Imagine being thrust into a legal battle with one of the world’s most prestigious institutions—a battle that feels like David versus Goliath. That’s exactly what Omar Terywall is facing as his rowing company, Cambridge Rowing Limited, finds itself locked in a trademark dispute with the University of Cambridge. But here’s where it gets controversial: Is the university protecting its legacy, or is it overreaching by claiming ownership of a word—'Cambridge'—that’s deeply rooted in the city’s history, long before the institution itself existed? And this is the part most people miss: the broader implications of such disputes on small businesses and local identity.
When Terywall launched Cambridge Rowing Limited in 2021, the name felt natural. Based in his hometown of Cambridge, the company offers the Cambridge Rowing Experience, introducing novice rowers to the serene waters of the River Cam. With over 5,000 participants, including hundreds of local children, the venture has become a beloved part of the community. But in 2022, when Terywall applied to trademark the company’s logo—a shield featuring a rower and the words 'Cambridge Rowing'—the University of Cambridge filed a formal objection. The university, founded in 1209, argues that 'Cambridge' is synonymous with its brand, especially in contexts like education, sport, and research. It has already registered 'Cambridge' as a trademark in various classifications, including class 41 for 'sporting and cultural activities.'
For Terywall, the objection was nothing short of 'terrifying.' 'It’s like being bullied by a huge, multibillion-pound entity,' he says. While he acknowledges his positive relationship with the university’s colleges, he can’t shake the feeling of intimidation. 'When a big organization comes after you, it’s pretty scary,' he admits. The dispute isn’t just about a name—it’s about identity, history, and the right to use words that belong to a community, not a single institution.
Here’s the controversial twist: Terywall argues that rowing predates the university by millennia, with evidence of the sport dating back to 5,800 BC in Finland. Even the iconic Oxford-Cambridge Boat Race, which the university often cites as proof of its rowing legacy, began in 1829—long after Cambridge as a city had established its own traditions. 'To claim ownership of 'Cambridge' and 'rowing' is bonkers,' Terywall says. 'These words belong to all of us.'
Intellectual property solicitor Liz Ward, however, sees the university’s perspective. 'Cambridge is synonymous with rowing in the UK,' she notes. 'The university’s reputation in the sport is undeniable, and they’re likely protecting that legacy.' But she also acknowledges the challenge Terywall faces, particularly in class 41, where his trademark application overlaps with the university’s registered categories.
The university defends its actions, stating it must protect its trademarks from misuse, especially by fraudulent actors who misrepresent their association with the institution. 'We spend a lot of time supporting people who have been misled,' a spokesperson explains. Yet, critics argue that such broad claims could stifle local businesses and erase the city’s history outside the university’s shadow.
As the dispute awaits a decision, expected in early 2025, the question lingers: Who owns the right to a place’s name? Is it the institution that has shaped its modern identity, or the community that has existed for centuries? And here’s where we want to hear from you: Do you think the University of Cambridge is justified in its trademark claims, or is it overstepping its bounds? Let us know in the comments—this debate is far from over.
