That night, Eric boarded a train for London to compete in a post-Olympics relay competition between the United States and the British Empire, which would be held the next day—which also happened to be the day of Rob’s missionary installation. Just as Rob had missed Eric’s big race in France, Eric would miss Rob’s big day in Britain.
No open races were run, only four-man relay teams. The United States got the best of the Brits in the majority of the events, but Eric gave another memorable performance that saved the day . . . if not a bit of national dignity. During the anchor leg of the 4 x 400, Eric received the baton well behind the American star, Horatio Fitch. Eric drew in close at the finish and surpassed him soundly for an emphatic win by four yards, matching his Olympic medal time with a 400-meter relay split of 47.6.
After the race, journalists crowded London’s King’s Cross railway station platform, their eyes searching for the Flying Scotsman.
But Eric Liddell had spied a baggage porter . . .
Minutes later, he boarded the train undetected, ready to return to Edinburgh.
Ready to return to life . . . and to another looming question.
[12] D. P. Thomson, Scotland’s Greatest Athlete: The Eric Liddell Story (Barnoak, Crieff, Perthshire, Scotland: Research Unit, 1970), 68.
[13] Ibid.
[14] Edward S. Seares, Running through the Ages (Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Company, 2015), 168.
[15] Russell W. Ramsey, God’s Joyful Runner (South Plainfield, NJ: Bridge, 1987), 53.
[16] Ibid., 73.
[17] D. P. Thomson, Scotland’s Greatest Athlete: The Eric Liddell Story (Barnoak, Crieff, Perthshire, Scotland: Research Unit, 1970), 70.
[18] Ibid, 72.
[19] Ibid.
[20] Ibid., 73.
[21] David McCasland, Eric Liddell: Pure Gold: A New Biography of the Olympic Champion Who Inspired Chariots of Fire (Grand Rapids, MI: Discovery House, 2001), 103.
[22] Ibid.
[23] D. P. Thomson, Scotland’s Greatest Athlete: The Eric Liddell Story (Barnoak, Crieff, Perthshire, Scotland: Research Unit, 1970), 74.
CHAPTER 8
DOCTRINAL DISCERNMENT
Pay close attention to yourself and to your teaching; persevere in these things, for as you do this you will ensure salvation both for yourself and for those who hear you.
1 Timothy 4:16, NASB
Late Autumn 1924
“I don’t believe I’ve ever known anyone who couldn’t say no quite like you, Eric,” D. P. told Eric at the end of another campaign.
Eric stretched his legs from the seat he’d nearly collapsed into, one directly opposite the seat his friend slouched on. He glanced out the small window of the train, smudged with a child’s fingerprints from an earlier passage, to the platform on the other side. With a start the train took off, and—plank by plank—the station slid from view. “It’s impossible to estimate what a simple yes can measure out to be.”
D. P. closed his eyes. “Still . . .”
“Would you have me say no?” Eric’s smile broke easily as D. P.’s eyes opened at the mention of the two-letter word. “And, if so, to which request?”
“Still,” D. P. repeated. He adjusted his long frame into a more comfortable position. Then, as his gaze found Eric, he continued, “But one day, Eric, when they ask me about you—and they will—I’ll have to say that as a leader—as a speaker—you’ve made more strides in the last six months than anyone I’ve ever encountered. You’re hardly the same man as the shy thing I asked to come to Armadale back when.”
Eric leaned his head against the cold leather of the seat, then pulled his overcoat more tightly around him. “It helps that we get along so well,” he teased.
Again, D. P. closed his eyes. “It doesn’t hurt, my friend. But I’ll tell you this—I’ve never known a man with finer character than you.”
Eric looked down at his hands, taking note of his thumbnails.
“And when they ask me,” D. P. continued as the night’s darkness fell around them, “I’ll say, ‘There was never a hitch or a shadow in our friendship.’”
“No,” Eric whispered.
“Due to you entirely, Eric.”
Eric studied what little he could see of the calmness of D. P.’s face, then shut his own eyes. He was tired . . . so tired . . . and sleep—with the rocking of the train—should come easily now. “Not entirely,” he mumbled.
“Yes,” D. P. said from what sounded like a world away. “Due to you entirely.” He paused. “Pure gold is what you are, Eric. Pure gold, through and through.”
AFTER HIS STUNNING OLYMPIC performance in the summer, of all the thrills and emotions Eric saw in people’s faces, none had matched D. P. Thomson’s. Thomson knew that with Eric’s crowning athletic achievement, the crowds would not be able to resist coming to hear him speak. The time was ripe to harness the zenith of Eric’s fame with the evangelism efforts in Britain.
D. P. felt that if Eric left for China soon—as Eric was considering doing—it would bring that opportunity to a premature end. “Stay in Edinburgh,” D. P. suggested. “Begin seminary. That way you’ll be better prepared for missionary work in China.”
Eric listened with an open heart. He was determined to be a missionary, so it stood to reason that he should be equipped with some formal theological training.
“You can continue your love of running,” D. P. continued, “as well as serve the Lord as an evangelistic missionary in Britain.”
His friend and mentor made a compelling case, but Asia had a great need.
Eric returned to his flat—now in Gillespie Crescent—where he found another piece of correspondence from young Elsa McKechnie. The Eric Liddell Fan Club had grown—a great deal, she told Eric—and their legion was all ears for more inspirational words and advice from him. Eric received the message, in more ways than one.
God wanted him in China, but he could not argue with the window of opportunity he had to proclaim the gospel of Jesus Christ in Britain. A
