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Category Archives: Lawrence
David Herbert Lawrence – Touch and Go
Sunday morning. Market-place of a large mining village in the Midlands. A man addressing a small gang of colliers from the foot of a stumpy memorial obelisk. Church bells heard. Churchgoers passing along the outer pavements. WILLIE HOUGHTON: What’s the … Continue reading
David Herbert Lawrence – The-Daughter-in-law
A collier’s kitchen–not poor. Windsor chairs, deal table, dresser of painted wood, sofa covered with red cotton stuff. Time: About half-past two of a winter’s afternoon. A large, stoutish woman of sixty-five, with smooth black hair parted down the middle … Continue reading
David Herbert Lawrence – Sons and Lovers
“THE BOTTOMS” succeeded to “Hell Row”. Hell Row was a block of thatched, bulging cottages that stood by the brookside on Greenhill Lane. There lived the colliers who worked in the little gin-pits two fields away. The brook ran under … Continue reading
David Herbert Lawrence – England, my England!
He was working on the edge of the common, beyond the small brook that ran in the dip at the bottom of the garden, carrying the garden path in continuation from the plank bridge on to the common. He had … Continue reading
David Herber Lawrence – The Man Who Died
There was a peasant near Jerusalem who acquired a young gamecock which looked a shabby little thing, but which put on brave feathers as spring advanced, and was resplendent with arched and orange neck by the time the fig trees … Continue reading
David Herbert Lawrence – Lady Chatterley’s Lover
Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: … Continue reading
David Herbert Lawrence – The Lost Girl
Take a mining townlet like Woodhouse, with a population of ten thousand people, and three generations behind it. This space of three generations argues a certain well-established society. The old “County” has fled from the sight of so much disembowelled … Continue reading
David Herbert Lawrence – The White Peacock
I stood watching the shadowy fish slide through the gloom of the millpond. They were grey, descendants of the silvery things that had darted away from the monks, in the young days when the valley was lusty. The whole place … Continue reading