MORRIS OF COWLEY.

Putaruru Press, Volume IV, Issue 120, 11 February 1926, Page 7

MORRIS OF COWLEY.

MOTOR NOTES.

BRITAIN’S FORD. Story of Grit and Hard Work. There is an idea prevalent abroad that Britain’s business men are not so efficient as in days gone by, and that opportunities for young men of vigour and independence no longer exist in the Old Country. A typical case, one of many which proves that the people who say these things do not know England, is provided by the following story of the career of Mr. W. R. Morris, of Morris motor cars:— Mr. W. R. Morris was born in Worcester, the son of well-educated Oxfordshire parents. His office at Cowley is in the old building that was Hurst’s Grammar School, where his father was educated. He himself was educated at the village school at Cowley. He went to no college or university. He told me, writes “ W.C.5.,” that he started in the cycle trade in Oxford 32 years ago. He served a few months as an apprentice, and then started to make bicycles. He had a bicycle of his own before this .time, when he was fifteen, and; like many another boy, he took it to pieces and put it together again. Later he rented an old printing works in Longwall street, Oxford, and ! with a staff of five assistants built machines of his own. He rode machines of his own manufacture in cycle races; he was an amateur track rider until 1900, and on the wall of his office at Cowley is a glass case conuining some 20 medals. Presently he was building and selling the Morris “ push ” bicycle as fast as his means permitted, and getting a first taste of that somewhat bitter fruit ! competition. And his competitors had much too long a start to be caught up. | In 1900 he was making use of long sight; he saw then, he told me, that . there would have to be a small car, , and accordingly he started to build motor bicycles. He was now twentythree, and feeling that he had a career to make.

In 1904, when he planned to exhibit his motor-bicycles at one of the London shows, certain material arrived late. Mr. Morris, very much the practical man, worked for four days and four nights, without stopping for sleep, to get his machines finished in time.

“ For the greater part of my life I have worked from eight in the morning until eight at night. Even now I ;lo roc reach home until 8 p.m. Hours of work for me simply represent the maximum I can get out of the day. Ci.ly on special occasions have I worked through nights, but it has often been necessary to put in 36 hours at a stretch.”

Mr. Morris built motor-cycles for 10 years, and also studied cars brought to him for repairs. In 1910 he had formulated his ideas, gained his experience, and amassed a little capital. By degrees his staff of assistants hacl increased to 100. Then did he begin to design the Morris Oxford car; in 1912 he bought up a factory at Cowley.

It is important to observe that at no time had he any engineering training- apart from that he gathered by means of experience—no night school lessons, no technical institute course, no instructor’s tips. There was no other engineer in the family, either on his mother’s side or his father’s; he and his sister are the only two of a family of seven who have survived to grow up. THE WAR NEARLY BROKE ME. “ I am a horn engineer,” he said, “ and can’t help it; I believe that if a man is not born an engineer you can’t make him one. The ‘ made ’ engineer who is without, genius for his calling is simply a parrot. It is one of my peculiarities that I find it more difficult to learn from a book than by means of actual experience; but if I can. see a thing made I only require to see the operation through once and 1 can then set to work and make it myself.”

The Oxford car was completed in 1912; that is to say he spent two years on it. Mr. Morris said the. making- of it was real!y a hobby, hut no doubt there was in his mind the chance that lay awaiting the advent of the small car. In 1913 the Oxford car was “put into production,” and by August, 1914, Mr. Morris hacl turned out 1600. Then he devoted his factory to the production of war material and his ambition, which was to build a big business out of the car which was his pride, was in check.

“ At the time of the submarine blockade I was called by Sir Alexander Rodger, a man for whom I have

i the greatest admiration, to the Ministry of Munitions and asked if I could make the Mark VIII. mine-sinker. This was a great steel box of complicated clockwork, weighing about half ' a ton. The shipbuilding firms couldn’t produce them fast enough to meet the urgent need. I went to work and presently turned out 1700 a week and swamped every port receiving them; altogether we made 50,000 of these mine-sinkers for the North Sea minefields. “ People think I made money out of the war; it nearly broke me. The Government took over my factory and I was put in as controller. 1 handled no. money at all save my salary. And when peace came it took me nearly twelve months to get going on cars again. My machinery was worn and I had to throw it all out. “ Starting up again was the biggest job in all my life; it was horse work uphill all the way. However, my real career starts from 1919, when, in September, I started on the larger production. All that had gone before had been preparation.” INSTINCT—AND WORK. From 1920 onwards demand and production advanced by leaps and bounds, until now Mr. Morris controls seven separate companies, five of which are making parts for 1500 cars a week and the one-ton truck. The total turnover of these seven companies is approximately £20,000,000. In 1894 Mr. Morris employed five men (one of whom is still with him); today Morris Motors, Limited, employs 8000. By means of cross-examination we fixed the ingredients of this remarkable man’s remarkable career as engineering instinct, intense work (so much of it that many would regard Mr. Morris as a modern galley slave), foresight and organising ability. “ Luck!” exclaimed Mr. Morris. “ No, no! It’s a quality I rarely believe . in. I would rather consider that aspect of success as the art of seizingopportunities. In nine cases of failure out of ten there have been missed opportunities —lack of courage, of belief in oneself; or lack of foresight. Foresight is a form of inspiration ; I you must have it in motor-car manu- | facture to' know, for instance, what’s I going to be needed, for you have to : order 12 months ahead.

I have never been guided by anyone: I have always played off my own bat. I have listened to advice and warning from bankers, auditors and solicitors, and still have gone my own way when I thought they weren t seeing far enough. “ Have I had any serious set-backs ? Yes—hundreds of them —hundreds! I pushed through them, working by night and day, scarcely-aware of time. In this world very few things are impossible; the question is, have you the will to do them ? MISSING THE BOAT.

“ Pure money-making does not interest me, and never did. The man who makes money as his only object is missing the boat all the time. If I had allowed the state of the bank balance or the fact of an overdraft to deviate me from what I saw as the sure path of advancement, I might have been struggling still to regain that path. By'the way, I never had a penny left to me, nor have I had a penny given to me—and for that I thank goodness.” GIFTS FOR DEPENDENTS OF 8000 EMPLOYEES. Mr. W. R. Morris, at a dinner to his employees at 'Coventry recently; stated that with the object of creating- a feeling of security he had arranged that should any one of his 8000 employees die while in his employ, his or her dependents would receive £IOO in the case of those who were married, or £SO or £25 according to circumstances, in 'the case of those who were single. During the past twelve months, he said, the Morris engine factory at Coventry had turned out 62,444 engines.

“ SAUCE FOR THE GOOSE.”

In starting a new feature, such as our Motoring Notes, the editor of a newspaper is always eager to know whether such feature is read. “ Get yourself read ” is the journalistic dictum that comes next to accuracy, epitomised in the rule, “ When in doubt leave out.” However, we are satisfied that these notes are read, for one of the recent applicants was representative of this paper, and he chipped another bit off the deck boards of the culvert, and took two or three “ goes ” to back through the gateway. “Ha ! Ha ! ” commented a gleeful onlooker, “ there’s Mr. can’t back through a gateway, and he had an article in the Record yesterday telling us all how to reverse a car ! Ha ! Ha ! Hee ! Hee ! Haw ! Haw ! ”

Is Petone destined to become the Detroit of New Zealand ? This is the question that naturally is asked now that a definite announcement has been made regarding the plans of a large American organisation. The company in question has purchased a site for a large assembling factory, and building operations are to commence at an early date. The motor industry is destined to make rapid headway in New Zealand, and it should not be long before all the more important manufacturers have their own assembly, plants in the Dominion. It is understood that in the present instant changes are also to he made in the method of distribution, the object being to reduce prices to the lowest possible figure.

A feature of the motor industry to—- , day is the large number of auxiliaryindustries that it has called into existence and on which it in a large measure depends. But in the early days these auxiliary sources of supply of raw materials and i components either did not exist at all or were ill fitted to meet new demands. Early car makers were largely dependent on their own efforts for the construction of every detail of their cars. Although, it was perhaps somewhat exceptional even in those days one company actually made its own radiators and sparking plugs.

Apples, sawdust, weeds, in fact almost every substance, will provide the motor fuel of the future, if we are to believe Mr. Henry Ford’s recent remarks. In England the Department of Scientific and Industrial Research pin their faith in Jerusalem artichokes as the most suitable material for the production of power alcohol. Several acres are being grown in dlfferent parts of the country to test them out on a large scale.

Sir Frank Meyer, a Unionist member in the House of Commons, recently challenged any member to say he had never broken the motoring laws. It was impossible to look on motorists to-day as a single class, and picture the motorist as a rich man in a fur coat, smoking a cigar. “We are all motorists now,” he said. “ Those who do not go in private or hired cars go in omnibuses or motor coaches.”