Conceived on a beach in Wales in 1947, born in the West Midlands of England the following year, adopted later by Germans (BMW) and then Indians (Tata), the Land Rover Defender will die a much-mourned death in December 2015. Other Land Rovers—Discoveries and Range Rovers—will go on, but in the eyes of aficionados they are effete upstarts. And although a new Defender is promised, the diehards are sceptical. They never cared for the name, bestowed only in 1991, and consider their car to be the one true Land Rover. They fear it will die after less than three score years and ten.

Only production will end, not the vehicles themselves, and, far from disintegrating, most can be expected to live on for years. True, some are already losing detachable parts to thieves who foresee a dearth of spares, but the boast is made that most of the 2m or more Defenders ever made are still going. Their simple design, sturdy chassis and aluminium body make for longevity.

The Land Rover was the idea of Maurice Wilks, the chief engineer of Rover after the war, who used an American Jeep on his farm in Anglesey and saw the need for a similar vehicle for other British farmers. His creation—noisy, draughty, underpowered, unresponsive and uncomfortable—went on to establish itself as a cherished and peculiarly British product. Unusually for a car, it has even found a place in the canon of English children’s literature (“Landy” and “Fender”), never mind Tomb Raider and James Bond films.

In appearance it has changed little over the years, though it developed a slight bulge below the waistline in early middle age and was then elongated and adapted for countless different purposes. Some of its faults have been put right. Bigger engines, better transmissions, wind-up windows and other upgrades were introduced over the years, usually belatedly and in response to Japanese competition. But part of the Land Rover’s charm has always been its stubborn defiance of user-friendliness and customer comfort. It appeals to the sort of doughty people who revel in dust and cold, fugged-up windows, the jarring pain of every bump, and the need for the dexterity of a cardsharp combined with the strength of a poker-bender to engage the low ratio of the four-wheel-drive system.

That system, however, has been the other crucial part of the Land Rover’s success. It may be rubbish on the road, but off it has had few rivals. When confronted with a desert, a jungle or a perpendicular ascent, it just grinds on. And if it breaks down, its design is so basic that the fault isn’t usually too difficult to fix. The one obstacle that has proved insurmountable is modern legislation. Airbags, low emissions, all seats facing forward and pedestrians’ rights do not fit easily into the Land Rover ethos. They are blamed for delivering the coup de grâce.

John Grimond: contributing editor, The Economist