Arranging my friend Paul’s funeral,
by his friend, funeral director Lucy Coulbert

One morning, I woke up to an email from my friend Rev. Paul Sinclair, the founder of Motorcycle Funerals. He told me he was in hospital and early that morning, probably when I read his email, he would be in surgery to remove his brain tumour. He was only telling a few people but said he didn't want to go into major surgery without telling me some things. It was typical Paul that he would be up in the middle of the night sending an email and thinking of other people in case he didn't make it out.

Just over a year later, he died.

I had been to visit Paul every chance I could. He had been in a hospice in Leicester for a while and I was driving from Oxford to see him every couple of weeks or so. He was moved to a high dependency unit in the main hospital and the last time I saw him, his dad and wife were there.

I hadn't had the chance to meet his dad before so for two hours, I was telling him all the daft and amazing things we got up to. We spent the two hours of visiting time laughing. As we were leaving, I told his wife I would be up the next weekend to see him again. He died four days later.

I wasn't prepared for the grief that overwhelmed me. My grandfather had died a few years before and of course I was sad, but he was eighty and lived a thousand lifetimes in one. Paul was 53 years old and I missed him instantly.

For the next few weeks, people couldn't say his name around me without my eyes welling up in tears. I felt foggy. I couldn't retain basic information. I felt completely lost at sea. Of course it would be the month where we were extremely busy helping clients and my staff were wonderful. They checked and double checked everything. Whilst I knew I could do my job, I was so aware that this grief was like nothing I had ever experienced before, I was petrified of missing something.

I think people must think funeral directors are immune to grief. If anything, I would say that when it happens to us, it is worse. Funeral directors generally bottle up everything they do. If we didn't, I don't know how we would function. So when it happens to us, it hits you like a brick wall.

The day after, a mutual friend called and said he had been given Paul's phone and could we split the numbers and call everyone he had in his contacts so Marian, Paul’s wife, didn't have to do it. That morning, I heard grown men cry on the phone when I told them and while choking back tears, I was just glad Marian hadn't had to make those calls.

As soon as I heard Paul had died, I sent his wife a message just telling her if she needed anything, all she had to do was ask. I knew she would be getting phone calls and messages from everyone and didn't want to impose. I knew she would call if I could help her.

In my head, the night Paul died, I was planning his funeral service. I didn't know if Marian, Paul's wife, would want me to arrange anything at all and she may have wanted something completely different from what I was conjuring up in my head.

The next day Marian called and asked if I would help her. She was staying with her sister in London so I arranged to drive to them on the weekend and start the arrangement process with them both. I was trying really hard not to lead Marian in any direction. It was important that she made the decisions and was free to do so without being led.

After I asked a question, her first response was "what do you think?" I kept telling her it wasn't anything to do with what I thought and anything she decided would be smashing. When we had gone through the majority of the details, she asked if there was anything else I would do for him because "you would know what he would want".

That's when I knew she was thinking about what Paul wanted so I told her my ideas. To this day, I will forever be grateful that she asked me to arrange his funeral. Given he had worked for most of the funeral directors in the country, it would have been the hardest thing to watch someone else do all of this.

Monday morning arrived and work truly began. I knew that with everything that was to be done, I couldn't do it all on my own. Grief was still kicking me in the arse and although all funerals have to be perfect, I knew Paul's would be attended by the great and good in the funeral world, have half of the UK's clergy there and a whole bunch of bikers. This was total pressure and I needed my team of people who I could trust implicitly.

I called a funeral director who I was introduced to by Paul when I worked for him and has always been called Uncle Colin. There isn't anything he doesn't know and he was top of my list. The second call was to the CEO of the Good Funeral Guide, Fran Hall and her partner Steve.

Fran is the fountain of all knowledge and Steve is a logistics man. I knew with all of us, we could do this.

The next week was spent making lists, phone calls, emails, sending out press releases and making even more lists. All of this while working for other clients. Some days I wasn't leaving my office until 9pm at night and was in for hours over the weekend too.

I had so many offers of help from people and phone calls from all over the country from funeral directors offering their condolences that it was overwhelming. The owners of Colourful Coffins made his coffin and I went down to design it with them. Embarrassingly, with tears streaming down my face.

By Wednesday most of the initial plans had been put in place but there was one thing that needed to be done and that was to collect Paul from the hospital. A local funeral director I knew Paul liked was extremely kind. He was going to look after Paul for us until the day of his funeral.

I collected Paul from the hospital and drove the 40 minutes to the funeral director. I don't remember how I got there. I don't know how I drove home afterwards. All I know is that I spent the entire journey talking to the Boss and telling him all the things I wish I had done when I got the email to tell me he was ill.

There was a final piece of the puzzle I was desperately trying to put into place, and then the phone call came. We got it. We got Donnington Park Race Track.

The final plan was for me to collect Paul from the funeral director on Friday morning in the Suzuki Hayabusa hearse. From there, we would take him home so he could go in the man cave Marian had built for him but would never get to see.

At 4pm, I would go back to collect him and take him to the unit where all the motorcycle hearses are kept. Once the riders arrived, we were all heading off to Donnington Race Track for a couple of laps of the track. If anyone deserved a last blast, it was the Boss.

After leaving Donnington, he would spend the night in the unit.

The next morning, every hearse owned by motorcycle funerals would form the convoy to the Church and then to the cemetery for Paul's burial.

The night before Paul's funeral, I travelled up to Leicestershire to meet up with Uncle Colin. This was so we could check out the route to the Church, time it, go over the plan one more time. The next morning while he, Fran and Steve were going over to the Church to time it again, I took Paul's coffin to the funeral director on the hayabusa hearse.

The funeral director kindly gave me free reign over their premises for anything I needed. His staff helped me place Paul in his coffin and were just so kind. The hardest thing I think I have ever done is screw the lid closed.

I took Paul straight to his house to be placed in his man cave for a few hours. At 4pm, I returned on the Hayabusa and took Paul to his unit. We waited for the riders that could make it and then we all set off for Donnington Race Track.

I don't think Paul had ever gone around there as part of a funeral service and I have never been around it before. It wasn't lost on me that the first time either of us would, would be together.

The first lap, I took it relatively easy because Marian was riding pillion. With her agreement, I stopped at the start line for her to jump off so I could really tank it, and boy did we!

We arrived back at the Unit and slowly but surely, everyone started to go home. Uncle Colin, Fran and Steve stayed so we could go over the plan one more time. We sat in Paul's office, ate Chinese food on a table made out of boxes and sat on anything we could. We drank warm champagne out of tea stained mugs with funeral directors logos on the side of them.....and it was perfect.

Not long after that, they all left and then it was just me and Paul. His coffin stayed in the Hayabusa that night and I had a little camp bed and a sleeping bag that was next to him. I didn't like the thought Paul would be on his own so I asked Marian if it was ok if I slept there overnight. She said it was a nice thing to do, but honestly, it really helped me.

I set my alarm for stupid early, not that I really slept. I opened the shutters at 6am with sunlight pouring into the unit, coffee in one hand, cigarette in the other and I just sat with my friend in silence for the last time waiting for everyone to arrive.

When all the staff arrived it was a hive of activity. We had set up a wash station so every hearse was thoroughly cleaned inside and out. This many hearses on the road at the same time had never been done before and I can't imagine it will ever be done again.

Whenever we got a new rider, Paul would always ask me to go out and assess people "Because you scare people and your standards are impeccable." That morning, I went over everything with a fine tooth comb. No bike was safe and neither were people. They worked their socks off.

Paul was a stickler for detail so I made sure all the hearses were not only in make order, but were in order by their number plate. No one else would have noticed, but Paul would have. Paul travelled to the Church on the very first motorcycle hearse he ever made and on the way to the cemetery, he would be taken on the very latest hearse they had completed.

We had all of his current staff riding but lots of old staff too. When I asked what bike they wanted to ride, they all said "The one Paul is on." The only time I have ever pulled rank because no one was taking him but me.

We all set off, picked up 40-50 motorcycles on our way and headed to the Church. As soon as we arrived, I knew I didn't have to worry any more. I knew Uncle Colin, Fran and Steve were there and I could just stop thinking.

His riders carried him into the Church and his nieces and cousins carried him out. I think he would have loved being carried by women. At the cemetery, some more of his riders carried him half way, then I along with three other friends, carried him the rest of the way to the graveside.

Paul often said that "funeral directors are the last people to let you down." Well, that day, three out of the four people who lowered him into his grave were funeral directors.

Everyone who came to the cemetery were invited to back fill the grave. I often think this is a lovely thing to do and lots of people did. His family, his staff and his friends. It was a chance for everyone to do one last thing for him.

When it was all over, I couldn't face riding with an empty hearse. I wanted some time on my own and the ride back to the Church for the reception was what I needed. The longest serving member of Paul's staff rode his Speed Triple in front of all of the hearses leading the route. I swapped keys, jumped on Paul's bike and had a thrash on the way back to the reception smiling the whole way because everything had gone perfectly, his service was filled with laughter and the sun shone. A perfect day for a final ride.

About Lucy Coulbert
Lucy Coulbert is a funeral director and the managing director of the Individual Funeral Company in Oxford, an independent, award-winning family funeral directors specialising in traditional and bespoke funerals. You can follow her on Twitter at @IndivFunerals.