Creating a 20th century car body using only photos for reference
Apparently, getting a straight edge to be truly straight is quite important when restoring a vintage car. It seems trite to explain this small but vital step, but the significance of it has been somewhat lost on me until now.
I am fiddling with timber because that is what the frame of the 1926 Citroen B2 ‘Caddy’ replica is to be made of. Why? Well, because Andre said so. Andre Citroen, that is.
It is now 100 or so years since Pierre or Jules or Jean-Claude or whoever it was turned up to work each morning in Paris resplendent in their blue overalls, topped off undoubtedly by the compulsory beret, puffing away at a Gitane as they toiled away in the then state-of-the-art Citroen factory. The coachbuilders at the Quai d’Orsay on the River Seine in Paris would have laid down an ash timber frame on the steel chassis and then gradually assembled a variety of wooden-framed but steel-skinned bodies upon them.
The boat-tail ‘Caddy Sport’ was the top of the range and a fine piece of affordable motoring it was too. Much cheaper than the bespoke sporting cars of the day, the B2 Caddy was intended to be to 1920s France what the MG B was to 1960s Britain.
There are photos of a right-hand drive B2 Caddy for sale in magazine and newspaper ads back in Australia in the 1920s – although so far nobody can tell me how many of the sports version of the B2 were brought here. Australia was a successful export market for Citroen in the early 20th century, the rugged and versatile French offering being promoted with great success. The smaller 5hp ‘baby’ Citroen was the very first car to circumnavigate Australia – the actual vehicle is displayed in the National Museum in Canberra.
As best as I can find out, there are now only a handful of right-hand drive B2 survivors in any body style and none of the Caddy. My folly is to make one, even though I am missing a few of the key components. A Caddy had a different front axle – desirable but not a deal breaker for me – and a ‘go faster’ head for the basic 10hp side valve motor which I am still hoping to one day locate. The elegant boat-tail body is my challenge – but achievable if I can initially just establish a truly straight edge on a piece of timber.
My chippie skills maxx-ed out at high school woodworking, which needless to point out was a very long time ago. My late father made wooden rocking horses for each of his three grandchildren – rehab when he survived a heart attack in his early 60s. I invoke his spirit as I wrestle with chisels, planes and even a spoke-shave to try to persuade planks of timber to succumb to my will.
The task is somewhat overwhelming. But like anything complex, if broken down into small and achievable morsels, there is progress. I have no blueprint or plan of what I need to make, only photos – so lots of guessing.
The floor timbers sit on hardwood rails that themselves are mounted onto the steel chassis with – yes – coach bolts. Coachbuilders use coach bolts, who would have thought? The profile of the boat-tail is now established, and so my next step is the various uprights – ‘A’ pillar, ‘B’ pillar and subsequent ribs and cross members.
These are supposed to be dovetailed, mortice and tenoned or simple butt-jointed into the base plates and then to each other. I am trying different carpentry techniques and joints, making mistakes as I go, and as there will eventually be dozens of these, I will soon work out which is best for me.
There is a lot more to it than meets the eye
First, I face the challenge of getting those few of the surviving original timbers to marry up to the new ones. The bulkhead is bolted to the fuel tank frame, which then bridges to the A-pillar by an arched timber piece that clads the dashboard. Some of those pieces are so rotten they need to be replicated, but some are in fine form and wherever possible I am keen to retain them. But the elaborate ‘finger’ joints from one hundred years ago, that connect the delicate front frame, are all now significantly worn and loose, and proving to be very hard to blend into.
My new best friend is the multi-tool. I am too impatient and clumsy using a hand saw, the jig saw is too aggressive and the timbers are mostly too thick. But the multi-tool is a wonderous thing and when fitted with good but horrifically expensive blades can make the finest of cuts. I know this will come as a shock: I have yet again proven that, when it comes to tools, you get what you pay for. The difference between the $30 blade and the half-price knock-off crap one is amazing.
JF’s build should end up like this
The cheap ones, simply put, do not cut! They just buzz away, get hot and in no time are blunt and the timber simply resists the teeth. The good blades just slice through leaving a pile of sawdust as their calling card and a fine line that is scarily close to where my pencil marked the wood.
As I need all the help I can get, buying the better blades gives me a fighting chance. Now to just get it all square…
From Unique Cars #476, March 2023