by Glenn Stout
Trudy, however, shuddered at the thought of swimming to bagpipers for the better part of a day and countered by asking if it might be possible to listen to a radio on deck of the tug instead. But Wolffe vetoed the idea, explaining that it would be impossible to ensure that the radio would broadcast music in the precise rhythm required. Once again, Wolffe and Trudy were at a stand-off.
The solution to the quandary was provided by the French swimmer Jeanne Sion. Sion told Trudy that "music is as essential to a channel swimmer as food," and suggested that she swim to music she enjoyed, as Sion had, and hire a band, recommending that she get one that included a cornet, a clarinet, a trombone, and a concertina. Trudy, a true fan of popular music, liked that idea, saying she wanted to make sure they band played "real American jazz—hard boiled music. Nothing in a minor chord for me."
While that solved one issue, it still did not mean that Trudy and Jabez Wolffe were rowing together in the same boat. Wolffe had previously told some observers, like Alec Rutherford, an English sportswriter who was widely considered to be an expert on Channel swimming, that "if conditions are favorable ... I firmly believe that Miss Ederle will succeed, and if she does I think she will lower the record," and he made tentative plans for Trudy to make an attempt on August 7. On that day, however, Trudy had a touch of the flu, and the swim had to be put off until August 17, the next date the tides would be favorable. Wolffe was clearly miffed—he acted as if he thought she'd faked her illness and now changed his tune, telling a reporter, "I do not expect her to succeed ... She refuses to train and plays the ukulele all day...[and] she is too fast a swimmer for such a great distance. If she swims fast she will collapse, and she cannot swim slowly because her feet have a trick of hanging down when she is swimming slowly."
It almost appeared as if Wolffe didn't want her to succeed. Ederle's presence in France had captured the interest of the press on both sides of the Channel—never before had so much press attention been foisted on the Channel swimmers and their coaches. Wolffe not only enjoyed the attention, but as a result he now regularly fielded inquiries from other Channel swimmers—including some women—who were interested in hiring him in the event Ederle either failed completely or failed to better Tirabocchi's mark. However, if Trudy succeeded, few of these swimmers were likely to continue their quest, providing Wolffe with a financial incentive for her to fail. And if she did fail, Wolffe would likely be hired in the summer of 1926 by even more swimmers eager to swim the Channel.
There was also the matter of wagers. Insurance bookmakers in London started out giving odds of 1 to 10 against Ederle making it across, but in recent, days, due in part to Wolffe's original pronouncement that "Miss Ederle will succeed," the odds changed precipitously. Now the odds were only 1 in 4 against Trudy. While there is no direct evidence that Wolffe had placed a bet or was trying to manipulate the odds, his contradictory statements are suspicious.
Then again, it just may have been Trudy's sex that turned the old Scotsman against her. It galled Wolffe, who had tried and failed so many times in the Channel waters, to see Trudy, a woman, and a far better swimmer than he could ever dream of being, cut through the water at a speed he found both astonishing and—this is what really got to him—almost effortless, surrounded on land by reporters and supporters who treated her with a measure of respect and deference that was no longer his. Wolffe continued to complain to reporters that she hadn't followed his training methods and then added bitterly, "I have told her that this marathon swim is different from anything she has tried. But what man can argue successfully with a woman?"
While Trudy recuperated, Lillian Harrison made another attempt to swim the Channel, but when she was approximately halfway across she passed out from the cold water. Fortunately for her, at the time she was being paced by Ishaq Helmi, who managed to grab hold of her and keep her afloat until she could be pulled back on the boat.
That was enough for Harrison. When she recovered she said, "I've had my fling at this old channel; I'm going to turn it over to Gertrude Ederle now to see what she can do." Harrison never tried to swim the Channel again.
Ederle's illness kept her out of the water until August 12, when she resumed training, but she appeared no worse for wear. Wolffe, however, was at the end of his rope and now complained to reporters about interference from Trudy's chaperone, Elsie Viets. Just one day before Trudy was scheduled to enter the water, on August 16, he became so incensed that he stalked off and tried to board the ferry from Boulogne back to England, only to be hauled off the ship by some friends who urged him to reconsider. He chose to remain, but he still wasn't happy.
In fact, Wolffe seemed determined to undermine Trudy's confidence even further, for later that day Wolffe chose to sound an alarm. Two fishermen from Boulogne came back into port with two sharks they'd caught in the Channel, which they hung from huge hooks on the dock so the entire town could see the fearsome creatures on display.
Although biologists have determined that the Channel is, in fact, the occasional home of several shark species, including the thrasher shark, blue shark, basking shark, and, on rare occasions, even the great white, attacks are virtually unknown. Most shark sightings in the Channel were, in reality, of porpoises, and at the time some Channel residents used the terms interchangeably.
Trudy had little reaction to the news—this was the first she had heard of sharks from Wolffe, and other swimmers had told her there was nothing to be concerned about; of the many hazards that swimmers face in the Channel, shark attacks are among the most remote. But still, even entertaining the thought before attempting to swim the Channel, which required everything a person had, was a distraction, and the fact that Wolffe was bringing it up hardly made her feel better about him. If success was the goal, giving Trudy any reason to doubt both herself and the wisdom of her effort served no useful purpose whatsoever.
That is why it is strange that Jabez Wolffe chose not only to tell Trudy about the sharks, describing them in all their toothsome glory, but even added that he himself had been forced to cut short a Channel swim due to a shark attack, which was news even to those who had known Wolffe a long time. Less than twenty-four hours before she would test herself in the Channel waters for the first time, Trudy had to worry about not only the sharks in the water, but also, perhaps, the shark who was serving as her own trainer.
19. Touched
IF TRUDY WAS TROUBLED by visions of sharks and blood in the water the night before beginning her swim, she didn't let on. At 6:00 on the evening of August 16, after a dinner of her favorite meal, beefsteak—no horsemeat on this trip—Trudy retired early.
Ten hours later, Elsie Viets shook her awake. Trudy opened her eyes and her first words were "How I wish tomorrow was today." She knew that this day might well prove to be the most difficult and challenging of her young life.
Trudy dressed quickly, already thinking of the swim. As she stood up from a light breakfast of apple fritters and weak tea, she told Viets, "I'm ready for it. Bring on your old Channel." The women made their way to the dock in Boulogne, where the tug La Morinie sat waiting to bring her to Cape Gris-Nez and then follow her on her journey. Just as she began to board the vessel Viets noticed that Trudy had put her skirt on inside out and asked if she wanted to return to her room and change, but Trudy laughed it off saying, "I feel it will bring me good luck." Carrying a large American flag, she crossed the gangplank and immediately asked that it be raised.
Nearly a hundred people were milling about the dock in the dark waiting to board the boat, including cameramen, press correspondents—among them the American Minott Saunders, the Englishman Alec Rutherford, and Sydney Williams of the English-language Paris Tribune—assorted crew, well-wishers, and friends. The scene more resembled the controlled chaos of a departing cruise ship than the departure of a Channel swimmer. Just after 5:00 A.M., the tug pulled away from the dock for the short trip up the coast to Cape Gris-Nez.
Never before in the history of Channel swimming had a swimmer recei
ved so much attention and support. Not only was the band on board the tug, but the WSA had sent over a gramophone, just in case. The tug was equipped with advanced wireless and radio equipment to send bulletins back to shore, and no less than four motorboats had been hired by journalists to ferry written dispatches back to land from mid-Channel to provide almost a minute-by-minute account of Trudy's swim. If all that somehow failed to keep the world informed, Jabez Wolffe had even insisted that the boat be equipped with carrier pigeons.
As the tug chugged toward Cape Gris-Nez in the early morning light, Trudy sipped a hot drink as reporters, wearing heavy sweaters, tussled on deck for choice space to set up their typewriters, as did the band. The weather, to a novice, seemed near perfect—a hazy sun rose over the highlands along the French shore and revealed the Channel in repose, cast in a rosy, peaceful glow, as if waiting, with no swell in her waters and the lightest breeze blowing from the southeast. To most observers it looked to be a fine summer day. The water was even warmer than usual, an almost balmy sixty-four. Somewhere through the mist was England, just over twenty miles off, and, for Trudy, perhaps, lasting fame.
But to those who knew the Channel, and knew the sea, there were signs of trouble. A crimson streak shone on the horizon, reminding some of the old sailor's adage "Red sky at morning, sailors take warning."
As was customary, Trudy was joined by many of the other swimmers who either planned to swim the Channel themselves or were considering doing so. They had been engaged to help Trudy maintain her pace, and in so doing received valuable training time in mid-Channel, the kind of experience that was certain to help them with their own efforts. Helmi, Lillian Harrison, Jeanne Sion, the English swimmer Vera Tanner, and two male swimmers representing the British and French military, respectively, a Captain Annison and a Lieutenant Destrees, were all on board.
As the tug approached Gris-Nez, Jeanne Sion, who served as something of a surrogate parent for Trudy, accompanied her below decks to the boiler room, where she first donned her one-piece unitard bearing an American flag on the breast, and then, with the help of Sion, Elsie Viets, Vera Tanner, and Wolffe, her goggles were fixed to her face with latex and her body was covered in a quarter inch of lanolin, topped with another quarter inch of Vaseline, and then another quarter inch of Wolffe's own special formulation—primarily lard—and other compounds, leading Trudy, whose hands were covered and couldn't touch anything, to pronounce with a grimace, "I hate this sticky stuff." If she performed as she expected, she would never have to wear it again.
The tug reached Gris-Nez just before 7:00 A.M. and anchored about a quarter mile from the outmost tip of old Gray Nose. Trudy, Wolffe, Lillian Harrison, and several crewmen gathered on deck, and Trudy read a telegram just received on ship from her parents: "Swim to Victory. Lots of Love, Mother and Dad." A rowboat was lowered to the water, and Trudy and her crew climbed in. As she did, she saluted the American flag flying over the tug, and as the boat's occupants cheered her on, a powerboat owned by United Press towed the rowboat to where Bill Burgess waited for her onshore. Wolffe didn't want a repeat of the bad luck that had befallen Lillian Harrison when she had slipped and cut her leg, and Burgess, in a show of camaraderie, had agreed to help with the start, knowing that Wolffe, despite their differences, would do the same for him in a similar situation.
Just off the rocky promontory, Trudy, her pink bathing cap tight over her head, slipped over the edge of the rowboat and into the water, followed close behind by Jabez Wolffe. She swam a few strokes toward Burgess, waded toward shore, and then touched a rock jutting out of the water to establish the start of her swim. According to their plans, Burgess was supposed to lead her out to open water, with Wolffe trailing her from behind to make sure she didn't get swept upon the rocks.
Trudy couldn't wait. Despite her recent illness and Wolffe's complaints, she felt terrific, excited but in top shape. A moment later, at 7:12 A.M. Trudy turned back toward England, stretched out in the water, lifted first her right arm and then her left arm, first overhead then outward, and began to swim, leaving Burgess behind. Only a generation before, the thought of a woman swimming the English Channel would have seemed ludicrous. Now, it seemed not only possible, but for the first time in history, even likely.
She had four hours and twenty minutes before the tide would turn, and she didn't waste a moment. She struck out at a pace of twenty-eight strokes per minute, reaching and then passing the tug after only twelve minutes as the boat pulled anchor and began to chug along some ten or fifteen yards off her lee side, close enough for those on board to watch, but not so close as to interfere with her swim.
On cue, as she swam alongside the tug, the band began to play "March of the Allies," Trudy looked up, laughed, and said, "Give me 'Yes, We Have No Bananas,'" then struck off. Wolffe, in the rowboat only a few yards away, his head covered with a towel to protect his scalp and forehead from sunburn, was heard to bellow, "This is not a 1, 000-yard race Miss Ederle!" already trying to slow her down. She paid him little attention but mocked him by swimming the breaststroke for time, as he preferred, before she resumed her rapid pace. At various intervals other swimmers occasionally slipped into the water alongside her and swam for a time to help her maintain her pace before each of them left the water, exhausted, as none could maintain her speed for long. Every hour or so a motorboat drew alongside the tug, gathered up the written dispatches from the journalists on board, then raced on to deliver word of her progress to the world. Back in the Highlands, her parents, sisters Meg, Helen, and Emma, and even her little brothers, Henry and George, were all up and awake, anxious to receive "bulletins" by telephone from the WSA, which forwarded to the Ederles any information it received by cable.
When the tide turned nearly five hours into her swim, she was already in mid-Channel, having covered eight miles in the first three hours, and even as the tide began to slow and turn, she continued to make steady progress. The only difficulty she was having was with Jabez Wolffe.
He fought her at nearly every instance. When she first complained of being hungry and asked for food, he balked at giving her anything and told her it was too early to eat or drink. When he finally did, passing her a bottle of beef broth by way of a long pole, she popped off the cork top with her teeth, and, floating on her back, lost her grip and the bottle slipped away. "Five shillings worth of nourishment gone to Neptune," grunted Wolffe before he provided another. Later, when he gave her a bottle of hot coffee and she held the bottle in her hands for a moment, enjoying the warmth, he mocked her, first asking if the coffee was too hot, then grinned and said, "Is it nice and warm in there?" referring to the Channel waters.
"Yes," snapped Trudy, unable to contain her dislike of the trainer. "It's a real treat." Then, when she asked that a swimmer be sent in the water to help her keep her pace, Wolffe derisively referred to such companions as her "playmates." When Vera Tanner joined Trudy in the water and the two women chatted as they swam to pass the time, Wolffe barked out, "Cut off that talking, girls," and whenever Trudy asked for an update on her progress, instead of telling her how well she was doing, he continually admonished her for going too fast, asking, "Would you like to go back to France, Miss Ederle?"
If Trudy needed any more motivation, Wolffe was providing it. She was determined to finish if for no other reason than to spite him and prove to him that she could. She wanted nothing more than to walk on England's shore and leave Wolffe behind.
At about 1:00 P.M., after nearly six hours in the water, the warning from the red sky began to turn into reality. The wind suddenly turned and blew harder from the southwest, covering the sun in clouds and kicking up the sea. It was as if the English Channel itself had decided, now that Trudy was almost halfway to England, it was time to remind her that there was a reason only five swimmers had ever preceded her across, and that this swim, was, indeed, different from all others.
Almost immediately, those on board the ship began to feel the effects of the swells that now rolled in incessantly a
nd that lifted the slow-going tug up and down like a cork. The passengers had started the trip with a liberal supply of food and two barrels of beer, much of which had already been consumed and was now about to be returned to the sea. The music was the first casualty as the musicians fell out first, playing in fits and starts before each man finally dropped out and abandoned his instrument to grip the rail and bow over the side, soon followed by some journalists and other observers.
In the water, Trudy also began to turn a bit green. The rougher seas caused her to slow down a bit, and she occasionally rolled over on her back to stretch and rub her arms. The Channel is full of jellyfish and Trudy had been stung, but although her arms were sore, the stings were more an annoyance than anything else. But she was not immune to the sea swells and soon began to complain of a sour stomach—she could still taste the beef broth she had consumed earlier. She was beginning to cramp, too, which was a bit strange for this stage of the swim—she sometimes cramped up during her first minutes in the open water, before her body adjusted to the temperature and effort. Yet all in all, she was okay. Dover was only eleven miles off.
Over the next hour conditions deteriorated, and it became difficult to tell if it was raining or if the air was simply full of wind-whipped mist. Trudy slowed to a pace of about a mile and a half an hour, but she did not stop, and at 2:30 P.M., with the musicians now huddled below deck with their heads between their knees, some bored journalists took up their instruments and began to play, not as well, but with great enthusiasm. That momentarily cheered Trudy, who over the course of the last hour had become a little lethargic.
Yet at around 3:00 P.M., as conditions turned even rougher, Helmi joined her in the water. Trudy was fond of the big swimmer and felt at ease in the rough seas with him at her side. After all, he had recently been credited with saving both Lillian Harrison and Jeanne Sion, grabbing the former swimmer as she lost consciousness during one of her attempts, and pulling Sion into a boat when she was too weak to climb in herself, and others couldn't gain a grip on her due to her coating of grease and lanolin.
