‘No matter how ill he felt, Daddy said yes to it all’

When Cat Weakley’s father was told that he would not survive cancer, he set his sights on a family cruise. What followed was the most memorable of holidays

Ifirst 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