EMBALMING:The job of the embalmer is one that is shrouded in mystery – but theirs is a painstaking task that offers bereaved families the chance to behold their loved ones one last time before letting them go, writes FIONOLA MEREDITH.
AS I KNOCK ON the door, I’m caught somewhere between fascination and revulsion at the thought of what I’m about to encounter. The premises themselves are plain and anonymous, marked only by a small, easily-overlooked sign on the door. The man I have arranged to meet has insisted on absolute anonymity. He will only show me the extraordinary arts of his trade on the condition that I do not identify him, the address of his business, even the town it’s located in. His caution is understandable; there is a need for great sensitivity and discretion in the work that he does. Because Seán – not his real name – is an embalmer. He takes care of the dead.
The door opens and Seán lets me into a sparsely furnished room. There is the sound of a hairdryer running somewhere out the back. As I step inside, my nostrils twitch, almost reflexively – I had thought there might be an objectionable smell in the air: a harsh chemical tang, or something worse. But the only thing I can smell is the distinctive, comfortingly familiar scent of freshly washed and blow-dried hair.
“We’re just finishing one off there,” says Seán, gesturing over his shoulder towards the sound. The hairdryer stops. “Ah, that’s her nearly done now,” Seán says. That sense of the familiar is immediately distorted and made strange. Somehow, the thought of a dead person having their hair washed and styled – normally such a trivial, everyday act in the world of the living: the fruit-scented foam, singing along to the radio in the shower – seems alien and disturbing. But to Seán and his fellow embalmers it’s all part of the last services that they provide for the dead, allowing them to give one final, silent and convincing performance of life.
Embalming: the word makes you think of holy oils; ancient unguents; the Egyptian mummies, their leathery bodies swaddled for eternity, made benign by time and distance. But the reality is different. Modern embalming is seen primarily as a hygienic practice, keeping the body fresh and clean in the days before burial. More than that, it’s about restoring and enhancing the deceased person’s appearance so that the family can say goodbye.
There are few jobs that require such a varied range of skills. An embalmer is an anatomist, chemist, hairdresser and make-up artist rolled into one. He or she must be physically strong – able to lift, manoeuvre and manipulate the dead weight of bodies. Perhaps most importantly of all, the embalmer must have a strong constitution, a calm, phlegmatic attitude to the vagaries of death. In the course of their professional life, they will come across sights that most of us would struggle to imagine, scenes of unbelievable horror and pathos, as well as those of quiet rest. Seán says that, when he started in the profession, it took him two weeks to pluck up the courage to take up a scalpel. Another embalmer, who did not want to be named, says that when he saw his first dead body laid out before him, he fainted.
Seán’s studio is like a small, basic operating theatre. There are anatomical diagrams on the walls. His tools – a selection of scalpels, knives, clamps, needles and other implements – are neatly set out on a work surface. An old biscuit tin contains additional supplies. Underneath, on a lower shelf, there are numerous bottles of bright pink embalming fluid. There is a sink with a shower attachment, and a selection of shampoos. In a separate area, a wide choice of cosmetics are displayed on their own tray: all shades of foundation, a colourful palette of eyeshadows, specialised glues to hold features in place, flesh-coloured morticians’ wax for covering up stitches, marks and scars. Seán shows me how the wax is used. He scoops out a little with a spatula, softens it with a blast from the hairdryer and applies it to his own hand, moulding and shaping it to blend in with the surrounding skin.
When Seán receives a body, it is brought in on a wheeled metal trolley, usually wrapped in a white linen sheet. The head is supported by a shaped plastic block; a bucket hangs underneath the trolley. Seán takes his scalpel and makes a small incision into the carotid artery, in the neck. The incision will later be hidden when the corpse is dressed in a suit and tie. A needle, attached by a rubber tube to a pressurised pump, is inserted into the artery and the formaldehyde-based embalming fluid starts to pulse into the body. An incision is also made in the adjacent jugular vein, so that as the fluid enters the body, the blood can be drained off. The embalmer uses the body’s own incredibly efficient circulatory system, sending embalming fluid throughout the body’s arteries, right into the tiniest capillary, as the blood is removed through the veins.
Seán says that the next stage in the procedure is the part that, as a practitioner, he finds most unpleasant and intrusive. Having made an incision in the abdomen, he uses a long, hollow metal tube, known as a trocar, to puncture the internal organs. This is necessary to prevent the build up of gases in the remains. The trocar, attached to a vacuum, is used to remove the contents of the intestines. The intestinal area is then treated with embalming fluid, and the abdominal incisions closed.
After the necessary brutality of the trocar, the embalmer then turns his attention to the finer work of restoring the corpse’s appearance. Depending on the condition of the body, this can be more or less of a challenge. For Seán, this is the most rewarding part of the procedure: bringing colour and form back to the waxen, lifeless body. Using a shower attachment, the body is cleaned, and men will be given a shave, before the hair is washed and blow dried. Female hair styles can prove a particular challenge for the embalmer: once washed, it can be difficult to know how to recreate the familiar style that the family will be expecting to see. Sometimes, the family will send photographs of the deceased. Poignantly, Seán says that on one occasion a pensioner’s family sent in a dog-eared photograph of the elderly woman in her wedding dress, taken many decades previously.
Clear plastic eye caps – resembling over-sized contact lenses – are inserted under the eyelids, to keep the shape of the eye full and life-like. The mouth is stitched closed and wax is used to pose the lips and eyes, as well as to cover any marks and discoloration. Gum shields may be used to restore the contours of the mouth and jaw line. Cosmetics are massaged into the facial skin to give the remains a more lifelike complexion. There is a curious intimacy to the work.
Small details are important, in order to give an overall impression of a clean, comfortable and orderly body. Seán recalls embalming the body of a man who had been a mechanic for more than 40 years. His nails had become so deeply engrained with grease and grime that Seán had to immerse the hands in bleach to get them clean.
Finally, the body is dressed. For a “straight case”, as embalmers call it, the whole procedure takes, on average, an hour. Post-mortem cases are more complex, and take a good deal longer.
I ask Seán how he copes with handling dead bodies every day. He shrugs. “It’s my job. You get used to it. But I’ll tell you one thing that never changes. Respect. You have to have respect for the people you’re dealing with.” One assumes that it is this sense of respect that keeps the humanity in what would otherwise be an unbearably grisly, mechanical job.
While there is a reluctance among many embalmers to speak about the nature of their work, some are willing to talk, within limits. Marshall Lindsay, from Kilrea in Co Derry, is a past president of the British Institute of Embalmers (BIE). Formed in 1927, the BIE remains the foremost global body guaranteeing standards in the field of embalming. It has divisions in both the Republic (Ann Shepherd, an embalmer from Longford, was president of the BIE in 2009) and the North, and certificates from the institute proudly hang on embalmers’ walls throughout Europe, Australasia and North America. Having received permission from the BIE to speak to me, Marshall agrees to meet at a country house hotel in Co Antrim.
Over tea and sandwiches, and at a discreet distance from other diners, Marshall – who has been a funeral director and embalmer since 1969, now retired – fills me in on the challenges and concerns of the professional embalmer. I’m surprised to learn that today almost all bodies are embalmed as a matter of course, part of the normal range of services offered by funeral directors.
Training with the BIE is rigorous and extensive, with theoretical and practical examinations, and usually take two years. Trainees must have previously embalmed 25 “straight cases” and 15 post-mortem cases on their own before they can sit the practical exam. The theoretical components include studying biology and micro-biology, biochemistry, histology and anatomy. Lindsay says, “When you’re finished, you feel like you’re halfway to becoming a doctor.”
When the successful candidate receives their certificate of qualification, they must recite the five-point code of ethics that is printed in every edition of The Embalmer, the BIE’s quarterly trade publication. Each newly qualified embalmer promises to: “promote embalming to the best of my ability; treat with respect every dead human body; pledge a complete confidential relationship to those I am called upon to serve; endeavour to promote scientific research in the problems affecting embalming; and undertake to abide by the regulations of the British Institute of Embalmers”. All the other embalmers at the presentation join in with the new recruit in reciting the code aloud.
It’s clear from the photographs in The Embalmer that there is a flourishing social side to the profession, with regular dinner dances, awards ceremonies, sing-songs and educational weekends away. Perhaps this round of fun activities forms a healthy counterweight to the demands of the job.
One of the unexpected risks of modern-day embalming is the problem posed by medical implants. Pacemakers must be removed prior to cremation, as well as cardio-defibrillators. “These look similar to pacemakers, but if you attempt to cut the wires of one, you will get a nasty electric shock,” says Marshall. Fixion intramedullary nails, commonly used to pin together bones that have been fractured, pose a particular risk of explosion, and have been known to blow the doors off cremators if left intact in the body.
Lindsay says that infectious diseases are another problem. “Due to patient confidentiality [embalmers] are not told of even the most infectious cases, which would require extra precautions during the embalming procedure. Sometimes, the hospitals will inform us of the category of infection. But our members are told to always wear full protective clothing and treat every case as one of possible infection.”
Infection is not the only risk to the professional embalmer. Formaldehyde is a carcinogen, and there is a bill currently going through the European parliament to have it banned. Yet the BIE is fighting the ban, because there is no other chemical on the market that is suitable to replace it. When it comes to firming up body tissue, formaldehyde remains the treatment of choice.
Having discovered the nature of the work that they do, I’m keen to understand why someone would choose to become an embalmer. It seems that there is a definite public interest: privately, several embalmers tell me that they are inundated with inquiries, perhaps because people perceive the job as recession-proof. Marshall Lindsay says that, for him, the motivation is simple. “This job is one of the most satisfying jobs you can do. Say someone died in hospital, in a lot of pain. You embalm them, you close the mouth and eyes, you put a smile on their face. The family come in and they see the person looking well. It makes you feel good, that all your effort has been worthwhile.”
Has it changed his own outlook on death? “Well, it makes you more prepared for it,” says Marshall, tucking cheerfully into a cheese sandwich. “It’s natural, isn’t it? Just a part of life.”
One name that keeps coming up when I’m talking to embalmers is Glyn Tallon, a specialist embalmer based in Navan, Co Meath. Tallon, who runs a practice with his brother Fionan, is known for his remarkable ability to reconstruct a person’s appearance when they have been badly disfigured. “We receive remains from all over the country,” says Tallon. “It might be a road traffic accident, a suicide, or someone who has been badly crushed in an industrial accident. If you can imagine a shattered window: that’s what the bone may be like. We rebuild the features and restore a lifelike appearance.” Tallon trained at the Fountain National Academy of Professional Embalming Skills in Springfield, Missouri. He now works at the academy as an instructor, and travels the world sharing his knowledge of advanced post-mortem reconstruction surgery.
Like Lindsay, he is driven by a desire to help bereaved families. “I can’t even bear to think of a family that was told they couldn’t say goodbye to their loved one. It’s very important to me to hand the loved one back to their family,” says Tallon, who often works on single cases for 24 hours at a stretch. “We can get them very lifelike, or at least identifiable. Some details of the appearance may need to be changed, but the embalmer has the skill to make those changes. Seeing is believing, after all.”
The modern technique of embalming, using the circulatory system, was originally devised by Frederik Ruysch of Amsterdam in the 17th century. It was refined by the Scottish anatomists William and John Hunter. But it was only with the advent of the American civil war that embalming really became established as common practice, first in America, and then throughout the West.
Casualties in the war reached catastrophic numbers and Abraham Lincoln approved embalming for Union soldiers so their bodies could be sent on the long railroad journeys home. Thomas Holmes, a coroner’s physician from New York, recognised this as a money-making opportunity and began charging $100 to embalm a body. He created his own embalming fluid using arsenic, alcohol, chlorides, creosote, turpentine and zinc, selling it to fellow embalmers for $3 a gallon.
Lincoln was embalmed, at the request of his wife. On April 21st, 1865, his body left Washington, DC, on a funeral train, stopping for public viewing in Baltimore, Harrisburg, Philadelphia, New York, Albany, Buffalo, Cleveland, Columbus, Indianapolis, Michigan City and Chicago. The train eventually stopped in Springfield, Illinois on May 3rd, with the body still in good condition.
Following the Titanic disaster in 1912, health regulations meant that only embalmed bodies could be returned to port. Such was the number of victims, the captain of the first body-recovery ship, the Mackay-Bennett, decided to preserve only the bodies of first-class passengers; third-class passengers and crew were buried at sea.
Yet, despite these high-profile early cases, embalming was and remains very much a hidden art. In her 1963 essay on American embalming practices, Behind the Formaldehyde Curtain, Jessica Mitford marvels at the public’s lack of awareness: “Embalming is indeed a most extraordinary procedure, and one must wonder at the docility of Americans who each year pay hundreds of millions of dollars for its perpetuation, blissfully ignorant of what it is all about, what is done, how it is done. Not one in 10,000 has any idea of what actually takes place.”
Seán, the embalmer who showed me the tools of his trade, has a theory about why there is so little public knowledge about embalming. He believes that, despite the graphic fictional depictions of dead bodies in film, television and computer games, people simply do not want to know about the everyday reality of death. Some believe that staying hidden is an essential part of the embalmer’s role. John Troyer, an expert in death studies and author of the forthcoming book Technologies of the Human Corpse, tells me that “the whole point of their work is invisibility – to do what they do and make it look as though they didn’t do it”.
In many ways, the strange art of the embalmer is a triumph – however brief – over death itself, offering the comforting fiction that the person lying there is not gone, but is merely peacefully sleeping, soon to awake.
