Eric’s demeanor was one of quiet power, something more than the poise acquired from a trained mind or the knowledge that he had been and still was considered one of the world’s great athletes. Those who watched him within the camp understood that he viewed God as Father, Christ as Savior, and the Holy Spirit as Guide. Being in the internment camp had not changed that belief.
Eric’s faith and the way it played out in his efforts for the camp made a marked difference in camp conditions. Even the ever-recalcitrant Langdon Gilkey over time recognized a warming in the people, and not just from the weather. He wrote,
With the advent of spring, a marked change came over the face of the camp. Where there had been rubble and dirt, there were now bright patches of color in the gardens and neat patios. These were only the physical evidences of a change that also occurred on a deeper level. Within a few months this poorly prepared and, indeed, almost desperate group had transformed itself into a coherent civilization, able to cope with its basic material problems and day by day raising the level of its life on all fronts. The food was almost palatable, the baseball league enthralled everyone; and the evenings were now warm enough for a stroll with a girl friend. The camp was almost becoming a pleasant place in which to live.[96]
Almost. But without anyone’s knowledge, it would too soon become a pleasant place to die.
[95] D. P. Thomson, Scotland’s Greatest Athlete: The Eric Liddell Story (Barnoak, Crieff, Perthshire, Scotland: Research Unit, 1970), 196.
[96] Langdon Gilkey, Shantung Compound: The Story of Men and Women under Pressure (New York: HarperCollins, 1966), 35.
CHAPTER 24
ERIC IS IN
Do not forget to do good and to share with others, for with such sacrifices God is pleased.
Hebrews 13:16, NIV
Early Summer 1944
On a too-warm afternoon, Eric ambled toward his dorm to retrieve a book he hoped to share with a student that evening after supper. The scent of food cooking in the kitchen—bitter and strong—and the muck of the latrines wafted across the camp, and he wrinkled his nose. Not even his earliest years of boarding school had fully prepared him for this odor.
As he turned a dusty corner, he noticed one of the Russian prostitutes in the camp leaning seductively against a wall, talking to a man who bristled with intentions. As soon as the woman spotted Eric, she righted herself, blushed, and nodded. The man turned and, seeing Eric, mumbled an embarrassed “G’day.” Eric did the same, then smiled as the two went their separate ways. Perhaps he couldn’t stop all the sin in the camp, but his unexpected presence had at least postponed one act.
Eric no sooner came into eyeshot of his dorm than he noticed a sign nailed to the red-paneled door leading to his room. Closer inspection revealed three words: Eric Is Out.
He unhooked the sign and immediately noticed writing on the reverse side: Eric Is In.
“Ah, there you are,” Joe Cotterill said from behind him.
“What’s this?” Eric asked, holding up the sign.
Joe slipped the sign from Eric’s fingers to rehang it, this time with Eric Is In facing forward. “You have so many of the young people knocking on the door when you aren’t here, we thought we’d make it easier for them . . . not to mention easier for those of us who have to keep answering the door.”
Eric laughed as he flipped the sign back to Eric Is Out. “I’m only here to pick up a book,” he said with a wink. “Not to hold counseling sessions.”
THE WEEKS AND MONTHS found a rhythm. Eric’s workload left little time for idleness and worry. In the near-century that has passed since his time in Weihsien, Eric has been remembered as the person in highest demand in the camp. He carried fifty-pound Red Cross parcels from the church to the homes of those too old or too ill to come fetch them. He hauled buckets loaded with coal dust and chips for making briquettes up and down the camp’s roads. He stood in the queue to draw the fuel ration for the elderly and sick and for those whose duties prevented them from doing it for themselves. He tore his wife’s sheets he’d brought from Tientsin to mend hockey sticks for the youth teams. And in the moments between all this . . . and the teaching . . . and the coaching . . . and preparing young minds for God’s Word, Eric stood as a listening ear to anyone who needed him.
Eric still had his regular workload assignments to accomplish, which he shared and rotated with his dorm mates. Carrying fresh water for drinking, bathing, or cleaning, as well as carrying away garbage, easily kept his muscles toned. The challenge of motivating people to carry their fair share of the work remained a delicate battle. The general perception was that there always seemed to be too many people riding in the proverbial wagon and not enough people pushing and pulling. Queuing up for meals, which everyone had to do and which took precious time, remained a cleverly placed and convenient break for many.
As the internees saw the beginning of their second year in Weihsien, Eric savored another chance to record his affections to his family. In a postcard dated March 27, 1944, he penned, “You seem very near today, it is the 10th anniversary of our wedding. Happy loving
