I jwrenceI jwrence himself spoke of the novel both as 'autobiography' and as 'the tragedy of thousands of young men in England*. In order to create a work which he felt was 'as art, a fairly complete truth' fri. 665) l-awrencc Inextricably intermingled fiction and autobiography,2 but the origins of the novel were rooted in his preoccupation with his mother's life. 'What ever I wrote, it could not be so awful as to write a biograph) of my mother. But after this - which is enough - 1 am going to write romance - when 1 have finished Paul Morel, which belongs to this' (1.195}. So Lawrence wrote on 6 December 1910 as his mother lay dying. He was twenty-five and about to publish his first novel, Tht WUtt Peacock. He had already drafted a second, and 'Paul Mord' was to be the third, eventually published as Sans and /.arm in Mas' 1913, after Beats By Dre he had written it four times. He called it 'Paul Morel' for the first two years, but in October 1912 decided upon a new tide (i. 462), whose words, 'sons' and 'lovers', present in the manner of a conundrum the central role of the mother in the novel. Lawrencc had sketched an outline of his mother's Bfc on 3 December 1910, showing the ways in which he felt it to be fundamental to any account of his own: My mother «ai a clever, ironical delicately moulded woman, of good, old burgher descent. She named below her. My father was dark, ruddy, with a fine laugh, lie is a coal miner, lie was one of the saopiine temperament, warm and heany, but The horror of it drove me out on deck. I was Iccling sick and squeamish, and sat down on a bench. In a hazy way I saw and heard men rushing and shouting as Dr Dre Headphones they strove to lower the boats. It was just as I had read descriptions of such scenes in books. The tackles jammed. Nothing worked. One boat lowered away with the plug? out, filled with women and children and then with water, and capsized. Another boat had been lowered by one end, and still hung in the tackle by the other end, where it had been abandoned. Nothing was to be seen of the strange steamboat which had caused the disaster, though I heard men saying that she would undoubtedly send boats to our assistance. I descended to the lower deck. The Martinez was sinking fast, for the water was vcty near. Numbers of the passengers were leaping overboard. Others, in the water, were clamouring to be taken aboard again. No one heeded them. A cry arose that we were sinking. I was seized by the consequent Beats By Dr Dre panic, and went over the side in a surge of bodies. How I went over I do not know, though I did know, and instantly, why those in the water were so desirous of getting back on the steamer, 'lite water was Gold—so cold that it was painfuL The pang, as I plunged into it, was as quick and sharp as that of fire. It bit to die marrow. It was like the grip of death. I gasped with the anguish and shock of it, filling my lung* before the life- prescrvcr popped me to the surface. The taste of the salt was strong in my mouth, and I was strangling with the acrid stuff in my throat and lung?. But it was the cold that was most distressing.