Lawrence’s interest in the medieval was essentially an attempt to escape from the circumstances of his life, and to cock a snook at the conventions of the bourgeois social landscape, behind which lay his uncertain relationship with Sarah. The feelings of inferiority and shame that relationship generated contributed to the painful shyness which was noticed by almost everyone who met him. He confessed that he was ‘abnormally shy’ … ‘ashamed of my awkwardness, of my physical envelope, and my solitary unlikeness which made me no companion, but an acquaintance, complete, angular, uncomfortable as a crystal’. 17Yet he had no real need to feel odd or solitary at school. Despite his shyness and his rejection of games he was not unpopular: his awkwardness was largely in his own mind. In fact, he did play cricket for the school at least once, entered swimming and cycling races, led paper-chases and joined enthusiastically in playground games. He did not lack in personal friendships. As a young boy he had a special friend called John Snow, and from 1903 he and Scroggs Beeson formed an inseparable partnership, becoming famous – almost notorious – for their archaeologizing and brass-rubbing expeditions. Though Lawrence was evidently the dominant partner and the initiator of their schemes, Beeson recalled the ‘enduring bond’ of their friendship with some affection. Theo Chaundy noted that Lawrence introduced many school-friends, including himself, to the mysteries of brass-rubbing, and since he managed to persuade this future mathematics don to do his algebra for him in the Vth form, Lawrence cannot have lacked charm. A friend from early childhood remembered that he had been ‘frightfully bossy’ as a six-year-old but had ordered everyone about in a very nice way. 18Bob Lawrence recalled that although he was the eldest, it was Ned who generally led the brothers in their games. Arnie described him as ‘one of the nicest people I’ve known, perhaps the kindest, certainly the most exhilarating to be with’. 19Midge Hall, who knew Lawrence both at school and at college, wrote of his schooldays that ‘any conception of a solitary, moody schoolboy shunning the company of his fellows is wide of the mark. He was far too whimsical … too interesting in his hobbies, ever to be unpopular.’ 20Arnie felt that it was Lawrence’s empathy – his ability to reflect what others needed and felt – which made him extraordinarily adept at inspiring others and bringing out the best in them.
Sarah believed that she had been a good mother, and after Lawrence’s death painted an idealized picture of family life which was echoed by her ‘lieutenant’, Bob: ‘We had a very happy childhood,’ he wrote, ‘which was never marred by a single quarrel between any of us. Our parents were constantly with us, to our great delight and profit, for they shared in our progress, made the home the place of peace it was, planned the future and our education, and were the greatest influence on our lives.’ 21Certainly, Lawrence’s childhood was happy in the sense that he did not want for anything material, was successful at school, and was surrounded by friends and loyal brothers of whom he was often the undisputed chief. But under the surface his childhood did not glow with the primary colours Bob’s Pre-Raphaelite image suggests. Arnie’s description offers a darker insight: ‘There was a strong puritanism in the family,’ he wrote, ‘a spirit of sin, unnaturalness. Hush hush was great. Many subjects were taboo which to the child’s mind are not. It perplexed the children, leading to doubts and ultimately to a lack of confidence.’ 22Bob’s assurance that Ned enjoyed his schooldays hardly squares with Lawrence’s own recollection of ‘the school fear hanging over one – that haphazardly suspended punishment which made my years between eight and eighteen a misery’. 23Far from being the ‘delight and profit’ she might have wished, Sarah destroyed Lawrence’s life and made certain that he would never achieve happiness or fulfilment. His need to be an individual and separate from her, loved whether strong or weak, honest or dishonest, right or wrong, was totally subordinated to the needs of her own ravenous soul. She could not help this: in her own mind she was still the terrified little girl who would never know why she had been so heinously abandoned to the whims of the dark universe. It was a wound without salve, and no one whom she loved could be allowed to leave her again – ever. Lawrence was desperate for his mother’s love, but he also needed to be regarded as a person in his own right. She loved him dearly, but as an extension of herself, seeing any expression of individuality on his part as a threat. The kind of power she could exert over her sons was terrifying. When Arnie finally made up his mind to marry, he wrote to tell Sarah so from the apparently safe distance of Athens. On the day he had calculated she would receive the letter he awoke in a daze and found he had forgotten where he was. He staggered out into the garden and only pulled himself together with some effort. He knew that Sarah was violently opposed to his marrying, and he felt that her influence had ‘absorbed’ him even at such a distance. If this was a sample of the psychic forces ranged against Ned, it is hardly surprising that he felt the need to defend his ‘circle of integrity’. Often he hated his mother. Often he could not stand even to be in the same room, but he never once let it show. He behaved irreproachably to her, because she was his mother, and he felt he owed it to her to play the dutiful son. His Achilles’ heel in the struggle was always his own sense of guilt. He made a great show of joviality and lightheartedness in her presence and practised suppressing his emotions. He talked only about things which pleased him, so that he would appear happy even when he was not. He knew quite well that until he was free from Sarah, he would be unable to let unfold the hero within himself: his great task in life was to escape from her.
Some time in 1905, matters reached a head. That summer, Lawrence had joined his father on a cycling trip around East Anglia, making brass-rubbings, visiting ruins and sending dutiful, if stiff, reports back to Sarah. He enjoyed the expedition, but began the new term at school under a cloud. His name had been put forward for a mathematics scholarship at Oxford University, and maths was a subject which did not interest him. Instead, he wanted to study history. Sarah disapproved, sensing instinctively a move away from her. The matter became contentious: she may have tried her old tactics – bluster, violence, manipulation – but this time it did not work. Lawrence was seventeen years old and Sarah had allowed him no adolescence. He was still tied to her apron strings, and this issue was one which would affect the course of his life. He decided that he must make a final stand. He did not try to fight against her overtly: his upbringing as an Edwardian gentleman precluded that. Instead, he took the only other option open to a smothered adolescent: he ran away from home.