developed from the first experimental raids after Akaba until he could
use them in combined operations of camelry, armoured cars and
aeroplanes. He was also able to improve on the regulation uses of
high explosive as laid down in the Manual of Field-Engineering. He
discovered how to fire electric mines along the telegraph wires and
how to introduce petards into the fire-boxes of railway locomotives by
‘salting’ their wood-fuel piles with infernal contraptions that would
escape the notice of the firemen. But so strongly was he moved by a
sense of what we may call the ‘literary style’ of the epical romance
in which he found himself a leading character—a ‘many-wiled Odysseus’
let us say—that he always saw his own scientific ingenuities as things
alien and incongruous in the Arab setting. We are therefore left with
only shadowy clues as to their importance and effectiveness in the
campaign.
XXXI
In August 1922 Lawrence, having finally renounced the use of that name,
enlisted in the Royal Air Force. He did all the usual duties of a man
in the lowest grade of the Force and steadfastly refused promotion.
For six months he raised no suspicion at all about his identity. He
got on well with the men, though he was very raw and clumsy at the new
life. Unfortunately an officer recognized him and sold the information
for thirty pounds to a daily paper, with the result that there was an
unwelcome publicity-stunt made of it and the suspicion then arose among
the men that Lawrence was an Air Force spy! The Secretary of State
for Air feared that questions might be asked in the House of Commons
as to what he was doing there under an assumed name, so he judged it
necessary to dismiss him in February 1923. This was most disappointing
to Lawrence, who had got through the first hardship and bitterness of
his recruit’s training, with a stainless character, only to be thrown
out.
He had been stationed at Uxbridge, where his knowledge of photography
seems to have put him into a section of photographic specialists.
He disguised his previous history with half-truths, accounting,
for instance, for his too accurate rifle-shooting at the range by
saying that he had done some big-game shooting (perhaps he meant
by ‘big-game’ some of the staff-officers on the train derailed at
Minifer). He accurately informed the recruiting officer that he had
previously _served in no regiment_, and so framed his explanations that
apparently they noted down that he was interned by the Turks during
the greater part of the War. At Uxbridge he nearly outdid himself
in self-effacing efficiency. He was chosen as one of the squad to
rehearse arms-drill for the Cenotaph ceremony at Armistice. He was
unwilling to take part in it for fear of being recognized; fortunately
his height saved him. He was rejected for not being five-foot-eight.
I am sure, by the way, that Lawrence would not, if he could, ‘by
taking thought add a cubit’ (even an inch or two) ‘to his stature.’
Height is rarely useful to a man except in crowds and in games (both
of which Lawrence avoids) and makes him conspicuous. I remember his
saying once of an official: ‘Six-foot-three; and yet has brains’: being
six-foot-two myself I uncomfortably wondered at what height upward
Lawrence regards normal intelligence as usually ending.
At Uxbridge, on the first Commanding Officer’s Hut-inspection, the
Wing-Commander was asking all the recruits personal questions. He
noticed a few unusual books in Lawrence’s locker (where they were quite
in order) and said: ‘Do you read that sort of thing? What were you in
civil life?’
‘Nothing special, sir.’
‘What were you doing last?’
‘Working in an architect’s office, sir.’ (This was true enough. Sir
Herbert Baker had lent a room of his office in Barton Street for
Lawrence to write Seven Pillars in.)
‘Why did you join the Air Force?’
‘I think I must have had a mental break-down, sir.’
‘What! What! Sergeant-Major, take this man’s name; gross impertinence!’
The next day Lawrence was ‘up’ and was able to explain that the
Wing-commander had misunderstood him.
At school in Uxbridge—the Royal Air Force makes much of education—the
master, a civilian, asked the recruits to write a confidential
first essay, for his eye alone, giving details of previous education.
As he was obviously a decent and sincere man, Lawrence wrote truthfully
that he had got scholarships and exhibitions from the age of thirteen
onwards, which had helped to pay school and university bills until he
had taken honours in history and been elected to a research-fellowship
in political theory. That later events arising out of the War had
constrained him to enlist and that he found himself over-educated for
his present part in life. The master respected the confidence and
instead of lessons gave Lawrence books to read in school hours and a
quiet place to sit in.
A month after being dismissed from the Air Force he re-enlisted, with
War-Office permission, in the Royal Tank Corps. He had got a qualified
assurance that if he served without incident for a while in the Army,
his return to the Air Force might be considered. He remained in it for
more than two years, stationed near Dorchester. He found life rough but
made many friends among the soldiers and was fortunate to be near Mr.
and Mrs. Thomas Hardy, to whom I had the satisfaction of introducing
him.
It happened more than once that journalists and celebrity hunters would
break in on Mr. Hardy’s quiet and meeting there a little figure in
clumsy khaki with a quiet, almost filial regard for the old poet, would
not give him a second glance. Whereas, as Mrs. Hardy has told me, ‘they
would have given their ears, almost, for a conversation with him had
they known who he was.’
Lawrence was never without a Brough-Superior racing motor-bicycle. Each
year he used to wheedle a next year’s model from the makers—and ride it
to death—to report on it. He nicknamed his machines ‘Boanerges’ (sons
of thunder) and they carried him well. He had five of them in
four years and rode 100,000 miles on them, making only two insurance
claims (for superficial damage to the machine after skids) and hurting
nobody. The greatest pleasure of his recent life has been speed on the
road. The bicycle would do a hundred miles an hour, but he is not, he
says, a racing man. The first time that he really let Boanerges the
Third go, in the early dawn on a long stretch of road near Winchester,
he was curious to see the speed-dial make two complete revolutions. It
did, and broke with a scream, so he flattered himself that he covered
an unknown number of miles beyond the hundred an hour. But this was not
his daily practice.
He wrote to me in a letter:
‘It’s usually my satisfaction to purr along gently about 60 m.p.h.
drinking in the air and the general view. I lose detail even at such
moderate speeds but gain comprehension. When I open out a little more,
as for instance across Salisbury Plain at 80 or so, I feel the earth
moulding herself under me. It is _me_ piling up this hill, hollowing
this valley, stretching out this level place. Almost the earth comes
alive, heaving and tossing on each side like a sea. That’s a thing
that the slow coach will never feel. It is the reward of speed. I
could write you pages on the lustfulness of moving swiftly.’
He had at least one serious conflict with authority in the Royal
Tank Corps, when he was brought up on the charge of insubordination
towards a corporal. (Probably more. But none of them seem to have
had unfortunate sequels, for when he left the Tank Corps his
character-sheet was free of major entries.)
Of this occasion a comrade, Private Palmer, writes:
‘The corporal was a Scotsman of the old school, an ex-officer,
overbearing, with a wonderful idea of his own importance. T.E. used
to rag him unmercifully. The corporal had a habit of laying the
dust in the hut with a bowl of water sprinkled on the floor. This
performance annoyed T.E. and everybody else, so one day T.E. got up
early and swamped the hut with I forget now how many bowls of water.
We all paddled. Later a man in the hut received a few days “Confined
to Barracks” unfairly, through the Corporal. T.E. simply slung the
corporal’s suit-case into the sanitary bin.’
Private Palmer has very kindly given me further amusing if slight
details of Lawrence’s life in the Tank Corps:
‘He did the normal work of a private soldier even to receiving
“three days confined to barracks” for leaving overalls on his bed.
After “passing off the square” he did fatigues. That is how I met
him. We began talking about Thomas Hardy. I was employed in the
quartermaster’s stores and T.E. joined me there. He did his work
well; he had to mark recruits’ kits with their numbers, fit them with
clothing, boots, etc. In the afternoons sometimes, we used to solve
cross-word puzzles together. Generally, however, T.E. would work on
sections of the _Seven Pillars_. He did correcting, etc., in the
Quartermaster’s office, of an evening, and sometimes early morning.
‘One day I “pulled his leg” and he beat me with a slipper—after a
struggle, mind you. The Quartermaster walked in and wanted to know
whether the store was a gymnasium. “No, sir,” said T.E., “I’m sorry;
I was only correcting Private Palmer with this slipper!” The
Quartermaster laughed and said “Carry on!”
‘When rumours started in the camp as to who he was, it was amusing
to see the troops studying photographs of him in the _Daily_ ... and
comparing them with the original. “It’s not him!” “I bet you a
dollar it is him”; these were the sort of remarks that passed between
the troops. T.E. appeared to be indifferent as to what they thought
and said about him. This stage of excitement soon passed and he was
treated as one of ourselves again. The tradespeople were more polite
to him, however.
‘His recreations were gramophone music—he loved the Bach concerto for
two violins in D minor—and Brough-riding. Most Sundays he used to take
me, pillion, to breakfast at Corfe: order breakfast first and look at
the castle while it was being prepared: he never tired of the castle.
Sometimes he took me to cathedrals—Salisbury, Winchester, Wells. Of
course we passed everything we met on the road: T.E. couldn’t resist a
race.
‘His passing from the Tank Corps made a nine-days’ wonder: I was
bombarded with questions. As the people who knew him are scattered
now, his name has passed into the legend stage. Strangely enough, he
is remembered, not for anything he did during the War, but for his
performances on that wonderful motor-cycle.’
That ‘T.E. couldn’t resist a race’ seems to me a misinterpretation of
motive. He is not of a competitive nature, but dislikes other people’s
dust. And he never took the machine out on a dry road without letting
it out, all out, at least once for every hundred miles that he rode.
Just to keep the two of them from getting sluggish.
In August 1925, through the intercession of a highly-placed friend
with the Prime Minister, he was re-transferred to the R.A.F., his
ambition for the last two years, and in December 1926 was sent overseas
to the Indian frontier, where he now is. He wrote to me some months ago:
‘If old P— asks you again why I am in the R.A.F., tell him that it is
simply because I _like_ the R.A.F. The being cared for, the rails of
conduct, the impossibility of doing irregular things, are easements.
The companionship of “shop,” the enforced routine of simple labour,
the occasional leisures are actively pleasant. While my health lasts
I’ll keep in it. I did not like the Army much, but the R.A.F. is as
different from the Army as the air is from the earth. In the Army the
person is at a discount: the combined movement, the body of men, is
the ideal. In the R.A.F. there are no combined movements: its drill
is a joke except when some selected squad is specially trained for a
tattoo or a ceremony. The airman is brought up to despise the army.
“Soldier” is our chief insult and word of derision.’
I hope that these quotations will not be considered tactless; but will
take the risk. He wrote to me a year or two ago in the same strain:
‘You were in the regular infantry, so the chances are that you have
rather a cock-eyed view of the life we lead in the R.A.F. Our ideal is
the skilled mechanic at his bench or machine. Our job is the conquest
of the air, our element. That’s a more than large enough effort
to comprehend all our intelligence. We grudge every routine duty,
such as are invented for soldiers to keep them out of mischief, and
perform our parades deliberately ill, lest we lose our edges and
become degraded into parts of a machine. In the Army the men belong
to the machine. In the R.A.F. the machines, upon earth, belong to the
men; as in the air they belong to the officers. So the men have the
more of them. Drill in the Air Force is punitive, in the eyes of men
and officers alike. Whenever the public see a detachment of airmen on
a “B-S” (ceremonial) parade, they should realize that these, their
very expensive servants, are being temporarily misemployed—as though
Cabinet ministers should hump coal in office-hours.’
Sergeant Pugh, of his Flight at Cranwell, in Lincolnshire, has written
me a letter about Shaw in the R.A.F., which I print as it stands:
‘ARRIVAL AT CRANWELL
‘As far as my mind takes me back, it was in the first week of Sept.
1925 that he came to the camp, and although many had heard of his
“carryings-on”, few had seen him. He was met with all kinds of looks
(suspicious): was he finding out who’s who and what’s what of the
R.A.F.? Is that why he was discharged previously? (amazement): we had
heard he was a man with a terrible scowl of harshness, etc., etc.
(wrath): he is some ex-service guy pulling our legs; and yet! you know
his carriage, slight, mild, unassuming, why did he set the camp alive
in excitement just to see him?
FIRST FATIGUE. (I was taking names.)
‘Perhaps a dozen men were to have a “go” at cleaning the camp
fire-buckets. Taking names (you know why) he happened to be the first
on the roll and, asked his name, promptly sprang to attention,
giving his particulars. The second and third names were taken before
the S.M. snapped at those two for not doing likewise and commented on
the fact that S. had shown them his military training, by saying “take
an example of Shaw, you are letting yourselves down” and possibly
stronger words were used. (His start at once told.) Having occasion
to call and view the work in progress (and between you and me to get
a good “close-up” of this man nobody could weigh up), there he was
with bathbrick, polishing and rubbing as though his life depended on
the result (eagerness personified) and laughing his heart out in some
crude joke of his work-mate; an aircraftman of, to say the best, poor
intellect who stood by while our friend grinned and worked.
CREDIT FROM THE TANK CORPS
‘It soon flashed through the camp that he was in credit to the tune
of £50 from the Tank Corps and at “stand easy” when ordering tea and
cakes from the canteen, he asked for about four or five extra teas and
wads (cakes). Asking a few of the (secretly scrutinising) airmen to
“muck in,” at least three “lots” were left in sheer wonder and almost
embarrassment; smiles and expressions, “Deep B.” etc., being used.
CHURCH
‘Our camp church he liked—that was all. Always a true soldier
preparing for and marching to same, when his turn for it came along.
But it was a d—d shame that men of the calibre he went with, should be
compelled to listen to the “something rot” that they were attending;
for ♦Sermous were not Shaw’s strong point. Generosity itself for a just
cause. Apparent stupidity (which was amusing to all who “eyed
him”) for any cause concerning his presence in the above-mentioned
place of worship. Politics clashed with divinity—Shaw’s view.
♦ “Sermous” replaced with “Sermons”
S. JOINS UP IN R.A.F. SECOND TIME
‘An amusing item was told of his second admission to the R.A.F. All
recruits must pass an educational test before admission. S. had to do
a paper of a visit to some place or other and accomplished this with
such speed, tact and general show of a born author, that the Officer
i/C. asked him why he came to join up and yet could turn out his
“stuff” with so much apparent ease. His reply was “Chiefly a mental
rest.” which took the wind completely out of the officer’s sails, and
yet the mask of mildness on his face floated him clear of trouble. A
lot of heart-to-heart talk took place about various authors to whom he
might apply for a job. Finally he was shown a list of R.A.F. trades
and I swear he would tackle the lot in turn and decided to be a full
blown Air Craft Hand, which means he does all kinds of fatigues and is
treated as though he were a mere nothing in uniform.
[Illustration:
description: Photo low full front shot looking up at Lawrence
astride a stationary motor-bicycle
caption: ‘T.E.’ ON ‘BOANERGES,’ THE MOTOR-BYCYCLE
_Copyright_
]
“B” FLIGHT, CRANWELL
‘Being posted to “B” Flight and the way he behaved during his stay was
worth a guinea a box. Every conceivable kind of job was put before
S. as the office “boy” of our flight. (I could give you a real good
list of his duties which he was to do.) He had every job well mastered
in a week and “taped” for any clerk who might follow. Our Flight
Lieutenant took to S. and at once realized the asset he must mean to
the flight. What “got him” was that S. had more power for getting
things than he had himself. (I’m speaking dead honestly now.) He did
not on any occasion ever let anyone think that what was given at all
was given through thoughts of what he might do or say. His sheer
force of personality got him, as you may say, undreamed of odds and
ends necessary for us in our work, which seemed unattainable to any
Sergeant to say the most, and never an aircraft hand. To know him was
to be drawn by his magnetic personality and the heavens fell through,
that alone is what made the airmen scratch their heads and THINK.
A GRAMOPHONE WAS BOUGHT
‘There is a good story on its own. A beautiful machine with Records.
At first we held aloof wondering what class of music appealed to
S.—Mozart, Beethoven, Tannhauser? (excuse my ignorance of the
classical variety). It left us guessing, but we soon woke up to the
fact that he pulled our legs by ordering some of the most awful
sounding records possible to get, yet his face was a blank. Should
we laugh? moan? or what? That broke all the ice barrier of wondering
which had built up between the airmen.
HE STARTS
‘No clock was ever made to beat S. for awaking when he wanted, be
it any hour. How was it done? Sailors they say do manage it, but at
regular intervals. With S. any time was his time. _But_ always before
reveille. Baths are his god. He bribed the “civvie” stoker to attend
to the fires for his bathing “Saloon” before the others; and to see
him enjoy a real Turkish variety, gradually cooling to D. cold, was to
know when a man is happy. Duty compelled me to have a week of his
routine before 6 a.m. So this is authentic. _Bath_ is S.’s second name.
‘To show there is no ill feeling he starts one of the most appalling
records on the market and to hear the various good humoured grumblings
of the flight will send S. in fits of laughter. “Onward Christian
Soldiers” was his weak or _strong_ point. National Anthem he reserved
for medical inspection in the huts on Mondays. _Rude but true._ A
rather sleepy (at the night time) sailor, whom S. loved to tease was
presented by him, S., to a most glorious hand-knitted pair of pink
woollen bed socks. He had them specially made in our _Town_.
BROUGHS
‘S. had a Brough-Superior 1926 model. You might call that machine
his house. To see him ride was enough. To see that baby on a machine
like that at speed made the population gasp. Brough junior says that
he is the opposite number to his “bus”—“Two Superiors.” An insight
concerning both is in the following:
‘Out riding one summer evening, he came across a smash-up between a
car (driven by an oldish man) and a pedestrian. When the unconscious
pedestrian had been safely disposed of,—stowed in the back of the
car for carriage to hospital—S. was asked to swing the car for the
old boy. Nervousness and excitement caused the driver to leave the
ignition fully advanced and on S. swinging the starting handle flew
back and broke S.’s right arm. Without so much as a sign to show what
had taken place S. asked if he would mind retarding the offending
lever, and swung the car with his left hand. After the car was at a
safe distance S. got an A.A. Scout to “kick over” his Brough, and
with his right arm dangling and changing gear with his foot S. got
his bus home and parked without a word to a soul of the pain he was
suffering. Through some unknown reason the M.O. was away and it was
next morning before his arm could be “done.” That is a man—S., I mean.
‘S. had intended doing a “pull off” from an aeroplane with me and
descending by parachute. Unfortunately his arm spoiled it for the pair
of us. (Personally I was relying on his personality to get permission
for the “drop”), so you see how everyone “fell” for him through his
ways. Have served a little while in the R.A.F. but never before have I
seen a man refuse to go in Hospital with a broken arm. Yet S. did and
“got away with it.” Having after 10 days got into the style of writing
with his left hand, the good work went on. His skill and supervision
in his position astounded one and all. He will want to cancel this
but let me tell you as his friend that his broken arm was the 33rd
broken bone he has had at various times, including 11 ribs. This last
sentence must be known whether he approves or not. In his book _Seven
Pillars of Wisdom_ he mentions a fact about his capture by a Turkish
officer and his treatment under his captor’s hands. A bayonet had been
forced after two attempts between his ribs,—those scars are on his
body still and are very noticeable at once when he is stripped.
“OFFICE BOY”
‘As previously stated S. carried out every duty, job or any mortal
thing that came his way with amazing speed and accuracy that often we
wondered at his reserve power which pointed him out as differently as
though he was miles above our standard at anything we tackled.
His letters were the joke of the flight, because at every post
something or other turned up. Am convinced that had he been given more
spare time, the load of letters would not have been littered all over
the trays, tables and pigeon-holes—in fact they were everywhere. Mind
you his kit was kit, but correspondence he could not keep in check.
To see him sign a cheque on his book-account (_Seven Pillars_) for a
large amount, with his left hand after his accident made me wonder
what proof the bank held of the genuineness of the signature. They
used to get through without a line or word of doubt.
FIRES
‘S.’s job during cold weather would be to light the fires in the
offices. Coal was usually difficult to obtain, but nothing would
prevent the fires from being lighted. One day he pulled down a dead
tree actually in the Air Officer Commanding’s private plantation,
walking past flights and offices till he reached the “B” Flight,
perspiring like a bull and all smiles. Anyone would think he walked
about invisible. He invented a “Shaw mixture” of old oil from aero
engines, sawdust and coaldust and mixed it like mortar. So with his
trees and mixture fires were kept roaring all day long.
NIGHTS OUT
‘Asked his idea of a good night out, he told me that to take a man on
his Brough to a decent town and give him a good feed and general good
time was O.K. to a limit. That limit was that his companion on those
rides must be mildly a ruffian, for preference, and his pleasure was
derived in studying the man’s peculiarities unseen to the man
himself.[7] “There are too many honest men in this world and a few
more rogues would make the world a very interesting place.” Never sly,
he would weigh up a cute scoundrel and gently smile at the result of
his observation.
[7] Shaw has told me himself that he took out nearly all ‘B’ Flight
at one time or another: all very decent fellows, he said, whom he
admired very much.—Sergeant Pugh has made a joke read too seriously, I
think.—R. G.
PROMOTION
At the beginning of each quarter a return is to be submitted stating
the particulars of men recommended for promotion. Talking it over with
the Flight Commander, he asked for S. to see if he had any views on
the matter. S. emphatically refused to hear of any advance, a thing
which made the Flight Commander nearly curl up, laughing.
NIGHT RIDING