Please understand, our area near Siaochang has not been attacked so much as other areas. We have the constant guerilla warfare, yes. But through the grace of God, we have been able to carry on our work in China.[68]
Despite the challenges of ministry in China, Eric loved his heritage, his father, and everything for which he stood. But pondering the astonishing reality that he was the last of Liddell missionaries in China came as a dramatic weight. Rob easily utilized his medical skills for the British war efforts, and young Ernest had now been stationed for artillery duty. Even with danger in the air, Eric wondered how he could possibly stay in what felt a much-safer place. The Liddell legacy along with his call from God beckoned him in every fiber of his being.
Eric and Flo knew World War II had only started to heat up, and it did not appear it would slow down anytime soon. Hitler had just begun to flex Germany’s muscles throughout Europe.
Eric and Florence, however, had a call from God to serve in China, period. Keeping themselves protected was not their sole objective. They trusted the will of God. If he had called them there—even amid danger—there could be no better place to dwell. The fear of bombing attacks on Britain or an invasion of Britain was imminent. Would they not be just as safe—if not safer—in China?
After much prayer and discussion, they made their decision: come August, they and their children would head back to China. They said their painful good-byes to their dear ones and boarded a steamer to begin their travels across the Atlantic to spend time with Florence’s family and then on to the Far East.
Eric gazed back at his special country. This would be the last time he would set eyes on his beloved Britain.
Unlike during the trip from Canada to England, drama and turmoil filled the trip from England to Canada.
When their ship arrived in Nova Scotia, Eric found the time to send off a few details to his mother:
We went on board at the scheduled time. There was a good bit of inspection. Cameras were taken from us and will be returned on landing. The boat has a number of children on board. I don’t know how many, but I should say that at least half are children. It’s a small boat, with a complement of 300 passengers and crew. There are a few even younger than Heather.
We were in convoy and had an escort. The convoy is a delightful sight. Can you imagine 50 ships, all going along together, not of course in single file, but in about five lines. It is magnificent. Most of the ships are cargo ones; any passenger ships are in the centre for greater protection.
It wasn’t until we were off the Irish Coast that the real excitement started. It was 8.30 at night, when the children were asleep. We were hit by a torpedo. Whether it was a “dud” and only the cap exploded, or whether it had expended its energy, having been fired from too great a distance, or had exploded right below us, we are not sure. I would say that we were actually hit, and that only the cap exploded, judging from the feel in our cabin. No alarm was given for us to go to the boats, but the signal for all boats to zigzag was given by ours.
The next night we lost one of our ships at the back of the convoy. The sea was choppy—a very difficult one to spot submarines in. The escort left us the next day. This was the hardest of all days. About 10 a.m. a small boat about a quarter of a mile from us was torpedoed, blew up, and sank in two minutes; they must have hit the engine boiler. We were on deck ready for boats, and everyone zigzagged. About noon the “all clear” went and we turned to dinner. We had just started, and were half-way through the first course, when the alarm went again. Another boat torpedoed. It didn’t sink. We heard later that it was able to get along. Whether it turned back or tried to carry on, I don’t know.[69]
Eric’s letter went on to explain more of the harrowing consequences of traveling from Europe to North America during the war but ended with “Both kids are well, except that ’Tricia has developed a cough these last two days. They weren’t scared at all, for they didn’t really know what it all meant.”[70]
During their time on deck, Eric had kept his children occupied with games, even as little Tricia declared to her father, “Daddy, that boat went down.” Eric knew the danger he and his family steered through, but he made certain his young daughters kept their childhood intact, even as he allowed God to still his concerns. He’d watched five of the fifty ships go down and heard the estimated loss of life calculated to be eighty souls.
From Nova Scotia, Eric wrote another letter to his mother, telling her of an onboard desire for a Sunday service, complete with thanksgiving for their safe arrival. Word leaked aboard the steamer that Eric was a minister, so naturally he had been asked to lead the service—an opportunity he happily accepted.
As much of a joy as it was to celebrate with the people, to sing and praise God in thankfulness, Eric and Florence’s concern fell to Patricia and Heather, both of whom had contracted German measles. This brought new concerns for their parents who knew what passenger illness meant when it came to leaving the ship. But the authorities gave a green light for travel when they heard that Eric and Florence, along with their two ill daughters, only had two hundred miles to go before reaching their destination.
Eric and Florence found all the hotels filled in Nova Scotia, but
