If the van's a rocking, don't bother knocking

For fathers who had daughters, they were a nightmare, but for young people in the 1970s the decked-out 'sin bin' panel van was the ticket to freedom.

Story: James Cockington

If the van's a rocking, don't bother knocking

Australia’s fad for customising panel vans (also known as sin bins or shaggin’ wagons) emerged in the mid-seventies and had a major influence on the Big Three manufacturers. Holden, Ford and Chrysler all produced special vans aimed at the mobile mattress market. Holden’s Sandman is the best-remembered of the three. Chrysler countered with the Chrysler Drifter; Ford's offering was the Sundowner (which was also available in four-cylinder Escort panel van form). Does anyone remember the Ford Surferoo?

At the peak of the craze there were dealers specialising in all the necessary accessories, including crushed velvet for lining the back bedroom and novelty portholes (choose from hexagonal, square or heart-shaped).

Some of the custom vans were minor works or art. One even had an archway constructed of bricks.

Spray painter Frank Lee, a kind of Panel Van Gogh, was considered the king of the air-brushed mural. Viking warriors and topless Nordic blondes were his trademark.

Pushing along the movement was Van Wheels magazine, the official sin binners’ bible … “cheeky, spunky, controversial, nothing to do with surfing” according to the blurb. Custom Vans was another mag to cash in on the craze but it was all over by the end of the decade. Van Wheels morphed into Street Machine, launching Australia’s next automotive cult.

THE GREAT CRUSHED VELVET ROBBERY OF 1979.

This small but significant news item appeared in Custom Vans magazine. As older readers well know, the single most important ingredient to transform a humble delivery van into a shaggin’ wagon was a thick layer of velvet in the back. Preferably purple, burnt orange or lime green. This stuff was in such big demand that, as this story shows, sin binners were desperate enough to steal it.