Even to America where the dramatisation of the Self-made Idea has become
a commonplace thing the story of his rise from pedlar to premier has a
meaning all its own. Elsewhere in this book you have seen how he stirred
Great Britain to the post-war commercial menace of the German. It is
peculiarly fitting therefore that this narrative, dedicated as it is to
the War after the War, should close with some attempt at interpretation
of the personality of the man who sounded its first trumpet call.
Like Lloyd George, Hughes is a Welshman. These two remarkable men, who
have done so much to rouse their people, have more than racial kinship
in common. They are both undersized: both rose from the humble hearth:
both made their way to eminence by way of the bar: both gripped popular
imagination as real leaders of democracy. They are to-day the two
principal imperial human assets.
Hughes will tell you that he was born frail and has remained so ever
since. This son of a carpenter was a weak, thin, delicate boy, but
always a fighter. At school in London he was the only Nonconformist
around, and the biggest fellows invariably picked upon him. He could
strike back with his fists and protect his narrow chest, but his legs
were so thin that he had to stuff exercise books in his stockings to
safeguard his shins.
Hughes was trained for teaching, and only the restlessness of the Celt
saved him from a life term in the schoolroom.
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