The saga of JUE 477
JUE 477 before . . .
The world almost lost this thing.
The very first production Land Rover, chassis number 860001, was earmarked to be presented to HM King George VI after it rolled off the assembly line in 1948. At the last minute, Rover Company officials decided it would be better to give him a later model, after any initial teething problems had been worked out. Instead, 860001 was handed over to a Mr. Searle within the company, probably to be used as a specimen for the first factory repair manual.
After this duty, 860001 was unceremoniously sold to a civilian, Professor Ewan McEwan, in 1950, registered JUE 477, after which it faded into obscurity and passed through several owners until, in 1970, a fellow named David Fairless noted in his pocket diary, “Bought Land Rover, £15.” Not a misprint.
Fairless used the Land Rover on his farm in Hexam, but at some point parked it in a field next to a stone wall due to mechanical issues.
And there it sat, exposed to the wet summers and harsh winters of northern England.
For 25 years.
The story of what follows is told—and superbly photographed—by Martin Port, in JUE 477—The Remarkable History & Restoration of the World’s First Production Land Rover, a copy of which is now in my bookcase.
In a supremely ironic twist of fate, JUE 477 was eventually purchased by Sir James Ratcliffe, the billionare CEO of the INEOS chemicals group, who has recently been making big waves with his Ineos Grenadier—a project unapologetically designed to envision what the next generation Defender might have been if its design had not constrained by corporate fealty to shareholders and the need to, above all else, be attractive to a wide range of customers.
From the hulk of what even to a Land Rover expert would have appeared a total loss, Ratcliffe’s team tackled what is without doubt the most intensive—and sensitive—restoration I’ve ever followed.
. . . and—yes—after restoration. Simply glorious.
It would have been easy to throw a new chassis, new panels and shiny paint, and mostly new parts on JUE 477, bolt in a few of the original bits, and call it a “restoration.” Instead the team went to extraordinary lengths to keep and repair as much of the original as possible. Eighteen months later, the result is, as the title of the book suggests, remarkable.
While JUE 477’s mechanicals were treated to a thorough rebuild to render it mechanically perfect, the team made the laudable decision to keep the Land Rover’s appearance as one might have expected had it been properly maintained but constantly used throughout its 72 years of life.
Astonishingly, despite the fact that the vehicle’s chassis had been sunk in acidic Northumberland soil for a quarter century, head restorer Julian Shoolheifer and workshop manager Richard Spikins were able to use at least some of every crossmember, main rail, and outrigger while welding in replacement bits. They straightened and reinforced the original Birmabright body panels—then left them exactly as they were, with splotches of the original Light Green paint showing through later splotches of Deep Bronze Green.
The finished JUE 477 is, simply put, perfect—infinitely more evocative and appropriate than a concours restoration would have been.
The book does suitable justice to the work of the team. Martin Port’s studio photographs could be framed and hung as art—or used as a detailed template for one’s own restoration. The description of the mechanical work, as well, could be a guide for what to look for and what to do if contemplating tackling an old Land Rover engine and running gear.
I like old vehicles of all types, and I’ve read and owned many articles and books covering restorations of classic Porsches, Triumphs, and other makes. I can’t remember one that achieved the same combination of description and illustration as Martin Port’s work. If you have the slightest practical or emotional interest in old Land Rovers, I recommend it most highly.
Porter Press is here. Also available on Amazon.
