What follows is a quick recap of the tale, but you really should listen to the episode of The Moth radio hour, where FitzHigham tells the story in his own words. (There are links to his account of it on his website: www.Fitz Higham.com.)
FitzHigham’s story goes like this: One day, while sitting in his bathtub, Tim FitzHigham wondered, “has anyone ever rowed a bathtub across the English channel?” After some research, he found the answer was, “No.” So, he pondered the idea some more and thought, “Someone should row across the English channel in a bathtub.” Then, after thinking about it even more, he thought, “I should be the person who rows across the English channel in a bathtub.” And so, he set out to do it.
The first order of business, obviously, was to get a bathtub. He called some bathtub manufacturers, but no one would give him one to row across the English Channel. So, he called some more, only to get the same result. He kept calling and calling and calling until one manufacturer, Thomas Crapper and Company, said, “Yes,” and gave FitzHigham a Victorian roll-top tub weighing a third of a ton. In FitzHigham’s words, it was a “museum piece” and “a gorgeous artifact.” And then he screwed two outriggers from a rowboat on to it.
There were other challenges too.
The English Channel is, in FitzHigham’s words, “the busiest shipping lane in the world.” Some of the tankers that travel up and down this stretch of water are mammoth vessels that require giant stopping distances of about 15 miles. They travel the channel north to south, which is significant as FitzHigham’s plan was to row east to west for a distance of approximately 200 miles. This meant he’d be directly in the path of these much larger vessels. In addition, half of the channel is owned by the French. So, FitzHigham wrote to the French government to tell them about his plans. As FitzHigham tells it, the French didn’t seem to mind. They even seemed helpful and sent him things to read about the channel. At the same time, however, French lawmakers were hard at work adding a new clause to their nation’s shipping rules that made it illegal to row a bathtub in French waters. Mr. FitzHigham fought back. He went to the Ministry of Transport in Britain and spoke to them about getting his bathtub registered as a British vessel. Amazingly, they said, “Sure.”
Yet, there were still more problems. As FitzHigham put it, he didn’t know how to row, and he had never been on the sea. So, to find out everything he could about navigating the channel, he contacted any organization he could think of that might be able to provide some insight. None would take his calls. In desperation, he called the Royal Navy and, somehow (i.e., switchboard operator error), he got connected with an admiral. The two hit it off and spoke at length. Eventually, FitzHigham came clean (pun intended) and admitted his vessel was a bathtub and that his plan was to row it across the English Channel. The admiral stayed on the line and, after a long pause, promised FitzHigham his support.
Then, because he thought it was the proper “thing to do,” FitzHigham wrote to Her Royal Majesty the Queen to tell her of his plans. She wrote back, said she was okay with it and, like the admiral, gave FitzHigham her support and wished him luck.
FitzHigham also encountered storm, during which he severely injured his shoulder to the point that he could only row with one arm. When you row with one arm you go in circles, so his support crew in another boat were compelled to pull him out. By this time, however, FitzHigham and his support crew had traveled into French waters, and the French knew … and they were upset. At one point, the French threatened to sink the tub with explosives. FitzHigham, who wasn’t thinking clearly from blood loss, told the French Navy that sinking a registered British Vessel would be considered an act of war. The French backed down.
Boats from Holland and Belgium, which were also in the channel, escorted FitzHigham, his tub, and his crew back to the UK. Once on shore, FitzHigham went to the hospital to get repaired. He wasn’t deterred, though. Sometime later he tried again, and he made it.
Later on (purportedly because he lost a bet), FitzHigham ended up rowing the tub around Kent and up to Tower Bridge (near the Tower of London). He was now a celebrity and used his fame to raise money for charity. He was also honored with the rank of commodore in the Royal Navy (the fourth highest rank) and invited to have an audience with the Queen. He even received word from his sponsor, the Thomas Crapper Co., who told him that, in honor of the channel crossing, they were going to release a new, commemorative toilet bearing his name. And what of the famous bathtub that made the journey? It now resides in the National Maritime Museum of Great Britain.
It’s cool that FitzHigham became a celebrity and received all those accolades but, for me, the most amazing part of this story is how he didn’t give up on the creative impulse — his quest to row a bathtub across the English Channel — after encountering all those challenges. Most people would have stopped at asking manufactures for a free tub, but he went so far beyond that. Who among us would not have backed down after learning of the French governments plans to prevent people from rowing bathtubs in French waters? Who among us would have had the nerve to call our government to register a bathtub as a national, sea-faring vessel? He even had to learn how to row. For most of us — myself included — it all would have been too much. It wasn’t for FitzHigham, though. Why? What is it that enabled him to persevere?
I had to know, so I contacted Mr. FitzHigham (through his publicist) to see if he would be good enough to answer the following question:
Before your bathtub touched the Channel's waters, you had to overcome several significant obstacles (e.g., getting a tub, getting it registered as a British vessel, learning to row, and so on). What advice do you have for people feeling the urge to chase a similarly adventurous and creative impulse, but find themselves staring down seeming insurmountable challenges?
To my surprise, Mr. FitzHigham was good enough to respond.
There are a lot of people who will tell you things are impossible — you only need yourself to believe something is possible to make it happen. Always attempt the impossible — it can't become possible if you don't. Remember the motto nunquam te confundant illegitimi* and never give in.
Folks, the message could not be clearer. Just like the solitary individuals whose backyard balls of twine became local landmarks that put their towns on the map (see issue #2), here we have a single individual with a crazy dream and nothing but the guts to make it happen. Yes, he became a minor celebrity, he was named a commodore in the Royal Navy, he met the Queen, and he had a toilet named after him, but, more than that, he made his mark on the world simply by following a creative impulse.
I find this wildly inspiring. I hope you do as well.
* Nunquam te confundant illegitimi is a Latin phrase commonly translated as, “Never let the bastards grind you down.”
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This article first appeared in Issue #3 (Spring 2021) of Alternative Incite magazine.
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