T. E. Lawrence to A. E. Chambers

Clouds Hill
Moreton
Dorset

3.VIII.24.

[34 lines omitted] Wool is the Station, the cottage is alone in a dip in the moor, very quiet, very lonely, very bare. A mile from camp. Furnished with a bed, a bicycle, three chairs, 100 books, a gramophone of parts, a table. Many windows, oak-trees, an ilex, birch, firs, rhododendron, laurels, heather. Dorsetshire to look at. No food, except what a grocer and the camp shops and canteens provide. Milk. Wood fuel for the picking up. I don't sleep here, but come out 4.30 p.m. till 9 p.m. nearly every evening, and dream, or write or read by the fire, or play Beethoven and Mozart to myself on the box. Sometimes one or two Tank-Corps-slaves arrive and listen with me... but few of them care for abstract things. If you came you would be very much alone all day.

Nearly I came to look for you the other day. Wells (a novelist, H.G., nearly famous) asked me to his place at Dunmow for a week-end, and Duxford lay on my right as I returned by motorbike. Only the poor beast wasn't running well, and I was in khaki and was ashamed.

Ave

TES.
(ex J.H.R.
ex T.E.L.)