Lawrence, our supernova spaceman in New York

CLIVE James’ essay DH Lawrence In Transit speculates that if Lawrence “had lived longer he might have exhausted the earth with travel.” His “novels might have lost touch with all worldly objects.” “As a spaceman” Lawrence “might have found repose,” for “Heaven knows he was genius enough not to be outshone by the beyond,” and could “have written down a supernova”!

100 years ago, on Monday and Tuesday, March 10 and 11, 1924, Lawrence’s letters to Mark Gertler and John Middleton Murry, written on ship’s headed notepaper, report their boat, the Cunard Royal Mail Service liner Aquitania, is nearing New York. Having left the warm Gulf stream, a “strong north wind” makes waves “dark grey.”

The sea smokes with spray. The “unending motion” of the big ship irritates Frieda. Lawrence rather likes it, and Brett is “very happy and pleased with herself.”

Lawrence noticed Brett wearing the same little blue brooch with chalcedony stone he had given to Lady Ottoline Morrell years ago. Brett says Ottoline flung it at her during a row.

Lawrence “always liked that soft blue stone. Queer how things come back to you.”

They’ve had “a pleasant voyage.” The Aquitania’s “comfortable,” only “too big – like being in a town...like living in a town hall.”

“Little ships are humanly much nicer than big ones.” It publishes its own “little Daily Mail.” They’ve voyaged 580-585 sea miles daily. Clocks go back each day – “mornings are endless.” But “it’s good” to escape “the doom of Europe.”

As they sailed past the Statue of Liberty, that “Lady,” and her “fist,” were shrouded in mist!

Publisher Seltzer met them at the wharf, a “small” man looking “very diminished.” Business is bad, “he has sleepless nights. So, it seems, might I.”

Lawrence’s money is “in thin air,” though may gradually “materialise.” “But I don’t care terribly.” Passport officials call Brett “this girl,” because she’s travelling alone, making Lawrence “so mad.” They “quieted up sharp.” Best write “Personal effects and clothing” on customs declarations. Brett put “paints, artists’ materials, banjolette.” Lawrence “had to wangle out of paying duty.” March 13: Lawrence tells Koteliansky New York’s “stiff, man-made, and against nature,” but “more stimulating than Europe.” Brett is “self-contained and detached, which is best.” Kot’s “well out of publishing.” One must “go” at business “like a lion, a serpent, and a condor,” or the world’s “vast machine” may “grind the bones of a good man gladly.”

March 14: tells Murry the New York “machine” is “perhaps less distressing than a dying animal: London.” Brett “feels an adventuress.” New York “jeers at us all, and we look down our noses.”

As they sailed past the Statue of Liberty, that “Lady” and her “fist” were shrouded in mist