The Final Race

by Eric T. Eichinger

  The children’s song changed, and Eric watched the line of them as they marched back to their barracks under the watchful eyes of their teachers, who reminded Eric of his old boarding school masters. The teachers at Weihsien would instruct the students to “sit up straight” and “eat with proper manners”; “being in prison doesn’t mean a loss of etiquette.” They would also say, “There aren’t two sets of rules, children—one for the outside world and one for in here. Learn this, and it will serve you well years from now.”

  Eric shook his head as the children bellowed a new song. “God is still on the throne,” they sang. “And he will remember his own. . . . His promise is true. . . . He will not forget you. . . . God is still on the throne.”

  * * *

  ERIC TOOK TO THE ROUTINE of jogging around the camp’s perimeter—not only to keep in physical shape but also as a time to pray for the growing concerns of the people in Weihsien. As one of the “ambassadors of faith” within the camp, he continued to offer his best in the give-and-take of tough times. But complaints, low morale, and apathy constantly challenged his message of peace, hope, and the love of Christ.

  In the face of antagonism, Eric perpetually pointed out some amusing incident to be happy about. He organized sporting events and competitions, wrote textbooks by hand (his self-created science book was titled The Bones of Inorganic Chemistry), and helped establish games to keep the children entertained and their minds focused not on the negatives of internment but on more positive things.

  With an overabundance of rats in the camp, the adults fashioned a game to see who could kill the most. An infestation of bedbugs meant another contest to see who could kill the most.

  But vermin and biting insects weren’t the only concerns. When they weren’t dealing with rats, bedbugs, or hunger, Eric and the other internees kept a watchful eye on the weather. Some days were excruciatingly hot, but—as Eric quickly pointed out—the weather would cool again. And when bitter cold nearly froze them to death and the detainees wondered if they’d ever feel the warmth of the sun on their skin again, Eric reminded them that, soon enough, they’d once again complain about the heat.

  The hot weather meant more than being miserable; it brought dysentery and typhoid. And the cold weather meant more than the difficulty of keeping warm; with the chill came pneumonia and frostbite. Additionally, every morning in winter, when Eric and his fellow “campers” woke, they found the water in the wash buckets had frozen . . . but at least they could break the solid surface, wash up, and remind themselves that, come summer, they’d wish for a little ice.

  To create a sense of community, the streets were given the names of well-known places such as Park Avenue and Wall Street. Then there was the dining room. If ever a location existed where the worst in human behavior could be observed, it was the kitchen and dining hall. The work was difficult. Often the cooks, once they received meat (some of which they couldn’t identify), had to cut around maggot-infested, rotting flesh. With barely enough food to go around, those standing in long lines with empty plates and bowls grew dismayed when the growl of their stomachs met the small portions doled out. So, to ease the tension, the Weihsien residents gave the same old meals of hot porridge for breakfast, stew for lunch, and watered-down stew for dinner names of culinary delights—Coq Au Vin and Quiche Lorraine.

  Anything to ease the mounting tension.

  For a while, a forty-year-old Australian-born Trappist monk, worried more for the children than for his own safety, used a drainage tunnel as a means of smuggling food into Weihsien—that is, until one of his lookouts became preoccupied by a female internee. A Japanese guard caught Father Patrick Scanlan in the act and sent him to a cell within the Japanese side of the camp.

  But the monk was not discouraged. Instead of bemoaning his fate, when night cloaked the prison, he bellowed songs as loudly and as off-key as possible until finally the guards—who had been unable to catch so much as a wink of sleep—told him if he would only stop the noise, they would release him from his sentence early.

  He did . . . and they did. And when he returned to the internees, everyone—including Eric—gave him a hero’s welcome.

  But at the end of the day, the incomparable Eric Liddell was human. While some of his fellow internees were not even aware that he had a family in Canada (he always seemed more interested in the families of others than in talking about himself), in his most quiet times, he worried about Florence and his girls. He wondered when he would hold them and kiss them again.

  And he wondered when he would finally meet his little Maureen.

  The Japanese enforced strict rules on the camp, but they did allow the internees to worship freely. Catholic mass was held regularly for the high volume of Catholic priests and nuns in the camp (although they were moved to Peking at summer’s end 1943—a sad day forthe entire camp). Sunday school and Protestant services were held in the Weihsien Union Church building located to the right of the camp’s gates. Evenings brought the opportunity for hymn-sings and concerts. The Salvation Army band performed public meetings on Thursday nights and provided an hour of song in the open square on Sunday mornings.

  Eric knew that healthy religion produced healthy citizens—for any society. Daily, he set out in his typically quiet example, authentically demonstrating this point, despite the loudening drumbeat of sentiment to the contrary. Every morning he and dorm mate Joe Cotterill rose long before the sun, lit a peanut-oil lamp, and—using Eric’s book of daily Bible readings—studied the Word together. They discussed what they’d read, prayed together, and then set off for their individual tasks, each day more bonded than the day before. And while these moments of Bible reading and prayer would forever shape Joe’s spiritual life, he was also one of the few to ever see Eric truly angry.

  Eric helped organize game nights for the youth to keep their minds off things of a more carnal nature. Both Eric and Joe were among the volunteer chaperones, ensuring that the games played were appropriate—such as checkers or chess.

  One evening when Joe failed to show up for his turn at chaperoning, Eric dropped in and found the games without adult supervision. When Eric found Cotterill, he issued an adamant reprimand. “We have to be the adults here, Joe!” he said to his stunned roommate. “These young people are finding life difficult enough right now, and it’s our role to keep them in line.”

  In addition to teaching, coaching, and other various duties, Eric had been elected as one of the twenty members of the Weihsien Christian Fellowship General Committee and was given charge of the youth department. Subsequently he seemed always surrounded by children and teens. Eric recognized the vital importance of the responsibility.

  Many of the youth flocked to Scotland’s greatest athlete, not for his fame but because of his genuine care and interest in them. Besides helping with their schoolwork, Eric established a rapport and played games with them. Often he came up with clever ways to celebrate life’s events with them, since these events were usually overshadowed by other concerns. In his trademark style, he created greeting cards accentuated with puns or told the children innocent inside jokes. As the children became aware of their circumstances—as they watched grown men and women dwindle down to unlivable weights and attended the funerals of those too sick to survive—Eric’s genuine and persistent assurance of God took effect on their often-damp spirits.

  But when they asked Eric to play games on Sundays, the answer was a firm no.

  In the late 1960s, a man then in his midforties sent a letter to D. P. Thomson to share his memories of Eric. In it he wrote,

  I met Eric for the first time in Weihsien Internment Camp in 1943 when I was 18 years of age. At a special evangelism rally he spoke on the story of the rich young ruler, showing us in a way I shall never forget the cost of Christian discipleship. I was immediately impressed by his humility and directness of speech. This was apparent not only at a religious meeting but also as a coach or referee on the playing field or in the lecture hall.

 
Together with other young people I had the great privilege of listening to Eric, as a private tutor, lecture on Physics and Chemistry. As I recall his painstaking teaching methods, and his patience with me who was always slow to grasp mathematical formulae, I am amazed and grateful for this example of a superb teacher.[95]

  How thrilled many of Eric’s pupils felt when, years after detainment, the schooling they received in the camp was deemed acceptable at top universities.

  Eric’s disciplined and methodical approach to life, with his solemn religious routines, soon became apparent not just to the youth but to the numerous adults as well. The beauty of Eric’s style was that he would inevitably pique the interest of others. Eric had never been one to force his faith on anyone, but once invited to chat about it, Eric’s faith never failed to roar with fervor. And prison life had not weakened Eric’s beliefs but rather had strengthened them.

  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 remembrances; we must celebrate it together next year.”[97]

  Eric chose to delight in and teach the young people in his charge the joyous treasures that God has hidden in each day and the freedom of understanding the grace of God. During a prayer session—which often felt more like gripe sessions—one of the teenage girls broke down.

  “Lord,” Kari Torjesen prayed, “I am willing to stay in this prison for the rest of my life if I can only know you.” Years later, Kari said, “I’d planned to go to college. Instead I went to prison . . . [but after that prayer] I was free! It was as if the gates had been opened. I was released in my spirit.”[98]

  Steadily, as Eric had observed throughout his life, God produced more and more fruit when Eric diligently attended to ministry. But the question of how long until the war would end and they could go free persisted.

  Eric’s subtle but constant reassurances of the faithfulness of Christ made him an example of character, integrity, and hope to the internees, no matter the situation. He refused to focus on the despair of uncertainty and took every opportunity to turn despair into hope. He shared the love of Jesus with those who felt bound, physically or even spiritually, despite their active imaginations for rescue.

  There has been some recent speculation that one such freedom fantasy did come true for Eric. Recently it has been claimed that Winston Churchill arranged with the Japanese government for a prisoner exchange for the peaceful release of Eric Liddell. Upon hearing the news, Eric offered to allow an expectant mother—one of the prostitutes in the camp—to take his place. This is an exquisite story of sacrifice, and one consistent with Eric’s typically selfless nature, but the factuality of the event remains uncertain.

  A fellow missionary recounted a tale of the powerful effect Eric’s presence had on depressed people in the camp. A businessman who had been brought up by parents who were strict Brethren found himself unable to reconcile himself to the narrow attitudes they adopted. But his association with Eric at Weihsien turned his
skepticism into a personal faith in Christ, which led him to seek baptism while in internment.

  Eric Liddell’s theology of feeling unrestricted within the controlled hands of Christ became increasingly evident and manifested itself one day in a startling way. In a remarkable illustration of his faith journey since the Olympics, Eric amazingly broke his longstanding rule of no sports on the Sabbath.

  Initially when asked about playing any sport on a Sunday, Eric gave his expected no. But winter provided a bleaker challenge than the warmer months. The action of hockey in the arctic air got the youth out of the dorms and kept them warm at the same time. And, of course, Eric loved to play with them—save on Sundays.

  On Sundays the youth played without Eric’s supervision or participation, and brutal conflict ensued, becoming a weekly issue. The problem of the youth fighting on the sports field persisted for over a month. Any other day, Eric would have been in their midst, monitoring their athletic activity in some way. But the lack of “Uncle Eric” did not dissuade the youth from seeking to kill their boredom. Sunday after Sunday, the pent-up youth went out.

  Eric evidently recognized the bomb about to explode and defused it. In what can only be described as a massive shift from his earlier legalistic approach—one that made him more famous than a gold medal ever could—Eric agreed to come out to the sports field. “I won’t play; I will only referee,” he said. Eric reasoned that drilling a positive example for the youth and establishing order, even at the expense of keeping his untarnished Sabbath record intact, was for the greater good.

  Eric’s reputation extended far beyond the sports field, the classroom, or the Sunday school class. During their time in Weihsien, Helena Campbell approached Eric, asking if he would baptize her daughter, Eileen. Helena had heard the gospel message Eric continued to preach in word and in action and had come to believe that she should have her daughter baptized. That day the camp’s kitchen sink became the font of baptism.[99]