Like any freelance writer I’ve taken on some tough gigs. I wrote a book about Paris Hilton. I interviewed the hardman footballer Julian Dicks, surrounded by his panting English Bull Terriers. Even more dangerously, I’ve argued for veganism in the pages of The Spectator. But I recently got the most challenging commission of all: my Dad asked me to write a eulogy for my Mum, who has passed away.
Naturally, I was honoured. The speech gave shape to my grief and, when I delivered it at the funeral, I felt like I was speaking directly to her. Everybody wants to say the ‘right thing’ at a funeral, so it was a blessing to be given a focal point to do so.
But I was also terrified. It’s intimidating to reduce any life to 700 words, let alone the life of your own mother. Every time I thought I had finished, I began to doubt the whole thing. Then I had to overcome my nerves and read it on the saddest day of my life. As I stood up in the church, two thoughts came to mind. What if I cry? What if I don’t cry?
It’s a mysterious genre. A survey found that 42 per cent of people didn’t even know what a eulogy was, even though we’ve been giving formal speeches about the dead for thousands of years.
In 431 BCE, the statesman Pericles delivered a funeral oration for Athenians killed in the Peloponnesian War. He didn’t waste much time telling his audience that this particular Athenian was fond of gardening or that another had an excellent sense of humour. Instead, his speech became a stirring eulogy of Athens itself, glorifying its democracy, freedom and civic values.
The practice spread to Rome, where mourners would praise the dead and their families. Medieval Christianity shifted the focus towards sin, virtue, mortality, salvation and the afterlife. During the Renaissance, eulogies became more personal and individual, gradually evolving into the intimate tributes we recognise today.
These speeches aren’t immune to the narcissism of the digital age. Some people write their own tribute before they die and instruct a loved one to deliver it for them. It worked well for the Australian rules footballer Lou Richards, who penned a speech about how his would be a ‘bloody big funeral’ which would give rival players ‘the s**ts’. He told his daughters they had better ‘get a good quid’ for the service’s television rights.
Over in the US, a company produces eulogy packages for the living, including video compilations of friends and relatives praising someone while that someone is still able to enjoy the reviews. The company says it’s ‘on a mission to take back the eulogy’. It doesn’t explain where it went.
Every time I thought I had finished, I began to doubt the whole thing
If that sounds tacky, then consider the AI tools like Eulogy Generator and EulogyAI UK, which provide computer-written eulogies for those too grief-stricken, or too lazy, to compose it themselves. One hopes nobody has ever accidentally ended their granny’s eulogy with the tell-tale AI appendix: ‘If you want, I can make it more personal, emotional or humorous.’
Websites of funeral directors include tips for how to write a eulogy but the advice rarely strays beyond the obvious and condescending. For a literary primer, you could refer to Jackie Bailey’s novel The Eulogy, which she described as ‘a fictional guide for how to write a eulogy’.
There are obvious pitfalls. Try to avoid the sort of clumsiness that Donald Trump showed when he praised the late Lindsey Graham. The president described him as a lousy golf player and complained that Graham phoned him too much. He also said he ‘loved being outside’, as if he was talking about a dog.
Another danger is using the speech to settle scores, as Earl Spencer did when he delivered a series of thinly veiled insults against the royal family at his sister’s funeral. Diana, he said, was a ‘very British girl’ who needed ‘no royal title’ and possessed ‘God-given sensitivity’.
He told William and Harry that ‘we, your blood family, will do all we can’ to ensure that they were not simply ‘immersed by duty and tradition’ but could ‘sing openly’. Well, at least he got it all off his chest. Or did he? He’s described his forthcoming book about Diana as an extension of his Westminster Abbey speech. I can’t wait.
When I re-read my eulogy now, I finding myself wishing I’d said more of those words to my Mum when she was alive. To deliver a full eulogy to someone’s face might be a bit awkward for both parties. But, at risk of being obvious and condescending myself, we could probably acknowledge one another’s greatness a little more.
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