For the boys, it was to be very different. If they could not be teachers, David Lloyd and William needed some other profession, and Mr Evans with his love of jurisprudence, or perhaps the memory of Mr Goffey in Liverpool, brought to mind a career in law. For William it meant a steady career with good money to be made. For Davy, whose brilliant mind and natural leadership qualities had already marked him out, the law was a respectable way to embark on a career in public life.
William’s role in supporting David’s political career is widely (and justly) acknowledged. He did not seem to resent the universal assumption that his brother was destined for greater things, nor did he demand the kind of attention that flowed David’s way. Described by his daughter-in-law as ‘the kindest man I ever met’,13 William was different from his brother David in almost every respect. Devout, truthful and patient, he resembled both his father and Richard Lloyd. He accepted without demur that he needed to work to support the entire family while his brother pursued his (unpaid) political career, and he even denied himself the prospect of marriage and children for many years while all his income was needed to support Betsy, Richard, Polly and his brother’s family. A truly remarkable man, he lived his life in his brother’s shadow with exceptionally good grace; only David’s colourful private life ever caused more than an occasional coolness between the two.
As for Davy Lloyd, Richard Lloyd believed that he had a prodigy on his hands. ‘This boy will be famous!’ he exclaimed, and the whole family set about making it happen. The Lloyd/George family turned itself into an organisation to support David, and every resource at its disposal was unhesitatingly put to use. Richard Lloyd discussed his nephew’s progress with Mr Evans the schoolmaster, and watched over his studies at home. The young Davy combined natural aptitude with a love of reading. His favourite subjects were geography and history, and he had a good head for figures. In later life he told his son, only half-jokingly, that he had realised he was a genius while reading Euclid at the top of an oak tree. But, genius or not, he would have to pass his preliminary law examination before he could get on the first rung of the ladder by persuading a firm of solicitors to take him on as an apprentice. The examination required a specific programme of study, and Davy used his extra year in school to prepare himself, aided by the willing Mr Evans.
Davy Lloyd was fortunate in his broad-minded and scholarly teacher, but he was equally fortunate in his uncle and mentor. Richard Lloyd—known fondly within the family as ‘Uncle Lloyd’—was no ordinary cobbler: he was a craftsman who could turn his hand as easily to a pair of high-topped boots trimmed in yellow wash leather for the Trefan coachman as to repairing a working man’s boots. He was as devout as his father before him, and had followed in his footsteps to become the ordained minister of Capel Ucha, as a result of which his workshop was the gathering place for village intellectuals. He was renowned for the care he took of his congregation and the wisdom of his advice, readily given to those who dropped by during the day. He kept a scrap of paper or a piece of discarded leather in a niche in the wall by his side as he worked so that he could jot down a thought or a phrase to use in his sermons.
In 1841 the congregation of Capel Ucha had broken off from the Scotch Baptists to join ‘The Disciples of Christ’, the followers of Baptist preacher Alexander Campbell. They clung to an even more literal interpretation of the Bible, with an emphasis on simple living and an almost puritanical modesty. The denomination was even smaller than the Scotch Baptists, but was then, as now, strongest in the United States, where three Presidents—Garfield, Johnson and Reagan—were baptised into its ranks. There was a narrow but clear doctrinal difference between the Disciples of Christ and the Baptists, and they remain a separate denomination in the USA, although in the UK they joined the Welsh Baptist Union in the 1930s.
The Disciples of Christ were a modest and unassuming denomination. Richard Lloyd would painstakingly explain that they did not claim that they alone were disciples of Christ, rather that they were disciples of Christ alone. As well as adhering to a literal interpretation of the Bible, they believed that it was unlawful for Christians to treasure wealth on earth by putting it aside against future times. They believed that fasting and prayer were essential, and that it was a Christian’s duty to marry within the faith. They dressed modestly at all times, and it was deemed obscene for women to wear gold, jewels or expensive clothes, or even to plait their hair. Likewise, it was considered an affectation for preachers to wear black: the Disciples’ preachers wore their Sunday best in the same way as their congregations.
In February 1875 Davy and his sister Polly were baptised in the small stream that ran past Capel Ucha. Uncle Lloyd conducted the ceremony, but did not record why his nephew was baptised at the unusually early age of twelve, rather than fifteen, as was customary. The boy’s precocity had always prompted special treatment, and perhaps there is no more to it than that. Baptism was a serious matter to the Lloyds and the Georges. It was a solemn ceremony that signified acceptance of the faith of the Church, and rebirth through total immersion in water as an adult member of the congregation.
It would have been cold as Richard Lloyd dammed the stream to form a pool of water for the baptism. Nevertheless, he waded into the water as he did for each baptism ceremony, and stood waist-high to receive the candidates who waited on the bank. When it was Davy’s turn, Uncle Lloyd asked him solemnly if he believed in God, Father, Son and Holy Ghost, and then if he would promise, with the help of Jesus Christ, to love and serve God for the rest of his life. The boy answered with the customary ‘I do!’ and waded out to join his uncle in the cold flowing water. Richard Lloyd baptised David Lloyd George in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, and then, supporting his nephew in his strong arms, plunged him momentarily under the surface of the water. Dripping wet, Lloyd George made his way back to the waiting congregation before taking his first communion inside the chapel. It was to be a turning point in his life, not because of its religious significance, but because he decided from that day onward to adopt the ‘Lloyd’ in his name as a second surname, in tribute to the man who raised him. He was no longer Davy Lloyd, but David Lloyd George.14
The religious intensity of the ceremony, however, was too much for the independent-minded Lloyd George. That night as he lay in bed he experienced a dramatic anti-conversion. It occurred to him suddenly, with perfect clarity, that everything he had been taught about religion, and even the Bible itself, was nothing more than unfounded imaginings. He saw an image of his family’s deepest-held beliefs collapsing around him like a building falling into ruin.15 He sat bolt upright in bed and shouted out loud that God and all the things he had been taught were but a dream.
Lloyd George fully realised the significance of the revelation. He tried to pray, but when he closed his eyes he heard only his own voice echoing in the emptiness. He had a sleepless night, but kept his feelings to himself for some time before tentatively confessing to Uncle Lloyd. Demonstrating the wisdom for which he was renowned, Richard Lloyd reacted calmly. He told the boy that it was natural to doubt, and that his faith would return in due course. Lloyd George was not so sure. Religion had lost its hold on him. He continued to obey the rules of his upbringing, when his family were around at least, but more to appear respectable than out of conviction. He continued to attend, and even to enjoy, chapel services with his family, but he experienced them as a spectator rather than as a believer. He loved the ‘theatre’ of religion, relished a good sermon, but seemed to pick up more tips on public speaking than on saving his soul. He would listen avidly to the best pulpit performers, and would critique them later in his diary, noting how a good preacher held his audience by using his voice to create dramatic emphasis, or by gesturing with his arms to mark an emotional climax. Special praise was always reserved for Uncle Lloyd, whose sermons he admired, even if he was not convinced by their content. Throughout his life he continued to enjoy nonconformist services with their fervent hymn-singing and dramatic preaching, but he lived according to his own, very different, rules.
Richard Lloyd was a well-read and highly self-educated man. He took a close interest in his nephews’ and niece’s reading, and made good use of William George’s