When he rose to speak Bedlam let
loose. Jeers, catcalls and frightful epithets rained on him and with
them rocks and vegetables. He removed his overcoat and stood calm and
smiling. When he raised his voice, however, the grand assault was made.
Only a double cordon of constables massed around the stage kept him from
being overwhelmed. In the free-for-all fight that followed one man was
killed and many injured.
Anything like a speech was hopeless: the main task was to save the
speaker's life, for outside in the streets a bloodthirsty rabble waited
for its prey. Lloyd George started to face them single-handed and it
was only when he was told that such procedure would not only foolishly
endanger his life but the lives of his party which included several
women, he consented to escape through a side door, wearing a policeman's
helmet and coat.
Fourteen years later Lloyd George returned to Birmingham acclaimed as a
Saviour of Empire. Such have been the contrasts in this career of
careers.
Fortunately England, like the rest of the world, forgets. The mists of
unpopularity that hung about the little Welshman vanished under the
sheer brilliancy of the man. When the Conservative Government fell after
the Boer War he was not only a Cabinet possibility but a necessity. The
Government had to have him. From that time on they needed him in their
business.
Lloyd George drew the dullest and dustiest of all portfolios--the Board
of Trade.
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