1947: The Citroën H Van Corrugates Postwar Europe

If postwar Europe needed anything, it was a clever box that didn’t mind hard work. Enter the Citroën H Van in 1947, a corrugated miracle that looked like someone crossbred an aircraft hangar with a bread tin and then taught it manners. Those rippled panels weren’t a fashion statement; they were structure without weight, strength without expense—aviation logic repurposed for bakers and butchers.

The true genius was up front. By going front-wheel drive, the H Van shoved its oily bits out of the way and liberated a low, flat floor. Suddenly, loading wasn’t a medieval sport. Dollies rolled in without a snort of protest, and a person could stand upright without headbutting a crossmember. In a Europe rebuilding itself brick by rationed brick, that mattered.

It wasn’t fast. You didn’t buy an H to race; you bought it to run every single day. Mechanics loved it because you could fix half the thing with pliers and a Gallic shrug. Body shops loved it because panels were straight and swappable. Owners loved it because it started, carried, and stopped with the kind of reliability that lets you make promises for tomorrow.

Then came the cultural bit. The H Van wasn’t just a delivery mule; it became the original food truck before anyone minted hashtags. Coffee, crepes, newspapers, flowers—the H made retail mobile decades before D2C brands and QR codes. It put small businesses on wheels, extended catchment areas, and turned sleepy squares into marketplaces. In short, it made streets feel alive.

Designers still point at it for lessons: celebrate utility, don’t hide it. The H Van’s face was honest and slightly charming, like a dependable uncle who knows exactly where the good cheese lives. You can still see its DNA in every low-floor parcel van today. No corrugations now—just CFD-sculpted panels—but the principles are the same: easy in, easy out, keep the mass low and the driver happy.

If the 20th century had a pragmatic hero, it wasn’t a sports car. It was this monetised shed with a front-drive grin, quietly moving the stuff that makes a city function. The Citroën H Van didn’t just help Europe recover; it taught the continent that the smartest design isn’t loud. It’s useful.