Last journeys, being unavoidable, need to be undertaken with sombre style. Pól Ó Conghaile confesses to an odd interest in hearses
What's your ideal car? One could happily while away a lifetime answering this question, but when that lifetime expires, a different relationship with the automotive industry arises. Chances are, the last contact you'll have will be as a passenger in a €100,000 custom-built vehicle.
At his funeral home in Kilcoole, Co Wicklow, Willie Doyle has introduced a state-of-the-art hearse. Purring quietly in his garage, lurking alongside stacks of coffins, overcoats and a bin of black umbrellas, he pats the bonnet lovingly. "This was never a car," he says.
In fact, built by Pollmann in Germany, his E-class Mercedes was the first two-door hearse with an electric deck to be imported into Ireland. It was costly, especially for a rural funeral home, but it was also a calculated investment.
Built on a long wheelbase chassis, the Mercedes comes with a 30-year anti-corrosion warranty and polished finish which communicate a value without which a funeral director is nothing: quality.
Dating from the 1700s, hearses began life as horse-drawn coaches, their hand-carved carriages serving as beacons of craftsmanship in the days before mass production. Ornately carved pillars and funerary icons became so much of a symbol of the "business" that the first motorised versions, created by enterprising funeral directors, consisted of the same carriages transferred to light truck chassis.
In 1909, the first auto-hearses became available commercially. Initially priced beyond all but the largest of funeral homes, reliability was questionable and noise levels undignified. By the 1920s, however, increasingly versatile metals dispatched with mahogany and - apart from the odd innovation, such as vinyl roofs adorning Sayers & Scovill's famous "landau" in 1938 - hearses have since retained a design consistency.
Willie Doyle's single chassis was unusual. Normally, standard vehicles - such as the Vauxhall Omega or Ford Cardinal - are cut in half and rebuilt from basics. Coachbuilders, such as Duffys of Dundalk, work by dismantling the interior, slicing the frame through the roof supports, thus creating a de facto convertible. The topless car's chassis is then cut in half and extended by up to 30 inches.
Modifications to cars bound for the funeral industry include upgraded shocks, tyres, wheels and axles. Reinforcements are multiple. Once the rear cage and chassis extensions are in place, a shell is added to create the unmistakable silhouette.
This is where the fun begins. Once the shell is attached and painted, interiors are trimmed out using materials bought from the same suppliers as the original manufacturer.
Accubuilt, the largest manufacturer of "funeral coaches" in the US, remoulds 1,500 Cadillac De Villes and Lincoln Town Cars a year at its plant in Lima, Ohio. Close links with Cadillac mean the company is subject to spot-checks, but a direct line to technical information saves precious time during a model change. And, given that the company crash tests its new models and custom-installs requests ranging from flat screen panel displays to chandeliers, every day counts.
Though the Irish consumer is not yet quite so demanding, taboos are certainly diminishing. Roughly 30,000 deaths occur annually here and, being aware that service expectations have evolved considerably over the past decade, the Irish Association of Funeral Directors insists that members guarantee "minimum standards of professional competence, openness and caring for families".
A funeral is as much for the living as for the deceased, says Willie Doyle. "When someone close to you dies, you want to do your best for them."
Effectively, clients are beginning to apply principles of consumerism to the death industry - and that includes the hearse. "People are themselves buying good cars. So, of course, naturally they want them at a funeral."
The 1984 Ford Granada in his car park served as a workhorse and standby vehicle, but Willie's 01WW Mercedes was a conscious effort to provide top-class service. Running on unleaded petrol, the hearse features automatic transmission, folding seats for pallbearers and, of course, that electric deck.
He has another machine in storage: a 1965 Wolseley. "It was built on a timber frame by Bill Eades, an undertaker who used to build coaches in Birr, Co Offaly in the 1950s and 1960s. It was his for 27 years, but I fell in love with it.
"My idea was that, seeing as people are looking for horse-drawn coaches now, maybe down the road they'll be looking for older hearses."
As children, I remember we used to bless ourselves as hearses drove sluggishly past. I always had a question - when the vehicles aren't loaded, do they need to be driven hard to exercise the engine? Willie smiled: "Because carbon builds up on the pistons, you need mechanics to give it a work-out every now and then." He has childhood memories too: a 1970s Cadillac once owned and operated by Flannerys of Wicklow . . . "it used to come floating down the road when there was a funeral, with people walking behind. And I mean floating. The front of the car would be gently rising up and going back down again. It was just one of those things."
The car was replaced in 1984, as it turns out, by a Granada. "Personally, I would never have sold that car. It would always have been a classic. But I have a funny feeling that, in years to come, I'll pick up an American hearse and adapt it for Irish use."
Inside the hearse, technology is equally fastidious. Casket rollers and skid strips simplify loading and prevent streaking to the wood finish. Coffins are held in place by an unobtrusive system of clamps and pads.
Given such attention to detail, and the peculiarly morbid design, it's perhaps little wonder to learn that there are those determined to appreciate the value of a good hearse before they lie down in it. Even today, for instance, in various funeral homes, grieving families can request a horse-drawn or a 4.2-litre Daimler hearse.
In the US, over 1,200 members of the Professional Car Society work to maintain, restore and preserve custom-bodied vehicles used in the funeral, rescue or livery services. Founded in 1976, the society appeals to members of the public to witness the values of craftsmanship still found in these enormous vehicles: next time you pass a hearse, "see how the designers are able to maintain fluid proportions on such a long wheelbase".
"It's like admiring a Harley-Davidson," Willie Doyle concludes. "Some people just like the style and what they represent. Others enjoy their practicality - the high roof means they can be converted to campers, for instance.
"These aren't people morbidly fascinated with funerals. They just like the way hearses are built. I like the American hearses myself. You're talking eight-cylinder hearses that just guzzle petrol."
Far from the horizontal taxi of lore, for many enthusiasts, these vehicles are the epitome of automobile design.