The Final Race Read online

  In the whirlwind seven days since breaking the world record in the 400 meters, Eric had received his bachelor of science from the University of Edinburgh, had been capped ceremoniously by Sir Alfred Ewing with a crown of oleaster sprigs, and had been carried out of McEwan Hall by his fellow classmates. He had given speeches, been honored at a dinner, and then made his way by train to London and Stamford Bridge. There, surrounded by a stadium built to hold more than forty thousand spectators, he and Horatio Fitch (Britain’s and the United States’ best sprinters, respectively) waited for their teammates to hand them the baton for the final 400-meter leg of the mile relay.

  This race was the last event of the meet, and Britain was starved for some homeland firepower near the end of a disappointing race day. They were down to the last leg. Fitch got his baton first and took off.

  Liddell—dubbed “the Flying Scot” on sports pages across his country—received his baton four yards behind in chase.

  During the Olympic Games held in Paris the week previous, these same two men had dueled during the heats, quarterfinals, semifinals, and finals of the Olympic 400 meters. Fitch had run in the first semifinal, breaking an Olympic record to come in first place at 47.8 seconds. Eric had run in the second semifinal, coming in first at 48.2 seconds. The odds had been in Fitch’s favor.

  But Eric Liddell had something to prove—something beyond the Olympics. His was another race. His, a greater prize.

  Much to Fitch’s shock—and the world’s—in 47.6 seconds, Eric Liddell had trounced all competitors and odds, crossing the finish line with a first-place win and in world-record time.

  A week later, at Stamford Bridge, Fitch had retaliation in mind. The win should have come easily—Eric Liddell had spent the past week at graduation and banquets, leaving him no time for practice. The man’s muscles would be practically atrophied, surely.

  At two hundred yards, Liddell had made up two of the four yards between the men. Then, as they rounded the last turn, Liddell’s head went back, a sure sign. Often it had been said that when the Flying Scotsman’s “heid went back,” he “culdna’ lose.”

  Eric Liddell took over in the last straightaway, outrunning Fitch by a commanding four yards. His split time equaled his gold standard from the Olympics, and the hunger of the London crowd had been satisfied once again, but without compromise from Liddell.

  With the race over, and in his typical fashion, Liddell shook hands with Fitch and the others, quietly gathered his belongings, waved to the crowd, and left the limelight as swiftly as he could.

  No gloating. No interviews.

  Since his boyhood, Eric’s nature—to ward off pride and avoid attention when at all possible—had always been contrary to many self-promoting athletes and fame-seeking performers. Aware of his ascent in the public’s eye, he had been careful to not allow success to go to his head. Over the course of the past week, he had realized that winning gold for his nation—in the way he had won—had catapulted him into a new stratosphere of unanticipated celebrity.

  Now, as the late-afternoon sun beat down on King’s Cross, Eric caught wind of the reporters awaiting him. The attention did not appear to be ending anytime in the near future. But what he wanted—what he needed—was to retreat into a solitary bed compartment and sleep in peace for his ride home. He hoped to find a way to circumvent the onslaught of questions, which would invariably add volume to his own vanity. And if he didn’t answer correctly, his responses could easily be misconstrued. He looked around for a solution, but all entrances to his train were blocked.

  Eric sighed, realizing he had little choice but to endure the questions and the blinding flashes of camera bulbs.

  As he accepted his unusual defeat, Eric spied a baggage porter. Head bent under his trademarked hat, the older man nimbly pushed a luggage rack through the sea of travelers. Eric ducked his chin and, weaving through the crowd, made his way to the porter.

  “Excuse me, sir,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I wonder if you might do me a favor.”

  The porter listened as Eric explained the situation. “Would you be so kind as to loan me your cap and luggage rack?”

  The porter’s eyes scanned the crowd, whose voices had risen in the rush of the usual good-byes. He smiled at the conspiracy, then removed his hat and handed it to Eric. “My pleasure, Mr. Liddell,” he said, smoothing back his disheveled hair. “Just add your bags to the rack here and make your way to that car over there.”

  Eric dipped into his pocket and slipped a sizable tip into the porter’s hand. “Thank you, my good man,” he said before shrewdly pushing the luggage rack. As the porter had done, Eric kept his head down, but he cast his eyes to the train cars and walked straight through the unsuspecting media.

  After loading the luggage, he boarded the train undetected while the porter watched from the outskirts, a smile curling his lips.

  * * *

  THE PUBLIC AND LOCAL MEDIA could not recognize or appreciate the extraordinary pressures Eric Liddell was under. Questions of when to conclude his running career, when to leave for China, whether or not to enter seminary, how long to be apart from his family, the ever-closing window of opportunity to secure a wife—all were methodical drips increasing a dull pound in his thoughts. No matter which avenue he chose, all ultimately meant what seemed unthinkable to most—he would turn his back on fame.

  For good.

  And he was not about to open his heart to prying journalists as he mulled over his decisions. Had he indulged their inquiries, they could not have come to terms with the seriousness of the dilemma and the magnitude of the situation. The choice to leave his full life in Britain—to trade it for the obscurity of the Far East—seemed senseless to them.

  To everyone. Nearly.

  The public knew of Liddell’s missionary lineage and had caught wind that he might possibly join in the efforts of his family eventually. But capitalizing solely on the potential of his success kept their interest. The Flying Scotsman had achieved so much, and so much more lay at his fingertips. Fanning the flame of stardom was a necessary act. They simply would not understand why he—or anyone, for that matter—would willingly walk away from the admiration and celebrity status they continued to lavish upon him.

  To sacrifice everything earned and live a life of practical anonymity seemed more drastic than necessary. If he made the choice for China, he would walk into a place and time where no one knew him and where British citizens were despised.

  Besides, couldn’t he stay in England and do more for Christ there than in China? He already drew huge crowds of people—people who came to listen as he shared his Christian faith. A tremendous platform had already been set up for him.

  How could he top that?

  But journalists and fans alike could not know the depths of their newly crowned gold medalist. Where most people would give anything for the attention, Eric had learned to avoid it when possible. This was no feigned avoidance. At only twenty-two, he already recognized that these had been his “days of comfort,” and that temptations befall a man when narcissism comes into play.

  Not only was Eric the most famous Brit of his time, he was also an eligible bachelor. It wasn’t easy getting to know a young lady who didn’t recognize him or who already had high expectations of what he was like. Genuine seriousness was hard enough to identify for any young man seeking someone to marry, let alone for the most popular individual in the country. Still, he reasoned, the probability of finding the love of his life in China seemed astronomically low.

  For Eric, the crossroads of life had never been dull. This one was no exception.

  Once safe and unrecognized in his train compartment, Eric looked through the window dotted with a child’s recent nose prints and chuckled at the reporters who realized, as the crowd thinned out, that they had missed their chance. Again. He situated his belongings, then stretched out, closed his eyes, and let out a long breath, releasing the tension his body had held unconsciously since stepping onto the platform.r />
  Pride cometh before the fall.

  The words danced about in his head. Oh, yes. He knew the line well, and he had no intention of dooming himself to its clarion prophecy. But uncertainties abounded, and how he would navigate the waters that lay directly ahead of him had to be determined soon.

  But soon would come quickly enough. For now, what he really needed was to rest.

  The whistle blew, and with a jerk, the train pulled away from the station, heading toward Edinburgh. With any luck, he’d make it home in time to get a little sleep in his own bed before morning. Before another set of responsibilities lay before him.

  After all, the following day was a Sunday.

  CHAPTER 2

  FOUNDATIONS

  Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it.

  Proverbs 22:6

  September 14, 1909

  Sweat beaded across the brow of seven-year-old Eric Liddell that warm September afternoon, and he wiped it toward the line of blond hair slicked with perspiration. “Come on, Rob!” he shouted. “Throw the ball!”

  Rob, Eric’s older brother, darted along the dry grass of Blackheath’s meager playing field, his eyes searching for the best teammate to pass to. Finding a ready classmate, he tossed the oval rugger ball, then started toward his brother.

  “Look!” he said, reaching Eric. “Mummy and Jenny are here!”

  Eric turned in the direction Rob pointed. For a year now, since he and Rob had been enrolled in the London boarding school of Blackheath, their mother and younger sister, Jenny, had visited often, although not usually during class time.

  “Should we go . . . ?” Eric began, stopping as Rob pulled him by the shirt sleeve toward their mother and sister.

  Mary Liddell bent down to wrap each of them in a hug, then stood again. “I’ve—we’ve—” She looked down at Jenny. “We’ve come to say good-bye.”

  Eric cocked his head as his mother swallowed hard. Was this the day his mother had told them about, the day she and Jenny would leave England for China, where his father had returned a year earlier?

  “Are you leaving, then?” Rob asked. “For the boat?”

  Mary nodded as wisps of dark hair fell away from the pins that held her thick tresses in place at the nape of her neck. She squatted before them, taking their hands in hers. “I want you boys to promise me you’ll be good for the headmaster. And study hard, and write to me as often as you can.”

  “Will you write to us, Mummy?” Eric asked, feeling the tremor in his mother’s hand.

  She squeezed in assurance. “Every week. Like clockwork.” She looked each of them in the eye. “Now, do you promise?”

  “We promise,” they said together.

  Their mother gathered them into her arms again, pressing her lips against their moist cheeks. Eric breathed in the fresh scent of her; she smelled like the heather that grew along the hills of Scotland. “I love you both so much . . . and I’ll miss you most terribly. Never forget that.”

  “We won’t.”

  Mary stood again and drew in a shaky breath. “Say good-bye to Jenny then.”

  Both boys gave their sister a hug as their mother continued her instructions. “All right. Off you go, my boys. Back to your play.”

  Eric lagged behind his brother in the return, then looked over his shoulder to see if their mother was still watching them. But she and Jenny had already begun to walk away, hand in hand. “Rob,” he said loudly enough for his brother to hear over the voices of the other boys.

  Rob cast him a backward glance.

  “Do you think it will be many days before we see them again?”

  Rob nodded. “Many, many days. Years, Eric.”

  Eric’s brow furrowed. Years . . . years without his mother. Without his father. Without Jenny. He took a final look toward the fading figures of the two most important females in his life.

  Ah . . . but years with Rob. At least he had his older brother.

  * * *

  BY 1920, SEPARATION WAS nothing new for Eric Liddell. He’d lived with it nearly his entire life.

  Born the second son of missionaries to China in the frostbitten winter of 1902—only seventeen months after his older brother, Rob—Eric had left his birthplace at the tender age of five and crossed vast oceans to Great Britain, where he and Rob entered boarding school.

  Shortly after Eric and Rob were enrolled, and in the tradition of the day, their parents, James and Mary, returned to China . . . leaving Eric with the first pangs of separation. Separation from his mother and father. Separation from his little sister, Jenny. Separation from all he had known up to that point. Separation from his nanny, Qi Nai Nai; the home within the London Missionary Society compound located in Siaochang; and summers spent at the beachside resort of Pei Tai Ho.

  Separation from everything and everyone.

  Except Rob.

  Since birth, one of the few constants in Eric’s life had been his older brother. But as the boys grew into young adulthood, even Rob had left him, after graduating from London’s Eltham College—an elementary through high school educational institution for the sons of missionaries.

  By this point, Rob and Eric had only seen their parents—along with Jenny and their younger brother, Ernest—a handful of times since arriving at school. And while their relationships with their immediate family had been maintained by letters passed between China and Great Britain, their relationship to each other had been set on a firm foundation of scholastics, faith, and sports, first in Blackheath in their elementary years and then at Eltham in 1912.

  Back then, like their classmates, the Liddell brothers—known as Liddell i and Liddell ii—could not have been more delighted to move out of the drafty dormitories of Blackheath and into a larger, newer, and more advanced facility, a facility made up of more than brick and mortar. This facility sported a real game field—acreage of green grass that would change the course of young Eric’s life.

  Excelling at sports was one thing. Academically, Eric’s bulb had never shone the brightest. But as he developed, his mind gravitated toward chemistry, thanks in part to one of his instructors, D. H. Burleigh. Through Master Burleigh’s teaching, Eric learned that his young Christian mind did not have to be at odds with the scientific world and that God and his creation have a unique parent-child relationship.

  Another teacher who had long-lasting impact on Eric was A. P. Cullen, better known by faculty and students as simply “Cullen.”

  Back in the early days, Cullen often said (with a chuckle) that he believed Eric wasn’t as angelic as he appeared to be, because of Eric’s bent toward mischief-making. But what he could never have known—or begun to figure out—was that he would be the only nonrelative Eric Liddell interacted with through the three major phases of his life: childhood, young-adult athletics, and the missionary years in China during World War II.

  It was Cullen who was with Eric in his childhood . . . and it was Cullen who would be with Eric in the days of war and imprisonment.

  In Eric’s mind, Rob had been the real sportsman all along; Eric had only played in his brother’s shadow. But once Rob left Eltham for the University of Edinburgh to study for a medical degree, Eric’s talents in rugby and cricket rose to new levels.

  Of the two sports, Eric tended to favor rugby. Schoolmates couldn’t help but take notice. The life Eric had led—whether knowingly or unknowingly—in his brother’s shadow was swiftly coming to a close as he began to outstrip Rob.

  “Get the ball to Eric,” teammates said, because they knew if Eric had the ball, the win belonged to them.

  So while the high school student may not have shone in the classroom, on the grassy field his star made a slow ascent—so much so that during his final year at Eltham, Eric broke the 11-second barrier in the 100-yard sprint, and his running times began to flirt with some of the 100-yard sprinting records, not only in England but also in the world.

  Popularity—something Eric had always enjoyed�
�gave way to celebrity.

  Despite the sudden acclaim, however, Eric remained remarkably modest without change to his character. As his star climbed ever higher, he seemed to already display a keen sense that there were more important issues in life on which to focus.

  Because when Eric wasn’t busy with sports and studies, his focus zeroed in on the other constant in his life—church.

  The Liddells were members of a Congregational church, a smaller and lesser-known church body compared to the much larger Scottish Presbyterian Church. Eric had picked up portions of his parents’ Congregationalist doctrine in China, but in Scotland he found himself immersed in its rhythm, traditions, and instruction.

  Compared to the state religion, Scottish Congregationalists, by profession, were much more ecumenical in nature and had no issue mixing with other varieties of Christianity. Independence and freedom in Christ were important virtues for Scottish Congregationalists, and in that Eric was no exception.

  In March 1920, Eric moved out of Eltham and in with Rob. Once again, the Liddell brothers were under the same roof. But a larger blessing was that their mother, along with Jenny and Ernest, was set to arrive within the month, and James would follow soon thereafter.

  Mary’s role in arriving early was to secure and create a home for her family. Five years earlier, when Rob and Eric had said their last good-bye to their parents and siblings, they’d been two schoolboys. Now as grown men they would meet the woman who had brought them into the world. And this time, one of them—Rob—would have a young woman at his side.

  Nerves plagued him. Ria Aitken had become more than a passing flirtation. Ria, he hoped, would one day become his bride. The family’s acceptance of her, therefore, was critical.