If a compromise with Labor or Capital had to be effected it was Lloyd George who sat at the head of the table:  if an Ally needed counsel or inspiration it was the Chancellor who sped across the water and laid down the law at Paris or Petrograd:  if the Cause of Empire clamoured for expression from Government Seat or animated rostrum, he stood forth as the Herald of Freedom.  So it went all through those dark closing months of 1914 as reverse after reverse shook the British arms and brought home the realisation that the war would be long and costly.

The year 1915 dawned full of gloom for England but pointing a fresh star for the career of Lloyd George.  Although the first wave of Kitchener’s new army had dashed against the German lines in France and established another tradition for British valour, the air of England became charged with an ominous feeling that something was wrong at the front.  The German advance in the west had been well nigh triumphant.  Reckless bravery alone could not prevail against the avalanche of Teutonic steel.

All the while the imperturbable Kitchener sat at his desk in the War Office—­another man of Blood and Iron.  He ran the war as he thought it should be run despite the criticism that began to beat about his head.  To the average Englander he was a king who could do no wrong.  But the conduct of war had changed mightily since Kitchener last led his troops.  Like Business it had become a new Science, fought with new weapons and demanding an elastic intelligence that kept pace with the swift march of military events.  The Germans were using every invention that marvellous efficiency and preparedness could devise.  They met ancient England shrapnel with modern deadly and devastating high-explosives.  If the war was to be won this condition had to be changed—­and at once.

Two men in England—­Lloyd George and Lord Northcliffe—­understood this situation.  Fortunately they are both men of courageous mould and unwavering purpose.  One day Northcliffe sent the military expert of the Times (which he owns) to France to investigate conditions.  He found that the greatest need of the English Army was for high-explosives.  They were as necessary as bread.  Into less than a quarter of a column he compressed this news.  Instead of submitting it to the Censor who would have denied it publication, Northcliffe published the despatch and with it the revelation of Kitchener’s long and serious omission.  He not only risked suspension and possible suppression of his newspapers, but also hazarded his life because a great wave of indignation arose over what seemed to be an unwarranted attack upon an idol of the people.  But it was the truth nevertheless.

At a time when England was supposed to be sensation-proof this revelation fell like a forty-two centimetre shell.  It was an amazing and dramatic demonstration of the power of the press and it created a sensation.

Shell shortage at the front had full mate in a varied deficiency at home.  Ammunition contracts had been let to private firms at excessive prices:  labour was restricting output and breaking into periodic dissension:  drink was deadening energy:  in short, all the forces that should have worked together for the Imperial good were pulling apart.