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Describing his astounding maiden speech Winston Churchill (friend of 25 years) has written that "for the space of an hour 'F. E.' lisped and purred an unceasing series of blistering, glittering, carefully studied and audaciously flung taunts and insults in the teeth of the triumphant majority"—with the result that the late Lord Balfour, then Britain's No. 1 Parliamentarian, crossed the House publicly to congratulate Smith M. P., and he was "made."
Gallop to Woolsack. Battling Protestant that he was, "F. E." fought the granting of "home rule" to Ireland before the War—for this would have meant rule of Irish Protestants (Ulstermen) by Irish Catholics. When violence seemed the only way to head off home rule, the prizefighter's grandson went to Ireland as chief aide to Sir Edward Carson, dashed about fomenting shenanigans at such a rate that admiring Irish nicknamed him "The Galloper."
Early in the War "F. E." jumped from Ireland to France (as so many hotheads did), won mention in despatches and the rank of Major in the King's Own Oxfordshire Hussars, was recalled to London by Lord Kitchener to advise the Government in ticklish court-martial cases, presently became Chief Censor.
Rolling, puffing his famous long cigar (he did not chew on it), Censor Smith graduated to Solicitor-General, then Attorney-General, becoming meanwhile Sir Frederick Smith, Bart. One evening, after the election of 1918, he was asked by Prime Minister David Lloyd George to make the most momentous decision of his life, given only until morning to decide: Would he or would he not accept the supreme judicial office of Lord High Chancellor, sit upon the sacred woolsack?
Acceptance meant retirement from politics, burning his ambition to become Prime Minister. The Galloper took the woolsack (a large red cloth cushion stuffed with wool), sat on it as a Lord Chancellor must, rested his foot on it now and then as a Lord Chancellor must not. In 1919 he became Baron Birkenhead, in 1921 accepted a Viscountcy commemorating his wife's maiden name (Furneaux), and in 1922 was created Earl of Birkenhead with an arrogant-humorous armorial motto of his own devising Faber Meae Fortunae: "[I'm] the Smith of my own Fortune."