Each became
a separate industrial principality but all bound up by hooks of steel to
the Little Wizard who sat enthroned at Whitehall.
England became a vast arsenal, throbbing with ceaseless activity. The
smoke that trailed from the myriad stacks was the banner of a new and
triumphant faith in the future.
What was the result? Up and down the western battle front English cannon
spoke in terms of victory. No longer was British gunner required to
husband shells: to meet crash with silence. He hurled back steel for
steel and all because England's Hope had answered England's Call. Lloyd
George had done it again.
I first met Lloyd George during those crowded days when he was
Commander-in-Chief of the host that fed the firing line. Under his
magnetic direction British industry had been forged into a colossal
munitions shop. No man in England was busier: not even the King was more
inaccessible. Life with him was one engagement after another.
Now came one of those swift emergencies that seems to crowd so fast upon
Lloyd George's life and with it arose my own opportunity.
The British Trade Union Congress in annual session at Bristol had
expressed Labour's dissatisfaction over its share of the munitions
profits. Lloyd George had sent them a letter explaining his proposed
excess profit tax, but this apparently was not enough. The delegates
still growled.
"Then I'll go down and speak to them in person," said the Minister with
characteristic energy.
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