IN THE early 1980s, I was hired by the actor, playwright, and screenwriter Colin Welland to be his researcher. He took quite a chance with me, because I was only recently out of university and had just started working as a journalist. Colin and I would become friends: he took me to his home town of Newton-le-Willows, in Lancashire; we attended Rugby League games together; and I met any number of TV actors and even film stars at his family parties. I was suitably impressed, and I think that rather amused him. He died in 2015, having lived for some time with that cruel master dementia. I still miss him.
Colin had been a successful actor and writer since the 1960s, but in 1982 he won the Oscar for Best Original Screenplay for the film Chariots of Fire. That, as he once observed to me, “changed bloody everything”. Academy Awards tend to do that.
The film itself, however, was almost never made. The subject — two athletes who overcame prejudice and religious obstacles to win Olympic gold medals — was considered not popular enough. But those behind the idea disagreed, and the film’s enormous international success proved them right. One of the athletes was the Jewish sprinter Harold Abrahams, who faced anti-Semitic bigotry. The other was Eric Liddell who, as a devout Christian, refused to compete on a Sunday, and was thus prevented from taking part in the qualifying rounds of the 100 metres, for which he was the favourite. He moved to the 400 metres — not his best distance — and won convincingly.
The events took place during the 1924 Olympic Games in Paris. It is fitting that, as the centenary games in France begin, we recall the example of a man who lived his faith without compromise, and made more sacrifices than most people realise.
LIDDELL was born in 1902 in China, to Scottish missionaries: members of the London Missionary Society, an interdenominational evangelistic organisation heavily influenced by Reformed and Congregational theology. The family returned to Scotland when Eric was a child, and he spent much of his youth in Edinburgh. He was a naturally gifted athlete, captained his school at cricket as well as rugby, and, while still at the University of Edinburgh, was regarded as the fastest runner in Scotland. By 1922, he was playing rugby for his country.
Selection for the 1924 games was inevitable, but — contrary to the story presented by Chariots of Fire — he discovered months before the Games that the 100-metre heats were to take place on a Sunday. His refusal to compete made him a hero to some, Christian and non-Christian alike, but a villain to others. We can only imagine the response today, in the era of social media and instant and violent polarisation.
EVEN within the British Olympic team, reaction was divided. Liddell’s coach was supportive, but others saw it as an example of religious extremism and a lack of patriotism only six years after the end of the First World War. What is less widely known is that Liddell’s Sabbatarian views also prevented his competing in the 4×400m relay, in which Britain won a bronze. With him, the team would probably have won gold.
He was, however, able to compete in and win the 400, and earn a bronze medal in the 200 metres. Shortly before the final of the 400 metres, he was given a folded piece of paper by one of the team’s masseurs (not, as depicted in the film, by a member of the US team). It read: “In the old book it says: ‘He that honours me I will honour.’ Wishing you the best of success always.” Liddell recognised the text from 1 Samuel and was deeply moved by the support.
HE WAS a genuinely extraordinary athlete, achieving times that even today are remarkable. Yet his running style was unorthodox. Harold Abrahams once said, “People may shout their heads off about his appalling style. Well, let them. He gets there.”
What Liddell wasn’t, however, was some joyless puritan whose faith was defined by what he refused to do. “We are all missionaries,” he said. “Wherever we go, we either bring people nearer to Christ or we repel them from Christ.” And he did indeed bring people nearer to Christ. He was funny, humble, and approachable. His daughter once told me: “It always annoys me when people portray him as humourless and overly serious. That simply wasn’t him.”
AS A national hero in Britain, he could have remained and enjoyed his popularity, but he returned to China in 1925, just a year after his Olympic triumph. He worked in the north, in Tianjin, and then in Hengshui, Hebei province. It was a profoundly deprived area that had been devastated by China’s civil war and then became a battleground for the invading Japanese.
In 1941, the British government advised all nationals to leave because of Japanese expansion. Liddell was, by then, married and a father, and he sent his pregnant wife, Florence, and their children to Canada. But he remained, continuing to teach, to work with doctors in the area, and to compete in amateur races, mainly to entertain the local community. He remained fast, even without regular training, and was asked if he ever missed the life that he had once had. “It’s natural for a chap to think over all that sometimes, but I’m glad I’m at the work I’m engaged in now. A fellow’s life counts for far more at this than the other.”
By 1943, the Japanese had occupied the surrounding area, and Liddell was one of those interned. Not all of the Westerners in the camp behaved nobly, but he was renowned for sharing all supplies equally, organising games, and refusing to give up his teaching and his Bible classes. Yet, by 1944, he was beginning to feel unwell, lacking his usual energy and enthusiasm, and thought that he was suffering some sort of nervous breakdown. It was, in fact, a brain tumour; and a combination of lack of food, overwork, and poor conditions made survival impossible. He died on 21 February 1945.
ACCORDING to another missionary at the camp, Liddell’s last words were: “It’s complete surrender,” a reference to his submission to God. The theologian Langdon Gilkey was also in the camp with Liddell and said: “He was overflowing with good humour and love for life, and with enthusiasm and charm. It is rare indeed that a person has the good fortune to meet a saint, but he came as close to it as anyone I have ever known.”
Liddell remains beloved in China, and has inspired numerous people globally; Alan Wells, who won the 100m gold in the 1980 Olympics, dedicated his win to Liddell. Perhaps the last word should go to Colin Welland, who made the great Christian athlete famous once again. “I’m an atheist,” he said, “always have been. But if one man could change my mind, it would be Eric Liddell. God bless him.”
The Revd Michael Coren is a journalist, and a priest in the Anglican Church of Canada.