Great Britain, 1923–24
Tom McKerchar slammed down the newspaper in disgust. If I read one more article like that, he thought, I may actually speak to the press for a change! Tom had made it his policy not to give interviews. But, Tom thought, these writers don’t know anything about Eric Liddell. And Eric was about to prove them wrong—in the venue where tenths of seconds measure greatness and hundredths may confer awe.
For the third year, Eric made an impressive showing at the University Sports, held in May at Craiglockhart. Despite ingesting a healthy helping of Mrs. Taylor’s plum pudding back at George Square, Eric managed to win all three events he entered. He was greeted by the roars of the home crowd when he turned in an amazing time of 10.1 seconds in the 100-yard race.
In early June at the Queens Park Football Club Sports in Glasgow, on a fast track, Eric would add to his growing legend when he ran the 100-yard race in 10 seconds flat. Two weeks of intensive training followed this race in preparation for the much-heralded InterVarsity Sport at Craiglockhart on June 16. But the results were worth the hard work.
After winning the 100-yard race again in 10.1 seconds, Eric went on to set a Scottish record in the 220-yard sprint of 21.6 seconds, a record that would stand until 1960. Later at the same meet, Eric would also win the 440-yard event in a time of 50.2 seconds, beating the reigning champion, J. G. McColl, by 18 yards. Even Eric’s harshest critics acknowledged that his times would likely be a full second faster on a cinder track than they’d been on the slow grass of Craiglockhart.
His final race in June of that summer was the Scottish championships at Hampden Park in Glasgow, where he was heartily cheered on to victory in the 100- and 220-yard events by his friends at the GSEU. Yet despite these successes, the biggest test of the summer was looming just ahead.
Up until the summer of 1923, Eric had raced primarily in Scotland, and as the competition had not always been world class, Eric’s times were considered only average. Now as he prepared for his first race in England, there were those who were doubting Scotland should waste the train fare for him to go. How could such a human windmill win an international race?
The race on July 6 and 7, the British Amateur Athletic Association Championships, was considered one of the most important races before the Olympics. Held at London’s Stamford Bridge Stadium, the race would feature a long-awaited duel: Eric Liddell, still considered the fastest man in Scotland, against Harold Abrahams, England’s best hope at the Paris Games.
Abrahams, a Cambridge University student, was a supremely talented athlete. A long jumper as well as a sprinter, he had competed at the 1920 games in Antwerp but had been eliminated there in both the 100-meter and 200-meter quarterfinals. Now he had been given another chance for the gold, and his determination to achieve that goal separated him from other Olympians. Raised in a German Jewish family in England, Abrahams felt he had been discriminated against because of his Jewish heritage. If I could be the fastest man in the world, he thought, maybe then I would be treated like everyone else and granted the same level of respect.
Eric, on the other hand, didn’t mind if he was treated differently because of his Christian faith. That just gave him one more opportunity to show God’s love—to shake every runner’s hand and wish him well, to treat every runner the same, and never to use questionable language or tell off-color jokes. But Eric still wanted to win. If Harold Abrahams wanted to be the best, he would have to beat Eric Liddell.
The stadium at Stamford Bridge was filled to capacity on Friday, July 6, 1923, as the temperature soared to over 90 degrees Fahrenheit. Men were wiping their foreheads with handkerchiefs, while women fanned themselves with paper fans. All eyes were straining to see the runners on the track.
Eric, the shorter of the two at five feet nine inches, approached Harold first and shook hands with the tall, dark-haired sprinter. Then they took their positions for the 220-yard race. Earlier that morning, Eric had won his first heat of the 220-yard race in 22.4 seconds. The top three runners of each of the two first heats had advanced to the second heat. Eric knew he would have to get a better start this time because Abrahams, the consummate athlete, was known for his lightning starts.
As Eric dug his holes in the track, he glanced at the other runners. But Harold’s eyes were on the track, deep in concentration. Closing his own eyes, Eric prayed silently, thanking God again for giving him this special ability.
One Bible verse always came to him right before a race, one that Eric liked to describe as the “three sevens” because it was from the seventh book of the New Testament (1 Corinthians), the seventh chapter, and the seventh verse: “But every man hath his proper gift of God, one after this manner, and another after that.” Yet, despite his God-given talent, Eric never once felt that God granted him special favors to win races.
As the race official came into view, Eric focused all his attention on the track. After carefully placing his toes in the starting holes, he raised his muscular legs and arched his back just the way McKerchar had taught him. Then he waited for the gun.
At the sound of the starting pistol, Abrahams exploded from the line, leading the pack by two yards. Once again, Eric had gotten off to a poor start, and he could feel all eyes on him. Swinging his arms, Eric willed himself forward, closer and closer to Abrahams.
In the stands, Tom McKerchar watched the race, almost holding his breath, while a stream of perspiration trickled down his cheek. Suddenly, the red-faced Scottish man seated next to him began jumping up and down. “Look at him now! Aye, he culdna win if his heid’s na back!”
As if he had heard his countryman’s cry, Eric finally threw his head back, his eyes on the cloudless sky above. Gasps could be heard as the two men pushed to the finish line, each one seeming to throw his chest out farther to gain the advantage. At the tape, Eric Liddell had edged out Harold Abrahams with a win of 21.6 seconds, a blistering pace!
On Saturday, the rumor circulating through the stadium was that Eric and Harold would meet again in the finals of the 100-yard race. Both men had won their first heat of the race—Eric in 10.0 seconds and Harold in 10.2—and now the second heats were about to begin. While Eric set a new British national record in the 100, running the distance in an incredible 9.8 seconds, Harold did not place in the top three of his heat and could not go to the finals.
By the end of the day, Eric had won the 220-yard and the 100-yard events and was awarded the Harvey Memorial Cup as the best British athlete of 1923. His final time of 9.7 seconds in the 100-yard race was another new British record, one that would not be broken for thirty-five years. That time was of crucial importance for the hopes of Great Britain in the Olympics, as it was just a tenth of a second slower than the pace set by American world-record-holder Charley Paddock.
Eric Liddell was now the reigning British champion in two track events, and the press would not let him forget that. On the train back to Scotland, Tom showed Eric the latest newspaper articles. “In a few weeks I’ve gone from goat to glory,” Eric exclaimed, laughing.
“Or from black sheep to world’s fastest human,” joked Tom. “They’re even calling you, and I quote, ‘the Scot who would send Paddock packing,’ and ‘the man to finish what Wyndham Halswelle began.’”
“Good old Wyndham,” Eric remembered, smiling. “Now that’s something my dad would like to see.”
Putting the papers aside, Tom stared out the window for a while. “You know, we won’t know for sure about the Olympics until the race at Stoke-on-Trent in a couple weeks.” Tom turned to look at Eric, and then playfully punched him in the arm. “But it looks like it’s you and me in Paris next summer.”
Eric shook his head, laughing. Retrieving his Bible from his satchel, Eric opened the worn leather volume to 2 Corinthians, chapter 10, verse 17: “But he that glorieth, let him glory in the Lord.” As the countryside passed in a blur, Eric tried desperately to focus his thoughts.
Following the Stoke-on-Trent race, when Eric was pushed off the track but still managed to win, Eric’s celebrity only grew, if that were possible. While the field hadn’t included Harold Abrahams, who had bowed out due to a strep infection, Eric’s feat was still almost unimaginable. When people would inquire about his physical and emotional resources during that race, Eric’s reply was usually the same: “I don’t like to be beaten.”
And he didn’t like to be deterred from his goals. While he played a little rugby during the fall of 1923, Eric concentrated on what he thought would be his final year at Edinburgh University. He had every intention of obtaining his bachelor of science degree in May, and then, following the Paris Games, making his way to Tientsin. He would arrive only six months after his brother, Dr. Robert Victor Liddell, who that winter had begun his medical missionary duties in Fulien, South China.
Letters from Eric’s parents seemed to underscore his desire to arrive as soon as possible. They spoke of the efforts of Mao Tse-tung, the scholarly son of a poor peasant, who had recently founded the Chinese Communist Party and was organizing the peasants into a revolt, as a backlash against years of unthinkable poverty and horrible living conditions. The forces of nature seemed to imitate the hostile political climate, with floods, famine, and disease conspiring to create national chaos. How much worse will the situation be when I arrive? Eric anguished.
But as the new year arrived in Edinburgh, Eric would face a crisis all his own.
For many days, Tom McKerchar had been checking the mail at the athletic director’s office at Edinburgh University. It had been rumored that Baron Pierre de Coubertin, the founder of the modern Olympics and president of the International Olympic Committee, was set to release the racing schedule for the summer Olympics sometime in January. The schedule for the Olympics should have been sent by now, he thought anxiously.
He had heard that this summer the baron wanted the Olympics to last only two weeks, and not the entire summer, as in some past competitions. He also knew that no races would be scheduled on Monday, July 14, known in France as Bastille Day, a national holiday.
A soft knock on his office door caused McKerchar to sit up in his chair. “Mr. McKerchar,” the athletic director’s secretary said, interrupting his thoughts, “I believe it’s here.” In her hand she waved the official-looking envelope.
Ripping the envelope open, McKerchar scanned page after page of the lengthy schedule. There it is, he thought excitedly, the 100-meter race. And the first heats are on …
The pages slipped through his hands and fell, one by one, gracefully to the floor. He buried his head in his hands for a moment, and then stood, making his way to the door. “I’ll be out for a while. I need to catch up with Eric if I can.”
Racing back to retrieve the schedule, he then sped out again just as quickly, catching a glimpse of his secretary’s surprised face. “And don’t tell anyone the schedule is in,” he advised sternly. “We don’t want reporters hounding Eric—at least, not yet!”
Eric was at George Square, trying to get a few hours of studying in before he left again with D. P. to give another speech. Since Eric had made the British Olympic team, the demand to hear him had only increased. Now he was speaking two or three times a week, gaining confidence each time he made his way to the podium. At times, the crowd was too large for the hall that had been chosen, another indication of Eric’s widespread fame. Based partly on his reputation as an evangelist, he had even been invited to participate in the Penn Relays at the University of Pennsylvania in April.
When Tom found Eric, Tom didn’t know what to say, but that was never a problem with Eric. With a broad grin on his face, Eric began telling Tom about his travels for the Lord. Tom tried to pay attention, but soon Eric was aware that his mind was elsewhere. “What is it, Tom? If you don’t mind, I have to say you don’t look well,” Eric said, his voice concerned.
Tom cleared his throat. “It’s just, Eric, I know what you’re going to say—but I wish I could change your mind.”
“Out with it, man! Only God can read minds.” Eric motioned Tom on with his hand.
“The Olympic schedules came in the mail today. You know, the baron is trying to fit all the events and heats into just two weeks. So—”
“So, what is it, Tom?”
“The first heats for the 100-meter race are to be held on a Sunday, Eric. July 6, to be exact.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Eric said, “I’m not running.” His eyes did not blink, he did not wring his hands, and he did not pace the floor of his room.
Sighing, McKerchar turned away from him and glanced out the window.
“Tom, do you really know why I can’t run? God’s fourth commandment to Moses said to remember the Sabbath Day to keep it holy. If I run in a race that honors me or other men, I am not remembering God’s Sabbath. And if I start ignoring one of God’s commands, I may as well ignore all of them. But I can’t do that because I love God too much.”
McKerchar nodded his head. Eric had never raced on a Sunday, and he wouldn’t change his beliefs now, even for the Olympics. “I’ll contact the British authorities; that’s the next step,” he said. “But Eric, are you ready for what will happen? I mean, the reporters?”
“Jesus never said that to follow Him would be easy,” Eric answered simply.
In the weeks that followed, McKerchar and the British sports authorities tried desperately to change the date of the first heats. The French officials, however, refused to comply. Instead, Eric was entered in the 200- and 400-meter races, events that he had won before but that he clearly did not dominate. Two other relay events—the 4 x 100 and the 4 x 400—were not considered because their heats also fell on a Sunday.
And in the weeks that followed, the attacks by the British press were nonstop. “A traitor to Scottish sporting, to all that Wyndham Halswelle stood for!” proclaimed one paper. Another journalist reported that Eric was not running so he could get more publicity. Time and again, the papers questioned why Eric couldn’t run on Sunday and dedicate the race to the Lord.
Eric was disappointed, but he never wavered in his decision. Besides, such a stand by an athlete was hardly a new issue. In the 1900 Olympics, also held in Paris, several athletes decided not to participate when the heats for many events were scheduled on a Sunday. In the 1908 London Games, a theology student from the United States named Forrest Smithson protested against Sunday trial heats by running the 100-meter hurdles with a Bible in his hand.
But to make matters worse, a British noble was quoted as saying, “To play the game is the only thing in life that matters.” Eric Liddell had decided he would play the game, but only on God’s terms.
All through the winter and spring, McKerchar and Eric trained harder and harder for the two events he would run, and they were especially gratified to learn that lanes would be used in the 400-meter event to prevent a repeat performance of the Stoke-on-Trent race. While the Olympics was at the top of their agenda, it was by no means their only focus. The track season had once again arrived in Edinburgh, inaugurated as always by the University Sports.
At Craiglockhart, Eric tied the meet record for the 100-yard race, with a time of 10.2 seconds. He went on to win the 220-yard race and then broke the meet record for the 440-yard event, crossing the finish line in 51.5 seconds. At Hampden Park in Glasgow, he repeated his performance at the Scottish InterVarsity Sports, winning all three events. But the most important race before the Paris Games would be held on a weekend in late June in London. While it was assumed that Eric would be an integral part of the British Olympic team, he still had to qualify in his two events.
On Friday night, June 21, in just three and a half hours, Eric won two heats in the 220-yard race and two heats in the 440-yard event. On Saturday, he faced off against true world-class competition in the finals of both events. Eric would finish second in the 220, after A. O. Kinsman of South Africa, and would win the 440, with a time of 49.6 seconds. The latter time was of significance: first, Eric’s time was better than the existing Olympic record for the 400-meter race, which was a full stride shorter that the 440; and in keeping with the Scots’ reverence for Wyndham Halswelle, Eric’s time was a second slower than the famed runner’s British and Scottish record for the quarter mile.
With the Olympics less than a month away, the British team was now in place. Eric Liddell had made a decision not to sacrifice his faith for the glory of winning, a decision that might affect the medal count for Great Britain. As he prepared to leave for Paris, Eric sought solace in God’s Word and found particular comfort in one verse: “Whosoever believeth on him [God] shall not be ashamed” (Romans 10:11).
To him, God meant more, much more, than an Olympic gold medal.