It has been mocked as a boxy wardrobe on wheels, and revered as a symbol of indestructible Swedish engineering. But 70 years after the launch of the first Volvo estate, the manufacturer has announced that its days transporting families and all their many possessions around Britain is coming to an end.
Volvo will no longer sell its estates or saloon cars in the UK, choosing to market only its SUVs. “The appetite for our saloon and estate models has fallen to very low levels in the UK, which has led to our decision to remove these models,” it said.
The news has been greeted with dismay by the trusty workhorse’s many passionate devotees. Here, Guardian readers share their memories of Volvo estates they have known and loved.
Cai Antoney, antiques dealer from Shropshire
When I was growing up, my parents bought a second-hand Volvo estate in bright orange – definitely not the sort of car you want to be seen dead in, when looking cool in front of your peers is the most important thing in your life.
I genuinely believed we must own the only bright orange Volvo estate in the world – that was until we encountered another in a Morrisons car park. My parents actually insisted we wait so we could meet the mystery owner, so we sat and had a picnic on the bonnet.
Eventually the car died and was scrapped. Much to my dismay, a short while afterwards they managed to find an identical orange Volvo estate for sale, and purchased it. It turned out to be the same one we had encountered in the car park previously.
Thankfully (for my younger self anyway), that one eventually died too and the family progressed to something much less garish.
Looking back now, though, the bright orange Volvo estate played a memorable role in my childhood. It certainly turned a few heads – and damn it was easy to find when you parked it anywhere. I think I would have to buy one for myself if I ever saw one for sale.
Nic Tucker, 28, from London, works in luxury travel
The first car I remember as a child was a red Volvo estate. Because I am the youngest of four, I always remember being placed in the last row of seats which faced nauseatingly backward, allowing us to wave at whoever was lucky enough to be behind us.
My favourite photo is one taken of myself and my three older sisters at my grandparents’ house, all standing next to the Volvo. I was pretty young – I think we probably got rid of it when I was about four years old.
But I have such fond memories of that car – myself and my sisters, the backseats flipping up, a lot of messing around and causing havoc – and I love the photo, it’s wicked. There’s a tattoo artist whose style I really like, and I thought – I want that. So I got a tattoo of the picture done about two weeks ago.
I was worried my family might think it was a terrible idea, but they all love it. It’s a nice way to keep my sisters close.
Niall Oswald, electrical engineer from Bristol
My parents were serial Volvo estate owners – first a 240 and then a 740, which seemed modern and refined in comparison. I have many memories of early starts and long journeys to Scotland or Cornwall for family holidays (we never went abroad), always with the car loaded to full capacity, and navigating by road atlas. I particularly remember a trip to Orford Ness in Suffolk with John Peel’s Home Truths on the radio – simple pleasures.
In 2018 I bought a 1989 Volvo 740 Turbo estate, which was a real nostalgia trip. I wasn’t looking for a project, but the way of these things is, the project found me. The sounds (solid clunk of the doors, sharp thunk of the central locking, roar of the cooling fan) remind me of those 1990s holidays.
It broke down twice shortly after I bought it, and then I had to do quite a lot of work. But since then it’s been quite reliable – but that’s because pretty much everything that could fail I’ve replaced.
My 740 is going strong at almost 180,000 miles and after a complete suspension overhaul, drives more like a car and less like a boat – it’s surprisingly fun to drive and the turbo means it just about keeps up with modern traffic. It’s escaped the ravages of dogs, children and decorators and I’m doing my best to keep it that way!
Dan Sayers, semi-retired, living in France
For 1970s camping (later caravanning) holidays in Europe. Estate fully loaded with camping equipment and Mirror dinghy. Dad (a Volvo dealer) driving. Mum map reading. Three boys loose in the flattened back – no seatbelts, just pillows and cushions.
Eight-track player with the four promo cassettes only. Beach Boys, Blood, Sweat & Tears, and the bloody Best of Henry Mancini on constant repeat, urgh. “Drive through the night!” we chorused; dad – reluctantly(?) – “OK”. We three asleep within 10 minutes.
