The Final Race Read online

  The family moved in to their furnished flat at 21 Gillespie Crescent in Edinburgh and began reacquainting themselves. Eric managed to find a French tutor to aid him in passing the last of his classes. He also took a job as a farmhand just outside the city. Each morning, long before the rooster crowed, Eric hopped on his newly purchased bicycle and pedaled to the farm where he put in a hard day’s work. In the evenings, he returned home to a family he loved dearly but from whom he had learned to live apart, despite that affection.

  By autumn the Liddell family moved to Merchiston Place and began worshiping at nearby Morningside Congregational Church, one of four churches located at a pivotal crossroads within the city called the “Holy Corner.” Rob had joined the church two years earlier. Now his family sat on the polished pews beside him.

  At Morningside, Eric became active in the Young People’s Union. While so many other young men and women his age sought new ways to carouse and carry on, Eric made faith the central focus of his life. Without a backward glance, he wholeheartedly poured himself into his role within the church and his walk with God.

  What Eric could not have known then—and perhaps didn’t realize until much later in his life—was that his walk would become a run, leading him to do more of God’s work outside the church than he could have ever imagined.

  On February 23, 1921, Eric Liddell officially signed his name in the books and became a student at the University of Edinburgh. A few months later, Rob and Eric stood on the train station platform to welcome James. The senior Liddell had a short time to be with his family before his work took him to the various Congregational churches in Britain. But James wanted more out of his trip home than work-related visits and time with family. He’d begun to hear rumors about Eric’s sporting accomplishments. So in addition to wanting to spend time with Eric—a rarity for the Liddells—James’s heart held a great desire to see his second son run.

  But for Eric, sports had taken a sudden backseat to his zeal for examining creation in the shadows of Edinburgh’s academic legends, such as Charles Darwin and David Hume, both of whom had walked the green courtyard and age-old halls of the university generations before. He became exposed to and familiar with Darwin’s theory of evolution and Hume’s major thesis born out of the Enlightenment: The laws of nature are inviolate; miracles violate the laws of nature; therefore, miracles do not exist.

  Rather than allowing these thoughts to turn his heart from Christ, Eric enjoyed the challenges and appreciated the complexities of theology, philosophy, and science. He noted that these and numerous other theories omitted Christ’s divine role in these matters. However, as a devout Christian and principled man of faith, he pressed forward, knowing that it was best to keep God factored into the equation of his scientific studies.

  When educational responsibilities proved to be exhausting, Eric returned to the physical release and exhilaration of athletics. Playing alongside Rob, who had already established himself on the university rugby team and made a name for himself in his own right, rekindled Eric’s joy for the game. Together the two became stars for the Edinburgh University rugby team’s fifteen-man roster. When the Liddell brothers were on the paddock in winged tandem, it was a special time for them . . . and a special year for Edinburgh. Eric cherished every scrum, try, and goal because he knew this would be the last athletic season he and Rob would share at this caliber of play.

  But the end came sooner than Eric anticipated. With Rob rigorously studying medicine and preparing to be a doctor, attempts to balance both medical academics and athletics at a high level became too much of a challenge. Rob decided to throw all his energies into becoming a doctor, which meant—in some ways—Eric found himself alone again.

  May 1921 brought the university’s annual sports day, which was primarily dedicated to track and field. The previous year an extremely talented and versatile athlete, W. L. Hunter, had graduated from the university. Hunter’s completion of his studies left an athletic void no one expected to be filled anytime soon. And certainly no one had their eye on any of the freshmen.

  But when Hunter left, Liddell entered.

  A new dawn was about to break.

  CHAPTER 3

  THE STARTER’S PISTOL

  Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it.

  1 Corinthians 9:24

  March 1921

  Nineteen-year-old Eric Liddell squinted one eye against the afternoon sunlight as he returned his teacup to its saucer. Across the outdoor table sat a school chum from Eltham, one who had also matriculated to the University of Edinburgh. “Run in the sports day games?” Eric asked with a shake of his head. “I don’t think you realize how busy I am.”

  His friend laughed easily, hunched over the table, and reached for his tea by the cup’s rim. “And I don’t think you realize how good you are.”

  A blush warmed Eric’s cheeks, already toasty from May’s heat. “I appreciate that—I do—but—”

  “But what?” The young man leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. “Come on. You’ve been all about the books lately. Don’t you miss sports? Even a little?”

  Eric thought a moment. Oh, yes. He missed the games. But shouldn’t his focus be solely on schoolwork now? Schoolwork and church?

  “All work,” the friend said with a lilt in his voice, “and no play makes Eric a dull boy.”

  Eric laughed. “I’d have to train and—”

  “I could help. Get you ready for the 100.”

  “You?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  Eric folded his arms across his chest. “What do you know about training for the 100?”

  The young man paused. Blinked. Then grinned. “Nothing. But I say we give it a go. We have a few weeks. If you don’t win—or don’t do well at all—why, I won’t bring it up again.”

  Eric inhaled deeply. With spring in full bloom, the fresh air had made him feel alive again after hunkering over books during the long winter. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained?” he asked.

  “Right.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll have a go at it.”

  * * *

  GAMES WERE JUST THAT—GAMES. And Eric had not put serious thought into them. His true focus had been elsewhere, in areas he felt it should be: his spiritual life and academics. This was not to say that Eric didn’t genuinely love running, because he did. Running well—and running fast—came as naturally to him as breathing.

  Eric agreed to train for the annual sports day—and so far it had gone well—but he didn’t put a lot of stock in what winning might mean.

  Not that anyone expected much from the university freshman. But that warm afternoon as the heather began to bloom beneath the sun’s light on Great Britain’s hillsides, Eric took his place at the starting line against Edinburgh’s current fastest sprinter . . . and history took a slow turn.

  Perhaps the older student looked at Eric sideways and chuckled inwardly, confident he’d leave the younger Liddell in his dust. Or perhaps he furrowed his brow, wondering, Who is this new man on the track? Either way, when the races were done, Eric had taken a shocking first in the 100 yards and barely got nipped for second in the 220-yard race.

  A surprising accomplishment for a freshman—so much so that a Glasgow newspaper declared that Eric “is going to be a British Champion ere long, and he might even blossom into an Olympic hero.”[1]

  With such a success, Eric committed to running track for the University of Edinburgh and, with each event, steadily raised eyebrows with his blazing speed and the times he posted, despite what was becoming more of the focus: his unorthodox style.

  As a runner, Eric had his own approach to racing, and it was one that would bring him great fame, even though—for Eric—it was simply the way he ran.

  Duncan McLeod Wright, a talented Scottish marathon runner who went on to represent Britain in multiple Olympic Games, described Eric’s unconventional style by saying, “In my half centu
ry’s connection with Scottish sport, I have met many famous athletes, but I state in all honesty that I don’t remember my first view of anyone as vividly as my first sight of Eric Liddell. It was at the Queen’s Park Sports in 1921. I heard there was a real flyer in the Edinburgh University’s colours. . . . Through a small window from the competitor’s room underneath the Stand, I saw Eric for the first run in the 100 yards and was completely thrilled. Off to a slow start, he ran with blazing speed, chin up, head back on the shoulders, and his arms thrashing the air. ‘Dreadful style’ said the cynical critics. But his space-devouring legs raced on a straight path to the tape, and to me he typified the speed runner putting all his strength into his effort to gain victory.”[2]

  Practice and technique were given strong attention in Eric’s training. Eric adopted what he could yet retained his peculiar style and stride. Years later, Eric recalled the first time he saw a cinder track:

  Up to then I thought all professional runners would be first-class runners. They danced about on their toes as if they were stepping on hot bricks. Whenever they started to run, they dug big holes for their toes to go into, as if they were preparing for the time when their toes would dance no more. Surely they did not expect me to make such a fool of myself as all that? Yes, I found that they did. . . .

  It was at this time that I got to know the trainer who trained me during my five seasons on the running track. He took me in hand, pounded me about like a piece of putty, pushed this muscle this way and that muscle the other way, in order, as he said, to get me into shape.

  He told me that my muscles were all far too hard and that they needed to be softened by massage. He added that if they were not softened soon, some day when I tried to start, one of the muscles would snap. He took me out and told me to do a short run. After finishing the run I stopped much quicker than any of the others. When I asked him what he thought of it, he answered that if I wanted a breakdown I was going about it in the best possible manner, for it appears that one must never stop abruptly on reaching the tape.

  Thus, being thoroughly humiliated, feeling that my reputation had been dragged through the mud, that my self-respect was still wallowing in the mire, and that if I didn’t get into the clutches of a trainer soon, every muscle in my body would give way and I should remain a physical wreck till the end of my days—I was then in a fit mental condition to start an athletic career.[3]

  Between his work within the church and his accomplishments on the track, Eric’s popularity continued to grow. Remarkably, this had little to no effect on his character. Eric’s humble profile remained unchanged.

  Eric enjoyed spending time in the young adults group, teaching Bible classes at Morningside, and worshiping with his family. He sensed that within the walls of church and ministry he could still be the person he had always known himself to be, a circumstance that had become more and more rare. Morningside held true sanctuary for Eric in more than the obvious way. Eric had begun to recognize the increasing pressures of fame, and he not only recognized them, he avoided them.

  The three-legged stool of church life, studies, and athletics supported Eric, fortifying him through his remaining years at the University of Edinburgh. Each interest grew, strengthened, and enhanced him in every way imaginable. Eric became a fine science scholar, and his prowess on the rugby team ultimately gave way to an opportunity to play for Scotland’s international team.

  Eric played international rugby for Scotland over the course of 1922–1923. His blazing speed made him a natural wing three-quarter, and by the end of the season he had earned seven international caps and scored four tries. By pairing Eric up with another speeding winger, A. L. Gracie, Scotland enjoyed thrilling success.

  “Is Eric Liddell better at rugby or running?” became a commonly heard question, since Eric’s speed on the rugby field was as astonishing as his times on the track. This sparked an enjoyable debate among athletic fans. Many avid rugby fans chastised the faster wingers for leaning on their speed during matches. But “funking tackles” was no trait of Eric’s. Though he never shied away from physical contact, he frequently used speed to do the work of multiple men.

  In the seven international games in which Eric played, Scotland lost only one—and that by a mere two points. The Student made sure to pay tribute to Eric’s prowess in the papers by declaring that he “has that rare combination, pace and the gift of rugby brains and hands; makes openings, snaps opportunities, gives the ‘dummy’ to perfection, does the work of three (if necessary) in defence, and carries unselfishness almost to a fault. Experience should make him as great a player as he is a sprinter.”[4]

  Ultimately, Eric’s track times continued to descend, and running became his premier sport. Eric emphasized primarily the shorter sprints, eventually setting the school record for the University of Edinburgh in the 100 yards with a searing time of 10.2 seconds.

  And his fame only increased with every rugby blue ribbon. Along the way, the “Flying Scotsman” moniker became associated with Eric in the press—and it stuck.

  In the twilight of his university days, Eric Liddell became a household name and a bona fide star. He easily won the title of the most popular athlete in Scotland as an international rugby all-star and a favorite slated for Olympic glory. The 1924 Olympics were a year away, but the way Britain talked, Eric already had a gold medal clutched in his fist.

  [1] The Glasgow Herald, August 11, 1921, as quoted in David McCasland, Eric Liddell: Pure Gold: A New Biography of the Olympic Champion Who Inspired Chariots of Fire (Grand Rapids, MI: Discovery House, 2001), 56.

  [2] D. P. Thomson, Scotland’s Greatest Athlete: The Eric Liddell Story (Barnoak, Crieff, Perthshire, Scotland: Research Unit, 1970), 34.

  [3] Ibid, 28–29.

  [4] Ibid, 38.

  CHAPTER 4

  MUSCULAR CHRISTIANITY

  He said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.”

  Matthew 4:19

  Early April 1923

  Eric glanced up from the book yawning open on his desk as someone rapped at the front door at 56 George Square, the University of Edinburgh flat he shared with his brother.

  “Rob?” he called out, hoping his brother had returned home and would answer the door.

  Silence, followed by another round of insistent knocking.

  Eric stood, the legs of his chair scraping against the floorboards and echoing in the room. “Rob!” he called again as he made his way to the front of the town house, even though he felt fairly certain Rob wasn’t home.

  He opened the door, ready to apologize to whoever stood on the other side. “Sorry about that—”

  A tall and lanky man stood between the Corinthian columns on the front stoop, looking from the scrap of paper he held in his hand to the number over the door. Then, blinking as though he only just realized the door had opened, he extended a hand. “Eric Liddell?”

  Eric accepted the handshake. “I am,” he said.

  The man smiled briefly, adjusting the round specs on the bridge of his nose. “But of course you are. Your brother gave me your address,” he said, showing Eric the paper. “Said you should be here this time of day.”

  Eric stepped aside, aware of the gentleman’s identity and his association with Rob. “Please,” he said. “Come in.”

  The man ambled in, his shoes shuffling against the tile. “My name is D. P. Thomson,” he said.

  Eric smiled. “Yes, I recognize you from the posters I’ve seen, and Rob has said fine things about you.” He gestured to the left. “Our sitting room is here. Please, have a seat, and I’ll bring some tea.”

  Eric busied himself in the small kitchen, preparing refreshments and wondering why David Patrick Thomson, a young Church of Scotland pastor, had come to see him. From what Rob had told him, D. P. had—the year before and in response to the growing problem of spiritual disinterest among the young men of Great Britain—been part of forming the Glasgow Students Evangelical Union. The purpose of the GSEU, which drew its
members from students in leadership, academia, and sports, was—pure and simple—Christian revival. But from what Rob had told him, the numbers of attendees had dwindled with each session.

  Eric returned to the front room carrying a tray set with cups, saucers, and a pot filled with brewing tea. “I brought both milk and lemon,” he said.

  D. P. thanked him, then set about preparing his tea as Eric waited. “You can probably imagine why I’m here,” the pastor said.

  Eric remained quiet, something he’d learned to do along his short life’s journey. If you want to know anything, listen.

  D. P. peered at Eric over the rims of his glasses. “We’ve got a problem in our country, Eric,” he said. “Our young men—from the students here at the university to the men sitting behind their prestigious desks to the boy working in the mines—they need the Lord. They need the message of the gospel.”

  Eric nodded as he prepared his own cup of tea.

  “You know about our work, I’m sure—what with Rob—”

  “I do.”

  “And you probably know that we’re seeing fewer and fewer men show up for our meetings.” The pastor took a sip from his cup.

  “Rob has mentioned.”

  D. P. shifted in his chair and rested his elbows against his knees. “I’ll get right to it, then. Here are my thoughts—we may not have much success getting the men to come initially to hear the gospel . . . but if we promise that they’ll hear from Scotland’s great athlete—”

  A rush of heat filled Eric’s face.

  “I asked Rob if he thought you’d do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Come and speak. Share your love for the Lord.”

  “And what did Rob say?”

  D. P. chuckled. “He said he didn’t know . . . that you’d never done any speaking before, but that—that I should ask you.”