As Blower came limping ashore at Portpatrick the first man to clasp his hand was a Scottish policeman. "You're the first one to do it, lad," he said, "and you'll be the last."
Blower became a national figure and need never have done any more. But as long as there was a difficult swim to be made he wanted to make it. No amount of bitter cold, exhaustion, cramps, seasickness, sore mouths, puffed faces, arm ache and stinging jellyfish ever seems to deter such men. "They get the bug and it kills them in the end," said Clarice Blower. Her husband joked about his strenuous addiction. "I am going to put my swimming trunks on a pole," he said once, "and start walking with them flying like a flag. When someone stops and asks, 'What are those?' I am going to settle there, because that will mean they have never seen swimming trunks there, and don't swim there—and that, brother, will be the place for me."
He swam the English Channel twice more—in 1948 and 1951—both times the particularly tricky way from England to France. Between swims he went quietly about his job as an advertising representative for a cigarette manufacturer in Nottingham. Then in 1955, at the age of 41, he died suddenly of a heart attack in his home.