T. E. Lawrence Correspondence – Page 612

Bridlington, Yorks. 3. 1. 35. Dear K. Reporting progress ******, or no progress. Here I am watching contractors refit the ten local R.A.P. boats. It is my last service job, for it finishes in March and so do I. I am sad and rather frightened at coming out. I have twelve years hoping that the day would not come. Consequently I can see no further, if you pull a snail's shell off, is the result a slug? I want to see you again. It would be nice to lie in your grass and see the unshakable objects growing green all round me, and you procreating more. Indeed, yes, you are become a sculptor: that hardest of all arts, and least remunerative of professions and best of crafts. I would once have wished to be a sculptor: but at 46 one has as the presumption to wish longer. One has been, then for good or ill. Yes, R.G. has done it properly with this last volume. I hated "I, Claudius", for the scandal and the perverse misreading of history: but in Claudius the God he justified himself and creates on a grand scale. What an odd person R.G. is. So we shall meet. Rest assured in that. And at Holly Copse. I'm sorry you tried to find me in town. Barton Street has been re-assumed by Westminster School and I no longer have any niche in London. My only address is Clouds Hill, Morton, Dorset, my very beloved cottage. You must see it again (newly fitted inside to suit me) some time, when I settle there, if I do. If only I did know what was before me, how rested my head would feel. Ah well! Commend me to C. and Xto and the 3rd Party: and beg them all to expect a shabby looking person, later. Yours T.E.S. What about an unsaleable object, to make my rhododendrons memorable?