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.”
Eric smiled. During their childhood, whenever Eric had been asked if he wanted to do something—he’d
