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Updated June 2012

T. E. Lawrence to Robert Graves

14, Barton St.

Dear R.G.
I’ve been some while wanting to write, and your note (which came to hand yesterday) is the last straw to weigh down my mind.
Sorry to have missed you in London: but my movings have been eccentric of late. The R.A.F. threw me out, eventually. Crime of too great publicity. Stainless character. I took the latter to the W.0. and persuaded them to let me enlist with them. So I’m now a recruit in the Tank Corps. Conditions rough too. However, there is a certainty and a contentment in bed-rock.
I wanted to ask you . . . we are near Dorchester and I run about Dorset on wheels (when they take their eyes off us) . . . do you think old Hardy would let me look at him? He’s a proper poet and a fair novelist, in my judgment, and it would give me a feeling of another milestone passed if I might meet him. Yet to blow in upon him in khaki would not be an introduction. You know the old thing, don’t you? What are my hopes?



Source: B:RG
Last revised:  

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