BRITISH Leyland wasn’t exactly awash with money in the late Seventies. In late 77, chairman Michael Edwardes took one look at the future models plan... and knew the company was in trouble.

Work on an Allegro replacement started in 1975, but progress had been agonisingly slow as the drip-feed of money was turned on and off.

According to engineering boss Spen King, the plan was to create something ‘utterly conventional’ and simple. “We had no good reason for doing anything... complicated,” he confessed.

So what happened? How did the Austin Maestro – as the car was eventually named – end up with the world’s first solid-state all-electronic dashboard display?

As is often the way, the Maestro’s ill-fated dashboard was the result of outside interference.

 

The Northern Echo:

 

TROUBLE: The BL Maestro - not a good car

 

Late in the day, someone in the marketing department suddenly realised that the Maestro was looking like yet another BL duffer. If you squinted a bit, the company’s great new hope could easily be nothing more than an Allegro with different bumpers. It wasn’t, but that didn’t stop the marketing department petitioning Edwardes for something avant garde for the new car.

And what could be more on trend than a dashboard with all visual panache of an Amstrad midi hi-fi?

 

The Northern Echo:

FUTURE TENSE: The Maestro's digital dash was a last-minute addition - and it showed.

 

But even that wasn’t enough for the marketers. No, they were aiming for the final frontier. They wanted a voice synthesizer.

The talking voice box had a somewhat limited vocabulary (just 32 words) – but that didn’t stop it piping up at the most inopportune moments.

In October 1983 The Northern Echo featured what was to become a familiar tale: a couplewho had bought a talking car that wouldn’t belt up.

Joan and John Dennis said the miracle of owning a talking car didn’t seem quite so impressive when the vehicle developed a mind of its own.

“When the seat belts are fastened on their new £7,000 BL Maestro Vanden Plas, the computerised voice tells them the lights are on,” said the report.

“And halfway down the road it’s quite likely to tell you to belt up,” said an exasperated John, of Eden Drive, Sedgefield.

But that was only the start of their problems.

Just two days after they took delivery, the troublesome Maestro was back in the service bay with a faulty battery. When it returned (with a new battery) the electronic dash continued to insist that it was flat.

An AA inspection revealed nearly 30 faults on the six-month old car.

The Northern Echo:

 

WHO'S SORRY NOW? ' Mr and Mrs Morris' (presumably no relation to Morris Motors Ltd) travelled from Bangkok (!) to be the first to collect the keys to a new Maestro. Mr M said: "I'm sure it will attract a lot of attention." Yep, on the hard shoulder.

Joan said: “The finish is terrible. There are paint ripples, rubber seals hanging off, the electric windows jam and the sun roof rattles.”

Doors didn’t fit, the bodywork was dented, the engine revved wildly (another BL ‘innovation’ was an electronic carburettor that messed up the fuelling) and interior fittings broke.

No wonder the supplying dealer said wearily: “We have done our utmost best to put things right... but if Mr Dennis wants to discuss a replacement or getting some money back we are quite willing to talk to him.”

Joan and John Dennis weren’t alone. The Allegro had suffered more than its share of teething troubles but the Maestro, its much-touted replacement, was magnificently awful.

 

The Northern Echo's motoring critic didn't agree. When he tested a Maestro 1.6 he commented: "This generation of cars takes to the road without the stigma of poor reliability." And it did, for a couple of weeks at least.

The test went on: "The Austin Maestro Mayfair proved to be one of the smoothest and most likeable models I have driven this year."

But the lethargic 1.6-litre engine's performance (0-60mph in a yawning 13 seconds) was described as "unexciting" and there was little response in top gear.

A stereo radio-cassette (remember those?) with four speakers helped cover up the din coming from beneath the bonnet.

BL quickly ditched the voice synth (but Renault persevered with the technology for several years) and the digital dashboard, but it was too little, too late. Fleet managers who had been expected to buy Maestros in the thousands simply shopped elsewhere. Austin Rover’s UK market share plunged from 20 per cent to just 14 per cent.

As one BL big wig said, with the benefit of hindsight: “Looking back I feel we should have said that it just wasn’t good enough and stopped it.”

If only.