A final send-off for my father – and a family holiday we will remember forever

I first went on a cruise ship in 1971, with my mother and three younger sisters. My father had a new job in Hong Kong and our meandering route on P&O’s Iberia to Australia, before flying onwards, gave him time to settle in and find us a place to live

My memories of that sailing include watching The Railway Children in the cinema every day – not because I loved it, but because my mum needed time out – cheating in an organised egg and spoon race (secretly put your thumb on the egg, children) and wearing a grass skirt and a Hawaiian garland for a fancy-dress night, made, like my twin sisters’ Bill and Ben outfits, by my mother, on board.

And that was it for cruising until 43 years later, April 2015, when I boarded another P&O ship with my mum and sisters in Genoa, Italy. Again my dad was the reason, but this time he was with us, and we were a family party of 16 including three sons-in-law and seven grandchildren.

My dad, Brian, was diagnosed with cancer of the bile duct in November 2014. Defying doctors’ predictions, he survived an operation to alleviate the symptoms and came out the other side determined to take our family to sea. It was completely out of character. Since my parents’ divorce, his travel tastes had run to trips to British and European cities, often for opera or classical concerts. He’d never shown any interest in cruising before, and to be honest we weren’t convinced he was in his right mind after all he’d been through. But he’d brook no argument.

My priorities were simple – book as soon as possible so he could relax, and travel as soon as we could, to give him a chance of being with us. He liked the idea of Italy. So, in the run-up to Christmas, I booked us all a fly-cruise to the Med.

We hadn’t wanted to include a flight – the thought of getting him on a plane seemed more out of reach than getting him on a boat. But a week’s sailing from Genoa to Venice in April was right time; right place. Daddy (we always call him that) also insisted we use his local travel agent, Bath Travel in Hedge End, Hampshire.

For novices like us their expertise was a big help with decisions about cabin types and inclusions. Worn down by the process, but happy I could bring the trip in for under £15,000, including the best possible room for Daddy – a mini-suite – plus balcony rooms for the adults and less expensive inside cabins nearby for the children, I went back to the family.

Spanners galore. No, the children could not be out of school – we’d have to sail during the more expensive Easter week. And a family of four with two children in a cabin with bunks? No way. They needed a mini-suite. In fact, everyone wanted to upgrade. I finally committed to a holiday costing around £27,000. The children had to pay adult prices since it was Easter, even the two under six sharing with their parents.

Once it was booked, my dad did relax, and determined that he would be going on his cruise. He drank the freshly pressed juices we made, he took the many medicines and submitted to the ministrations of carers. He refused to talk about what was happening to him, saying he’d come to terms with it – the thing we were not allowed to mention, that he was going to die, and soon.

I printed a photo of Oceana – one of P&O’s smaller ships, which we thought would be more manageable for us – to pin up in his room, to let him know it was really happening. To our relief we got a letter from his doctor, declaring him fit to travel, and managed to get insurance – albeit costing as much as his cruise. The holiday of a lifetime was about to begin.

We brought a wheelchair and booked assistance at the airport. And my dad certainly enjoyed the queue-jumping privileges it conferred. A bus met passengers at Genoa, suitcases were transported seamlessly to our cabins, and we appreciated the friendly stewards and the champagne and canapés provided in the suites. It took a while to get into the swing of things at sea – I was forever walking the wrong way along corridors, arriving at the gym rather than the restaurant, but we found our rhythm.

One sister would have overall responsibility for Daddy each day and my brothers-in-law would help with shower responsibilities. We attended early-morning stretch sessions and signed up for spin classes. There were fewer children on board than I’d expected (maybe because of those prices) but ours loved the gym, pool and cinema and endless “free” food. They also loved dining at an adjacent table to the adults (we didn’t mind either) and when we celebrated two of their birthdays, the maître d’ led a rousing Happy Birthday chorus, with the staff joining in. Their take on the familiar song is now part of our family tradition.

Oceana’s daily news sheet revealed quizzes, promenades around the deck and late-night entertainment. Wheeling my dad along to see Elton John (aka Jimmy Love, a class act), we were, as always, impressed with how fellow passengers and staff treated the less able. There were also dedicated spaces for wheelchairs and rows reserved for those who’d find it hard to get to the front. We appreciated the convenience of a cruise – it takes the strain out of arranging everything from meals out to entertainment.

However, deciding on excursions – a big expense for a party of 16 – was a challenge, since we didn’t know how well Daddy would be. In the end we only booked ahead to visit Pompeii, from Naples, using a minibus we booked ourselves.

No matter how ill he was, or felt, my dad said “yes” to everything. To wearing black tie on formal nights; to drinks in the cabin before dinner; and to going ashore at every port. At Livorno he wanted to go to Pisa. Instead of P&O’s coach we found a taxi, which pulled up near enough to the leaning tower for us to walk there.

The Pompeii trip showed how we rolled on this holiday, all of us mindful of what mattered, which was that Daddy experienced it to the full. Pompeii, with its uneven steps between ancient streets, is not recommended for wheelchair users. But we took the wheelchair. And where it couldn’t go, we helped my dad walk across the stones and he summoned all his strength to do so. We sat in the site’s amphitheatre, where miraculously, hilariously, a Japanese opera singer on holiday burst into ’O sole mio.

We studied the casts of men, women and children preserved by lava and ash. We managed to lose three-year-old Anton, the youngest in our party, for 10 highly charged minutes until he was found with a policeman, to whom he had endearingly shown the P&O wristband he was wearing to help identify him on board.

We covered a fraction of the site, but felt like we’d seen it all. Then, back in Naples, we visited the famous Di Matteo pizza restaurant, which meant Daddy climbing a long flight of stairs. And he did that too, then polished off a massive pizza. In Venice, as the ship cruised along the Giudecca Canal, we wheeled and walked from one side of the ship to the other, admiring the historic buildings, the bridges, the cupolas hiding their artists’ secrets, the dark history, the glamour.

The following day, when most passengers explored Venice, was the only time my dad decided he wasn’t up to it. Volunteering to stay with him I mainly watched him sleep. I massaged his thin shoulders, and enjoyed the relative calm of a ship with barely anyone on it.

By evening he had his determination back, and we dressed for dinner. He liked to be smart, liked a Panama hat, and we’d bought new clothes to fit his shrinking frame. At the table he was quiet, far from the man who liked to entertain, the effort of appearing well the most he could manage.

My father, Brian Ralph Weakley, late of Hamble, Southampton, died two-and-a-half months later on June 28 2015, aged 77. We are sure he made the cruise happen more for us than for him, but we also have no doubt it gave him a reason to keep fighting, despite his prognosis, and so kept him with us for longer.

I often think of that day in Pompeii. It was physically and emotionally exhausting for us all, but I look back in disbelief that my father – five months after being given a death sentence – took part so fully. Despite the stress of travelling with a very ill man, all of us pushed way beyond our comfort zones. I say to anyone whose loved one chooses a cruise for a final send-off, just do it.