My 1949 Citroen Light 15 always reminds me of my student years. As a pretentious young nerd back in the 1970s I used to cruise around in an almost identical car.
Now as a pretentious old nerd I cherish the nostalgia hit that comes with every drive.
The sunroof – a fancy option only on the English ‘Slough’ upmarket versions, sold mostly for export – establishes the mood. The revolutionary monocoque hull – a novelty back when most cars still had a separate chassis and a body bolted on top – is resplendent with 12V electrics (instead of 6V) and chrome on the grille.
These adornments are matched with Lucas chrome headlights, distinguishing it from the cheaper French models where painted Cibie lamps and radiator surround had to make do in the post-war austerity.
The cars assembled at the factory in Slough also boast the sophistication of a timber dash and leather seats – French cars have metal dashes and cloth upholstery. The windscreen winds out for 1940s-style air-conditioning, and as you drive the reflections in the back of the chrome headlights are no less than meditative.
The Citroen readily keeps up with modern traffic – once it is on the move. First gear in the three-speed box is shallow, and a double declutch helps a clean shift to second. Impatient frustrated idiots displaying their insecurities in traffic-light drag races cannot bear the notion of a two-or three-second delay in their urgent journey and seem to get annoyed. Too bad.
Ever since I bought the car in 2015, it has had misadjusted brakes. Any sudden stop has my Traction Avant lurching dangerously towards the curb.
Bernie Hadaway was the car’s long-term custodian – from when it was nearly new until his sad demise from cancer at a ripe old age. He looked after this wonderful groundbreaking piece of automotive history from 1951 until 2015 – 64 years with one owner is a remarkable stretch.
When selling it, his widow Clare told me that as Bernie realised his cancer was terminal and the end was approaching, he insisted one night on getting out of bed, struggling painfully down the steep stairs from their apartment and ‘checking’ on the Citroen; in effect, saying goodbye to it.
It is no exaggeration that I feel honoured and privileged to be only its third custodian. I approach any modifications or changes with trepidation. But the brakes needed sorting.
There is a special hub puller for the removal of the Citroen front-wheel drive brake drums. Any attempt to use something else is typically fatal to the now hard to find drums. If a regular gear puller is used on the outer rim, it inevitably twists and distorts them. They become scrap. Sacre bleu!
The factory-specified tool, which applies force only to the central boss designed specifically to take that load, is essential.
Typically, Bernie – a retired engineer – had one and it came with the car.
I had removed the drums once before – the shoes needed the asbestos removed and new linings when I bought the car nine years ago. My attempts back then at adjusting the renewed shoes were clearly suboptimal. It needed doing again, like most tasks that I perform on my cars.
The main 40mm bolt securing the drum to the driveshaft stub axle is very hard to undo. It is, after all, the only fastener securing the entire torque from the mighty four-cylinder 1911cc motor.
I have a truck-size ratchet handle to use with the massive socket. To stop the hub rotating while force is applied to the nut, I adapted a length of Dexion shelving bar as a breaker.
My brilliant ‘special tool’ bent like a banana once I put my weight on it. I next made a stronger bar from angle iron to do the trick instead, and used a length of pipe as a sleeve over the ratchet handle to get extra leverage.
Once the drums were off, it was easy to see why the passenger-side wheel was grabbing. Each of the two shoes has a snail adjuster – how French! – at the toe and a cam adjuster at the heel. They were all completely frozen stiff and solid – top and bottoms on all shoes, both wheels. Thankfully the wheel cylinders were all in good order and nothing was needing to be done to them at all.
The only time I enjoy snails is fresh, tender and with plenty of garlic butter on a plate, but these frozen snails were horrible. Freeing them required liberal applications of ‘Inox’ (seems to work quicker and better than WD-40) and a lot of wire brush work and plain old elbow grease.
Liberating the heel adjusters seemed easier at first – they all came apart readily enough, the bushings cleaned up on the wire wheel, nothing was broken and it all re-assembled without drama.
But as so often happens – the final step is frustratingly fiddly. Tiny movements of the adjusters seem to have disproportionate effects on the alignment of the shoe, and the process of setting them requires what seemed like endless removal and reinstallation of the drum.
I later found out there is a more than useful ‘cut away’ drum available (through the club I have been a member of for nearly 50 years!) that allows the adjustment to be done in one go. Hindsight is a fabulous thing and next time – probably about fifteen years from now – I will try to remember that work-around.
Once reassembled and with everything tightened with similar application of maximum force through the extension bar, truck-scale ratchet and massive socket, the car purrs along and stops true and steady again. Magnifique.
