Hero_ The Life And Legend Of Lawrence Of Arabia Part 13

In this, as in every other way, Lawrence was, of course, an exception to the rule. He had the education and upbringing of a gentleman, but illegitimacy was a bar to full members.h.i.+p in the "ruling cla.s.s,"** something about which he feigned indifference but to which he was, in fact,very sensitive. He had done nothing disgraceful, and he was rapidly becoming Britain's most famous war hero. His experience as a boy soldier might have helped him make up his mind, although he may have supposed that service in the ranks of the infant RAF would be very different from serving in the old prewar British army-though if this was the case he would shortly be disappointed.

The exigencies of battle on the western front had eventually made it necessary to commission a large number of "other ranks" (the British equivalent of American "enlisted men") and NCOs during the war, but the social gulf between officers and men remained wide, and once the war was over, it became unbridgeable again. Those who joined the armed services in the ranks in peacetime did so largely because they had failed in the civilian world, or because they were running away from something-they tended to be a rough and touchy lot, often bearing emotional scars inflicted by the British cla.s.s system, and suspicious of anybody whose speech, bearing, and behavior seemed "posh."

This was true even in the RAF, despite Air Chief Marshal Trenchard's desire to recruit and train future skilled "technicians," who could be trusted to look after the intricacies of aircraft and aircraft engines. "Airmen" got the same kind of rough treatment as recruits did in the older services: "square bas.h.i.+ng," the universal phrase for parade ground drill; endless (and often pointless) polis.h.i.+ng and cleaning; fatigue duty, much of it intended to be exhausting and loathsome; and constant petty hara.s.sment from officers and NCOs. At just over five feet five inches and 130 pounds, and at the age of thirty-three, Lawrence was not by any stretch of the imagination a typical recruit; and given his well-educated speech and his gentlemanly manners he could hardly have expected to fit in easily with his fellow recruits, or to "muck in with his mates" on Sat.u.r.day nights at the local pub. All barracks contain one or two odd specimens,* and men who clearly have a secret to hide, but Lawrence was odder than most. and men who clearly have a secret to hide, but Lawrence was odder than most.

His interest in the RAF, however, was unfeigned, and he was a good friend of Air Marshal Geoffrey Salmond and Air Chief Marshal Trenchard, both of whom admired him and were sympathetic to his desire to get into the RAF. Lawrence could easily have joined as a wing commander (the equivalent of a lieutenant-colonel), and no doubt even have learned to fly, but that was never his intention. Writing to Trenchard immediately after his return from the Middle East, Lawrence made it clear that he wanted to serve in the ranks, and warned Trenchard that he did not think he could pa.s.s the physical examination. He also suggested that he wanted to write a book about "the beginning" of the RAF, and that such a book could be written only "from the ground," not from the viewpoint of an officer.

Lawrence did succeed in writing a worm's-eye view of recruit training "from the ground up," but The Mint, The Mint, which would not be published until 1955, long after his death, is hardly the full portrait of the RAF that Trenchard had wanted. It seems reasonable to guess that Lawrence's suggestion of using his experiences as a recruit as the material for a book was at least in part intended to make the otherwise inexplicable wish of a famous, decorated former lieutenant-colonel to serve in the ranks as an aircraftman second cla.s.s (AC2) under an a.s.sumed name seem more plausible. Gathering material for a book about the RAF no doubt sounded sensible enough to Trenchard, particularly since which would not be published until 1955, long after his death, is hardly the full portrait of the RAF that Trenchard had wanted. It seems reasonable to guess that Lawrence's suggestion of using his experiences as a recruit as the material for a book was at least in part intended to make the otherwise inexplicable wish of a famous, decorated former lieutenant-colonel to serve in the ranks as an aircraftman second cla.s.s (AC2) under an a.s.sumed name seem more plausible. Gathering material for a book about the RAF no doubt sounded sensible enough to Trenchard, particularly since Seven Pillars of Wisdom, Seven Pillars of Wisdom, though by no means finished, was already being talked about as a major literary work; it was more sensible at any rate than Lawrence's desire to shed his ident.i.ty and vanish into anonymity. though by no means finished, was already being talked about as a major literary work; it was more sensible at any rate than Lawrence's desire to shed his ident.i.ty and vanish into anonymity.

Much has been made by some biographers of service in the ranks of the RAF as the equivalent of a secular monastery, and of Lawrence as seeking an expiation of sorts there, but that seems far-fetched. The only thing Lawrence had to expiate was his failure to abrogate the Sykes-Picot agreement, and he felt he had emerged from that with "clean hands" after the creation of Trans-Jordan and Iraq. The truth seems to be that Lawrence had simply reached a dead end on his return to Britain at the end of 1921. He had no wish to be a civil servant, or an academician; like his father,and surely in imitation of his father's example, Lawrence held an old-fas.h.i.+oned gentleman's view that working for a living was beneath him; he had run through what money he had and faced a lot more work on Seven Pillars of Wisdom. Seven Pillars of Wisdom. All these considerations contributed to his feeling of being trapped, and Lawrence, when trapped, nearly always chose to cut the Gordian knot by means of a single, sudden, startling major decision, rather than a series of small compromises. He even offered to join Colonel Percy Fawcett's Amazon expedition in search of the "Lost City of Z," which ended in the disappearance of Fawcett and his party. It is possible that the return to the Middle East had disturbed Lawrence's equilibrium, as had the continuous and exhausting revision of All these considerations contributed to his feeling of being trapped, and Lawrence, when trapped, nearly always chose to cut the Gordian knot by means of a single, sudden, startling major decision, rather than a series of small compromises. He even offered to join Colonel Percy Fawcett's Amazon expedition in search of the "Lost City of Z," which ended in the disappearance of Fawcett and his party. It is possible that the return to the Middle East had disturbed Lawrence's equilibrium, as had the continuous and exhausting revision of Seven Pillars of Wisdom, Seven Pillars of Wisdom, which forced him to reread obsessively his account of the incident at Deraa, so that far from putting such matters to rest, he was constantly reliving his worst moments of grief, shame, and guilt. which forced him to reread obsessively his account of the incident at Deraa, so that far from putting such matters to rest, he was constantly reliving his worst moments of grief, shame, and guilt.

Then too, Lawrence had lost faith in himself, and felt a need for some kind of structure to replace it. He had had, perhaps, too much freedom since the taking of Aqaba, and wanted to exchange it for an orderly, disciplined routine, in which he would not have to be responsible for other people and, above all, would no longer have to give orders. He was willing, even eager, to take take orders, but not to give them anymore; his orders had led too many men to their deaths-a few of them men he loved-or had killed civilians, some of them guilty of no greater crime than having bought a ticket on one of the trains he destroyed. Lawrence had a lifetime's worth of such responsibility, and the chief attraction of serving in the ranks was that he would never have to give an order to anyone again. Certainly most of these conditions could have been met in a monastery, but Lawrence does not appear to have had any religious convictions, let alone a vocation. All those morning prayers and Bible readings in Polstead Road had had the opposite effect to what his mother intended. orders, but not to give them anymore; his orders had led too many men to their deaths-a few of them men he loved-or had killed civilians, some of them guilty of no greater crime than having bought a ticket on one of the trains he destroyed. Lawrence had a lifetime's worth of such responsibility, and the chief attraction of serving in the ranks was that he would never have to give an order to anyone again. Certainly most of these conditions could have been met in a monastery, but Lawrence does not appear to have had any religious convictions, let alone a vocation. All those morning prayers and Bible readings in Polstead Road had had the opposite effect to what his mother intended.

There was a tendency among Lawrence's contemporaries to see his decision to shed his rank and join the RAF as a form of penance, but he always denied that. His service in the RAF, once he was past recruit training, would prove to be the happiest time of his life, with the exception of the years he spent before the war in Carchemish.

For nearly ten months Lawrence had been instrumental in making kings, creating countries, and drawing the borders of new nations and territories; he was almost as legendary a figure in peacetime as he had been in the war. But it was, at the same time, exactly the way this role appealed to his vanity, his thirst for fame and praise, his need to be at the center of things, his ability to move and influence even the most powerful of men, that he distrusted most in himself. Lawrence never underrated his powers, but "Colonel Lawrence" the kingmaker appalled him almost as much as "Colonel Lawrence" the war hero.

Throughout the first seven months of 1922 Lawrence was like a man who has painted himself into a corner. For a while he stayed on at the Colonial Office, unwillingly, as Winston Churchill's "adviser"-Churchill was as reluctant to let him go as Lawrence was determined to leave-while at the same time he labored diligently, but without pleasure, on the seemingly endless task of revising Seven Pillars of Wisdom. Seven Pillars of Wisdom. As with all the other problems the book presented, he had devised an extraordinarily difficult way of ensuring that it would not be lost or stolen again. Instead of having the pages typed as he rewrote them, he sent them in batches to the As with all the other problems the book presented, he had devised an extraordinarily difficult way of ensuring that it would not be lost or stolen again. Instead of having the pages typed as he rewrote them, he sent them in batches to the Oxford Times, Oxford Times, where, he had discovered, the printers could set them in columns of newspaper type more cheaply than the cost of a typist. However, he rendered his life and that of his printers more difficult by sending them unnumbered, random pages, so there was no chance of anybody's reading the book consecutively, and by leaving the most controversial sections of the book until last. That way, when the entire book was set in type, he could put the sheets in the right order himself, number them by hand, add the front matter, and have them bound into five sets of proofs. He would laboriously correct the copies, thus creating the first and most valuable of the many versions and editions of where, he had discovered, the printers could set them in columns of newspaper type more cheaply than the cost of a typist. However, he rendered his life and that of his printers more difficult by sending them unnumbered, random pages, so there was no chance of anybody's reading the book consecutively, and by leaving the most controversial sections of the book until last. That way, when the entire book was set in type, he could put the sheets in the right order himself, number them by hand, add the front matter, and have them bound into five sets of proofs. He would laboriously correct the copies, thus creating the first and most valuable of the many versions and editions of Seven Pillars of Wisdom. Seven Pillars of Wisdom. He may have looked increasingly hungry and shabby-not surprisingly, since he had to use the Westminster public baths to wash, and he worked through every night on a diet of chocolate bars and mugs of tea. He wrote later that he haunted the Duke of York's Steps at lunchtime to catch friends making their way from the War Office to their club on Pall Mall, in hopes of being invited to lunch-a sad glimpse of what his life must have been like in the first half of 1922. He may have looked increasingly hungry and shabby-not surprisingly, since he had to use the Westminster public baths to wash, and he worked through every night on a diet of chocolate bars and mugs of tea. He wrote later that he haunted the Duke of York's Steps at lunchtime to catch friends making their way from the War Office to their club on Pall Mall, in hopes of being invited to lunch-a sad glimpse of what his life must have been like in the first half of 1922.

Still, Lawrence did not have a totally reclusive life during this period in London. He was involved constantly with painters, publishers, poets, printers, and writers, and seems rather to have enjoyed the air of mystery that hung around him even then. One of his acquaintances, Sydney c.o.c.kerell, curator of the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge and a kind of literary and artistic gadfly, took him, quite by chance, to pick up George Bernard Shaw's portrait by Augustus John from Shaw's London home. It was thus, casually, in March 1922, that Lawrence met Shaw, who, together with his wife Charlotte, would play an important role in Lawrence's life over the next thirteen years. It would be incorrect to say that Shaw was at the height of his fame-his fame burned at a bright, steady level from before the turn of the century to his death in 1951, and burns on even today, more than half a century later, and n.o.body ever gloried more in his own fame. Lawrence's fame was equally bright, though he, unlike Shaw, was dismayed by it. In any case, a first contact was made that Lawrence would pursue diligently, in a campaign as carefully planned and executed as any of his military campaigns. The resulting friends.h.i.+p was one of most extraordinary and literarily productive of the twentieth century.

Churchill finally gave in and allowed Lawrence "to leave the payroll of the Colonial Office on July 1st, while retaining him as an honorary advisor." Churchill had known about Lawrence's desire to join the ranks since January, and while he was sympathetic, it was hardly something he understood at heart, having lived on a firm basis of late Victorian cla.s.s distinction as a grandson of one duke and cousin of another. Trenchard had in any case consulted him, as well as his own secretary of state, about Lawrence's wish to join the RAF, and with a more tolerant view of human behavior, had expressed his willingness to accept Lawrence as a recruit. Churchill was considerably more skeptical about "Colonel Lawrence's"chance of slipping into the RAF unnoticed, but he was willing to let Lawrence try. Trenchard went so far as to give Lawrence a privilege to which no other airman was ent.i.tled-at any time, if and when he chose to, he could leave the RAF, no questions asked and no obstacles placed in his way. Thus Lawrence was ent.i.tled to enter the RAF under a name of his own choosing, and to leave it if at any time he decided it had been a mistake; Trenchard could hardly have been fairer or more generous, as Lawrence gratefully recognized.

Lawrence dramatized his entrance into the RAF in writing The Mint, The Mint, with its famous opening lines: "G.o.d this is awful. Hesitating for two hours up and down a filthy street, lips and hands and knees tremulously out of control, my heart pounding in fear of that little door through which I must go in order to join up. Try sitting for a moment in the churchyard? That's caused it. The nearest lavatory, now .... A penny; which leaves me fifteen. Buck up, old seat-wiper: I can't tip you and I'm urgent. Won by a short head....One reason that taught me I wasn't a man of action was this routine melting of the bowels before a crisis. However, now we end it. I'm going straight up and in." with its famous opening lines: "G.o.d this is awful. Hesitating for two hours up and down a filthy street, lips and hands and knees tremulously out of control, my heart pounding in fear of that little door through which I must go in order to join up. Try sitting for a moment in the churchyard? That's caused it. The nearest lavatory, now .... A penny; which leaves me fifteen. Buck up, old seat-wiper: I can't tip you and I'm urgent. Won by a short head....One reason that taught me I wasn't a man of action was this routine melting of the bowels before a crisis. However, now we end it. I'm going straight up and in."

In fact, Lawrence's entry into the RAF had been carefully ch.o.r.eographed well in advance, and there was no chance at all that he would be rejected. The overdrawn description of his fear before entering the RAF recruiting office, at 4 Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, makes artistic sense, since in writing it Lawrence chose to portray himself as everyman, a generic narrator, rather than as a former lieutenant-colonel and war hero. As a result, The Mint The Mint sometimes reads more like fiction than a memoir, or than the piece of doc.u.mentary reporting that Lawrence had in mind.One reason why it fails as reporting is that the most important fact of all is largely missing: the narrator is not an anonymous, terrified civilian trying to sign up for seven years of service and five years in the reserve but Lawrence of Arabia posing as an airman. The fact that Lawrence had an escape clause from the RAF is not mentioned either. Even the looseness of his bowels "before a crisis" seems unreal-nowhere in sometimes reads more like fiction than a memoir, or than the piece of doc.u.mentary reporting that Lawrence had in mind.One reason why it fails as reporting is that the most important fact of all is largely missing: the narrator is not an anonymous, terrified civilian trying to sign up for seven years of service and five years in the reserve but Lawrence of Arabia posing as an airman. The fact that Lawrence had an escape clause from the RAF is not mentioned either. Even the looseness of his bowels "before a crisis" seems unreal-nowhere in Seven Pillars of Wisdom Seven Pillars of Wisdom does he mention this problem, even though he is often in situations that would terrify anyone. does he mention this problem, even though he is often in situations that would terrify anyone.

From the beginning it was clear that Lawrence would be no ordinary recruit. Trenchard, the chief of the air staff, replied to his letter asking to join the RAF in the ranks, on January 11, 1922: "With regard to your personal point, I understand it fully, and you too, I think. I am prepared to do all you ask me, if you will tell me for how long you want to join, but I am afraid I could not do it without mentioning it to Winston and my own Secretary of State, and then, whether it could be kept secret I do not know.... What country do you want to serve in, and how? I would make things as easy as anything." As Lawrence's release from the Colonial Office approached, he was invited to have dinner and spend the night at Trenchard's house in Barnet, outside London, to talk things over; and Trenchard made one more appeal to Lawrence to join as an officer, which Lawrence declined.

Trenchard approached the task of getting the most famous man in Britain into the RAF as an ordinary aircraftman with his usual common sense.Lawrence came up with the name John Hume Ross himself. He wanted a short name, and when his youngest brother Arnold mentioned a friend of their mother's, Mrs.Ross, he chose that. On August 14 Trenchard had Lawrence come to see him at the Air Ministry, and introduced him to Air Vice-Marshal Oliver Swann,the member of the Air Council for Personnel,who was to make the final arrangements.Swann was something less than a willing accomplice.Trenchard might enjoy breaking his own regulations, but Swann lived by them and was "considerably embarra.s.sed" at the "secrecy and subterfuge." He "disliked the whole business," and particularly resented the letters he received from Lawrence, which expressed a breezy familiarity and equality that Swann considered inappropriate, and also told Swann a good deal more than he wanted to know about a recruit's life in the ranks. Swann soon came to dread Lawrence's letters.He would comment later, with the asperity of a man determined to set matters straight at last: "One would think from [his] letters that I was a close correspondent of Lawrence's, possibly even a friend of his. But as a matter of fact ...1 disliked the whole business....I discouraged communication with or from him."

Swann's orders left him in no position to argue, however. Trenchard's memorandum to him was simple and clear-cut: It is hereby approved that Colonel T. E. Lawrence be permitted to join the Royal Air Force as an aircraft-hand under the alias ofJohn Hume Ross AC2 No. 352087He is taking this step to learn what is the life of an airman. On receipt of any communication from him through any channel, asking for his release, orders are to be issued for his discharge forthwith without formality.H. TrenchardCASO. SwannAMP 16.8.22 Since this was dated only two days after Swann was introduced to Lawrence by Trenchard, it is apparently a written confirmation of what had been discussed at their meeting. Swann, a meticulous bureaucrat and a stickler for regulations, could not have been pleased that, apart from the hugger-mugger of slipping "Colonel T. E. Lawrence" into the ranks, something which Swann rightly feared might backfire on them all, Lawrence not only was given the right to opt out of service in the RAF but could do so at any time without going through the correct correct channels-i.e., from Lawrence to his sergeant, from his sergeant to his flight commander, from the flight commander to the station commander via the station adjutant, and from there on to the Air Ministry in London. Furthermore, Swann was to be the channels-i.e., from Lawrence to his sergeant, from his sergeant to his flight commander, from the flight commander to the station commander via the station adjutant, and from there on to the Air Ministry in London. Furthermore, Swann was to be the only only person in the RAF, apart from Trenchard himself, who knew that AC2 No. 352087 Ross, J. H., was in fact T. E. Lawrence-so Swann was in the uncomfortable position of having to conceal the truth from his subordinates. Lawrence may have felt that this was great fun, and Trenchard may have shared that feeling, but Swann did not, and was anxious to get Lawrence off his hands as quickly as possible. It could not have made him any happier to know that Lawrence was intending to write a book about his time in the air force, a book in which Swann and his subordinates might expect to appear. person in the RAF, apart from Trenchard himself, who knew that AC2 No. 352087 Ross, J. H., was in fact T. E. Lawrence-so Swann was in the uncomfortable position of having to conceal the truth from his subordinates. Lawrence may have felt that this was great fun, and Trenchard may have shared that feeling, but Swann did not, and was anxious to get Lawrence off his hands as quickly as possible. It could not have made him any happier to know that Lawrence was intending to write a book about his time in the air force, a book in which Swann and his subordinates might expect to appear.

Swann nevertheless arranged for Lawrence to present himself at the RAF recruiting office in Henrietta Street at 10:30 a.m. on August 22. (The date was later altered to August 30, at Lawrence's request, probably because he needed more time to complete the corrections on the proofs of Seven Pillars of Wisdom) Seven Pillars of Wisdom) Lawrence was to ask for Flight Lieutenant Dexter, who would interview him and help him fill out the necessary forms. Dexter had been warned that "Ross" was entering the RAF "specially," but under no circ.u.mstances was Lawrence to tell Dexter who he really was. Lawrence was to ask for Flight Lieutenant Dexter, who would interview him and help him fill out the necessary forms. Dexter had been warned that "Ross" was entering the RAF "specially," but under no circ.u.mstances was Lawrence to tell Dexter who he really was.

Unhappily, Swann was the wrong man for planning this kind of transaction, and not at all suited for the role of Figaro. As Lawrence entered the recruiting office he was intercepted, as Swann should have guessed, by Sergeant Major Gee, who was not about to allow a seedy-looking prospective recruit to say which officer he wanted to see. Instead of taking Lawrence into Dexter's office, Gee took him straight to Flying Officer W. E. Johns, the chief interviewing officer, who was not in on the secret, and who did not like the look of Lawrence any more than the sergeant major did. Indeed Gee, who was standing behind Lawrence, made a signal to Johns to indicate that he suspected the recruit might be a man running away from the police: such fugitives often tried to join one of the armed services in a hurry, under an a.s.sumed name, to avoid prosecution. Johns, who kept in his desk drawer an up-to-date stack of photographs of men wanted by the police, was by no means an ordinary RAF officer. He would become the author of the hugely successful "Biggles" books, ninety-eight of them, about a fictional RAF pilot hero, which remained a mainstay of boys' reading material in Britain well into the 1950s. He edited the serious aviation magazine Flying Flying but was forced out of his job by the government when he became an outspoken opponent of appeas.e.m.e.nt in the 1930s. He was not a man easily imposed on; nor was Sergeant Major Gee. but was forced out of his job by the government when he became an outspoken opponent of appeas.e.m.e.nt in the 1930s. He was not a man easily imposed on; nor was Sergeant Major Gee.

According to Johns, he questioned "Ross" sharply, and quickly ascertained that he had no copy of his birth certificate, and no references from previous employers. One might have thought the man who had traveled more than 300 miles across the desert behind enemy lines in 1917 would have provided himself with the necessary doc.u.ments, or that Air Vice-Marshal Swann would have made sure he had them. Possibly Dexter had been warned not to ask for them, but Johns sent Lawrence packing to obtain these doc.u.ments, and in the meantime he and the sergeant major examined the photographs from Scotland Yard and determined that "Ross" was not a wanted man. Johns was no fool, and he was thorough-he put in a call to Somerset House (the central registry of births and deaths) and discovered that no John Hume Ross had been born on the date given to him by Lawrence. When Lawrence returned later in the day with a sheaf of papers, Johns quickly realized that they were forged, and had Sergeant Major Gee show him firmly out the door.

The Air Ministry was only a few minutes' walk from the recruiting office, and Lawrence immediately went there to give Air Vice-Marshal Swann the bad news. Swann sent him back to the recruiting office in the company of a messenger from the Air Ministry bearing a black dispatch case with a copy of Trenchard's memo to Swann in it. Johns therefore became aware that it was now his job to get "Ross" into the RAF, and also that "Ross" was in fact Lawrence of Arabia. The secret, which Trenchard and Lawrence had hoped to keep for as long as possible, was already out, in the span of a few hours.

A further "stumbling block"* still awaited Lawrence: the medical examination. The RAF doctors were not impressed by Lawrence's physique, and at five feet six inches (they made him an inch taller than he actually was) and 130 pounds he seemed slightly too small for the RAF; he was also a few years too old. They were curious about his scars, too. He explained away the bayonet wounds between his ribs as barbed-wire scars, but the scars on his b.u.t.tocks were harder to explain. "Hullo, what the h.e.l.l's those marks? Punishment?" one of the doctors asked. still awaited Lawrence: the medical examination. The RAF doctors were not impressed by Lawrence's physique, and at five feet six inches (they made him an inch taller than he actually was) and 130 pounds he seemed slightly too small for the RAF; he was also a few years too old. They were curious about his scars, too. He explained away the bayonet wounds between his ribs as barbed-wire scars, but the scars on his b.u.t.tocks were harder to explain. "Hullo, what the h.e.l.l's those marks? Punishment?" one of the doctors asked.

"No, Sir, more like persuasion, Sir, I think," Lawrence replied, not yet aware that for an aircraftman a clever or flip reply to an officer's question is always a bad idea-a lesson he would learn the hard way over the next few months.

The doctors, despite encouragement from Johns, eventually rejected Lawrence because his teeth failed to meet the RAF standard-a glance at the dental chart in Lawrence's RAF medical records does indeed reveal an amazing number of fillings and at least two bridges to replace missing teeth, perhaps more of a comment on the standards of British dental care at the time and the national pa.s.sion for chocolate than on Lawrence. (Lawrence's dental chart shows seven teeth missing, and twelve teeth with significant decay, despite the notation that his "Oral Hygiene" was "Good.") While Dexter shepherded Lawrence through filling out his application to join the RAF and took care of the standard education test-Lawrence could manage the essay, of course, but not the "square roots ... and decimals"-Johns went off to explain his predicament to his commanding officer, who called the personnel office at the Air Ministry to ask what to do. When he had replaced the receiver he told Johns to get "Lawrence of Arabia" into the air force, or "you'll get your bowler hat." This was RAF slang for being dismissed from the service. Johns resourcefully found a civilian doctor who was willing to sign the medical form. Johns then signed the form himself, and "Ross" was officially declared fit for service in the RAF. His medical form rather modestly limits the "marks" on his body to "Scars both b.u.t.tocks," overlooking the bayonet wounds on the ribs and a number of bullet scars; notes that he has perfect eyesight, as one would expect of such an expert shot as Lawrence; and gives his age as twenty-eight, whereas he was thirty-four.

Any pretense of secrecy vanished when Johns telephoned his opposite number, Flight Lieutenant Nelson, at RAF Uxbridge, the recruit training center, about fifteen miles from the center of London, "to warn him of who was on his way, for by this time Lawrence was making it clear that he had no time for junior officers." Johns took Lawrence to the station and chatted with him while he waited for the next train to Uxbridge.

They did not part friends. Johns remarked that Lawrence left him "with the memory of a cold, clammy handshake."

Lawrence left this slightly farcical episode out of The Mint, The Mint, when he came to write it, and gives the impression that the medical examination at the recruiting office in London went more or less normally, and that the two RAF doctors were eager to pa.s.s him as fit. He may also have invented the description of his arrival at Uxbridge, in which he is one of six recruits who are met by a sergeant and marched from the railway station into camp. His description of his first night in the recruits' hut at Uxbridge rings true enough, however, to anyone who has entered the British armed forces. His fellow recruits were noisy, swore constantly, and smelled of beer, tobacco, and sweat. when he came to write it, and gives the impression that the medical examination at the recruiting office in London went more or less normally, and that the two RAF doctors were eager to pa.s.s him as fit. He may also have invented the description of his arrival at Uxbridge, in which he is one of six recruits who are met by a sergeant and marched from the railway station into camp. His description of his first night in the recruits' hut at Uxbridge rings true enough, however, to anyone who has entered the British armed forces. His fellow recruits were noisy, swore constantly, and smelled of beer, tobacco, and sweat.

Lawrence must also have been disoriented by this sudden immersion into lower-cla.s.s life. He had a remarkable ability to get on with people who were very different from himself, but these had so far been Arabs and Bedouin tribesmen, foreigners rather than his own fellow countrymen of a different background. He was well brought up, fastidious, brilliantly educated, an ex-officer, however idiosyncratic, and a man whose quiet voice and unmistakable accent identified him immediately as a gentleman. He was also a man who hated to be touched, so he had a natural fear of barracks roughhousing-fistfights, towel-slappings, and all the normal physical horseplay of young men trying hard not to show they were afraid they might not prove tough enough for the rigors of recruit training, since the first weeks of training consisted of a deliberately harsh winnowing-out process, intended to eliminate those who were weak, rebellious, or unamenable to discipline, or who simply lacked esprit de corps.

For a man who had been imprisoned by the Turks, tortured, raped, and wounded countless times, Lawrence 's reaction to his hut mates at Uxbridge is strangely prim: " As they swiftly stripped for sleep a reek of body fought with beer and tobacco for the mastery of the room .... The horseplay turned to a rough-house: s.n.a.t.c.hing of trousers, and smacks with the flat of hard hands, followed by clumsy steeplechases over the obstacle of beds which tipped or tilted.... Our hut-refuge was become libertine, brutal, loud-voiced, unwashed."

Of course war and danger have a certain intoxicating glamour-certainly they did to Lawrence - whereas the prospect of weeks of sodden misery in a crowded hut full of noisy young recruits does not. Hardened as Lawrence was to danger, pain, and death, he had never been to an English boarding school, an experience that might as well have been designed to create a hard, self-protective sh.e.l.l against the small, daily abrasions of communal living, occasional physical violence, and unwelcome intimacy. In fact, Lawrence's description of life at Uxbridge often sounds like that of a new boy away at school for the first time; for example, he notes, with alarm, that "there had been a rumour of that sinful misery, forced games," and that "breakfast and dinner were sickening, but ample."

The next day, Lawrence was once more ordered to write an essay on his birthplace (which he had not seen since he was six weeks old); was submitted to fierce questioning about where he had been during the war (he came up with a story about being interned as an enemy alien in Smyrna, by the Turks); then, after waiting for two hours with forty or fifty other men (good training for the methods of the British armed services, which are usually described as, "Hurry up, and wait!"), he was sworn in at last, and became, officially, "AC2 Ross."

He describes his hut mates as a blacksmith from Glasgow (who fails his test job), two barmen, a former captain of the King's Royal Rifles, two seamen, a naval "Marconi operator," a Great Western Railway machinist, lorry drivers, clerks, photographers, mechanics, "a fair microcosm of unemployed England." Lawrence sums up this mixed bag accurately enough, pointing out that they are not the "unemployable," the bottom of the barrel, but merely those who have lost their jobs, or their way, or had financial or woman trouble of one kind or another. At the same time, it is not Kipling's army, or the French Foreign Legion; most of the men in Lawrence's hut have a trade of some kind, and hope to pursue it, or something similar to it, once they have finished the twelve weeks of "square bas.h.i.+ng" (drill), "bull" (polis.h.i.+ng and s.h.i.+ning their kit and their surroundings until their boots, their bra.s.s, and the barracks floor gleam like mirrors), and fatigue duties, mostly filthy, demeaning, and back-breaking hard labor, all intended to teach the raw recruit that his time and his body belong to the RAF. Not surprisingly, given his age and background, Lawrence was at first slow at drill, hated PT (physical training), and had no skill at turning his brown, l.u.s.terless boots into glossy black ones that shone like patent leather.* But like most people he found that there were others far less competent than himself, and that once the recruits in his hut were uniformed and put into the training program, their camaraderie, gruff sympathy, occasional good advice, and commitment to one another made the training program more bearable. There were no winners or losers; it was not a compet.i.tive effort and so there was no personal gain in being better turned out than the man next to you; the entire purpose of the program was to perfect the But like most people he found that there were others far less competent than himself, and that once the recruits in his hut were uniformed and put into the training program, their camaraderie, gruff sympathy, occasional good advice, and commitment to one another made the training program more bearable. There were no winners or losers; it was not a compet.i.tive effort and so there was no personal gain in being better turned out than the man next to you; the entire purpose of the program was to perfect the unit, unit, not the individual, and to turn your "flight" (as a company is called in the RAF) into a gleaming, responsive, perfectly drilled body of men on the parade ground. not the individual, and to turn your "flight" (as a company is called in the RAF) into a gleaming, responsive, perfectly drilled body of men on the parade ground.

For somebody as individualistic as Lawrence, this was not easy to learn. Sticking it out must have required all of his admittedly formidable self-discipline, and this makes his effort to complete every part of his recruit training even more impressive. He wrote about it from time to time in some detail to Air Vice-Marshal Swann, under the mistaken impression that Swann wanted to know what the life of a recruit was like, or was interested in improving the training program. In fact, what Swann wanted most was not to hear from him at all."I'm not very certain of myself," Lawrence wrote to Swann, after his first few days, "for the crudities, which aren't as bad as I expected, worry me far more than I expected: and physically I can only just sc.r.a.pe through the days....If I can get able to sleep, and to eat the food, and to go through the PT I'll be all right. The present worry is 90 per cent nerves.... Please tell the C.A.S.[Trenchard] that I'm delighted and most grateful to him and to you for what you have done.Don't bother to keep an eye on what happens to me." It may be imagined with what dread the unfortunate Swann opened these long letters. He was convinced that no matter how well it was handled, Lawrence's enlistment would blow up in his face, and at the same time his orders from Trenchard were precisely to "keep an eye on" Lawrence, something he could hardly do from his desk in London.

As it happened, the commanding officer of RAF Uxbridge, Wing Commander Ian Malcolm Bonham-Carter, CB, OBE, without knowing who Ross was, seems to have picked him out on sight as the wrong kind of airman.In The Mint, The Mint, Lawrence reserves his harshest language for Bonham-Carter.It goes without saying that the worst thing a recruit can do is to attract the attention of the commanding officer in any way, but Lawrence succeeded in doing so almost immediately. It might have amused Bonham-Carter to know that he and "Ross" were both Companions of the Order of the Bath, but then again, probably not.In photographs Bonham-Carter is enormously good-looking, his uniform is perfectly tailored, and his expression is severe. He had a reputation as "a strict disciplinarian," but as Marshal of the Royal Air Force Lord Sholto Douglas, who had served with him, pointed out later-when Lawrence reserves his harshest language for Bonham-Carter.It goes without saying that the worst thing a recruit can do is to attract the attention of the commanding officer in any way, but Lawrence succeeded in doing so almost immediately. It might have amused Bonham-Carter to know that he and "Ross" were both Companions of the Order of the Bath, but then again, probably not.In photographs Bonham-Carter is enormously good-looking, his uniform is perfectly tailored, and his expression is severe. He had a reputation as "a strict disciplinarian," but as Marshal of the Royal Air Force Lord Sholto Douglas, who had served with him, pointed out later-when The Mint The Mint was finally published-a disciplinarian was exactly the kind of man who was needed to run the recruit training depot. Bonham-Carter had been wounded in the war. He lost his left leg and the use of one arm, and sustained numerous other wounds, but often refused to wear a prosthetic limb, relying on crutches instead. It may be that Lawrence's hesitancy at PT drew Bonham-Carter's attention, for the commanding officer would drive over from his house to watch the recruits doing their physical training before breakfast at dawn, and would join in despite his wounds, doing the exercises as best he could while supporting himself against the cookhouse wall with one hand. Lawrence dismissed this as "theatrical sw.a.n.k"; decided that since Bonham-Carter was "always resentfully in pain," he was determined that the recruits should at least be uncomfortable; and complained that his presence forced the PT instructor to drag out the exercise "to its uttermost minute." Lawrence describes the commanding officer as "only the shards of a man," but he may have been exaggerating for effect: Bonham-Carter not only did the same physical exercises as the recruits but drove his own two-seat sports car, continued to fly, and would go on to serve during World War II as "duty air commodore" in the Operations Room of RAF Fighter Command. In any case, when Lawrence's turn came for duty as Bonham-Carter's "headquarters runner," the experience was so unpleasant that during a kit inspection of one of the huts Lawrence "found himself trembling with clenched fists," repeating to himself, "I must hit him, I must," but held himself back. He describes watching the commanding officer "pulled over on his face" when his two leashed dogs ran after a cat, and the airmen standing around "silently watching him struggle" to get back on his feet, but refusing to help, muttering, " 'Let the old c.u.n.t rot.' " Lawrence adds that at Bonham-Carter's next command the airfield "was ringed with his men almost on their knees, praying he would crash." was finally published-a disciplinarian was exactly the kind of man who was needed to run the recruit training depot. Bonham-Carter had been wounded in the war. He lost his left leg and the use of one arm, and sustained numerous other wounds, but often refused to wear a prosthetic limb, relying on crutches instead. It may be that Lawrence's hesitancy at PT drew Bonham-Carter's attention, for the commanding officer would drive over from his house to watch the recruits doing their physical training before breakfast at dawn, and would join in despite his wounds, doing the exercises as best he could while supporting himself against the cookhouse wall with one hand. Lawrence dismissed this as "theatrical sw.a.n.k"; decided that since Bonham-Carter was "always resentfully in pain," he was determined that the recruits should at least be uncomfortable; and complained that his presence forced the PT instructor to drag out the exercise "to its uttermost minute." Lawrence describes the commanding officer as "only the shards of a man," but he may have been exaggerating for effect: Bonham-Carter not only did the same physical exercises as the recruits but drove his own two-seat sports car, continued to fly, and would go on to serve during World War II as "duty air commodore" in the Operations Room of RAF Fighter Command. In any case, when Lawrence's turn came for duty as Bonham-Carter's "headquarters runner," the experience was so unpleasant that during a kit inspection of one of the huts Lawrence "found himself trembling with clenched fists," repeating to himself, "I must hit him, I must," but held himself back. He describes watching the commanding officer "pulled over on his face" when his two leashed dogs ran after a cat, and the airmen standing around "silently watching him struggle" to get back on his feet, but refusing to help, muttering, " 'Let the old c.u.n.t rot.' " Lawrence adds that at Bonham-Carter's next command the airfield "was ringed with his men almost on their knees, praying he would crash."

Lawrence also attracted the attention of the drill adjutant, Breese, a former regimental sergeant major of the Brigade of Guards, for whom drill was the equivalent of a religion, and who was responsible for the training of all the recruits once they had been separated into squads. Breese lived and breathed drill, and because he was an ex-Guardsman perfection was the only standard he knew. He announced to each new batch of recruits that any of them could come "and see him privately about any worries they had," and Lawrence unwisely chose to take this literally and avail himself of the privilege. He thus broke two of the most important rules of surviving as a recruit: first, keep out of sight of officers as much as possible; and second, approach an officer only through your own NCO, and with the NCO's approval. Breese, who had no idea who Ross was, asked him if he had "woman troubles," the usual reason for an airman's asking to see the drill adjutant, and was unpleasantly surprised when Ross indignantly denied it, and said "that what he wanted was a room where he could do some writing undisturbed." On his cot at night, Lawrence had been writing the notes that would become the first part of The Mint, The Mint, and not surprisingly he found it difficult to concentrate in a crowded, noisy hut. Breese, taken aback, replied that with 1,100 recruits in the depot it was impossible to provide each of them with a study, but that he could use the NAAFI writing room whenever he liked, on his time off. Apart from the oddness of the request, something about Lawrence's manner-a kind of lofty sense of superiority and ent.i.tlement, just one step short of insolence, and clearly inappropriate to a mere recruit-may have put Breese on his guard, and made him decide to keep his eye on AC2 Ross. and not surprisingly he found it difficult to concentrate in a crowded, noisy hut. Breese, taken aback, replied that with 1,100 recruits in the depot it was impossible to provide each of them with a study, but that he could use the NAAFI writing room whenever he liked, on his time off. Apart from the oddness of the request, something about Lawrence's manner-a kind of lofty sense of superiority and ent.i.tlement, just one step short of insolence, and clearly inappropriate to a mere recruit-may have put Breese on his guard, and made him decide to keep his eye on AC2 Ross.

The result was an unwelcome torrent of kit inspections for Lawrence. Breese claims to have admonished him for being untidy and "consistently dirty,* for being insubordinate to his hut sergeant, for refusing to obey an order about his kit, and for being consistently late on parade," although this seems unlikely, given the fact that Lawrence was on "the crack drill squad," as Jeremy Wilson points out, and also eager to please. When Breese asked Lawrence why he was late for one parade, Lawrence replied "that he had always felt a little tired in the early morning." If so, this is the kind of clever or smart-alecky remark that might have won him the admiration of his hut mates but was bound to infuriate an officer. Breese put him up on charges several times and finally tried to have him dismissed from the RAF for insubordination, but at that point Breese was sharply warned that Ross would have to stay. for being insubordinate to his hut sergeant, for refusing to obey an order about his kit, and for being consistently late on parade," although this seems unlikely, given the fact that Lawrence was on "the crack drill squad," as Jeremy Wilson points out, and also eager to please. When Breese asked Lawrence why he was late for one parade, Lawrence replied "that he had always felt a little tired in the early morning." If so, this is the kind of clever or smart-alecky remark that might have won him the admiration of his hut mates but was bound to infuriate an officer. Breese put him up on charges several times and finally tried to have him dismissed from the RAF for insubordination, but at that point Breese was sharply warned that Ross would have to stay.

Once, when a senior officer was inspecting the hut and noticed a copy of Niels Lyhne, Niels Lyhne, a novel by the Danish novelist J. P. Jacobsen, "in the original" among Lawrence's possessions, he asked Lawrence why on earth he had joined the air force. Lawrence replied, "I think I had a mental breakdown, Sir." This reply immediately got him put up on a charge, though it later turned out that the officer was merely interested in the presence among the recruits of a man with such an unusual level of education. a novel by the Danish novelist J. P. Jacobsen, "in the original" among Lawrence's possessions, he asked Lawrence why on earth he had joined the air force. Lawrence replied, "I think I had a mental breakdown, Sir." This reply immediately got him put up on a charge, though it later turned out that the officer was merely interested in the presence among the recruits of a man with such an unusual level of education.**

The c.u.mulative effect of such incidents led to exactly what Air Vice-Marshal Swann had been afraid of. First of all, it was necessary to tell Breese who "Ross" really was and warn him off; then, to Breese's fury, Swann responded to a plea from Lawrence, spared him the last four weeks at Uxbridge, and packed him off to RAF Farnborough to be trained as a photographer, without having completed his drill course. Even thirty-two years later Breese was still fulminating about what a poor recruit "Lawrence of Arabia" had been, and regretting that, because of the interference of higher authorities, he had not been able to get Lawrence discharged from the service.

The liberal use of profanity in The Mint, The Mint, and the description of Bonham-Carter, made it impossible to publish even decades after Lawrence's death, and it therefore received altogether unmerited notoriety as a "banned book." Most readers nowadays will be unlikely to find even the unexpurgated edition particularly shocking. and the description of Bonham-Carter, made it impossible to publish even decades after Lawrence's death, and it therefore received altogether unmerited notoriety as a "banned book." Most readers nowadays will be unlikely to find even the unexpurgated edition particularly shocking. The Mint The Mint is, in fact, an odd little book. The first two-thirds are about the horrors of recruit training; the last third (which Lawrence added later) is about the joys of serving on an RAF station with aircraft, and "how different, how humane" by comparison life was at the RAF Cadet College, Cranwell, when Lawrence was there three years later as an aircraft-hand. Just as his description of life at RAF Uxbridge seems too "savage" (to use his own word), so his description of life at Cranwell seems too idyllic. The book has long pa.s.sages of praise to Trenchard, which Lawrence wrote knowing very well that Trenchard would be among the first to read the ma.n.u.script. "There are twenty-thousand airmen better than us between [Squad 5] and Trenchard, the pinnacle and our exemplar: but the awe of him surely encompa.s.ses us. The driving energy is his, and he drives furiously. We are content, imagining that he knows his road." This reads uncomfortably, and improbably; unless the RAF has changed a lot since 1923, it seems unlikely that recruits would sit around the stove in their hut until late in the night swapping stories in "laughing admiration" and hero-wors.h.i.+p of Trenchard. The hallmark of the British serviceman has always been a mocking and cynical disdain for those at the top, and the pa.s.sages on Trenchard in is, in fact, an odd little book. The first two-thirds are about the horrors of recruit training; the last third (which Lawrence added later) is about the joys of serving on an RAF station with aircraft, and "how different, how humane" by comparison life was at the RAF Cadet College, Cranwell, when Lawrence was there three years later as an aircraft-hand. Just as his description of life at RAF Uxbridge seems too "savage" (to use his own word), so his description of life at Cranwell seems too idyllic. The book has long pa.s.sages of praise to Trenchard, which Lawrence wrote knowing very well that Trenchard would be among the first to read the ma.n.u.script. "There are twenty-thousand airmen better than us between [Squad 5] and Trenchard, the pinnacle and our exemplar: but the awe of him surely encompa.s.ses us. The driving energy is his, and he drives furiously. We are content, imagining that he knows his road." This reads uncomfortably, and improbably; unless the RAF has changed a lot since 1923, it seems unlikely that recruits would sit around the stove in their hut until late in the night swapping stories in "laughing admiration" and hero-wors.h.i.+p of Trenchard. The hallmark of the British serviceman has always been a mocking and cynical disdain for those at the top, and the pa.s.sages on Trenchard in The Mint The Mint merely read as if Lawrence hoped to balance out the scenes at Uxbridge, which Trenchard would certainly hate, by flattering him from time to time. merely read as if Lawrence hoped to balance out the scenes at Uxbridge, which Trenchard would certainly hate, by flattering him from time to time.

There is also a pa.s.sage that still has the power to shock. While Lawrence is on parade at Cranwell to mark the death of Queen Alexandra, widow of King Edward VII, he remembers a visit he once made to her, when he was a famous and decorated war hero. She was not "a Saint, a Paragon," as the chaplain now describes her, he thinks, but "an unfortunate, a long-suffering doll." Lawrence recalls her as a "mummified thing, the bird-like head c.o.c.ked on one side, not artfully but by disease, the red-rimmed eyes, the enamelled face ... her bony fingers, clas.h.i.+ng in the tunnel of their rings." This is one of the few times in the book when he refers to his previous life as the other persona he has left behind, "Colonel Lawrence," and it is surely the cruelest pa.s.sage in The Mint. The Mint. Even today, when the att.i.tude toward the British royal family has changed, it seems out of place, like an attack on the wrong person. Even today, when the att.i.tude toward the British royal family has changed, it seems out of place, like an attack on the wrong person.

Enlistment in the RAF had not been the only thing on Lawrence's mind in 1922. He was as determined to storm the literary world as he had been to enter the RAF, and he was probably the only person to whom it would have seemed that the two ambitions were not contradictory. He had sent one set of the corrected galley proofs of Seven Seven Pillars of Wisdom Pillars of Wisdom run off by the Oxford newspaper printers to Edward Garnett, a gifted editor who had worked closely with Joseph Conrad and championed the work of D. H. Lawrence, Ford Maddox Ford, and John Galsworthy. Garnett was now working as a consultant for the new publis.h.i.+ng house of Jonathan Cape. He was a sensitive and gifted reader, with a sure touch for literary quality and a first-cla.s.s sales instinct (a rare combination); he was good at building careers too, and played an important role in the lives of his authors. Garnett at once wanted to publish the book, but Lawrence s.h.i.+ed away, writing to say that Garnett was the first person to read the book-but adding that his friend the artist Eric Kennington was already reading it. He accepted Garnett's handwritten list of notes, suggestions, and corrections, thus setting in motion an elaborate and long-drawn-out process of mutual seduction, as Garnett attempted to steer him to Cape. Garnett's praise of the book was enormously welcome to Lawrence, who-as the author of a 300,000-word book on which he had spent four years of his life-thirsted for recognition and praise. He revealed to Garnett that he had already received a sizable offer, sight unseen, from an American publisher for an abridged version of 120,000 words, but had said, "Nothing doing"-although the idea of an abridged, "boy's own" version of the book in fact intrigued him. Eventually, with much patient nudging and help from Garnett, he would produce such a version: the enormously successful run off by the Oxford newspaper printers to Edward Garnett, a gifted editor who had worked closely with Joseph Conrad and championed the work of D. H. Lawrence, Ford Maddox Ford, and John Galsworthy. Garnett was now working as a consultant for the new publis.h.i.+ng house of Jonathan Cape. He was a sensitive and gifted reader, with a sure touch for literary quality and a first-cla.s.s sales instinct (a rare combination); he was good at building careers too, and played an important role in the lives of his authors. Garnett at once wanted to publish the book, but Lawrence s.h.i.+ed away, writing to say that Garnett was the first person to read the book-but adding that his friend the artist Eric Kennington was already reading it. He accepted Garnett's handwritten list of notes, suggestions, and corrections, thus setting in motion an elaborate and long-drawn-out process of mutual seduction, as Garnett attempted to steer him to Cape. Garnett's praise of the book was enormously welcome to Lawrence, who-as the author of a 300,000-word book on which he had spent four years of his life-thirsted for recognition and praise. He revealed to Garnett that he had already received a sizable offer, sight unseen, from an American publisher for an abridged version of 120,000 words, but had said, "Nothing doing"-although the idea of an abridged, "boy's own" version of the book in fact intrigued him. Eventually, with much patient nudging and help from Garnett, he would produce such a version: the enormously successful Revolt in the Desert. Revolt in the Desert. Lawrence, despite his protestations of naivete, had devised an extraordinarily successful way of dealing with book publishers: allowing them to read his book on the condition that they couldn't publish it. Similarly, he would later create a tidal wave of publicity for Lawrence, despite his protestations of naivete, had devised an extraordinarily successful way of dealing with book publishers: allowing them to read his book on the condition that they couldn't publish it. Similarly, he would later create a tidal wave of publicity for Seven Pillars of Wisdom Seven Pillars of Wisdom among the public at large by ensuring that it was a book everyone wanted to read, but n.o.body could buy. Certainly his correspondence with Garnett is remarkably shrewd; he demonstrates a practical knowledge of book publis.h.i.+ng economics while at the same time insisting that the book isn't for sale. among the public at large by ensuring that it was a book everyone wanted to read, but n.o.body could buy. Certainly his correspondence with Garnett is remarkably shrewd; he demonstrates a practical knowledge of book publis.h.i.+ng economics while at the same time insisting that the book isn't for sale.

In the meantime, Lawrence had set out in pursuit of bigger fish than Garnett. Taking advantage of his one brief meeting with Bernard Shaw, Lawrence had written to ask Shaw to read Seven Pillars of Wisdom. Seven Pillars of Wisdom. His letter was a perfect mix of flattery and modesty: "I'd like you to read it ... partly because you are you: partly because I may profit by your reading it,if I have a chance to talk to you soon after, before you have got over it." Nothing could have been more tactfully phrased, or more carefully baited, to lure Shaw into reading His letter was a perfect mix of flattery and modesty: "I'd like you to read it ... partly because you are you: partly because I may profit by your reading it,if I have a chance to talk to you soon after, before you have got over it." Nothing could have been more tactfully phrased, or more carefully baited, to lure Shaw into reading Seven Pillars of Wisdom; Seven Pillars of Wisdom; nor did it hurt that Lawrence, despite his modesty, was himself a celebrity. Shaw's ego and vanity were world-cla.s.s-indeed by wittily mocking his own weaknesses, he had made himself ever more famous, and by 1922 he was at the height of his formidable powers, both intellectual and theatrical. Perhaps more important, he had succeeded-as two previous Anglo-Irish playwrights, Richard Brinsley Sheridan and Oscar Wilde, had done-in turning himself into a "character," whose doings and sayings were constantly publicized, and who was given wide license to say outrageous things because he was Irish and a self-proclaimed genius. As a theatrical reviewer he had been the talk of London for his wit and intelligence, and as a playwright he was, like Sheridan and Wilde, a huge success from the beginning, often confronting on the stage serious social problems that approached the limit of the lord chamberlain's tolerance (the Lord Chamberlain's Office was, until 1968, the official censor of the British stage). Queen Victoria's lady-in-waiting is supposed to have said, as she emerged from the theater after a performance of Shaw's nor did it hurt that Lawrence, despite his modesty, was himself a celebrity. Shaw's ego and vanity were world-cla.s.s-indeed by wittily mocking his own weaknesses, he had made himself ever more famous, and by 1922 he was at the height of his formidable powers, both intellectual and theatrical. Perhaps more important, he had succeeded-as two previous Anglo-Irish playwrights, Richard Brinsley Sheridan and Oscar Wilde, had done-in turning himself into a "character," whose doings and sayings were constantly publicized, and who was given wide license to say outrageous things because he was Irish and a self-proclaimed genius. As a theatrical reviewer he had been the talk of London for his wit and intelligence, and as a playwright he was, like Sheridan and Wilde, a huge success from the beginning, often confronting on the stage serious social problems that approached the limit of the lord chamberlain's tolerance (the Lord Chamberlain's Office was, until 1968, the official censor of the British stage). Queen Victoria's lady-in-waiting is supposed to have said, as she emerged from the theater after a performance of Shaw's Caesar and Cleopatra, Caesar and Cleopatra, shaking her head in disapproval, "How different, how very different, from the home life of our own dear Queen." Fiercely argumentative and intolerant of any opinion but his own, Shaw was the best known of the Fabian Socialists-he outshone Sidney and Beatrice Webb, with their compulsive gathering of statistics, and H. G. Wells, despite Wells's enormously popular novels, as the most articulate spokesman for socialism and social reform in Britain. shaking her head in disapproval, "How different, how very different, from the home life of our own dear Queen." Fiercely argumentative and intolerant of any opinion but his own, Shaw was the best known of the Fabian Socialists-he outshone Sidney and Beatrice Webb, with their compulsive gathering of statistics, and H. G. Wells, despite Wells's enormously popular novels, as the most articulate spokesman for socialism and social reform in Britain.

Shaw signified his willingness to read the book, so one copy was sent to him, and Lawrence, like any other author, chafed while waiting for his reaction. In the meantime, Lawrence had sent another copy to his friend Vyvyan Richards, who read it more promptly, and wrote a most confusing letter back about it: "It seems to me that an attempted work of art may be so much more splendid for its very broken imperfection revealing the man so intimately." This was probably meant as praise-at least Lawrence took it that way-though on its face it seems to mean that the book's faults revealed Lawrence's strengths. Lawrence replied at length, to say that he knew it was a good book, but felt that "it was too big for me: too big for most writers, I think. It's rather in the t.i.tan cla.s.s: books written at tiptoe, with a strain that dislocat