#Mondayblogs: Ottoline, Lawrence and Russell

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In this guest blog, Tony Simpson, editor of the Spokesman (published by the Bertrand Russell Peace Foundation) explores the literary relationships of Garsington Manor, former home to the Bloomsbury Group socialite Lady Ottoline Morrell.

In her memoirs, Ottoline Morrell, née Cavendish-Bentinck, describes how, around Christmastime 1914 and into the New Year, she had been reading some ‘very remarkable books’. The Prussian Officer, a collection of memorable short stories, was one of them.  Sons and Lovers and The White Peacock are mentioned specifically; ‘the scenes of which were laid in Nottinghamshire, and they had stirred up my early memories, which had lain dry and curled up’.

She describes riding through the ‘great oaks and grass rides’ of her childhood at Welbeck Abbey, where she lived from age six to her mid-teens. Later, after her mother died, she returned to the great estate, when she drove her ‘black ponies out on the dark dreary roads with their black hedges’. She describes how she would ‘feel excited and even a little nervous’ when she met groups of colliers on their way home from the pit. ‘These men, tall, black and mysterious, appeared rather fierce yet full of laughter and fun, joking together as they hurried pell-mell along the dark roads to tea, the grey winter light, a gleam of setting yellow sun behind them.’

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Welbeck Abbey (image from blog.cassinimaps.co.uk)

‘Excited and moved’ by the books, Ottoline wanted to get to know Lawrence, ‘whose home had also been in Nottinghamshire’. Their mutual friend, the writer Gilbert Cannan, made the introductions and, one evening in February 1915, Lawrence and his wife Frieda visited:

‘He was a slight man, lithe and delicately built, his pale face overshadowed by his beard and his red hair falling over his forehead, his eyes blue and his hands delicate and very competent. He gave one the impression of someone who had been under-nourished in youth, making his body fragile and his mind too active.’

Later, when Ottoline visited the Lawrences in Sussex, she was ‘extraordinarily happy and at ease’.

‘We at once went back to our memories of Nottinghamshire. We talked of the lovely wild commons, of Sherwood Forest, of the dark pit villages, of the lives of the colliers and their wives … He talked to me in the Nottinghamshire dialect … He also liked to talk of my family in Nottinghamshire … He used to please me by saying that the “Bentincks were always looked up to as being disinterested”.’

NPG x144134; Lady Ottoline Morrell by Numa Blanc Fils
Lady Ottoline Morrell by Numa Blanc Fils

Lawrence and Ottoline used to go for long walks over the Sussex Downs. She doesn’t say whether Frieda accompanied them. One day in early spring 1915, they went to the woods ‘still bare of leaves’. Lawrence showed Ottoline the ‘little flame-red buds of the trees not yet in leaf and said, “see, here is the little red flame in Nature”. Ottoline looked at him and thought, ‘in you, too, there certainly dwells that flame.’

On one visit to Sussex, Ottoline took Bertrand Russell with her. Bertie had been her lover for several years, and he had expressed a wish to meet Lawrence after reading the books Ottoline had shown him. On 1 January 1915, Russell noted that he was reading Sons and Lovers, the quintessential novel of Nottingham before the First World War. The first encounter between the two men ‘appeared a great success,’ Ottoline wrote, somewhat portentously.

‘He is infallible,’ Bertie said of Lawrence, on the way home. ‘He is like Ezekial or some other Old Testament prophet, prophesying. Of course, the blood of his nonconformist preaching ancestors is strong in him, but he sees everything and is always right.’

Ottoline had her doubts about such an assessment of Lawrence, and ventured her own reckoning, concentrating on Lawrence’s mother, who was, from what Lawrence had told her:

‘a very remarkable woman, who had great delicacy of feeling and distinction of mind: clear, orderly, dominating towards the children. Anyone who has read Sons and Lovers and Lawrence’s poems to her must have realised how important she was to him … She had so much in her character that satisfied him; she was sharp in retort and had a witty resistance — proud and erect — reserved — above all she had a complete admiration and devotion to him. No doubt as a result of her detachment from her husband she called forth his protective devotion and tenderness … ‘

Ottoline observed that the early habits of Lawrence’s home life were never shaken off:

‘He was quick and competent in cleaning a floor, washing up cups and saucers, cooking, nursing: violent in argument, free in expression and abuse.’

Russell thought Lawrence very young. Thirteen years his junior, Lawrence was 30 years old to Russell’s 43, when they met in 1915. Ottoline was 42. A week after that first meeting in February 1915, Russell wrote to Ottoline:

‘I have had a long long letter from Lawrence – saying it is no good to do anything till we get Socialsm – and thinking (as the young do) that because he sees the desirability of Socialism it can be got by a few years’ strenuous work. I feel his optimism difficult to cope with – I can’t share it and don’t want to discourage it. He is extraordinarily young.’

In his Autobiography, Russell looked back on those times:

‘during the summer of 1915 I wrote Principles of Social Reconstruction, or Why Men Fight as it was called in America without my consent. I had no intention of writing such a book, and it was totally unlike anything I had previously written, but it came out in a spontaneous manner. In fact I did not discover what it was all about until I had finished it. It has a framework and a formula, but I only discovered both when I had written all except the first and last words. In it I suggested a philosophy of politics based upon the belief that impulse has more effect than conscious purpose in moulding men’s lives. I divided impulses into two groups, the possessive and the creative, considering the best life that which is most built on creative impulses. I took, as examples of embodiments of the possessive impulses, the State, war and property; and of the creative impulses, education, marriage and religion [latter two are surprising choices!] Liberation of creativeness, I was convinced, should be the principle of reform. I first gave the book as lectures, and then published it. To my surprise, it had an immediate success. (I had written it with no expectation of its being read, merely as a profession of faith, but it brought me in a great deal of money, and laid the foundation for all my future earnings.)

Ottoline11Russell acknowledged Lawrence’s influence on Principles of Social Reconstruction:

These lectures were in certain ways connected with my short friendship with D H Lawrence. We both imagined that there was something important to be said about the reform of human relations, and we did not at first realise that we took diametrically opposite views as to the kind of reform that was needed. My acquaintance with Lawrence was brief and hectic, lasting altogether about a year. We were brought together by Ottoline, who admired us both and made us think that we ought to admire each other. Pacifism had produced in me a mood of bitter rebellion, and I found Lawrence equally full of rebellion. This made us think, at first, that there was a considerable measure of agreement between us, and it was gradually that we discovered that we differed from each other more than either differed from the Kaiser.

There were in Lawrence at that time two attitudes to the war: on the one hand, he could not be whole-heartedly patriotic, because his wife was German; but on the other hand, he had such a hatred of mankind that he tended to think both sides must be right in so far as they hated each other. As I came to know these attitudes, I realised that neither was one with which I could sympathise. Awareness of our differences, however, was gradual on both sides, and at first all went merry as a marriage bell. I invited him to visit me at Cambridge and introduced him to Keynes and a number of other people. He hated them all with a passionate hatred and said they were ‘dead, dead, dead’. For a time I thought he might be right. I liked Lawrence’s fire, I liked the energy and passion of his feelings, I liked his belief that something very fundamental was needed to put the world right. I agreed with him that politics could not be divorced from individual psychology. I felt him to be a man with a certain imaginative genius, and, at first, when I felt disinclined to disagree with him, I thought that perhaps his insight into human nature was deeper than mine. It was only gradually that I came to feel him a positive force for evil and that he came to have the same feeling about me.

I was at this time preparing the courses of lectures which was afterwards published as Principles of Social Reconstruction. He, also, wanted to lecture, and for a time it seemed possible that there might be some sort of loose collaboration between us. We exchanged a number of letters, of which mine are lost and his have been published. In his letters the gradual awareness of the consciousness of our fundamental disagreements can be traced. I was a firm believer in democracy, whereas he had developed the whole philosophy of Fascism before the politicians had thought of it. “I don’t believe”, he wrote, “in democratic control. I think the working man is fit to elect governors or overseers for his immediate circumstances, but for no more. You must utterly revise the electorate. The working man shall elect superiors for the things that concern him immediately, no more. From the other classes, as they rise, shall be elected the higher governors. The thing must culminate in one real head, as every organic thing must – no foolish republic with foolish presidents, but an elected King, something like Julius Ceasar …” ’

Ottoline9Russell continued on Lawrence:

‘His letters grew gradually more hostile. He wrote, “what’s the good of living as you do anyway? I don’t believe your lectures are good. They are nearly over, aren’t they? What’s the good of sticking in the damned ship and haranguing the merchant pilgrims in their own language? Why don’t you drop overboard? Why don’t you clear out of the whole show? One must be an outlaw these days, not a teacher or a preacher.” This seemed to me mere rhetoric. I was becoming more of an outlaw than he ever was and I could not quite see his ground of complaint against me. He phrased his complaint in different ways at different times. On another occasion he wrote: “do stop working and writing altogether and become a creature instead of a mechanical instrument. Do clear out of the whole social ship. Do for your very pride’s sake become a mere nothing, a mole, a creature that feels its way and doesn’t think. Do for heavens sake be a baby, and not a savant any more. Don’t do anything more – but for heavens sake begin to be – start at the very beginning and be a perfect baby: in the name of courage.”

“Oh, and I want to ask you, when you make your will, do leave me enough to live on. I want you to live for ever. But I want you to make me in some part your heir …” ’

Mortality notwithstanding, Russell probed deeper, saying of Lawrence:

‘He had a mystical philosophy of “blood” which I disliked. “There is”, he said, “another seat of consciousness than the brain and nerves. There is a blood-consciousness which exists in us independently of the ordinary mental consciousness. One lives, knows and has one’s being in the blood, without any reference to nerves and brain. This is one half of life belonging to the darkness. When I take a woman, then the blood-precept is supreme. My blood-knowing is overwhelming. We should realise that we have a blood-being, a blood consciousness, a blood-soul complete and apart from a mental and nerve consciousness.” This seemed to me frankly rubbish, and I rejected it vehemently, though I did not then know that it led straight to Auschwitz …’

Russell also put on record Lawrence’s positive impact on him:

What at first attracted me to Lawrence was a certain dynamic quality and a habit of challenging assumptions that one is apt to take for granted. I was already accustomed to being accused of undue slavery to reason, and I thought perhaps that he could give me a vivifying dose of unreason. I did in fact acquire a certain stimulus from him, and I think the book that I wrote in spite of his blasts of denunciation was better than it would have been if I had not known him.’

One consequence of their relationship may be the title, as Russell called his lecture outline ‘Philosophy of Social Reconstruction’ when he sent it to Lawrence in July 1915. In reply, Lawrence wrote:

‘Don’t be angry that I have scribbled all over your work. But that which you say is all social criticism: it isn’t social reconstruction. You must take a plunge into another element if it is to be social reconstruction.

Primarily, you must allow and acknowledge & be prepared to proceed from the fundamental impulse in man, for Wholeness of Movement, Unanimity of Purpose, Oneness in Construction. This is the principle of Construction. The rest is all criticism, destruction …’

Bertie seemed to have preferred ‘principle’ to ‘philosophy’ and, as we have heard, paid close attention to ‘impulse’.

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While Russell was writing what became Principles of Social Reconstruction, Lawrence was already working on the novel that became Women in Love, which was eventually published in the United States in 1921. He included a character very like Ottoline (Hermione Roddice), and gave her a terrible drubbing which upset Ottoline greatly. Ottoline wrote:

‘I read it and found myself going pale with horror, for nothing could have been more vile and obviously spiteful and contemptuous than the portrait of me that I found there. It was a great shock, for his letters all this time had been quite friendly, and I had no idea that he disliked me or had any feeling against me. I was called every name from an “old hag”, obsessed by sex-mania, to a corrupt Sapphist. He described me as his own discarded Mistress, who, in my sitting-room, which was minutely described, had tried to bash him over the head with a paper weight, at which he had exclaimed, ‘No you don’t, Hermione. No you don’t.’ In another scene I had attempted to make indecent advances to the Heroine, who was a glorified Frieda [Lawrence’s wife]. My dresses were dirty; I was rude and insolent to my guests.’

Philip, Ottoline’s lawyer husband, threatened to sue. Lawrence duly made a number of changes, including shifting Hermoine’s country home from one modelled on Garsington, the Morrells’ house near Oxford, to Willersley Castle in Derbyshire, which he styled ‘Breadalby’:

‘… a Georgian house with Corinthian pillars standing among the softer, greener hills of Derbyshire, not far from Cromford.’

The house is now a hotel, and you can refresh yourself in the gardens, beneath the trees, looking towards the sheer cliff opposite. It is a stunning location which Lawrence had studied closely.

‘Lunch was served on the lawn, under the great tree, whose thick, blackish boughs came close down to the grass.’

Those present included

‘… a learned, dry Baronet of fifty [Sir Joshua Mattheson], who was always making witticisms and laughing at them heartily in a harsh, horse-laugh … The attitude was mental and very wearying. Only the elderly sociologist, whose mental fibre was so tough as to be insentient, seemed to be thoroughly happy [some irony here?]. Birkin was down in the mouth. Hermoine appeared, with amazing persistence, to wish to ridicule him and make him look ignominious in the eyes of everybody … ’

Rupert Burkin shares Lawrence’s own insecurity and isolation. At dinner, our three main actors, Sir Joshua (Russell), Hermione (Ottoline) and Rupert (Lawrence), dominate:

‘The talk was very often political or sociological, and interesting, curiously anarchistic. There was an accumulation of powerful force in the room, powerful and destructive. Everything seemed to be thrown into the melting-pot, and it seemed to Ursula [like Frieda Lawrence?] they were all witches, helping the pot to bubble.  There was an elation and a satisfaction in it all, but it was cruelly exhausting for the new-comers, this ruthless mental pressure, this powerful, consuming, destructive mentality that emanated from Joshua and Hermoine and Birkin and dominated the rest.’ (Women in Love, p 101).

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In her memoirs, Ottoline wrote of Women in Love that

‘the setting of the house and garden were altered and some of the worst scenes expunged. But, alas, this was the end of my intimacy with Lawrence. I never saw Lawrence again, although he made several efforts through our mutual friends to see me. I did not think it would be possible for me to behave naturally or unself-consciously in his presence. The hurt that he had done me made a very great mark in my life.’

But that, as it turned out, was not the end of the story. Ottoline later wrote of Lawrence:

‘It was not until 1929, when Garsington had come to an end and when I was very ill, that I had any more communication with him. He then wrote to me some very sympathetic and delightful letters. He was obviously sorry and regretful for what he had done. After twelve years the wound had healed and I was very glad to hear again from someone who obviously was fond of me in a way that shows that his real feeling for me was good and appreciative, while now and always I feel he was a very lovable man.’

In May 1928, Lawrence wrote to Ottoline from Florence:

‘You’ve been an important influence in lots of lives, as you have in mine: through being fundamentally generous, and through being Ottoline. And she has moved one’s imagination. It doesn’t matter what sort of vision comes out of a man’s imagination, his vision of Ottoline. Any more than a photograph of me is me, or even ‘like me’. The so-called portraits of Ottoline can’t possibly be Ottoline – no one knows that better than an artist. But Ottoline has moved men’s imagination, deeply, and that’s perhaps the most a woman can do …’

Ottoline generously gave Lawrence the benefit of any doubt, writing:

‘The telegram from Aldous Huxley that reached me in March 1930, saying that Lawrence died peacefully, scattered all the vague hopes that I had of seeing him again. For I had always thought that we should have a time to laugh over our old quarrels, to disagree and argue, and to plan a new Elysian world.’

In a prefatory note to a later edition, Lawrence described the misery of the characters in Women in Love as occasioned by the war, although he did not expressly refer to the war. The novel was begun in 1913, and reflected the pre-war world, but the experience of war surely coloured its final text, which is shot through with the mutual isolation of the characters.

As we have heard, during summer 1915, Ottoline and Philip Morrell and daughter Julian were settling into Garsington, the manor house near Oxford that they had bought. In her memoirs Ottoline wrote:

‘… Philip had arranged a very comfortable flat at the Bailiff’s House for Bertie Russell, and I finished it and made it very comfortable … In my Journal I find:

“Bertie arrived yesterday and is settled in his rooms. I made them gay and pretty with flowers. He is gloomy and sceptical about everything, and about his own work, but it is really very good – a set of lectures on the New State; Social Reconstruction they are to be called. His brain seems to be working well, indeed very brilliantly … He went on to discuss his lectures and his view of truth – his own, of course, is scientific truth, provable by mathematics and physics, Lawrence’s is a subjective truth, something which is felt to be true, as an inward conviction that such a picture or a view is beautiful.’

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Later, Ottoline remarks of Bertie:

‘He only feels life through his brain, or through sex, and there is a gulf between these two separate departments. It is this that maddens and annoys Lawrence so much in him.’

Bertie wrote to Ottoline, telling her that:

‘ … Lawrence, as was to be foreseen, is disgusted with my lecture-syllabus – it is not mystical and Blakeish enough for him. He says one ought to live from the ‘impulse towards the truth’ which he says is fundamentally in all of us. It seems to me, in him, merely an impulse to mistake his imagination for the truth … Lawrence is just as ferocious a critic as Wittgenstein, but I thought W. right and I think L. wrong.’

Nevertheless, Bertie went to spend the weekend with the Lawrences, and it seemed to go rather well, so that his hopes rose. On Monday 19 July 1915, whilst returning by train, he wrote to Ottoline:

‘We talked of a plan of lecturing in the autumn on his religion, politics in the light of religion, and so on. I believe something might be made of it. I could make a splendid course on political ideas: morality, the State, property, marriages, war, taking them to their roots in human nature, and showing how each is a prison for the infinite in us. And leading on to the hope of a happier world … Lawrence is splendid. I like his philosophy very much now that I have read more. It is only the beginning that is poor.’

Bertie’s enthusiasm for Lawrence and his philosophy, perhaps encouraged by Ottoline’s fondness for her Nottinghamshire fellow, didn’t endure. However, Lawrence also wrote to Ottoline, saying:

‘… We think to have a lecture hall in London in the autumn, and give lectures: he on Ethics, I on Immortality. Also to have meetings, to establish a little society or body around a religious belief, which leads to action. We must centre in the knowledge of the Infinite, of God … You must be president. You must preside over our meetings … We mustn’t lapse into temporality.’

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What was Ottoline’s verdict on the relationship between Lawrence and Russell, whom she had brought together?

‘Could anything have made these two fine passionate men work together for the country and the causes they both so desired? I doubt it – they were both too self-centred and too intolerant of crtiticism. But when Bertie was writing Social Reconstruction they were often together, and Bertie has since told me that he was certainly stimulated by Lawrence’s ideas and introduced some of them into his book. But when Bertie showed the manuscript to Lawrence, his denunciation of it was so violent that Bertie nearly destroyed it, as Lawrence urged him to do. No, their friendship was not a lasting one. There was an instinctive enmity between the natural, impatient, and not profoundly educated man of genius, and the man who was also a genius in another sphere, where mind was the produce of long inherited leisure and discipline – an aristocrat, in fact, who possessed a mind that was a fine and delicate instrument, trained and disciplined in a university where it had had stimulating contacts with other learned men. It was true that Bertie was as great a rebel as Lawrence was, but his rebellion was a more rational one, not the wild, prophetic fury of Lawrence … ’

Spokesman Books’ website

Sources

  • D H Lawrence, Women in Love, Martin Secker, 1921
  • D H Lawrence, Harry T Moore, D H Lawrence’s Letters to Bertrand Russell, Gotham Book Mart, New York, 1948
  • Ottoline at Garsington, Memoirs of Lady Ottoline Morrell 1915-1918, edited by Robert Gathorne-Hardy, Faber and Faber, London, 1974
  • Bertrand Russell, Autobiography, Routledge, London and New York, 1969
  • Bertrand Russell, Portraits from Memory, George Allen & Unwin, 1956
  • Bertrand Russell, Principles of Social Reconstruction), George Allen & Unwin, 1916, (Why Men Fight in USA)
  • The Selected Letters of Bertrand Russell, The Public Years, 1914-1970, edited by Nicholas Griffin, Routledge, London and New York, 2001
  • Miranda Seymour, Ottoline: Life on the Grand Scale,  Hodder & Stoughton, 1992

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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#MondayBlogs Herd mentality: Attacks of the cows on DH Lawrence’s birthday

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Today is DH Lawrence’s birthday and I intended on celebrating it by going for a stomp across the country of his heart with other members of the DH Lawrence Society. Bert loved to organise walking parties. His childhood friend Jessie Chambers wrote in her memoir DH Lawrence: A Personal Record (1935) that “Lawrence was always the originator and leader” of these “explorations of the countryside.” To celebrate this aspect of his personality a 6 mile circular walk had been arranged as part of the annual DH Lawrence festival to visit the ruined, 13th century Codnor Castle, once the administrative heart of much of the local area and home, for nearly 300 years, of generations of the De Grey family, who were local dignitaries and trusted lieutenants of successive kings of England.

We know Bert visited the castle thanks to a letter to Blanche Jennings on 30 July 1908: “Wednesday we shall walk to Codnor Castle – we shall be out all day.” I was hoping to be out all day as well. In order to achieve this I had to be at The Lion in Brinsley for 11am. Lawrence’s father Arthur was born in Brinsley at 50 Mansfield Road. He worked at the local colliery which was opened in 1842 and closed in 1934. An accident in 1880 would take the life of Bert’s Uncle James. To get to Brinsley from my house takes about 25 minutes. I gave myself 20 minutes because I like a challenge.

What I hadn’t taken into consideration was the roadworks at the end of my street, the new 20mph speeding restrictions in built up areas, and the sheer volume of traffic on the roads. If you want to know anything about humanity, jump in a car. You’ll witness every gamut of human emotion. Today it was absolute hatred. I wasn’t the only one in a rush and nobody was prepared to budge. Lawrence wasn’t a fan of modernity and I suspect he wouldn’t be sympathetic to the plight of someone trapped in a mechanical horse frantically trying to undercut anyone and everyone on a futile quest to meet an unachievable deadline.

When I finally made it onto the A610 I put my foot down, ignoring the 50mph signs and cranking it up to 70. But there were others in a bigger rush than me, zooming past at 80 and 90 mph. I imagined that they too were rushing to The Lion, desperate to take in some of the Eastwood countryside, perhaps wondering why Lawrence disguised Brinsley pit as ‘Beggarlee’ in Sons and Lovers despite there being a nearby former pit also called Beggarlee. By the time I reached my destination it was 11.15am. There was nobody around. I’d missed the walk. I probably had a speeding ticket.

Undeterred I legged it down Hall Lane and headed to the nearest field where it was signposted Old Brinsley. Given that the average age of membership at the DH Lawrence Society is 70 I niavely presumed I would be able to catch them up. I couldn’t see anyone on the horizon but I carried on. I could hear Lawrence shouting at the QB in my head, as he does in Sea and Sardinia, and vowed to be a better planner in the future. If Lawrence could make it to Ceylon, Australia, and New Mexico, I could catch up with a group of septuagenarians. However, what I hadn’t take into consideration was the cows.

My shouting and swearing attracted the attention of a herd of cows who began to chunter over from an adjacent field. They probably thought I was the farmer rather than a disorganised reader who simply wanted to recite bits of Sons and Lovers at relevant locations on a 6 mile circular walk. Then a few of them began to pick up pace. Some ran into each other. A very excited cow kicked out its legs like it was a rodeo bull. Perhaps it was a bull? I dropped my head and looked for the under carriage. No, it was definitely a cow. But a very excitable cow. Then the whole herd started to run at me. There must have been about sixty but I didn’t have time to count. I made it to a bush towards the end of the field and started to shout at them to go away. They surrounded me. Mooing and staring like they wanted a fight. I tried to walk away calmly, but they followed, less calmly. Then one at the back panicked and began to run which set off the others. I legged it to a nearby tree and clambered up, waving my copy of Sons of Lovers at them, telling them to fuck off so that I could continue my quest to find the septuagenarians. But they were having none of it. They wanted me dead. I could see it in their “wicked eyes.” My fear dissipated for a moment as I tried to figure out what tree I had climbed up. Lawrence could name every flower, plant and tree. I didn’t have a clue what tree it was. I just knew it was prickly and my hands were bleeding.

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Cows from a tree. The brown one with the patch was a particular bastard. Had a right mard on.

As I stared at the cows and the cows stared at me I thought of Birkin in Women in Love when he tells Ursula he wants their connection to be founded on something beyond love, “where there is no speech, and no terms of agreement.” This was definitely a moment of no speech and no terms of agreement. Just a lot of stamping and mooing. This is the wrong book I screamed, waving my copy of Sons and Lovers. FFS! This isn’t Women in Love.

In chapter 14 of Women in Love Ursula and Gudrun Brangwen are invited to the colliery owners annual water party. They decided to escape and borrow a canoe off of Birkin and row off to a secluded island to have their own private gathering. They strip off, have a swim in the sunshine, and end up singing and dancing in front of a herd of Highland cattle. The merriment ends when Gerald Birkin turns up and shouts at the cattle who quickly disperse.

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“I’m frightened,” cried Ursula, in a pathetic voice, watching the group of sturdy short cattle, that stood with their knees planted, and watched their dark, wicked eyes, through the matted fringe of their hair.”

I consider taking my clothes off but decide against it. I’m not giving in to these moody cows. What I need is a Birkin or else I’m going to be stuck up this tree forever. It is at this point that I spot a man in wellies casually mowing his lawn in a garden on the edge of the field. He has to be the farmer. He looks like a farmer. I scream and wave at him from my tree. Eventually he looks up. Too casual for my liking, but at least I have his attention. He has just clicked that it isn’t my intention to hide up a tree with a copy of Sons and Lovers, screaming my head off at a bunch of cows. You ok? he shouts across. Of course I’m not fucking ok. These cows want me dead. Do you want some help? Of course I want some fucking help. He climbs over his fence and casually walks over, clapping his hands at the cows who immediately disperse. I jump down from the tree and immediately want to give him a big cuddle. I decide against it. I’ve made a lot of bad decisions today and it isn’t even noon yet.

He asks if I’d like to be escorted out of the field and I say yes, of course I want to be escorted out of the field. I consider giving him my copy of Sons and Lovers but decide against it as I’ve highlighted my favourite quotes. I tell him it’s DH Lawrence’s birthday today and he nods his head. I don’t elaborate further. I get back to my car and smoke three cigarettes on the bounce and then speed out of Grinsley and Eastwood as fast as I can.

I’m in such a rage that I decide to pull over to call my GF. She’s more of a hornet than a Queen Bee, and delighted by my misfortune. I am always scalding the GF for her poor time management so she revelles in mine. Rightly so. She’ll store this day forever. She’ll never forget it. September 11th will forever be cowgate. Rather than DHL’S birthday. Or the date when two planes flew into the twin towers.

As I head back on the A610 I clock the blue and yellow hell that is Ikea on the outskirts of Eastwood. Lawrence wasn’t a man for flat-packed philosophies but he did love his DIY. I park up in the industrial estate and head to Starbucks, which is where I’m writing now. Two coffees to the good and some more fags and I’m feeling a bit better.

Although I missed the walk I do feel as if I’ve celebrated elements of Lawrence’s personality on his birthday. He hated the herd mentality, despising any group that attempted to force its will upon him. He hated the dehumanising effects of industrialisation and how this slowly removed man from nature. The cows were a curt reminder that nature still has some fight left in it. He couldn’t get out of Eastwood fast enough and this led him across the world in search of Rananim. I’ve driven at 70mph to Starbucks, settling for a cappuccino rather than a utopian community of like-minded people. And I am in such a rage I’m scaring the couple next to me with the thud of my keyboard. Lawrence also fictionalised his experiences to create content for his books. A lot of the time this included vignettes of close friends and local families. Jesse Chambers never forgave Lawrence for his portrayal of her as Miriam in Sons and Lovers. This blog is my version of this process. My GF will go mad when she finds out I’ve described her as a hornet. And then she’ll just moo at me or something similar.

Later that evening I drive back to Eastwood for the Lawrence birthday lecture. I tune into BBC Radio 4 and the first story reports there’s been an increase in tuberculosis in cows. To stop this spreading 33,500 badegrs will be culled this Autumn. Lawrence died of tuberculosis. I discover at the birthday lecture that the topic is The Art of Living. It’s a fascinating talk by Jeff Wallace, exploring the impact of Lawrence’s health on his writing. Perhaps the cows were trying to tell me something. Instead of running I should have listened.

Happy birthday, Bert. I miss you.

 

 

 

 

 

DH Lawrence Festival 2017

DHL-fest 2017

Don’t be a mard arse and miss out on the fun. Get down to one of these events over the next couple of weeks. Full listings available at Experience Nottinghamshire

READING GROUP: “Fanny and Annie’
Monday 4th September, 7.00pm (Free)
Horse and Groom Pub, Moorgreen, NG16 2FE
You would presume that this short story revolves around the lives of the two characters in the title. But with Lawrence things are never that simple. Written in 1921, the year that women got the vote, we observe Harry’s relationship with Fannie and the ways in which men are able to get away with just about anything. The reading discussion is hosted by Dr. Andrew Harrison, author of the latest Lawrence biog.

TOUR OF BRITAIN
Wednesday 6 September (see website for updated times)
Eastwood Square and throughout the Town
120 of the world’s top cyclists will be racing through Eastwood and Brinsley as part of OVO Energy Tour of Britain – the UK’s premier road cycling race. To celebrate the Tour of Britain various activities will be taking place in Eastwood Square and throughout the town centre. To welcome the cyclists’ costumed guides from the D.H. Lawrence Birthplace Museum will be out touring Eastwood and meeting residents and giving out free masks of the bearded one.

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CONTROVERSIES IN COAL
Thursday 7 September, 7.30pm (small charge on the door)
Kimberley School (Community Room) Newdigate Street, Kimberley, Nottingham NG16 2NJ
Illustrated talk by David Amos to the Chinemarelian (Kimberley) Historical Society. Internment, Impoundment and Intrigue at Harworth Colliery (1913-1924). The talk is about the near German colliery which was being developed at Harworth just prior to World War One and its subsequent demise on the outbreak of war. There is a strong local presence in the talk through the Barber Walker Company who took over the development of the colliery from 1917.

READINGS AND DRAMATISATIONS BY WAYNE FOSKETT
Friday 8 September, 6.00pm (£5 including a drink)
The Breach House Garden. The Breach House, 28 Garden Road, Eastwood, Nottinghamshire NG16 3FW
“Bottoms Up!” Readings and dramatisations of some comic and dialect elements from D.H. Lawrence’s works, with actor Wayne Foskett, as well as an opportunity to join in (after an interval and a drink or two) an ‘unrehearsed reading’ from “Sons and Lovers’. Entrance by pre booked ticket – numbers limited.
Info: mjgray220@gmail.com

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THE D.H. LAWRENCE BIRTHPLACE MUSEUM OPEN DAY
Saturday 9 September, 11.00am – 4.00pm (Free)
8a Victoria Street, Eastwood, Nottingham NG16 3AW
We are opening our doors for FREE to celebrate D.H. Lawrence’s 132nd Birthday! Enjoy a taster tour of the ground floor of the museum, for absolutely no admission fee! Interactive demonstrations will be held in our Victorian Wash-house and we will be having an ‘open garden’ with Victorian games and crafts for all to enjoy. There is no need to book for this event, just come along and join the fun!

BREACH HOUSE OPEN DAY
9 Saturday and 10 Sunday September, 11.00am – 3.00pm (Free)
The Breach House, 28 Garden Road, Eastwood, Nottingham NG16 3FW
Members of the D.H. Lawrence Society will be on hand to guide visitors around this historic property. D.H. Lawrence and his family moved to ‘The Breach House’ from Victoria Street in 1887 and lived here until 1891. It became the inspiration for ‘The Bottoms’ in Lawrence’s novel, ‘Sons and Lovers’.

ORGAN RECITAL BY ALAN WILSON
Sunday 10 September, 3.00pm (£5 includes a drink)
Greasley Church, 10 Church Road, Greasley, Nottingham NG16 2AB
A programme chosen by a ‘one time local lad’ to reflect his memories and links to Lawrence and the local landscape. Alan hopes to present a programme which reflects Lawrence’s own enjoyment of music. He recalls that Lawrence knew the composer Peter Warlock (Heseltine) whom he met in November 1915. Warlock called Lawrence ‘the greatest literary genius of his generation’. Alan may also include music associated with Byron and Newstead. Acknowledgement is also to be made of the composer Eric Coates. “Music compositions and improvisations will entwine with local inspired poetry and prose, celebrating a heritage of rich culture within this neighbourhood presented on a fine historic organ in an atmospheric country church”

GUIDED WALK: STEPPING OUT WITH YOUNG BERT LAWRENCE
Monday 11 September, 11.00am Starting point: The White Lion (now called The Lion at Brinsley), Hall Lane, Brinsley, Notts, NG16 5AH [SK459488]. Use the pub carpark or on-street parking.
“Wednesday we shall walk to Codnor Castle – we shall be out all day…” (D.H. Lawrence to Blanche Jennings, 30th July 1908)
According to Jessie Chambers – whose influence on Lawrence’s writing career cannot be overestimated – the young Bert Lawrence loved to organise walking parties: ‘explorations of the countryside’ of which ‘Lawrence was always the originator and the leader’, as she put it in her memoir ‘D.H. Lawrence: A Personal Record [1935]’. Join us, on Lawrence’s birthday, for a walk to one of Lawrence’s favourite destinations: the ruined, 13th-century Codnor Castle, once the administrative heart of much of the local area and home, for nearly 300 years, of generations of the de Grey family, who were local dignitaries and trusted lieutenants of successive kings of England. This is a moderate, 6-mile circular walk, with a number of stiles. Bring a packed lunch, though tea, coffee and cakes will be served at Codnor Castle Farm on arrival.

The D.H.LAWRENCE BIRTHDAY LECTURE
Monday 11 September, 7.30pm (Free)
The Hall Park Academy, Mansfield Road, Nottingham NG16 3EA
“The Art of Living; D.H. Lawrence and Health”
Speaker: Dr. Jeff Wallace of Cardiff Metropolitan University

For more information about other events going on during the festival please download the programme from Experience Nottinghamshire website

To join the DH Lawrence Society please see their official website

A Memorial Tribute to Rosemary Howard

I’ve recently taken up the post of archivist at the DH Lawrence Society with the aim of putting the DH Lawrence Society newsletter in chronological order and digitizing it so that it’s available to the wider public. Therefore I was very interested, and saddened, to read this glowing tribute from Christopher Pollnitz for Rosemary Howard, the former Lawrence Society secretary and Newsletter editor who recently passed away. Unfortunately, I will never get to meet this inspirational woman but this testament vividly brings her to life as well as cementing her contribution towards DH Lawrence Studies.

Rosemary was always so much fun to be with.  After a meeting with her, I would come away charged with new plans and hopes.  In the decades when she was secretary of the Lawrence Society and editor of the Newsletter, she created an identity for me in the Society.  As someone who lived thirty hours by plane from where the action was, she transformed me into the Newsletter’s “Australian correspondent.”  The role played a key part in the development of my personal academic project.  At the same time Rosemary, with her energy and flair, did not lose sight of her wider goals, of building the Society and Lawrence’s reputation in the UK.  In this tribute I wish to recall how Rosemary’s work on the Newsletter, and on organising the yearly programme of talks and lectures, built bridges between academics and the wider community of Lawrence readers.  She shaped a Society which leading Lawrence scholars felt they could and should address.  A past President like John Worthen gave many of the lectures collected in his volume Experiments at the monthly meetings and annual festivals.  Rosemary had been just as instrumental in forming the Society to which the preceding President, Jim Boulton, gave his farewell address, “A Life in Letters.”

In 1989, during a circuit of the globe on which I visited Lawrence sites in the USA, England, Italy and France, I missed meeting Rosemary.  In the UK I was accessing letters not yet published in the Cambridge edition, and so spent most time in Cambridge with Lin Vasey, though I also visited Jim Boulton in Birmingham.  As I was returning to Australia, Jim Boulton put Rosemary into contact with me.  We exchanged letters about how a copy of the Hiroshige print, Mannen Bridge, came to appear on the cover of Tortoises; for the answer,  I referred Rosemary to Lawrence’s explanation and Lin Vasey’s note in the Letters (v. 175).  Rosemary was curious about every facet of Lawrence research, no matter how abstruse.  Nearby in my files I find a letter asking for a number of Ginette Katz-Roy’s Études Lawrenciennes in which Rosemary had written on Lawrence and Wittgenstein.  Towards the other end of my letter files, in 2006, I am informing Rosemary about discovering some (translated) dialogues of Plutarch that Lawrence had read, and she is setting out for a course at Madingley Park, Cambridge.  There she will be construing speeches from The Peloponnesian War, in Thucydides’ original Greek.

Before my next visit to England, in 1994, Rosemary made a pact.  She would come to hear my Work in Progress paper, on “Death-Paean of a Mother,” at the University of Nottingham, if I joined the Society excursion to Sneinton.  It was a glorious excursion, not least because I got to meet Lawrence’s nieces (and Rosemary’s dear friends), Peggy Needham and Joan King.  The three highlights in Sneinton were William Booth’s birthplace, Lydia Beardsall and Arthur Lawrence’s signatures in the St Stephen’s marriage register, and Green’s Mill.  Recently restored as a working mill, the site was both a science centre and a memorial to George Green (1793-1841).  The nineteenth-century mathematician had come out of nowhere (educationally speaking) to write an Essay in which he proposed the first unified theory of electricity and magnetism.  I wrote my first report for the Newsletter on the excursion.  It shed no light on Green as a mathematician, but it did liken his self-taught genius to that of another son of Nottinghamshire.

In 1996 I sent the Newsletter a report on the Australian Lawrence Society’s excursion to the Loddon Falls, a stream above Thirroul that runs inland from the Bulli Pass.  In the “Adieu Australia” chapter of Kangaroo Richard Lovat Somers hires a “sulky” so that he and Harriett can explore the wildflower-rich bush above the Escarpment.  In biographical fact Lawrence invited the Forresters and Marchbanks, two Nottinghamshire couples whom he and Frieda had met on the ship from Perth to Sydney, to Thirroul for the weekend.  He also hired a motor car and chauffeur for the Sunday, and the three couples were driven to the Falls.  Denis Forrester took photographs of the visit and the outing, two of which appeared in Aldous Huxley’s 1932 edition of the Letters.  The rest were published in Joseph Davis’s D. H. Lawrence at Thirroul (1989).  Using the backdrop of the Falls, Jo Davis and Paul Eggert identified the rocks on which the 1922 party sat, and new photographs were taken with modern counterparts posing on the rocks.

The Australian correspondent never again reached the heights of his first report from down under, but later accounts of a ferry trip to Manly and Narrabeen (corresponding to Chapter 2 of Kangaroo), and of another day – when we sailed on a decommissioned Sydney Harbour ferry, south past the National Park and Thirroul, before putting in at Wollongong Harbour – provided grist for the Newsletter mill.  Rosemary had Australian connections and had visited several times.  Older members of her family had settled in Adelaide, perhaps the most Scottish of Australian cities, and she travelled to the Australian east coast with her beloved Toby.  Toby was one of those heedlessly brave Australian pilots who flew with the RAF on World War II bombing raids over Germany, and one of the lucky few to survive the War.  Whether Toby was a pilot or airman, and whether he flew with the Dambusters, I cannot recall; but Rosemary told me that she still attended RAF reunions to honour his memory.

The Loddon Falls had been a renowned spot for picking wildflowers.  One of the 1922 party, Constance Marchbanks (she has become “Connie” in my mind) was rumoured to have collected and pressed wildflowers.  George Marchbanks was a Society member and there was hope that, if the collection was still in the family, it might be recoverable.  Other Society members, Jean and Tony Temple, had inherited from George Neville the copy of W. T. Gordon’s Our Country’s Flowers and How to Know Them that Lawrence was given as a prize at Nottingham High School.  Wildflowers became a new focus for Lawrence studies, Rosemary giving illustrated lectures on them.

In Cambridge in 2003 I wrote a piece for the Newsletter about the marsh marigolds one sees walking along the Cam to Grantchester.  These favourite flowers Lawrence preferred to call “kingcups” or “mollyblobs.”  When he first arrived in the Isar Valley, he wrote back to Sally Hopkin in Eastwood about the “great hosts of globe flowers, that we call bachelor’s buttons” (L, i. 413), by the river.  I wasn’t sure that “bachelor’s buttons” was another name for kingcups when I sent in a draft of my floral report.  When Rosemary sent back a French postcard of a handsome stand of globe-flowers (Europaeus trollius), I could see at once why Lawrence would compare European globe-flowers, the largest of the ranunculi, with English kingcups.  I have the card still, pinned on my noticeboard.

We shared a love of English and Australian flora.  Rosemary was proud of her cottage garden in Keyworth, and we swapped news of our English country and Australian suburban gardens.  It is a sad irony that her Australian correspondent was not always a punctual letter-writer, a failing she would twit me for; but I could make amends, when she moved to her Cambridge apartment in 2004, by sending her a calendar of Australian wildflowers.

While she was still at Keyworth, she often offered me hospitality in her cottage.  During one visit we drove past the College where she had lectured to the banks of the Trent.  We looked across the river to the further bank, where Paul Morel dug the perilous ledge on which he and Clara Dawes made love.  In a much later airletter she confided her first experiences of D. H. Lawrence.  Because her Edinburgh mentors had discouraged her opening anything by Lawrence, she had been a “late starter,” not beginning to read him until the 1950s.  She had, it struck me, made up for lost time, taking vivacious pleasure in the novels’ erotic passages.

I should mention the January night Rosemary invited me to celebrate Hogmanay at her cottage.  A Scottish tenor was singing Rabbie Burns airs on the record player; there was single malt Scotch whisky; there was haggis on the table and perhaps even some Barossa Valley grenache; there was conversation befitting friends with like minds and a singing of Auld Lang Syne.  Late that night I drove through the lanes of Nottinghamshire to the university hall of residence with great care.  I had had too much haggis, I fear.

Queensland-born P. R. (“Inky”) Stephensen is known principally for publishing The Paintings of D. H. Lawrence (1929); his papers are held in the Mitchell Library wing of the Library of New South Wales.  In his papers is an account of Lawrence’s funeral, sent by a London friend, Frank Budgen, who had chanced to be in Vence at the time of Lawrence’s death.  A self-taught painter, Budgen is known principally for his friendship with James Joyce.  When I contacted his daughter, Joan Budgen, she was pleased to allow publication of the letter and even hunted through her father’s papers for further information.  There she found a photograph of the wreath of carnations that Frank Budgen, his friend Louis Sargent and their wives had taken to the grave and propped, headstone-like, against the cemetery wall.

Rosemary advised that an article on Budgen’s description of the funeral was better suited for the Journal of the D. H. Lawrence Society than the Newsletter, and she then helped finalise arrangements for its publication with the Journal’s editor, Catherine Greensmith.  The account came out in 1997, allowing David Ellis to use it in the third volume of the Cambridge biography.

Well ahead of time, Rosemary booked me in to give a paper on “Editing Last Poems” to the February 1999 meeting of the Society.  John Worthen borrowed an overhead projector so that we could all compare images of the “Nettles and Last Poems notebooks and see how errors and omissions in the Florence edition of Last Poems had been transmitted to recent texts of the late poetry.  Bethan Jones and John asked most of the questions, but everyone seemed to follow and enjoy the presentation.  When the paper was published in 2000, I had made a first and decisive step towards the Cambridge edition of The Poems.

On 11 June 2003 – it was Rosemary’s birthday, she told me – she booked me in for another talk to the Society, this time on Kangaroo.  She was concerned how some Society members might react to my chosen themes, homosexuality and violence in the novel, but on the night I went blithely on, confident that nothing I said would shock Rosemary.  Once I’d finished, John leaned across to Bethan and said, “Ask him.”  So my paper came to be published in the 2006-2007 Society Journal, which under Bethan’s editorship had grown into a substantial publication.  Looking at the article again, I notice how much in the opening pages comes from the Australian correspondent’s reports to the Newsletter.

Earlier in 2003 I had driven from Cambridge to hear Andrew Harrison deliver a good  paper on the versions of “England, My England.”  Both Andrew and Bethan were in the audience when I presented a very detailed history of the transmission of Birds, Beasts and Flowers to the March 2006 conference at Université Paris X.  This time I didn’t carry many of my listeners with me on the difficult narrative of composition, revision and variants; but when I spoke with Andrew after the presentation, and asked if he would accept a written-up version of the paper for the first number of the Journal of D. H. Lawrence Studies, he said, “Yes, please.”

I consulted with Rosemary, by then in Cambridge, about writing up the Paris lecture, particularly about variants in “Bibbles.”  In the poem manuscript, after she has disgraced herself by devouring excrement, the master of the little dog decides to “wallop” her “with a juniper twig”; in the corrected typescript, the punishment is to “dust you a bit”; in the corrected proofs, he chooses to “skelp” her with the twig.  The transmission of Birds, Beasts and Flowers told me “skelp” was Lawrence’s preferred verb, but it was good to have this endorsed by Rosemary, who explained what a “skelping” meant in Scotland (and northern England, according to the OED).  Scuffling boys would skelp each other; naughty boys were skelped for indiscipline.

It was still fun to visit and write to Rosemary in Cambridge, and her niece Christina Marshall was sometimes able to help her travel back for Eastwood meetings.  She remained an alert and omnivorous reader.  I received an airletter about her reading up on Peter Warlock (aka Philip Heseltine) and listening to CDs of Elizabethan music.  Some unlucky falls restricted her mobility, but when she couldn’t get to a course on The Rainbow, her fellow students came to her, in Alder Court.  When Andrew Harrison sent me a copy of Molly Mahood’s Poet as Botanist for review – Mahood pronounces Lawrence the “laureate” of the wildflowers – she took a keen interest in a work that brought together two of her great loves.  She remained a feisty critic of Lawrence, denouncing his disparagement of Hamlet in Twilight in Italy.  In vain did I point out that there were at least a dozen references to this Shakespearean tragedy in The Poems, that his disrespect was a pose.  Eventually I made use of Rosemary’s strictures in a paper I gave in Lismore, New South Wales, comparing Lawrence and Joyce’s Hamlets.

My aim in this tribute to Rosemary has not only been to recall thankfully over three decades of advice, support and friendship.  It is to record how she refashioned and steered the Society to ensure that it preserved a continuity between, on the one hand, readers who admire Lawrence’s works and wish to find out more about him, and on the other, the international band of critics and editors who publish scholarly studies and have produced the Cambridge Edition of Lawrence’s Letters and Works.

The situation in the humanities is not unlike that in the physical sciences.  Astronomers and marine biologists gain much assistance from amateurs with backyard telescopes and scuba divers who daily observe the sex lives of weedy sea dragons.  Literary historians, and historians generally, benefit from having groups of willing readers, enthusiasts and data-entry volunteers.  It is healthy, too, for academics to remember that the studies they write should not only be addressed to other specialists.  As Lawrence Society secretary and Newsletter editor, Rosemary was forever taking one by the hand and saying: come this way, and you’ll find there is no moat, no ivory tower, just a group of readers eager to learn more.  We shall miss her sadly, but she has shown us the way the Society should go forward.

The above testament was sent out to members of the DH Lawrence Society. To join please see the website.

Rosemary Howard died of old age on Tuesday 25 July at Langdon House. Her funeral is at 12:15pm on Thursday August 31 in the East Chapel at Cambridge City Crematorium, Huntingdon Rd, Cambridge CB3 0JJ

Instead of flowers the family suggest making donations to Medecins Sans Frontieres c/o Richard Stebbings Funeral Service Ltd, Kendal House, Cambridge Road, Impington, Cambridge CB24 9YS. 

Read Rosemary’s visit to see Dorothy Brett here

Rosemary Howard: A Conversation with ‘The Brett’

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The following article by Rosemary Howard was originally published in the Spring of 1979 in Issue No. 15 of the D.H. Lawrence Newsletter – or ‘Lawrence Country News’ as it was then called. The meeting took place in July 1975. Dorothy Brett died in August 1977. Rosemary died on 25 July 2017.

I was encouraged to call on The Brett by the two ladies who run Taos Book Shop, a delightful sunny shop stuffed full of valuable Lawrence editions as well as an unexpected range of other publications. The fact that I lived in Nottingham and was a member of the D. H. Lawrence Society in Eastwood was apparently sufficient passport. So while I waited for the telephone arrangements to be completed I turned over the pages of a signed copy of ‘Lawrence and Brett’, Dorothy’s autobiographical account of their friendship, now out of print in England. Here I chanced upon the story of Frieda’s lost Navajo (i.e. turquoise) ring, which Brett had offered to look for. ‘You’re no use’, Lawrence had said: ‘You never find anything’.

Dorothy Eugenie Brett, daughter of Viscount Esher, who had ‘come out’ during the coronation celebrations of Edward VII, had her first date, it is said, with Winston Churchill. But she soon turned her back on fashionable Mayfair life and became an art student at the Slade. She first met Lawrence and Frieda on the second of their trips to Taos, New Mexico – the only one of Lawrence’s London circle to remain faithful to his project of founding a community of like souls, ‘where the only riches would be integrity of character’. Here Dorothy spent most of the rest of her life, painting in her charming adobe studio, a few miles to the south of the ranch that Frieda’s third husband built for her after the death of Lawrence. (This was next door to the Lawrence’s Del Monte ranch, originally presented to Frieda by Mabel Dodge Luhan, the rich American artist-writer, married finally to an American Indian, who had summoned Lawrence to New Mexico in the first place).

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Dorothy Brett’s painting of Lawrence (left) and San Geronimo Day, Taos 1965 (right)

The village of El Prado is out in the sage-scrub desert, several miles from Taos, and commanding a superb view of the Sangre de Cristo mountains that dominate the closing scenes of Lawrence’s St. Mawr (typed page by page as it was written, by the Brett, in 1924). As I approached the house, I caught sight of the incongruous family coat-of- arms roughly blazoned in paint on the wooden gates, and once inside the shady little court-yard I could see tubs of that most English of flowers – violas – in full bloom. Brett greeted me gaily, sitting on a canopied garden-seat and dressed in something pinkish like a bed-jacket, clutching her hearing-aid, which she immediately switched on, declaring that she didn’t waste her batteries on the birds. Soon she was launched upon a round of cheerful reminiscences of her famous contemporaries, delivered in the patrician tones of an Edwardian lady, after the manner of Edith Evans. I first of all mentioned Helen Cork, Lawrence’s Croydon friend (who died in 1978). Brett said how much she had enjoyed a visit from her some years previously. Then she said how charming Maria Huxley had been; Aldous’ wife. ‘It all started at Garsington, you know’. When I asked her about Bertrand Russell she said, ‘Oh – you mean Bertie Russell?…were YOU ever at Garsington?’ I asked about Katherine Mansfield – wasn’t she rather naughty? The Brett said, ‘No. She was adventurous, she had adventures. And of course they made the stories’. When I referred to the tale of Frieda’s Navajo ring she asked me winsomely, ‘And did I find it?’ (As a matter of fact she did – spotted it lying in the middle of the horse-track when they were out riding). Of Lawrence she said, ‘It was all such fun. He was such fun! He had such a way of communicating excitement – feeling’. Lawrence always wanted to exchange horses with her as he couldn’t bear to ride at the back. ‘I had a large horse called Prince – a dear horse. He died.’ I mentioned the wild flowers that Lawrence loved. ‘Yes, I was always gazing up at the sky while he was looking down at the flowers… Lawrence would have lived if he had stayed there. But he would go, he would go. Why do people have to suffer in their life-times and die in penury?’ The talk moved to her home in Christmas Common in the Chilterns, her sister-in-law Zena Dare the actress and her sister Sylvia who married the Rajah of Sarawak.

Brett, aged ninety-one, had rosy cheeks and shining white hair – (‘Yes, I go to the hair-dresser in Taos. He gives me a perm’) – and the same lovely expression that appears in the Taos Gallery portrait dating from the thirties, in which she sits wearing a Mexican hat and holding on her knees a large hearing-aid in a leather case bedizened with chunks of turquoise. She was still painting though she lacked central vision – there was a canvas on her easel, rather green, and smudged. Holly, the lady-companion in a floppy straw hat and speaking in an unexpected American accent, steered me through the untidy sunny rooms. ‘No’, said Brett, ‘I don’t get tired. I look after myself’.

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Dorothy Brett’s cabin, Kiowa Ranch

I called at the low adobe studio next door which houses her paintings in exquisite shady rooms separated by green court-yards and porticos. Here were roomfuls of colourful oils under the curatorship of John Manchester, a friend who was working on her biography. I could have bought a sheet of pen-and-ink sketches of cats in various postures for forty five dollars – but I didn’t. As I left, John Manchester said, ‘To tell you the truth, in Taos we are bored to death with D. H. Lawrence’.

Up at Del Monte Ranch I contemplated the ‘little low cabins’ so vividly described in St. Mawr with the desert ‘Sweeping its great fawn-coloured circle around, away beyond and below like a beach, with a long mountain-side of pure blue shadow closing in the near corner’. In the fields I saw clumps of the large yellow daisies that stand in the foreground of the composite painting done by Lawrence and Brett (with Mabel and Frieda lending a hand, and joining in the squabbling). The little low cabins are now rather over-grown with pine-trees but I remembered the self-effacing words in which the Brett had recorded her choice – ‘I think I will have the little one’. And I remembered that a few pages further on she had written, ‘This evening I curse my deafness as I lie rather cold in bed.’

Rosemary Howard’s funeral is at 12:15pm on Thursday August 31 in the East Chapel at Cambridge City Crematorium. Instead of flowers the family has suggested making donations to Medecins Sans Frontieres, c/o Richard Stebbings Funeral Service Ltd, Kendal House, Cambridge Road, Impington, Cambridge CB24 9YS.  

RELATED READING

#MondayBlogs Poet Becky Cullen on Miriam Leivers

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Sons and Lovers has been a massive influence on poet Becky Cullen ever since she came across it at college in 1983-5. But she’s never been happy with the way that Lawrence drew Miriam Leivers. In this guest blog Becky explains how a Creative Writing exercise gave her the chance to tell Miriam’s side of the story

 

Miriam

For Stephen

 

My brothers whooped like savages when they saw you coming up the hill:

romping round the farm with sticks and snares, you boys had a grand time.

I set the tea and waited; later, in our almost private minutes,

you went too far, pushing the swing too high, leaving too late for the train.

 

Which you knew would drive your mother to distraction, bristling,

what’s that Leivers girl got that’s so fascinating? Well, for a start,

I had you, my own exotic mushroom, watching you paint, stopping

myself from smoothing the loose lock of hair behind your pretty ear.

 

I know your mother quaintly warned you not to spoon and do,

but it wasn’t me you took bare-faced, bare-shouldered to the theatre.

In the end, the red carnations you spat out did me a favour.

Now you’re galavanting somewhere hot with someone’s wife called Frieda.

 

This poem was written during my MA in Creative Writing at NTU – our task was to write something using quatrains, a stanza or 4 lines. So it is interesting to me that in trying to produce something with a shape I fell back on Sons and Lovers, a book that shaped my experience of reading so much that it has filtered into my writing.

I read Sons and Lovers for ‘A’ level at Bilborough College in 1983-5, taught by the formidable English and Drama specialist Gilly Archer. It’s no surprise then that my recollections of Sons and Lovers are of the drama of the novel, the tensions between the characters, and Lawrence’s attempts to let the reader know exactly what is simmering under the surface.

This poem deals with the figure of Miriam Leivers, and her relationship with Paul Morel, the novel’s protagonist. Paul visits the family farm I draw into the poem, playing with Miriam’s sturdy brothers. Alone, Paul instigates intense conversations about their relationship, in which Paul criticises Miriam for being too spiritual in her approach. They have an on-off relationship for 7 years, in which time Paul becomes friends with Clara Dawes, taking her out to the theatre, and eventually having a physical relationship with her. Neither of these women please Mrs Morel, Paul’s greatest love, who is disgusted that Paul might ‘spoon and do’ with anyone. So there are details from the novel I’ve drawn on in this poem.

Sons and Lovers is a semi-autobiographical novel, which is another way of saying it’s based on Lawrence’s relationship with Jessie Chambers, a girl from a local farming family who first submitted his work for publication. Fiction is fiction, but tensions still run so high about the representation of Miriam/Jessie, that the Chambers family have allowed no access to their land for Lawrence-related filming and so on. This poem finishes with a similar blend of fictional and factual detail in the final line, a reference to Lawrence’s elopement with Frieda von Richthofen, the wife of his university lecturer.

I always felt that the character of Miriam was drawn rather unfairly. She comes across as being a bit drippy, and Paul is quite cruel to her on occasions – I suppose this poem is an attempt to allow her to voice her side of the story. I recently re-read the novel, which was fascinating, developing a new empathy, as mother of a son myself now, for Mrs. Morel.

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Image from http://www.dawnoftheunread.com

Sons and Lovers is so enmeshed in my literary influences that I cannot smell flowers in moonlight without thinking ‘the beauty of the night made her want to shout’, or look down on the lights of Goose Fair without thinking of Paul Morel doing exactly the same thing in the final paragraphs of Sons and Lovers. The novel feels like part of my writing heritage.

Finally, this poem is dedicated to Stephen Lowe, the Nottingham playwright whose play Empty Bed Blues draws on Lawrence’s life and work. Stephen encouraged me to do a Creative Writing MA, and to write every day. His encouragement has been a great gift, so it was appropriate to send him this poem as a birthday present one year. I like the idea that the poem brings together three Nottingham writers in this way, so there is a continuing dialogue in the present, between writers both on and off the page.

Further Reading 

#MondayBlogs DH Lawrence: Interpreting literary heritage through creative writing…

heather green

Over the past couple of years we have seen the DH Lawrence Heritage Centre at Durban House converted into a ‘beauty lounge‘ and the subsequent artefacts that comprised the museum are currently homeless. But not all is doom and gloom. Heather Green, a first year PhD student at Nottingham Trent University, is researching the potential of creative writing to interpret literary heritage and thereby engage with new audiences… 

It is often said that texts we consider to be “classics” within English Literature are considered so because they continue to resonate with each coming generation. My research explores how we present these classics within the museums and heritage sites devoted to their authors. Many literary heritage sites struggle to interpret their collections in a way that I feel is engaging enough to inspire new readers. The trouble, I suspect, is with the nature of literary collections: antiquarian books or archives can be displayed, but must be conserved. The easiest story to tell is often the life of the author; interesting in relation to ideas of inspiration, but not really the reason an author would be considered part of our literary heritage. If an author’s legacy is one of stories which stand the test of time, it is surely ideas and themes which you would expect to encounter at a museum devoted to them.

The exploration of Newstead Abbey, Byron’s ancestral seat in Nottinghamshire, was the first inspiration for my research into how literary heritage sites interpret their collections. In my opinion, although much of Newstead was engaging for those who were either already engaged with Byron’s works or simply interested in historic houses, not much was done to explore his legacy for those who were complete novices. This, I felt, was an aspect particularly missing for a younger audience – always a key audience for museums, but not a group ready to directly engage with Byron’s work. It was an ideal audience, however, to explore some of Byron’s heritage. I felt the difficulties of being born with a condition that made you different, the pain of standing out from the crowd and the embracing and exaggerating of individuality were ideal subjects for those younger visitors. But how to do it? How to make it engaging? Research suggests that fictional narrative is more engaging that the didactic, and as a method this seemed appropriate for sites dedicated to the written word.

The result of these musings was a PhD proposal, and a picture book entitled Mad, Bad and Dangerous Crow, which endeavoured (rather clunkily) to take ideas of Byron’s literary heritage and present them through a new piece of creative writing. The text was illustrated by Jonathan Green and printed as a one-off accompaniment to my MA research.

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In relation to Lawrence, I recently presented a paper proposing the use of creative practice to respond to Lawrence’s more controversial aspects. It should be noted that by controversial, I was not referring to the salacious and sexual content which causes such scandal on publication, but instead the elements which might raise eyebrows when reading Lawrence today. Lawrence remains difficult, because although so forward thinking in many ways, his writing can also be considered problematic. We are left with a dilemma when heralding him as – for example – a queer modernist writer, because his imagined relationship between Ursula and Miss Ingram in The Rainbow is short-lived, stereotypical and ultimately regretted. This aspects are thus often ignored (or skated over) in sites devoted to his heritage. I suggested that responding to these aspects through new creative fiction could address these issues without negating Lawrence’s impact.

My paper was theoretical, but there was substantial interest about taking the idea further from potential contributors.  Sean Richardson (an English literature PhD student at NTU) and myself are currently aiming to edit and produce an anthology of creative writing which would present various responses to Lawrence’s work; such as female responses to his portrayal of women, or a response by a queer writer to his portrayal of queerness. Our intention is to put out of call for contributions this summer, and perhaps the publication will inspire a cohort of new readers to delve into the unique wonders and frustrations of Lawrence’s works. If it does, I would consider it an effective contribution to Lawrence’s heritage.

Heather was recently commissioned to produce interpretation for children at Beeston Canalside Heritage Centre, which took the form of a children’s picture book. Dog and Duck’s Canal Adventure can be seen at the Canalside Heritage Centre itself and will be available to purchase as a picture book later this year. Heather is also a vital component of the final year English module ENGL30512, where she gives students critical feedback on their proposed designs for our digital ‘memory theatre’. 

FURTHER READING

#MondayBlogs In Search of Joseph Conrad

Conrad and DHL
Image adapted from Dawn of the Unread

Joseph Conrad (3 December 1857 – 3 August 1924) and DH Lawrence (11 September 1885 – 2 March 1930) lived relatively short lives around the same time. But they weren’t fans of each other. Conrad once said of Lawrence that he “had started well, but had gone wrong. Filth. Nothing but obscenities.” He died before the publication of Lady Chatterley’s Lover, but it doesn’t take much to imagine what he would have made of it. Conrad, like Lawrence, had an acerbic tongue, claiming Herman Melville “knew nothing of the seas” to which Lawrence retorted Melville’s “vision is . . . far sounder than Joseph Conrad’s, because Melville doesn’t sentimentalize the ocean and the sea’s unfortunates. Snivel in a wet handy like Lord Jim.” Then just to rub it in a bit, added that pessimism “pervades all Conrad and such folks—the Writers among the Ruins. I can’t forgive Conrad for being so sad and giving in.”

Both writers were subject to glowing accolades from F.R Leavis and are acknowledged for their contribution to modernism. Whereas Conrad highlighted the similarities between London and darkest Africa in Heart of Darkness, the consistently restless Lawrence couldn’t get far enough away from the metropolis, crossing the globe in order to reconnect through primitive cultures.

It is with this in mind we welcome this guest blog from author Ben Zabulis, who, like us here at the digital pilgrimage, is retracing the steps of a literary figure. The following is Ben’s account of Gavin Young’s book on Joseph Conrad.

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‘I remember my youth and the feeling that will never come back any more – the feeling that I could last for ever, outlast the sea, the earth, and all men; the deceitful feeling that lures us on to joys, to perils, to love, to vain effort – to death; the triumphant conviction of strength , the heat of life in the handful of dust, the glow in the heart that with every year grows dim, grows cold, grows small, and expires, too soon, too soon – before life itself.’

So lamented Joseph Conrad (Polish-British writer) in the short-story Youth and a passage which deeply impressed a 15-year old Gavin Young: ‘Who was this unknown author telling us to wake up and start living?’ G. Young certainly did, becoming a successful writer (Return to the Marshes, Slow Boats to China) after years as a war reporter and foreign correspondent for the Observer.  ‘Conrad had taught me,’ he reasoned, ‘that there was really no question of choice when a romantically inclined young man is faced with adventure and life on the one hand and a battened-down existence on the other.’ In fact, Conrad’s influence was certainly deep-rooted, Young senior bore The Mirror of the Sea as a talisman during WW2, whilst Young junior, not surprisingly, selected Youth when covering more recent upheavals: ‘a reminder that my hectic life was probably on the right track.’

It was the tiresomeness of war which pushed Gavin Young in to writing books, culminating some years later in a little hero worship and a ‘pilgrimage’ through parts of Southeast Asia: ‘a search for scenes and ghosts known to that heavily accented foreigner from Eastern Europe.’ The result, In Search of Conrad, was published in 1991; winner of the Thomas Cook Travel Book Award.

To me, In search of Conrad is a book which works on three levels: firstly, a hugely entertaining travel book in its own right as the journey directs us from Bangkok to Singapore to Indonesia; secondly, an absorbing anecdotal layer of Conrad’s maritime meanderings and, thirdly, a fascinating correlation between people Conrad encountered or had heard of during those years and their subsequent literary reincarnations. ‘Part mariner’s log and part detective story’ reckoned JG Ballard, and so it is.

All the while Gavin Young’s love of Southeast Asia resonates throughout, evidenced by colourful and romantic descriptions of landscape, folk, flora and fauna. With humour he recounts the tackling of surly bureaucracy, dodgy hotels and a number of uncomfortable trips aboard ferries and yachts, island hopping between Java, Borneo and Celebes; exotic out of the way places enriched by well-defined route maps and Salim’s superbly sketched illustrations.

One doesn’t need to be a student of Conrad’s work to enjoy this book. A Dramatis Personae introduces the cast while Gavin Young scours the region skilfully interweaving fact and fiction as to how, when and where Austin Williams became Jim (Lord Jim), while Charles Olmeijer became Kasper Almayer, Syed Abdullah Al Joofree became Syed Abdullah and Captain William Lingard became Captain Tom Lingard (Almayer’s Folly, An Outcast of the Islands and The Rescue). Anguished characters all, rivalry, ruin, love and loneliness; shortcomings in some way relevant to their real-life counterparts. And what of them? What happened next? With library research and the tracking down of surviving descendants we get to know. Immortality? Or a long forgotten resting place in a far off land? – read it and find out!

Jozef Teodor Konrad Korzeniowski (1857-1924), Gavin Young (1928-2001): ‘It was strange. I had set out to follow Conrad from his first escape from death as Second Officer Korzeniowski – I could hear Captain Henry Ellis: “Polish? Russian? God knows” – in the Bangka Strait, to malarial Borneo where he had found Almayer, and to the Gulf of Siam where he had become master of the Otago. There had been storms and cholera and pirates on the way, but in the end it had come to this – a peaceful grave in a sunny cemetery in Canterbury in Kent.’

FURTHER READING

#MondayBlogs DH Lawrence and Arnold Bennett – Men from the North?

DHL and Bennett

This guest blog is an excerpt from Stephen Bailey’s talk to the DH Lawrence Society 12 October 2016. 

Although Arnold Bennett was not an exact contemporary of Lawrence (born 1867, he was of the previous generation) it’s interesting to compare the two writers. Firstly, there are remarkable similarities in their careers, for example, despite using them repeatedly as settings for fiction, both came to hate their home towns, and rarely returned. Furthermore, Bennett’s career gives insight into and perspective on the literary world that Lawrence entered around 1910, when Bennett was well established.

Family life

Bennett’s upbringing was more middle-class than Lawrence’s, his father being a solicitor, having worked his way up, by great effort, via pawnbroking, from being a potter. Also, Bennett was the eldest of six children, which gave him a strong sense of responsibility. His mother was not the dominant partner in the marriage, and Bennett was far more influenced by his domineering father, who expected him to become a solicitor too. Lawrence was of course heavily influenced by his mother, who passed on her strong ethical code. Was this a crucial difference between the two writers’ development?

Religion

Although both were brought up in a nonconformist atmosphere, there was an important distinction between Lawrence’s Congregationalism and Bennett’ s Methodism. While the young Lawrence appears to have enjoyed attending chapel and relished the theological discussion, Bennett saw nothing but hypocrisy in the chapel, even as a schoolboy. This may be partly explained by the differences between the sects, but was also due to Lawrence’s character, searching for the ideal country, society or community (which he called Ramanin). He is often described as a ‘religious’ writer.

Bennett, by contrast, was essentially a Fabian, aware of the drawbacks of Edwardian England but intent on a programme of steady improvement. But it is notable that both wrote fictional accounts of church and chapel going that heavily satirised the ceremonies, as in Lawrence’s Fanny and Annie, or chapters of The Old Wives’ Tale. There was a world of difference between the emotionalism and sentimentality of Wesleyan Methodism and the harder, more intellectual and tougher culture of Congregationalism.

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Early careers

Lawrence and Bennett followed an early career path that has become well-trodden: fleeing the provinces for the potentialities of London, moving from the non-literary world into writing short stories/ journalism, and then attaining the status of novelist with a largely autobiographical first novel. Bennett was 31 at this point, Lawrence, always more precocious, only 25.

Worth mentioning that Lawrence seems to have had his first sexual experience at this time, in 1910, whereas Bennett appears to have waited till he was about 35, when living in Paris. One suggestion is that Bennett’s strict Methodist upbringing led him to sublimate all his energies into writing, while Lawrence, although quite puritanical, was more sexually adventurous.

Bennett worked initially in a London law office, but started writing and quite soon became editor of a magazine called Woman, as well as writing serials, short stories and assorted journalism. This was in some respects a golden period for young writers, with a wide variety of periodicals buying articles and stories for the newly-literate masses. His work rate was remarkable, as evidenced by his summary for 1899:

‘This year I have written 335,340 words, grand total. 228 articles and stories have actually been published. My total earnings were £592 …’

He became prosperous, renting a large house in Fulham, and providing for several members of his family. He was well aware of the attractions of the middlebrow market, contrasting the difficulty of producing his first serious novel with the rewards of writing a popular handbook (Journalism for Women):

‘How different the reception of this book from the frigid welcome given to A Man from the North! The latter, a serious and laborious work, has waited, after acceptance, nearly two years for publication. Journalism for Women, thrown off in about eight weeks, is to be printed and published in less than a month.’

Both Bennett and Lawrence worked in various genres, producing plays, short stories, reviews, non-fiction articles and textbooks as well as novels. Edwardian writers specialised less than their modern counterparts (Bennett also wrote poetry, but even fans like Margaret Drabble find it terrible).

But Bennett wasn’t purely interested in producing potboilers. Like Lawrence he was well-read in continental literature, admiring Zola, Maupassant and Chekhov. He saw his serious writing helping to establish his reputation, thereby inflating his wider earnings, and went on to produce Anna of the Five Towns, and then his masterpiece, The Old Wives’ Tale (1908).

There are obvious similarities between this and Women in Love; both are concerned with the fortunes of a pair of sisters, although with Bennett’s book we follow their whole adult lives – lengthy time-scapes are a Bennett speciality. It is notable how both writers seem to be able to present a rounded and complex picture of their female characters, yet, unlike Lawrence, Bennett inhabited a highly masculine, clubby world for the first half of his life.

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Gudrun Brangwen (Glenda Jackson) and Ursula Brangwen (Jennie Linden) from Women in Love

The glaring difference between the two is, of course, financial. Lawrence led a hand-to-mouth existence for most of his life, living in friends’ country cottages or cheaply abroad, at times relying on handouts from friends and family. By contrast, Bennett was one of the most successful writers of an era when taxes were low and luxuries cheap. His Rolls, his yacht and his country house made him an easy target as a ‘champagne socialist’. At the time when Lawrence was publishing his first novel Bennett was earning, in modern money, over £1m per year. Oddly, other successful writers of the period – HG Wells, for instance, or Kipling, were not attacked in the same way. Possibly Bennett’s denigrators were jealous of his sales figures?

Notable that both writers make continued use of their hometowns, long after having moved away and despite the dislike they express for these places. Expatriate experience is used in a similar way, so that Bennett’s Sophia lives in Paris (The Old Wives’ Tale), as he had, while Lawrence’s Alvina (The Lost Girl) and Aaron in Aaron’s Rod move from Eastwood to Italy (as he had).

Lawrence and Bennett

They never met, but were clearly aware of each other’s work and had friends, as well as an agent, in common.

During WW1 Bennett, Wells and Galsworthy protested against the banning of The Rainbow in 1915. In 1918 Bennett worked for the Ministry of Information and Lawrence unsuccessfully applied to him for a job.

Bennett had a generally positive view of L’s work – but it was not reciprocated.

In 1913 Lawrence wrote from Italy:

‘I hate England and its hopelessness. I hate Bennett’s resignation. Tragedy ought really to be a great kick at misery. But Anna of the Five Towns seems like an acceptance – so does all the modern stuff since Flaubert. I hate it.’

Lawrence felt the same about the sisters in The Old Wives’ Tale and apparently wrote The Lost Girl to show that there was an alternative course for women ie marry an Italian and live in rural squalor. But how many modern readers would see this as preferable?

Lawrence seems to have disliked urban life and mainly lived in country (partly for economy). Bennett had a country house but is a distinctly urban writer. Notable that most of Lawrence’s time abroad was spent in rural areas, whereas Bennett lived mainly in Paris.

In December 1915, Lawrence wrote to Pinker (presumably about The Rainbow):

‘Tell AB that all rules of construction hold good only for novels that are copies of other novels. A book which is not a copy of other books has its own construction, and what he calls faults, he being an old imitator, I call characteristics … Still, I think he is generous.’

It was unusual for Lawrence to express gratitude (for defence of his book). Of course, some of Lawrence’s comments can be seen as the younger generation taking a kick at the older – fair game. Professional jealousy seems natural for writers!

Several entries in Bennett’s Journals show that he read Lawrence and had a high opinion of him. Bennett wrote in an Evening Standard review of 1930, just after Lawrence’s death:

‘Lawrence was a novelist, a dramatist, a poet, a critic, a descriptive writer and often first-rate in every branch. And he was a first class journalist too. He chose his subjects well. He handled them well – clearly, succinctly, picturesquely, beautifully. He didn’t flourish his pen before beginning, and when he had finished he knew he had finished, and stopped. Not a word wasted. The subjects chosen were important, elemental, fundamental, and he struck at once deep down into the core of them.’

Stephen Bailey is the author of Heartlands: A Guide to DH Lawrence’s Midland Roots (Troubador, £9.99)

RELATED READING

#MondayBlogs Viola Meynell and a Presentation copy of The Rainbow

In this guest blog Derek Aram attempts to uncover the origins of his presentation copy of The Rainbow, a literary adventure that leads him to Greatham and Viola Meynell’s Rackham Cottage…  

The Rainbow presentation copyI read with interest Jonathan Long’s piece on the known presentation copies of The Rainbow and the possibility of there being others unaccounted for; (‘The Rainbow: A Miscellany’: Jonathan Long: Journal of D.H.Lawrence Studies: Vol 4, No 4). His article caused me to take a closer look at my first edition copy, which I added to my D.H.L. collection a few years ago, since my copy purports to have once belonged to Viola Meynell and indeed is stamped ‘Presentation Copy’ over the Methuen Publisher Address at the bottom of the Title Page.

Regrettably there is no inscription by Lawrence or indeed by Meynell herself – unless they were obliterated by the pasted insertion of a contemporary (1915) newspaper article about the book’s banning, which covers the whole of both sides of the first front endpaper. See illustration 2 and Appendix 2

Of additional relevance to the history of this copy are an inscription in pencil on the inside of the front pastedown by a J A Gatehouse (see illustration 2 and Appendix 1) stating the volume to be a ‘Review Copy’, given to him by Viola Meynell possibly in 1945; and two loose inserts (see illustration 3), one being a contemporary (c 1910) photograph of ‘Miss Viola Meynell’ cut out from a magazine or newspaper and the other a photograph without inscription of a family group in what looks like 1950s dress around a central figure potentially resembling Viola Meynell herself.

The Rainbow presentation copy 2

Illustration 2: New Statesman Article of November 20 1915 and inscription by J A Gatehouse.

The Rainbow presentation copy 3 Viola Meynell

Illustration 3: Loose inserts in volume: Contemporary photograph of Viola Meynell and later unascribed family photograph with strong resemblance to Viola Meynell 2 from R back row.

Like many an enthusiast I love my Lawrence acquisitions to have a ‘story’, be it quirky or historic or whatever; just something that gives that special cachet, that links me in to the man and his time. I have Lawrence works or works about him, which once belonged to E M Forster, Stephen Spender, Moira Shearer, Louie Burrows and even Exhibit No 4 at a certain Central Crown Court trial Regina v Penguin Books; and a couple of summers ago I made a short journey which was to bring some of that cachet, plus a degree of corroboration to the volume under current consideration.

Returning from a visit with grandchildren to the Amberley Chalk Pits Museum near Arundel and realising we were quite near to Greatham I took a short detour to try to locate the cottage loaned to Lawrence and Frieda by Viola Meynell during the first half of 1915, where ‘The Rainbow’ was completed. With the help of the West Sussex A to Z and the photograph of ‘Shed Hall’ in Volume 1 of Edward Nehls’ ‘D H Lawrence- A Composite Biography’ (I knew it would come in handy one day!), my grandson Byron soon spotted the house in question by the configuration of its chimneys. I pulled in to the verge and approached the gate of ‘Rackham Cottage’.

A family group was sitting at a garden bench table enjoying the fine weather; I came to them with some trepidation and apologising for the intrusion asked if they knew anything about the writer D H Lawrence having stayed there in 1915. A lady introduced herself as ‘Hannah’ and confirmed that Lawrence and Frieda had indeed stayed there in the long low building end on to the road, which they called ‘the Shed’.

Delighted to have this confirmation and feeling I owed them some explanation for my invasion I told them of my acquisition of the book and the details including its ownership by Viola Meynell, who had also lived there. ‘Yes’ said Hannah, ‘we knew Viola Meynell’ – she corrected my pronunciation, saying it was ‘Mennell’ not ‘Maynell’ – she was our grandmother!’ I heard these words with not a little frisson of delight accompanied by a favourite saying of my mam passing silently through my head: ‘Well, I’ll gu ta Trent!’

Hannah called her brother Oliver over and recounted my interest, especially in J A Gatehouse’s assertion that Viola Meynell had given him the book in 1945. Oliver thereupon went into his study and brought out his grandmother’s Visits Book from which he was able to demonstrate that Mr Gatehouse had indeed visited in 1945.

So; Meynells (or Dallyns) still occupied Rackham Cottage; the link with that critical time in Lawrence’s career was forged and the mysterious Mr Gatehouse was real and had visited Viola. But my sense of delighted discovery was now being assailed by pressures from two sides; I was acutely aware that my family were still in the car, chafing to go and it was likely I had long overstayed my welcome, so I left with profuse thanks, a couple of photographs, Hannah’s e-mail address and a promise to send her the images of the book, included in this piece.

This I duly did and offered to send the hard copy of the family photograph if they indeed confirmed it to include Viola. Sadly I received no reply, although the message was delivered and a retry a month later similarly elicited no response, so I have had to conclude that the family’s privacy has to be respected (and I didn’t even mention ‘England My England’!). So many further questions will have to wait…

The jury must be out on whether Lawrence physically gave this book to Viola; it is presumably still a possibility it was a Review Copy, although I have never read of a review by Viola; certainly according to Methuen it is a presentation copy and I guess it is possible it escaped the judicial flames by being sent to Viola directly on Lawrence’s instruction.

Whether my volume fills one of the two unaccounted holes referred to in Jonathan’s piece or not I leave up to you but this account may at least provide an interesting slant and a tiny addition to the Lawrence record. Whatever it be, it holds a place of delight in my long appreciation of D H L’s work and life.

Rackham Cottage Greatham

                               illustration 4 ‘The Shed’ Rackham Cottage Greatham

#MondayBlogs #30WildBooks Lawrence, otherness and Moby Dick

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Nottinghamshire Wildlife Trust are hoping to increase our understanding of the value of nature and issues facing wildlife by suggesting 30 books to read throughout June (#30WildBooks). One writer not on their list is DH Lawrence. If he were to be included in a future campaign I would recommend Birds, Beasts and Flowers (1923) which, based on his experiences of the Mediterranean and the American Southwest, explores the poetry of nature and the otherness of the non-human world. But pick up any work by Lawrence and you’ll find a writer completely connected to his immediate environment. His Midlands novels explore the destruction of “the country of my heart” and the dehumanising effects of industrialisation, whereas his debut novel, The White Peacock (1911) includes references to over 140 different plants, flowers and trees.

“Under the froth of flowers were the purple vetch-clumps, yellow milk vetches, and the scattered pink of the wood-betony, and the floating stars of marguerites. There was a weight of honeysuckle on the hedges, where pink roses were waking up for their broad-spread flight through the day. Morning silvered the swaths of the far meadow, and swept in smooth, brilliant curves round the stones of the brook; morning ran in my veins; morning chased the silver, darting fish out of the depth, and I, who saw them, snapped my fingers at them, driving them back.” The White Peacock.

Lawrence’s short stories Adolf (rabbit) and Rex (dog) explore his childhood relationship with animals. In Adolf his father brings home a nearly-dead rabbit he’d found on his walk home. Through pure tenderness the rabbit is saved but goes on to cause havoc in the house, leaving droppings on saucers while helping itself to the sugar pot, much to the displeasure of his house-proud mother. Rex explores the naming of a dog donated to the family by an uncle. Like Adolf, the dog disrupts the order of the house and the mother wants him out. But he returns, “wagging his tail as if to say ‘Yes, I’ve come back. But I didn’t need to. I can carry on remarkably well by myself.'” It’s classic Lawrence, forcing us to see things from a different perspective.

One book on the Wildlife Trust’s recommended reading list is Moby Dick by Herman Melville. Lawrence helped establish Melville’s reputation after an essay published in Studies in Classical American Literature in 1923. It’s an incredible piece of literary criticism about the “tiresome New Englander of the ethical mystical- transcendentalist sort” and the #30WildBooks project gave me the opportunity to revisit it once more.

Moby Dick quote

You can feel Lawrence’s excitement reading this seminal book. It’s like it’s written in real time, becoming more frenetic as he jumps on the ship with Ahab on “the last great hunt”. He’s intrigued as to the symbolism of this “warm-blooded” and “lovable” Leviathan and suggests that the reason the whale was never worshipped by the South Sea Islanders, Polynesians, and Malays, was because “the whale is not wicked. He doesn’t bite. And their gods had to bite”.

Lawrence is fascinated by the other and how people change when placed in isolation. Here is it the wilderness of the sea that has a profound effect on Captain Ahab’s character.

“For with sheer physical vibrational sensitiveness, like a marvellous wireless-station, he registers the effects of the outer world. And he records also, almost beyond pain or pleasure, the extreme transitions of the isolated, far-driven soul, the soul which is now alone, without any real human contact.”

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Lawrence analyses the “incredible crew” on the Pequod, exploring their relationships to each other and the outer world. They make The Argonauts seem like “mild lambs in comparison” as they’re “a collection of maniacs fanatically hunting down a lonely, harmless white whale.” Never one to overplay things, he is equally irked by “the sonorous mysticism” that “gets on one’s nerves”. As much as he recognises the novel as being unequalled in terms of “esoteric symbolism” it is also one of “considerable tiresomeness”, accusations that could equally be levelled at Lawrence’s later work, particularly The Plumed Serpent (1926). Kettle black, etc.

Lawrence’s is always able to see things from the non- human perspective: “Moby Dick, the great white whale, tore off Ahab’s leg at the knee, when Ahab was attacking him. Quite right, too. Should have torn off both his legs, and a bit more besides.” Touché .

Lawrence being Lawrence, he uses Melville as a prism through which to explore his own favourite topics, most notably; blood consciousness, the spinal cord, primordial cultures, spirituality and the obligatory bromance. This was picked up by critic John Middleton Murry: “He is not concerned with Melville in and for himself, in his own quiddity. Melville exists only as a paradigm for Lawrence. But the projection of himself that Lawrence makes by means of Melville is amazing (…) It does not matter in the least whether this is a true interpretation of Moby Dick: its importance lies in the self-revelation of Lawrence.”

It’s all about me…

Damn right.

Biographer Andrew Harrison (2016) takes this further, suggesting “the attempt to understand the Americans and, through them, his own work, implied an incipient desire to imagine an audience for (Women in Love).”

One other area of controversy is Lawrence’s assumption that Ishmael does not survive the wreck of the Pequod. Research by JoEllyn Clarey (1986) suggests this was because he was using the original English edition of Moby Dick that omitted the epilogue. Things are never simple with Lawrence, are they?

RELATED READING

  • 30 Wild Books to Read in June (dawnoftheunread.wordpress.com)
  • Nottinghamshire Wildlife Trust website (nottinghamshirewildlife.org)
  • DH Lawrence – Herman Melville’s Moby Dick (xroads.virginia.edu)
  • Charles Olson, Call me Ishmael (San Francisco, 1947)
  • Michael J. Colacurcio, “The Symbolic and the Symptomatic: D. H. Lawrence in Recent American Criticism,” American Quarterly 27 (1975): 488. 28/Chase, p. 24.
  • Ren Wellek, “The Literary Criticism of D. H. Lawrence,” Sewanee Review 91 (1983): 598-613
  • JoEllyn Clarey “D. H. Lawrence’s “Moby-Dick”: A Textual Note,Modern Philology Vol. 84, No. 2 (Nov., 1986), pp. 191-195

Review – Pie and Peas with DH Lawrence at The Grand Pavilion.

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After being booted out of Cornwall in 1917, DH Lawrence was reliant on the generosity of friends to put him up while he got back on his feet. By 1918 he was in such dire poverty that Arnold Bennett secretly gave his agent Pinker £25 as a crisis fund, knowing Lawrence hated charity. It was these circumstances that led Lawrence and his wife Frieda to take residence of Mountain Cottage, Middleton-by-Wirksworth from 2 May 1918. This was the first time the Lawrences had settled in the Midlands for six years, affording him the opportunity to reconnect with family and old neighbours. He lasted one year.

Lawrence’s time in the Midlands is the main focus of Pie and Peas with DH Lawrence, an amateur dramatic performance that sketches out key elements of his life. As you would expect from a production by the Wirksworth Community Theatre, space is given to Lawrence’s time in the surrounding area. Therefore the performance includes the reading of three of his letters to Katherine Mansfield during the brutal winter of 1918. Mansfield was married to the writer and critic John Middleton Murry. The two couples had briefly lived near each other in Cornwall during the war in an early attempt at Rananim, but it didn’t work out. By 1919 Murry was editing the Athenaeum which featured many of the Bloomsbury Group. This should have been an opportunity to rebuild their friendship while, more importantly, generating a bit of income for Lawrence through commissions. Unfortunately it didn’t work out and it would lead to a simmering mistrust between the two that would intensify over time. This wasn’t touched on in the play because it would have over complicated the narrative. Instead we are reminded that Lawrence was a prolific letter writer and who his circle of friends were at the time.

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Lawrence’s Wintry Peacock was inspired by his time spent in Derbyshire and is partly performed, whereby a suspicious wife asks a man who can speak French to translate the contents of a letter to her husband. This places the man in an awkward situation as he has to decide whether to tell her the truth or spare her feelings. Given the audience were privy to the contents of the letter, this worked very well on stage.

We were also treated to both the reading of War Baby and the song War Baby by Carol Fieldhouse. This poem, which was originally published in the English Review, coincided with the birth of Catherine Carswell’s son, John, on 30 May 1918. Lawrence dedicated the poem to Carswell’s new offspring.

It was during a brief stay in Ripley that Lawrence wrote two short stories about childhood pets, Rex (dog) and Adolf (rabbit). Adolf is the tale of a mischievous pet rabbit that causes chaos in a family home, leaving droppings on saucers while helping himself to the sugar pot. In performing this, the producers celebrated Lawrence’s love of nature and wildlife and led nicely onto a reading of Snake. It also helped touch on another theme that had been explored in the opening half an hour, Lawrence’s parents.

Lawrence had an indifferent relationship with his father, depicting him as an ignorant brute in his third novel Sons and Lovers (1913). He was very much influenced by his overbearing mother who aspired for more and didn’t want her kids going down the pit. Arthur Lawrence may have been down the pit since he was seven but he was also a very charismatic and caring individual. This is perfectly drawn out in Adolf when the father finds one surviving rabbit from a family of dead rabbits. He brings the one surviving (but unmoving) rabbit home in order to nurture it back to life. Whereas Lydia Lawrence is aghast at the havoc the rabbit causes, Arthur prioritises life. Lawrence realised years later that he’d been overly harsh in his portrayals of his father and this is noted in the play when a young Lawrence announces if he’d written Sons and Lovers when he was older the father would have been presented differently. Thankfully he didn’t.

In addition to life in “the country of my heart” the play also explores the Lady C trial, censorship of his paintings, and his relationship with his German wife Frieda. This means that other elements, such as his savage pilgrimage, are omitted. But this works very well, providing a brief sketch of his life and works that are performed through song, poetry, short stories, plays, comedy, letters, court case recitals, and piano ballads. The cast also take on multiple parts, meaning we have different people playing Lawrence and other key figures. This brings out the ethos of ‘community’ theatre as everybody is effectively the star performer.

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Frieda Lawrence (Marie Paurin)

However, there are a few standout performances that deserve mentioning. Getting Frieda Lawrence to read out Lawrence’s damning poem The English Are So Nice was a masterstroke. It’s delivered with the right balance of sarcasm and perfectly weighted in delivery to enable the humour to come through:  The English are so nice/so awfully nice/they are the nicest people in the world./And what’s more, they’re very nice about being nice/ about your being nice as well!

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Sue Watts

A Colllier’s Wife is an incredibly difficult poem to read because of the dialect but Sue Watts was brilliant. She’s like a cross between Ms. Ball-breaker and Nora Batty and delivers this, and other lines, with absolute ferocity. And finally, the gem of the show goes to Andy Miller – a member of the Nottingham Writers’ Studio – for his adapted version of a Monty Python Sketch in which Lawrence and his father switch roles. It was completely unexpected and perfect for getting across the cultural tensions faced by Eastwood’s favourite mard arse.

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And now for something completely different: Andy Miller (right) as Lawrence switches roles with his father.

The play was performed as part of the Little Bit Scruffy Festival at the Grand Pavilion Theatre in Matlock. The Theatre is the largest in the Derbyshire Dales but badly in need of repair and renovation. Lynn Allison, a Trustee, Director and Co Chairman of the charity that owns the building said the purpose of hosting the festival here was “to bring new people into the building to hear our rescue and renovation story;  to bring new drama to the area; and to break even”. The Grand Pavilion was built in 1910 but has sustained damage from water over the years. “Because of the condition of the building, we say it is ‘Open – ambitious – and Still a Little Bit Scruffy’ hence the name of the festival.”

Lawrence lived a largely nomadic existence and wasn’t one for materialism. He was renowned for his DIY skills and ‘make do and mend’ attitude, so I’m sure he would approve of his work being celebrated in such shabby, yet homely, surroundings. Just like the rabbit in his short story Adolph, a little love and tenderness is required to help resurrect this old building back to its former glory. But whereas Adolph needed a few sugar cubes, the charity needs a few million. It will be hard slog, but one you can support while being entertained at the same time.

The Little Bit Scruffy Festival runs from 28 May – 2 July and includes other performances and workshops.

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