Eight men, one being Stephen Metcalf, raised the fragile casket carrying Eric’s earthly body onto their shoulders. Gingerly they walked out of the church toward a small cemetery adjacent to the Japanese garrison officer’s residence. Behind them, the youth and children of Chefoo marched as the honor guard.
As they walked along, the wind slicing through their thin clothing, Stephen glanced at his newly received track spikes that had been so lovingly given to him only weeks earlier by his hero. Is this all that happens to honor such a great man? Is this it?
When they arrived at the burial site, the eight men lowered the casket into the grave, then—along with the five hundred who had followed them—recited the Beatitudes and wept.
Even the handful of Japanese guards in the cluster removed their caps.
On March 3, A. P. Cullen hosted a special memorial service for many of the people who still grieved. Eight hundred people attended. Annie Buchan, Carl Longman, and numerous friends and colleagues spoke.
At the end of the service, Cullen shared the thoughts that had gripped his heart for more than a week:
Death has been very busy in our ranks the last few months, and now it has stricken down in the very prime of manhood, and almost without warning, one of the best known and most deservedly popular of our number. To our eyes there is something tragic and almost unbearably poignant in the sudden blow that has shocked the whole camp, the swift passing of one whose life, with its many contacts, was so valuable, so worthy of the highest praise. But this afternoon we are not here to dwell on the apparent tragedy nor yet upon the sense of irreparable loss. We are here, first and foremost, in this Memorial service, to give thanks to God for the life so finely lived, the fight so nobly fought, the race so cleanly run, and to find renewed inspiration for ourselves in the example that Eric Liddell left us. To him those stirring words of Bunyan may be as fittingly applied as they were to Mr. Valiant-for-truth: “So he passed over, and all the trumpets sounded for him on the other side.”’
The congregation sang a few hymns, including “Be Still, My Soul,” and read from one of Eric’s favorite passages on love, 1 Corinthians 13. Mere human words could not take away the pain and sadness, but the words of Scripture, and the promise of the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting, would and did begin the healing process.
Cullen wrapped up his thoughts for the group.
Why is it that Eric was one of the best-known, most popular and respected persons in camp? Why is it that in a camp like this, where criticism is so rife that hardly anyone in the public eye is immune from it, why is it that no one ever seems to have a word to say in criticism of Eric—always the reverse? Something, of course, has to be allowed for his renown as an international athlete. But at the bottom the answer to each of these and similar questions would be found to have its basis in one fundamental cause—Eric’s Christian character.
Mr. P. A. Bruce, Headmaster of the China Inland Mission School at Chefoo, gave the final address. After several minutes of relaying what he knew of and about Eric Liddell, he paused, drew in a breath, and said,
One word more. What is to be the effect of this life upon us here? Why did he live the life he lived? Why did he become a missionary? Because he felt he could do no other. On the one hand, he strove to live a life well-pleasing to God at all times. And on the other hand, to commend the gospel of God to all whom he met. What effect has his life here amongst us made upon you?
After the service, friends hovered together, sharing fond memories of the man they had loved so much. A prostitute in the camp confided special insight of her own about when Eric had helped her with a shelving unit. “He was the first man to help me without asking for a favor in return.” The quiet chatter soon turned to cautious but contagious laughter—the predictably muted joy which so often happens at funerals when loved ones exchange untold tales.
Years later, Mary Taylor Previte penned, “There, a little bit of Scotland was tucked sadly away in Chinese soil.”[112]
Eric Liddell’s influence would live on because Eric Liddell’s legacy and impact would remain with the people in the camp. One day, they would be free, and for days and years thereafter, for the rest of their lives, they would tell their stories of Uncle Eric.
In amazing tragedy, the news from that horrible week remained contained within the walls of Weihsien.
On May 1, 1945, Mr. Cocker-Brown at the London Missionary Society received an envelope from the British undersecretary on a day when excitement buzzed in the air. Word of Adolf Hitler’s death had begun to spread. The atrocities of war were about to end. Surely this day—and this envelope—could contain only good news.
Full of optimism and vigor, he tore into the letter.
Sir, AZAS
I am directed by Mr. Winston Churchill to inform you with regret that the Swiss representative at Shanghai has reported by telegraph that the Reverend Eric Henry Liddell died at Weihsien on the 21st February, 1945. The cause of death is not stated.
I am, Sir,
Your obedient Servant,
I. W. O. Davidson.[113]
In utter shock, Cocker-Brown called Rob Liddell immediately. Rob had been working at a hospital in Edinburgh. The men decided as the heartbreaking conversation unfolded that LMS headquarters would relay the news to Florence in Toronto and that Rob would share the sad tidings with the remaining Liddell family in Scotland.
Jenny took the news exceptionally hard. Mary Liddell had passed away only months earlier. However, with the resurgence of new grief, Jenny could at least trust that Eric had never had to
