THE origins of significant cars from history always have the potential to make you stop and think. The Willys Jeep is one of those significant vehicles.

You don’t have to have sat through countless hours of Second World War films to appreciate the contribution made by such an iconic mode of transport. For some it’s achieved hero status – looks, heritage and the sheer volume of goodwill directed at the Willys MB Jeep speak for themselves.

Back in 1940 the American military saw a need for a compact, manoeuvrable and – relatively speaking – lightweight mode of transport primarily for advanced reconnaissance work.

A handful of companies submitted what they thought would meet the criteria and Willys-Overland was the successful bidder, edging ahead with a vehicle that met the recon brief but was also a pretty handy weapons carrier.

In the end, such was the demand for the vehicle that all three bidders were drafted in to build it – more than 600,000 units were produced during the remainder of the war.

And boasting features cherry-picked from the unsuccessful alternatives, the military got what it wanted: an all-purpose mode of transport that was used as an ambulance, radio car and even a battlefield taxi.

Examining one today makes you all the more appreciative of the efforts of those who fought in often atrocious conditions. By modern standards the Willys Jeep – as it became known – is more basic than something you’d find in Fred Flintstone’s garage.

Side-by-side with what you could call the Jeep’s modern successor –  the Wrangler – the differences are many and stark. Size wise the latter towers over the former and the Wrangler’s cabin is positively sumptuous.

Of course, the Jeep was designed to be basic for a good reason. Out in the field it had to be easy to drive and easy to maintain. The cabin is Spartan, the steering wheel large yet its rim thin and the gearlevers and pedals rudimentary but serviceable.

The Wrangler is anything but, although it caters for a very different audience. Thankfully its go-anywhere character remains intact despite the butch exterior and plethora of creature comforts.

There are no such comforts in the Jeep. You climb in over the high sill and plonk down into a basic seat with a noticeable absence of meaningful padding. You grasp the steering wheel – a refugee from a 1920s civilian motor car – prod the foot starter and, assuming you’re in gear, lurch forward towards your next objective.

With an absence of ceremony and switchgear, getting going is the least of your worries. Not having your fillings shaken loose is a more pressing concern. The Jeep’s crude suspension and the contributing vibrations from the 60-horsepower, 2.2-litre four-pot petrol engine do their best to shake you into submission.

If your vision isn’t too blurred, there are the three gear levers to grapple with: one to control the three-speed box, one to select rear or all-wheel drive and the other to select the low ratio box when in four-wheel drive. Get all that right for the prevailing conditions and you’ll feel unstoppable. Which is just as well, as the Jeep’s brakes are more 19th than 20th century.

Closer to the action – mud, water and the like – than you might want to be, life in the Jeep is noisy and demanding. The often-severe kickback from the steering and the close proximity to your passenger make you realise how far motoring has come in such a short time.

The Jeep was a tool designed and made for one reason only: war. Sentiment was not part of the brief, hence its rudimentary build and the sheer volume produced. That so many survived is a testament to its durability and, crucially, the legion of fans prepared to invest time and money in the old war hero.

Will this Wrangler be lovingly cherished in 50-60 years? Probably not, but it’s unlikely any current car will. It’s ironic that, given the Jeep’s disposable remit, it is destined to outlive such modern day pretenders. And it’s the vehicle’s strangely attractive rudimentary character that has secured its place in motoring history.