accommodation was broadly similar, but improved in quality and design over the Maestro – allegedly. It would be fair to say that the new dashboard was an improvement, but the new style of seats was merely different, not any better.

The press were less than enthusiastic about the Montego, regarding it as a very conservative design in the market: The Ford Sierra was mechanically backwards, but avant-garde in styling and the Vauxhall Cavalier was well engineered and very popular. The Montego really was quite a conservative design and in terms of driving experience and appeal to the company car market, it did not manage to bring anything new to the game.

In much the same way as the Maestro story of a year previous, it is not to say that the Montego was a bad car – far from it in fact. The Montego just did not have much in the way of driver appeal or fleet appeal. Needless to say, the sales performance of the Montego on the UK market soon established it as a distant third place in the market, behind the offerings of GM and Ford. This pattern of sales was also mirrored by the Maestro, so it is fair to say that the sales figures expected by Austin Rover management (approximately 4000 cars per week) were never met. The sad thing about this performance is that the Maestro and Montego never actually matched the Allegro and Marina of a decade before and no way was the new pair of cars worse than their distant relatives. It seemed that people bought the Allegro and Marina because they were products of the British carmaker, whereas these same people ten years hence did not buy the Maestro and Montego because they were products of the same manufacturer.

The shame of all this was that the Maestro and Montego were far, far better cars in relation to their competitors than their forebears.

Both the Montego and Maestro suffered from the familiar story of build quality niggles that one would have assumed by this point in time, Austin Rover would have succeeded in beating. Unfortunately, the first few long-term tests published by the UK car magazines reported tales of woe and the Montego, especially suffered from electronic maladies. No big deal in the grand scheme of things, but when you are trying to rebuild an image, the last thing that you want to hear.

Needless to say, Austin Rover quickly knuckled down and developed both cars, into the cars that they should have been at launch. By Motor Show time in 1984, the Maestro had received the Montego's S-series engine and its much improved dashboard. The MG version was also up gunned from the feeble Twin-Weber carbed 1600cc version, to the 2-litre fuel injected O-Series version it should have always been.

Car spotters should note that there was an S-Series twin carburettor version in the MG version, which replaced the R-Series version, but preceded the 2-Litre version and was in production for a very short period of time in 1984. Its production run amounted to mere 2,000.

The MG version was transformed from the “warm hatch” 1600 into a viable Golf GTi rival in one fell swoop. OK, the styling was never going to be called adventurous or exciting, but the strong and torquey engine, combined with the excellent chassis made for an interesting, honest and very down to earth GTi-rival.

The performance and fuel consumpion figures bear this out:

MG 1600 Maestro	110 mph	9.8s 0-60 mph	28 mpg
MG Maestro EFi	115 mph	8.4s 0-60 mph	30 mpg

At the same time (Motor Show 1984), the Estate version of the Montego also appeared and it has to be said that this was a successful piece of design, not being hampered by the same design compromises as its saloon brother. The awkward glasshouse and long overhangs of the saloon ceased to be a problem with the estate version as it was modified so that it incorporated nicely integrated rear end styling. Practicality was excellent, having a well-sized boot and unusually for this class, the option for an extra row of rearwards facing seats – just like a French car, in fact. As a result of this successful transformation into a load carrier, the Montego estate received a Design Council award.

As time went on and it became clear that the LM10 and LM11 were still not making a profit, funds were not forthcoming to finance the development of the larger versions of the car to replace the Rover SD1. Michael Edwardes plan for the first generation of LM cars to finance the next generation was failing badly. The lack of sales also meant that all through this period, the company continued to make a loss, which exasperated the incumbent at Number Ten. As detailed elsewhere, the Prime Minister became hell bent on privatisation and after Four years in charge of Austin Rover, whilst seemingly not managing to get the company anywhere near profitability, Harold Musgrove was replaced by Graham Day and his team of marketing-led managers.

After extensive market research, it was found that the Maestro and Montego were saddled with an unfortunately pedestrian image, so the marketing departments worked on producing more appealing versions of the cars. The 1.3L Maestro and 1.6L and 2.0Si Montego were announced in 1987, resplendent with “duotone” paint that echoed the theme instigated by the Rover Sterling. The focus of the advertisers was aimed at these cars in an attempt to attract a more youthful clientele – one such advert depicting a Montego 1.6L crashing through a showroom window in order to demonstrate just how quick off the mark and how good its stereo was to a couple of sales rep-types. Kevin Morley and his team of marketing gurus fancifully went “Yuppie” chasing.

At this time, they also realised that the Austin brand was a positive barrier to sales and so, at the disgust of the dealers, stopped badging the cars as such – all cars being called by their model names only.

One of Graham Day's yuppie chasing models, this one being the Montego 2.0Si. Basically a very competent car, but saddled with styling and image that did not appeal to the Yuppies Day so wanted to court.

In 1988 A couple of Perkins engined Diesel Maestros and Montegos were launched, a turbo and a normally aspirated model. These engines were loosely based on the O-Series unit, but were heavily modified versions and employed Direct Injection technology. One must wonder why it took over three years for the Maestro to receive a diesel engine, but one must go back to the development of the Maestro and the fact that it was planned to buy in a unit. When that idea failed, Austin Rover approached Perkins, who had dieselised the O-Series engine already for the Sherpa van to develop something suitable for passenger car usage.

British Leyland had formerly been playing around with Diesel Morris Marinas in the late Seventies, but the power unit employed in the Montego and Maestro was much more sophisticated in its design and a far cry from the earlier efforts. The reason it came on to the market so late was the fact that it took Perkins and Rover Four years to develop the engine enough so that it had an acceptable level of refinement. Diesel Maestro vans had been around since 1986. Not that it mattered too much, as the Maestro and Montego diesels gained a following with enthusiastic owners who liked the excellent potential for economy and performance. They were, however, considered to be far inferior to the PSA Diesel rivals, such as the Citroen BX and Peugeot 405.

Late model Montego 2.0 Turbo diesel, shows how little the style of the Montego changed throughout its life. The Perkins developed Prima engine shown right was a highly frugal direct injection unit that offered good (for a Diesel) performance, excellent fuel economy and questionable refinement.

The MG Maestro Turbo was the last hurrah for the model, being pushed quite hard by the marketing department as a performance bargain (which it undoubtedly was, being remarkably quick – 0-60mph, 6.8 seconds, 128 mph top speed), but again, in the image conscious Eighties, the styling of the Maestro was a positive turn off to GTi buyers, Tickford designed bodykit or not.

MG Maestro Turbo in flight: A recipient of the Montego Turbo's power unit in 1989, the MG proved to be very quick in a straight line. Chassis was not bad, either, if lacking the ultimate finesse of its Peugeot and Citroën rivals. The bodykit, designed by Tickford, is of questionable taste.

At this time, development and marketing of the Maestro pretty much stopped in favour of the emergent Rover 200, as Day and his managers knew that it was dead in the water: by 1989, for example, it was down to 19th in the list of best selling cars in the UK. This was a terrible performance for a domestically produced medium sized hatchback, in only its sixth season: Contrast that with the Allegro of a decade previous – In 1979, six years after its launch, it was still fifth in the sales charts.

By 1990 As far as Maestro marketing was concerned it was all over, as all the plush models in the range were dropped to make way for the new Rover 200. At this point, it could be said that the Austin brand was effectively dead, on life support until Montego and Maestro withered away – Rover was on the ascendancy and the new Honda-engineered 200 was showing all cars in its class the way home.

The Montego was not forgotten just yet, though. The company it still had an important role on the market, fighting the Vauxhall Cavalier and Ford Sierra for those all-important fleet sales. The marketers, who ensured that public profile remained high, using the medium of advertising most effectively, threw money at the car. The development also continued in earnest – small modifications ensured the Montego remained competitive, but it fair to say that the competition did begin to leave the it behind by the late-Eighties.

In both cases, the car would stay in production for as long as it would be viable to do so. The Cowley plant required the volume and as the Rover brand was relentlessly moved upmarket by management, the Austin models would remain a useful antidote to that, with their cheap prices and utilitarian image.

It was telling, however, that upon buying Rover in 1994, Bernd Pischetsrieder was reported to have been surprised to find out that both cars were still very much in production – he had assumed that they were products of a bygone age. Needless to say, that situation was reversed rapidly.

Of course, it is easy in hindsight to criticise the Maestro and the Montego for being dull, but they were both good cars in search of better styling and tightened build quality. The fact that they failed shows that the public would no longer blindly buy cars, simply by the fact that they were produced by the Midland Company. It is a shame, however, because as stated before, both cars were vastly better in relation to the competition, than the Allegro and Marina had been a decade previously.

Of course, the company did produce some desirable cars in the period of the Maestro and Montego, but they were all Honda-Engineered and it is easy to see why Graham Day and George Simpson were both so eager to beat a path to Honda's door. Rover stopped being an independent producer of volume cars as a direct consequence of the Maestro and Montego's failure in the marketplace and the blame for this can only be laid at the feet of the people who designed both cars the way they were. The way the Honda cars turned out would indicate that there was real talent in the company; it is a shame that they were not there to influence the conception of the Maestro and Montego.

Copyright © 2002 Keith Adams