T. E. Lawrence to T. B. Marson

Frensham Pond Hotel
near Frensham
Surrey

Sunday 28.1.23.

Dear Marson

This is for the C.A.S., when he is not momentarily burdened with big politics. I've been looking round, these last few days, and find an odd blank:- there is nothing I can think of, that I want to do, and in consequence, nothing that I will do! And the further I get from the R.A.F. the more I regret its loss.

So I'm writing, not hopefully, to ask whether he thought (and turned down the idea) of giving me another chance? The Newspaper chatter I don't take seriously, (and you won't still it much by throwing them the fresh tit-bit of my discharge!), so it seems the real difficulty must be the disturbance I caused, unwillingly and unwittingly, at Farnborough. I can't help thinking it must have been, in large part, because the finding me out happened there, [so I] don't see why there should be further discomfort over me if I were posted, openly, to a more remote place, (such as Leuchars, whose C.O. is a solid and masterful person), with a note to the C.O., saying whom I was, and why, and that I'd be sacked if he found me inconvenient to him.

The C.A.S. said the other day (when I was too bothered with the news) that I was an unusual person, and inevitably embarrassing to a C.O. - but I don't agree. I've had a lurid past, which has now twice pulled me down, and of which I'm beginning to despair: but if my C.O. was a decent size he'd treat me as average, and I'd be average.

As I say, this isn't hopefully written. I fear it's too late and the business closed. If you know, please tear it up and tell me so in
a note from yourself: but the contrary chance would be worth so much to me that I'm trying it. The last thing I wish to seem is importunate: but I'm so sure that I played up at Farnborough, and did good, rather than harm to the fellows in camp there with me, that I venture to put in a last word for myself.

Yours ever

T E Lawrence