Free Lord Beaverbrook by David Adams Richards

old Lloyd George
    And George is a friend of me
    Together we will go
    Marching to Victory!”
    So went the song.
    Just for sheer stupidity, baseness, governmental pomposity, upper-class egomania, and false morality, no other war approaches the war of 1914–1918. It came out of a welter of snubs and threats and bluster, and ended wiping out an entire generation, and at least four monarchies. So quickly did it come that Bonar Law himself, head of the Conservative Party of Great Britain in 1914, had to explain why his own Scottish ironworks were still selling steel for German battleships. The secretary (and second wife) of Liberal cabinet minister David Lloyd George, Frances Stevenson, was so worried about Liberal defections if Prime Minister Asquith supported going to war on the side of France and Russia without real provocation, that, as shewrote, she prayed every night for Germany to invade Belgium to give England a “just” cause. We can see that Lloyd George’s radicalism and precious fight for the common man, the “little English,” who would end up doing most of the fighting, must have contained at least a little selfinterested power-seeking in the end.
    Sir Max Aitken did not want war, and was surprised that so many of his colleagues did. (In fact this is a central point of Aitken’s life, and perhaps it came from the manse: he never wanted war—except on a personal level.)
    But he was also aware of the fact that the sitting Liberal government might have to form a coalition with the Tory Opposition in order to last through this war. And, being Max, he was content to try and get this worked out, for his and Bonar Law’s benefit. That a coalition would increase Bonar Law’s power was unquestionable—and Sir Max was a dear, dear friend and confidant of Bonar Law.
    The Liberal Winston Churchill actually wanted and promoted a coalition government in early August 1914. He did this for one reason: in case of a revolt against the war within his own Liberal Party. All of this, of course, delighted Max.
    For the first time in a few years, Max, who perhaps thought little of his duties as an MP, spent some of his time in the House of Commons, dining with both Liberal andTory members. But once Germany did invade Belgium, the die was cast, the non-intervention revolt within the Liberal ranks was thwarted, and a coalition became unnecessary (for the moment).
    Rudyard Kipling wrote to Aitken, claiming it was the end of civilized life. Max, it was said, reassured him with £50 in gold, a sack of flour, and a ham. The trouble with a great imagination, as Conrad wrote in Lord Jim , is that it can play havoc with your nerves.
    Aitken fell out of favour with his Tory party in September 1914, and with Kipling soon after, over what he considered foolish hysterics over Irish Home Rule, which did not matter with a major war near their shores. (He supported Home Rule for all of Ireland, while Law, and most in the House of Lords, wanted Ulster excluded.) Aitken and Bonar Law had a bitter argument over this, and Max left for Canada. He even thought of staying and becoming a sitting member for Northumberland County once again. Once again he wanted to go back to his roots and live life in a simpler way.
    He was only persuaded to go back to Great Britain as the voice for Canada, and to create the Canadian War Records Office—and he ended up doing this better than anyone ever could. He was so successful that the British High Command complained by 1915 that it seemed to theworld that Canada was in every battle. (Well, they were in enough.)
    Max visited the Front as a lieutenant-colonel, for he was preparing to write a book about the Canadians. In a picture I have seen, he looks like an enthusiastic schoolboy ready to see a chemist’s lab explode. He may have been kept out of harm’s way, but if he was anywhere close to the Front, that may have been impossible. He could well have gone to the Front just after Churchill visited, for Max was an