Exhibition’s warning from history

Lawrence of Arabia told the British Cabinet at the end of World War I that there was no case ”for separating Sunni and Shia Arabs”, an extraordinary foreshadowing of the issues at stake in this weekend’s Iraqi constitutional vote, overseen by United States and British occupying forces.

TE Lawrence’s ideas are shown in a recently unearthed map that is one of many uncanny links between past and present in an new Imperial War Museum exhibition marking the 70th anniversary of his death in 1935. Winston Churchill led mourners at the funeral of the national hero and writer of genius mythologised for his role in the desert war against Ottoman Turkey. ”From the sands of Arabia to the mother earth of England,” intoned the Pathe newsreel as ”the soldier-philosopher who rallied the Arabs to our cause” was buried.

Paintings, sculptures and memorabilia trace the life of the enigmatic man whose archaeological work in the Levant led him to military intelligence in Cairo. He spent two years with Sharif Hussein of Mecca delivering gold, blowing up trains and capturing the Red Sea port of Aqaba in a desert raid before entering Jerusalem and later Damascus.

The artefacts, photographs and documents catalogue the deepening involvement of Britain in the postwar Middle East and the fateful changes that shaped today’s still turbulent region. Lawrence felt Arab hopes had been betrayed by the secret wartime carve-up that gave France control of Syria and Lebanon and Britain of Palestine — where the Jews had been promised a ”national home” — and Transjordan. Prince Faisal, Hussein’s son, became king of Iraq and his dynasty ruled until it was overthrown by the precursors of the Ba’ath party.

Tales of derring-do go alongside the geo-politics. Exhibits include Lawrence’s silk robes, Arab headdress and Lee Enfield rifle (notched to mark the killing of a Turkish officer). There is the white flag raised at the surrender of Jerusalem and rusting bits of the Hejaz railway where he honed his guerrilla techniques. The IWM has even tracked down the Brough Superior SS100 motorcycle he was riding when he was killed.

Lawrence’s stylish wit is much in evidence. So, too, is the depressive side that led him to despair and anonymity. Controversy about his sexuality — he was raped by a Turkish official and paid to be flogged while serving incognito in the postwar RAF — is not settled. And there is still mystery about the identity of the ”SA” to whom he dedicated his master-work, Seven Pillars of Wisdom. A colleague called him: ”An odd gnome, half cad, with a touch of genius.”

Lawrence’s circle included artists such as Eric Kennington and Augustus John whose works enrich this remarkable show. So do posters of promotional tours by US publicist Lowell Thomas, who quipped that Lawrence had ”a genius for backing into the limelight”.

And so it remains: the 1962 David Lean film starring Omar Sharif and Peter O’Toole guaranteed him fame for generations. ”I loathe the notion of being celluloided,” Lawrence said, but he was. Such is his place in the pantheon of British heroes that his Madame Tussaud’s dummy appears on the Beatles’ Sergeant Pepper album cover.

Lawrence’s ideas on unconventional warfare, and Arabs, have enjoyed a revival since the current western entanglement in his old stamping ground. Pentagon planners are mining Seven Pillars for tips about strategy. ”Do not try to do too much,” he advised. ”Better the Arabs do it tolerably than you do it perfectly. It is their war and you are their to help them, not win it for them.”