It started in 1968 when I was stationed in Thurso, Scotland. I had just been transferred there from a year's tour in Vietnam - and the contrast in the daily mode of transportation was amazing - from 'cyclo-boys' and bicycles to cars, from military trucks to double-decker buses, and from motor scooters to British sports cars.
Of all the vehicles though, my personal favorite was a red 1949 MG 'TC' owned by a fellow American. I absolutely, positively fell in love with and had to have that car - and after two months of wheedling, bargaining, and begging, I did. Bald tires, drafty wooden floorboards with no carpeting, a leaky convertible top, ill-fitting side curtains, rattles and squeaks, in my mind the most beautiful car in the world and a veritable *girl magnet*. Unfortunately, my girl friend (now wife) didn't think so - if you drop the "most beautiful car" and *girl magnet* from that sentence you get her take on it.
The clatter of the valve train and the rasp of the exhaust - together with the large steering wheel and skinny 19" tires - combined to make 40 mph sound, and feel, like you were doing a 100; while the bald tires on the icy winter streets made cornering sideways a natural occurrence. But once you finally had it parked overlooking the harbor - well, there weren't too many places for your date to hide from you in the little space available to her.
All went well until the Navy Base (NAVRADSTA Thurso) went big-time and opened the club Aeolus. The first night it opened, I filled the car with petrol and myself with beer, and headed for town - and never made it off the base. I found a wooden fence pole on the side of the road (upon reflection, thank goodness) that stopped me dead in my tracks - well, stopped me from driving but not from going into town - heck, only had a bruise and the taxi's were running. The next morning I surveyed the damage - the left front fender was crumpled and the kingpin assembly broken loose from the axle - more than I could fix with no workshop or tools available - so I sold it to the highest bidder - while at the same time vowing to own another one when I could afford it.
Well, it took twenty-one years but I finally made it. Hemmings Motor News and I became constant companions as I chased every hot lead on a "T" series car in a three state area. Most of the cars I looked at were TD's and TF's - the TC's were few and far between. One day though, at an otherwise boring car show in Biloxi, MS, I got a lead on a person in Florida who had two of them stored in a garage - awaiting the proverbial restoration. I called and recalled, talked and retalked, for two months before I was given permission to visit and see the cars. I can still see that garage - a long, deep garage with cars and car parts scattered all over it. A '40 Ford convertible, a '54 Porsche speedster, a '57 Porsche coupe, and at the far end, way back at the back, a '47 MG'TC' and... a '49 MG'TC'. I fell in love with the black '49 since I could see under the paint that it had, at one time or another, been red like the one I'd owned so long before. These pictures show the shape it was in. Well, no they don't. The engine, seized and head off, was in one corner of the garage while the transmission was in another - and these pictures make the body look good as you'll see later.
Seeing the car under all the dust with the engine and transmission out, hood and radiator off, seat cushions scattered everywhere didn't faze me at all. I wanted it - I knew I could eventually restore it if given enough time - and I had enough money to buy it (this was 1990 and the price of decent classic cars was beginning to get out of hand). I knew that if I kept looking I'd probably find one in better shape - but it would be more expensive - and since I planned a "frame-up" restoration the condition when I started wouldn't matter that much (as I got into the restoration I found this was a bad assumption). Anyway, my wife and I drove home that day knowing that we'd soon own a 49'TC'.
On 8 August 1990 I drove back to Fort Walton Beach, FL with a friend to pick it up. The owner had rearranged his garage and had the car waiting outside for me - the first time it'd been in the sun in over 7 years. I found out he'd had it outside and one day when he went to start it, the engine wouldn't fire. He'd pulled the head and found water in one of the cylinders, and then left it sit like that for the next few years - always with the notion to restore it. When the time came to load it on the trailer, I was amazed at how narrow the MG was - the trailer I'd borrowed, a normal car trailer, was too wide and I had to use 2X4's across the width of it for the left side wheels to rest on. We tied it down tight with ratchet straps and ropes - and then prayed. After endorsing a couple of rather large cashier's checks, I filled the bed of my pickup truck with a ton of loose odds and ends (including the engine and transmission) and headed off for home, proud as a peacock - I finally had my 'TC'. The trip home to Mississippi was uneventful and the occasional "thumb's up" signals from passing drivers made me feel even better about my purchase. When we pulled into the driveway around 4:30 in the evening I felt that I'd soon be driving it down the street - silly me.
Ten years later it's almost done - a few minor things to add/replace - but it sure looks better than it did - and I managed to do 98% of it - including building a new body tub. As they say, it's not perfect - but it's mine.

Gene Gillam