Trafford Publishing: A Life on the Ocean Wave and on Shore

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A Life on the Ocean Wave and on Shore

by Peter A. Embley

165 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #03-1870; ISBN 1-4120-1492-1; US$13.50, C$15.00, EUR11.00, £7.50

Memoirs of the life of a Merchant Navy Marine who suffered brain damage in a car accident that killed his wife. An inspiring story of recovery.

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about the book about the author sample excerpts or Table of Contents catalogue info

About the Book

First time author Peter Embley is a man who has fought his way back from the brink. Four years ago he was involved in an horrific car accident which left him with severe head injuries, and killed his wife. Experts told him that he would probably not walk again, but Peter decided very early on that he definitely would. His positive outlook and determination to succeed drove him to push himself, and he confounded the experts by not only walking again, but also gardening, playing golf and driving.
Peter was inspired to write his memoirs by book written by a fellow sufferer. His father was a captain in the Merchant Navy who, in 1945, was killed when his boat hit a mine. As the orphan of a merchant seaman Peter was sent away from his mother at the age of only 11 to the Royal Merchant School in Berkshire. The shock was great but the young boy adjusted and the foundations were laid for Peter's own career in the merchant navy.
He chose The Ellerman Line, which sailed out of Liverpool to some of the world's most exotic and fascinating places, and the author manages to convey to the reader the colours, smells and cultures of these locations, as well as giving a glimpse of life on board a ship. While he enjoyed the glamour of nautical life he found the prolonged separations from his pregnant wife, Pat, extremely difficult to cope with and he eventually decided to pursue a different career. The computer revolution was just beginning and Peter got in on the ground floor, becoming a systems analyst with, among others, Otis lifts.
In 1998 Peter and his wife Pat celebrated their ruby wedding anniversary and were looking forward to a long and happy retirement together when the car crash shattered their lives. Life for Peter Embley has certainly not been easy over the last few years but things are so much better than they might have been. His recovery continues and now he has Margaret at his side, whom he married in October 2001 and with whom he is very happy. He hopes his book will inspire others who are recovering from brain injury.

About the Author

Peter Embley was born in Gateshead, Northunberland in 1935. He followed in his father's footsteps by joining the Merchan Navy in 1951. His father wa a captain in the Merchant Navy and awarded the OBE. Peter spent much of his career travelling around the world as an officer on cargo and passanger lines. During his voyages, he experienced many cultures and witnessed many amazing sights.
After ten years in the Merchant Navy, Peter left to pursue an entirely different career as a computer systems analyst. Peter overcame any challenges that he faced in his new job and continued to work until retirement.
Peter was inspired to write his first book, his memoirs "A Life on the Ocean Wave and on the Shore" whilst recovering from a severe car accident. In the accident his wife Patricia dies. He has recovered and remarried to Mararet, his new Wife. He is now fully fit. He has moved from Maghull to Ormshirk, in Lancashire, where he lives with Margaret.
This is Peter's first novel of fiction.
Collision Course is a romantic story, with many seaboard incidents.

Sample Excerpts or Table of Contents

Contents

My Schooldays
Off to Sea
City of Bedford
Home for the First Tim
City of Leicester
City of Swansea
City of Yokohama
City of Madras
City of Coventry
City of New York: The First and Second Trips
CIty of New York: The Third Trip
Going Home
Kumasi Palm and the Mendi Palm
Home to Prepare for the Wedding
The Wedding to Patricia
Africa Palm
Home at Last, Newquay and Exams
Sailing as Second Officer
Empress of France
A New Life at Home
A Fresh Start
Work and the Family
Retirement and Another Life

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

My Schooldays

We lived close to the Lake District, at Lake Ullswater, and it was there that I remember most from my childgood. The local schools were not very good, or perhaps it was just that I could not fully understand what was required of me. My friend's fathers were either farmers or farm labourers, so I was an outsider. I was different from my friends.

My father was a Sea Captain in the Merchant Navy. In 1941, he had been awarded the OBE (Order of the British Empire) when his ship was torpedoed in the Atlantic. I was told by my mother that father had attempted to save a young boy's life when their lifeboat had been cut in two by a British Destroyer, which had not seen them. My father had also sung to the men in the lifeboat to ensure that they all kept their spirits up. My father had been Cheif Officer, and it was one of his officers who had spoke up for him, hence the OBE.

My mother was a remarkable woman, but she was widowe early. I remember vividly the day she learnt that my father was missing. His ship, as had been reported in the Newcastle Journal, had hit a mind off the coast of Italy. I was with my mother in the village telephone boxes whilst she endevoured to obtain confirmation of him and his ship. I was ten years old; it was 1945 and the war with Japan had just ended. I was not allowed to talk on the telephone, but as soon as mother burst into tears, I knew that my father had, more than likely, drowned. Even one so young can quickly learn the signs of tragedy.

The house was very quiet that night, except for the sound of my mother weeping. It was obvious that she was upset. I felt for my mother, but being so young, I was unable to offer much comfort except to embrace her. She quickly recovered and thought of me and went to see her friend in the village. Two weeks later my mother's friend suggested that she perhaps might try sending me to a Merchant Navy Officers boarding school in Berkshire that she heard was excellent. After much writing and talking on the telephone, my mother asked that if the school was willing to accept me, would I want to go? I thought that it would be a big adventure going to a boarding school, much better than the local village schools. My sister, Pamela, was about four years older than I, but unfortunately had severe disabilities: she was wheelchair bound, unable to walk or talk properly. Looking back, I can understand the difficulties that my mother must have had preparing me for school, as well as having the responsibility of looking after Pamela.

All the arangements were eventually completed and a friend was booked to look after Pamela. It took two days by taxis and by train to get to London, where we were eventually met and shown the way, via Waterloo Station, to Winersh Halt Station in Berkshire. We got a taxi to the school from the Station, where my adventure was about to start.

I was totally amazed by the sheer size of the school. It looked like a large mansion. We were met by many people, secretaries, masters, and so on, and then shown around. After the introduction had been completed, the school rules were explained to my mother and myself very clearly. The uniform that all the boys had to wear was also presented: grey shirt, short grey trousers, grey socks and black shoes. The school was an orphanage and pupils were only allowed to attend if their father had died in the Merchant Navy. It was explained to us that the uniform would be provided free by the school and must be taken caer of at all times. I remember that tears were in my mother's eyes as one of the staff indicated tht she sould make her goodbyes. She stooped down and whispered to me that she would not be able to come down and see me during term time, which meant that the next time I would be seeing her would be at half-term or the end of the term. I tried to be brave and told my mother not to worry and that I would miss her dearly. Mother told me to telephone if I had any problems or anxieties. I promised her that I would. At my young age, for I was eleven, I knew that my mother had only a widow's pension to survive on and could not afford to travel that often to Berkshire.

Life at the school was new to me and I was regarded by everyone as the new boy. As I lived in a small village, many of the boys used to make jokes at my expense, often referring to me as the village yokel. They would laugh at my speech, often taunting me, but one learns quickly - well, I did anyway. When the boys discovered their taunts were being ignored, they would go and look for another innocent victim.

After being at my boarding school for about nine months, for I was then about twelve, I then moved up to the seniors. I was chosen by the Commodore (head boy) to become his 'fag' or skivvy. I had to make his bed and keep all his clothes and article tidy. On one particular day whilst I was making his bed, I noticed that one of his sheets was stitched down the centre. Unfortunately, some of the senior boys sharing the same dormitory were watching me make the Commodore's bed. I heard them laughing and then a few of them grabbed hold of me. I was powerless to move and could only watch while the tore the stitching off the sheet that I had been putting on the Commodore's bed. Then they made me make up the bed withteh freshly torn sheet ensuring that on the outside the bed looked perfect. That night after the light out order had been given, the Commodore returned with the Head Girl from a special outing. I heard a bellow, then someone shouting my name. I immediately recognised the Commodore's summoning me. I bolted down the corridor to the senior's dormitory. I had to suppress my laughter as the Commodore, although only about sixteen or seventenn, was indeed incredibly tall. He had the torn sheet enveloping his body with only his head visible, sticking through the top. He said, 'Come here boy', and beckoned me with his finger. He then asked, 'Did you make this bed, with this sheet?' After admitting responsibility, he swiftly whacked me in the face with his fist. I went down and stayed down. I was learning fast. I could hear all the senior boys shouting and cheering, this giving me the opportunity to escape without being noticed. In those days the school's discipline was maintained by the senior boy prefects and the house captains.

The school had four houses in my time: Drake, Frobisher, Hawkins and Raleigh. I was allocated to Drake. There were many competitions, mainly in sport, as the school had five hundred acres of grounds, including a magnificent lake. I found early on that I was good at running and wind the mile race two years in succession. I was disappointed not to win it the third year, but I had fractured my ankle playing cricket and had to have my leg put in plaster at Reading Hospital. When the plaster was eventually removed, despite advice not to compete, I did try. My leg was too weak and I fell flat on my face.

The previous year I had been entered into the England Boys' Country Championship held at Reading sports stadium. The other boys competing all had the correct footwear, and I had to make do with flimsy plimsolls. I was extremely disappointed to be placed sixth, although I had not trained enough for the race.

By the time I was sixteen, I had risen to become House Captain, but by this time the disciplining procedure had been restricted, which would have pleased me more if I were still a junior. The general topic of conversation between my contempories was about the things we would do once we had left school. It was commonplace to want to join the Merchant Navy.

When I left the Royal Merchant Navy School, I was given a place at the King Edward the Seventh Nautical College in The East End of London. One of the senior masters had written to the college requesting that I be given a place. My recollection of that period was of catching the Underground from our digs in Kensington to Stepney in East London. I was in awe of the amount of people crowded on to the train each morning. I often wondered whether people's umbrellas would be still sticking out of the doors or into other people for that matter. My studies at the college were about navigation, shipping cargo and ship stability. Towards the end of the three months' training, talk of which shipping line one would be joining, for we all had different opinions os which to choose. What we all knew, however, was that we would all be off to sea.

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