Lawrence’s Other “Lost Girl”

Most of the major research and editing of the works of D.H. Lawrence has now been done, leaving Lawrence scholarship today resembling an abandoned goldfield. Nevertheless, the occasional small nugget can still turn up.

I have been the fortunate fossicker to stumble on one such overlooked nugget. The reason, I believe, it fell to me is that I am an antipodean and thus came across something in Lawrence’s writing which would not have alerted the Lawrence academic fraternity, which is predominantly located in England and the USA.

My nugget is my discovery that Lawrence based much of the character of Alvina Houghton in his 1920 novel The Lost Girl on the New Zealand-born writer Katherine Mansfield. Until now, the accepted wisdom was that he based Alvina on Florence Cullen, whom he had known in his youth. This is true up to a point. The early Alvina and her family resemble Florence and the Cullens. But the later Alvina, as I will show, is a different character, resembling Mansfield and mirroring several incidents in her life. In short, I contend that Katherine Mansfield was in fact Lawrence’s “Lost Girl”. 

Katherine Mansfield played a significant role in both Lawrence’s life and his writings.

It is widely accepted that Lawrence based part of the character Gudrun in Women in Love on Katherine, and she featured in other works (including his short story “Smile” and as Anabel in his 1920 play Touch and Go). But her role was greater than has hitherto been acknowledged.

It is also widely accepted that Lawrence used actual people—people he knew personally—as the basis of his fictional characters, either directly, or as amalgams, combining the characteristics of several real people in the one fictional character. Often these character-elements were drawn from people he knew at the time he was writing a novel. A notorious example is his thinly-disguised portrait of Lady Ottoline Morrell as Hermione Roddice in Women in Love. At the time of writing that novel Lawrence was a constant visitor to Garsington, Ottoline’s manor house outside Oxford.

Between 1913 and 1918 Lawrence and Katherine Mansfield were close friends, and at one period, near neighbours. Katherine and her partner (later husband) John Middleton Murry were the principal witnesses at Lawrence’s marriage to Frieda in 1914, and Katherine wore to her dying day the surplus wedding ring from her previous marriage bestowed on her by Frieda. Lawrence was deeply involved in Katherine’s life at that time—the period leading up to the completion of The Lost Girl.

When in 1912 he started the novel which was to become The Lost Girl, Lawrence based much of the early Alvina (who was originally called Elsa Culverwell)2 on Florence Cullen, a member of a well-known Eastwood family. However, when he resumed writing the novel in 1920, it is my contention that he had switched his character-model to Katherine Mansfield.

Even when I first read The Lost Girl, there was something in the story that resonated in my antipodean ears. The novel starts off telling the story of Alvina Houghton, the daughter of a drapery-store owner in a town near Nottingham. Lawrence depicts Alvina struggling to throw off the yoke of Midlands respectability, first by going off to train as a nurse, then by returning to her home-town to play the piano in her father’s cinema—both things which the real-life Florence Cullen did.

A travelling mock-Red Indian troupe came to perform at the cinema. Lawrence called this troupe the “Natcha-Kee-Tawara”. (There had been, many years before, a visiting “Red Indian” troupe that had visited Eastwood. What its name was is not known.)3

Up until now, the name Natcha-Kee-Tawara has been assumed to be a Red Indian name. John Worthen, the distinguished editor of the Cambridge University Press edition of the novel, points to James Fenimore Cooper and other authors who wrote about America as possible sources for the Natcha-Kee-Tawara Red Indian troupe, though he could find no precise reference to the name, eventually deciding that Lawrence had invented it4. A leading biographer of Mansfield, Antony Alpers—himself a New Zealander—accepted Natcha-Kee-Tawara as a Red Indian name, as have other Mansfield scholars and biographers, notably Claire Tomalin and Jeffrey Meyers.

Yet to my antipodean ear, the word Tawara seemed more Polynesian than Red Indian. Specifically, Maori. I consulted a Maori-English Dictionary and found that tawara is in fact a Maori word, meaning “flavour, taste, or tenor”.5 This set me speculating where Lawrence might have happened upon that Maori word. Of course, he might have picked it up in his voluminous reading. But a much more likely source, it seemed to me, was from his New Zealand friend, Katherine Mansfield.

Mansfield’s banker father Harold Beauchamp was an amateur Maori linguist. Katherine herself had had a close friendship with a Maori princess, who had been a classmate at her school in Wellington. Most significantly, Katherine had made a list of Maori words in her notebook during her one and only return visit to her homeland in 1907. Included in the list was the word Tewera. (Katherine spelt it with an e, perhaps due to the way the word was pronounced by whomsoever said it to her5—and perhaps Lawrence inadvertently corrected the spelling of it after he heard it from Katherine. Or maybe Katherine’s notoriously bad handwriting is the culprit, producing an a which looked like an e.)

She may well have talked about her interest in the Maori language during her chats with Lawrence when she lived in the cottage next door to him and Frieda in Cornwall in 1916, or on one of their many meetings over the years in Hampstead and other parts of London. This insight into the possible Maori origin of the word Tawara led me to re-read The Lost Girl more closely, and from a fresh perspective.

Although I had first seen Katherine Mansfield’s writing in her unpublished letters to Ottoline Morrell (when I was researching my biography of Ottoline at the Humanities Research Centre at Austin, Texas), she was not an important part of my research. (She had written a short poem, “Night Scented Stocks”—inspired by a visit to Garsington—and sent it to Ottoline.) Yet although for a brief period she and John Middleton Murry were close to Ottoline, they were (unlike Lawrence) not major stars in her firmament.

However, after I began looking into Katherine’s background in more detail, and re-reading The Lost Girl, I began to see many parallels between Katherine and Lawrence’s “Midlands” heroine, Alvina. I realised why Lawrence could have seen in Katherine many of the attributes of his intended heroine—who, like Katherine in real life, was struggling for her independence.

When in 1912 Lawrence began writing the novel, he declared: “I shall do a novel about Love triumphant one day. I shall do my work for women, better than the suffrage.”7 The long gestation of the novel—he left it behind in Bavaria in 1913 and didn’t resume writing it until 1920—gives weight to the possibility that in Katherine, who was close by, Lawrence had a better model for his heroine than Florence Cullen, whose 1912 memory would by then have faded somewhat. After all, Katherine was providing a model for aspects of Gudrun in Women in Love, which he had been writing at Higher Tregerthen, when Katherine had been literally next door.

Lawrence would have seen a number of similarities between his intended heroine, Alvina, and his Higher Tregerthen neighbour, Katherine. Both were daughters of prominent businessmen. Both had rebelled against their bourgeois backgrounds, and thus become outcasts. More immediately, he had observed at first hand Katherine’s struggles to free herself of dependence on John Middleton Murry—a matter which much concerned Lawrence at that time.

Significantly, some events in the novel also mirror events in Katherine’s life. Katherine Mansfield, nee Beauchamp8, was born into an upper-middle-class New Zealand family in 1888. In 1903 her wealthy anglophile parents sent her to London to complete her education. She enrolled (as Ottoline had before her)9 at Queens College, where she was inculcated with proto-feminist ideals, which, when she returned home in 1906, led her to rebel against the bourgeois society of her parents’ provincial Wellington.

However, in 1908, fed up with the antipodes, she prevailed on her parents to send her back to London, where she again took up residence at Queens College. In August that year she fell in love with a musician, Garnet Trowell. She ran off with Trowell and became pregnant by him, then hastily married another man, George Bowden, before fleeing to Germany, where she suffered a miscarriage.

On her return to London she lived as a single woman, experimenting with relationships and attempting to pursue a literary career. She had some early, promising short stories published which displayed a talent which was to burgeon a few years later with the publication of “The Garden Party”, “Prelude” and other highly-regarded short stories. She also acted in early films, her enigmatic, sphinx-like beauty appealing to directors. Then in 1912 she met John Middleton Murry, and they become lovers.

That same tumultuous year, Lawrence, who had run off with Frieda Weekley (or vice versa), had begun writing the first draft of what eventually became The Lost Girl. He first called it “Scargill Street”, then “Elsa Culverwell”, and twenty-eight pages of this early draft survive10. By early March 1913 he had renamed the work “The Insurrection of Alvina Houghton” and it was apparently half-written. However, Lawrence was worried about what he saw as its overt sexual references, and did not want it to jeopardise his new autobiographical novel, Sons and Lovers. He stopped writing the “Alvina” text and a few months later took the manuscript with him to Bavaria, where he left it with Frieda’s family. The text remained there until after the end of the war.

A few months later, living in Italy with Frieda and revising proofs of Sons and Lovers, Lawrence received a letter from Katherine, whom at that time he did not know. She was working with Murry on a literary journal, Rhythm, and looking for contributions from promising young writers. Lawrence offered a short story—free. This led to Lawrence calling in to the office of what had been renamed the Blue Review on his return to London a few months later. An immediate friendship was struck up.

Both of them were, in effect, foreigners to the London literary scene (then dominated by Georgian locals). Yet they shared a number of things in common. She was a colonial outsider; he was from a working-class mining town. Katherine later acknowledged: “I am more like Lawrence than anybody. We are unthinkably alike, in fact.”11

Soon Lawrence and Frieda and Katherine and Murry were inseparable. That idyllic summer of 1913 the two couples saw a lot of each other, before they all escaped to the continent again in the autumn. The following spring, however, the foursome were back in London, and refreshing their friendship. A regular matter they talked about was Lawrence’s evolving dream to exit England and establish a community of like-minded souls—his “Rananim”—in America, or the South Seas, or almost anywhere other than the British Isles. Needless to say, Katherine’s colonial prejudices lay in a very different direction: “I felt very antagonistic to the whole affair,” she noted in her journal.12

World war, however, was soon upon them. An incident at Christmas 1914 provided Lawrence with the opportunity to portray Katherine in a lighter context. The foursome were staying at Gilbert Cannan’s windmill cottage in Buckinghamshire when someone suggested putting on an improvised play. Things got out of hand—the gathering was so inebriated that they were unable to carve the Christmas pork—and the play descended towards a bacchanalia, with Katherine flirting outrageously with the painter Mark Gertler. This incident gave Lawrence the episode in Women in Love where Gudrun goes off with the artist Loerke.

Another significant incident occurred that evening. Katherine had been toying with the idea of leaving Murry and going off to Paris to join a Corsican poet, Francis Carco. Lawrence had been encouraging her to do so, assuring her that the swarthy Carco would prove to be a more virile lover than Murry. Katherine in fact carried out her intention, and rendezvoused with her poet friend in Paris. However, she soon returned to Murry, somewhat to Lawrence’s disgust. (An echo of this was to surface later in The Lost Girl.)

The Lawrence–Murry friendship sailed serenely on through 1915, particularly after Lawrence, Katherine and Murry became involved with the Bloomsburies, and went on to sample the attractions and divertissements of Lady Ottoline Morrell’s Arcadian salon at Garsington. The Lawrences and the Murrys—still very close—continued to see a lot of one another in 1916. In October that year, however, the increasingly impoverished Lawrences (Sons and Lovers had not been a commercial success) were obliged to rusticate at Higher Tregerthen in Cornwall. From there Lawrence invited Katherine and Murry to join them. Typically, he busied himself painting rooms and getting what he called the “Tower” ready for Katherine to write in.

Little did the Murrys know that Lawrence was writing Women in Love, and partly basing the characters of Gudrun Brangwen and Gerald Crich on them. It is also interesting to note that while he awaited the Murrys’ arrival, Lawrence also made a fitful attempt to retrieve the partly-written text of The Lost Girl from Bavaria. But hostilities with Germany made that impracticable.

The ménage a quatre at Higher Tregerthen did not, despite Lawrence’s nest-building efforts, prove a happy one. The war was closing in. Frieda was pining for the children she had left behind, while Lawrence seemed to prefer the company of a local farm boy (when the Lawrences weren’t throwing pots and pans at each other).13 As well, Lawrence was exploring his new-found interest in “dark gods”, which took the form of trying to establish a “blood-brotherhood” with Murry (to the disapproval of Katherine). Finally, it became all too much for Katherine, and she and Murry decamped to a less remote cottage on the other side of Cornwall.

Nevertheless, her belief in Lawrence was unshaken. In August 1916, when dining in the Cafe Royal in London, she overheard a nearby table deriding Lawrence’s recently-published book of poems, Amores. She confronted them and snatched the book away, before stomping out—an incident Lawrence put into Women in Love in the chapter “Gudrun in the Pompadour”.

The last time Lawrence and Katherine saw each other was in October 1918, after the Murrys had taken a house in Hampstead, only to find that the Lawrences were already ensconced nearby. When Mark Gertler told Katherine that the Lawrences were “just around the corner”, she confided to Ottoline her fear that quarrels would once more break out between Lawrence and Murry. “Every time the bell goes I hear Frieda’s ‘Vell Katherina—here ve are!’ And I turn cold with horror.”14 Yet a few days later Katherine reported to Ottoline that Lawrence had been “running in and out all week”.

The following year Katherine’s chronic tubercular condition worsened, and she once more attempted to find relief in Italy. Lawrence and Frieda themselves went abroad in late 1919. A low point in their relationship came a few months later when Katherine apparently received a letter from Lawrence, who was on Capri. (We only have Murry’s—somewhat suspect—word for what might have been originally said, for the letter is lost, as is Katherine’s letter to Murry reporting it.) Murry quoted Katherine thus: “Lawrence sent me a letter today. He spat in my face and threw filth at me and said: ‘I loathe you. You revolt festering in your consumption. You are a loathsome reptile—I hope you will die.’”15

Notwithstanding that, Katherine and Lawrence once more healed their fractured relationship, and on January 20, 1922, she noted in her journal: “I suppose it is the effect of isolation that I can truly say I think of de la Mare, Tchehov, Kotelianksy, Tomlinson, Lawrence, Orage, every day. They are part of my life …”16

By the time Lawrence went to Australia in 1922, he had not seen Katherine for four years, but on arriving in Wellington on his way from Australia to America, he sent a postcard to Katherine from her home town. He did not know her current whereabouts, so the postcard went via Ottoline. Convalescing with tuberculosis in Italy, Katherine reported to Murry: “I had a card from Lawrence today—just the one word (Ricordi)—how like him. I was glad to get it though.”17

She also wrote to Murry, just before ending up at Gurdjieff’s “clinic” at Fontainebleau, saying, “Yes, I care for Lawrence. I have thought of writing to him and trying to arrange a meeting after I leave Paris—suggesting I join them until the spring.”18 But that was not to be, and Katherine died at the clinic on January 9, 1923.

Lawrence did not return to the text of the manuscript of “The Insurrection of Miss Houghton” until 1920, after he returned to Italy. He arranged for the MS to be posted to him in Capri, where in February 1920—almost eight years after he first began the novel—he started writing a third version, which he now called “Mixed Marriage”. However, he soon scrapped this version, and it was not until he had settled into the Fontana Vecchia in Taormina some months later that the fourth and ultimate version was started. (No trace of either “The Insurrection” or “Mixed Marriage” survives.) As John Worthen points out, this final version had little to do with the previous drafts. It was, in effect, a new novel. In May 1920, after only eight weeks’ writing, what Lawrence finally decided to call The Lost Girl was finished, and sent off to a typist in Rome. It was published in the UK by Martin Secker on November 25, 1920.

Similarities between Katherine and Alvina

Let us examine more closely the parallels between the heroine in The Lost Girl and Katherine Mansfield. As I mentioned earlier, after returning to London in August 1908, Katherine fell in love with the musician Garnet Trowell. She disappeared from her lodgings at Queens College, telling no one of her whereabouts, and joined Trowell, who was touring the north of England with the “Moody Manners”19 operatic troupe. Joining the troupe, she sang in the chorus, travelling by train from one town to the next, living in boarding houses and cooking meals in primitive kitchens—a brush with domesticity which she did not enjoy.

In the novel, Alvina Houghton, like Katherine, suddenly disappears from her family home, telling nobody of her whereabouts, and goes off to the north of England with the musical troupe, the Natcha-Kee-Tawaras. There she knuckles down to the hard slog of travelling by train from one set of digs to the next, cooking meals in boarding houses. She and an Italian member of the troupe, Ciccio, become lovers. (Florence Cullen did not run off with a musical troupe—but Katherine Mansfield did.)

In The Lost Girl there is a distinct change of character between the early Alvina (who is still similar to the fictional Elsa Culverwell) and the later Alvina. The two are quite dissimilar. This, I submit, is because Lawrence had switched the “model” of his heroine from Florence Cullen to Katherine Mansfield.

While still based on Florence Cullen, his heroine “spoke with a quiet, refined, almost convent voice”.20 But a few pages later “her voice had a curious bronze-like resonance that acted straight on the nerves of her hearers, unpleasantly on most English nerves”.21 Why would Lawrence have Alvina’s voice acting unpleasantly on English ears? Alvina was English. However, Katherine was not. People who knew Katherine found her colonial New Zealand accent, no matter that it was considerably toned down, unpleasant to their ears.

Alvina’s appearance also changes between the two depictions of the heroine. In the only remaining fragment of the earliest version of the novel (“Elsa Culverwell”) Lawrence’s heroine looks in the mirror and remarks: “I was very ordinary, very quiet, rather shy … I was rather pale, and rather weedy, with dun-coloured hair. But I had an aristocratic hard cut of a face, with real blue eyes, that stared at myself in a sort of defiance.”22

This description is carried over into the early pages of The Lost Girl, where Alvina is described as “a thin child with delicate limbs and face, and wide, grey-blue ironic eyes”. But by page 21 of the final novel there is a marked change in her appearance. Alvina’s former governess, Miss Frost, describes Alvina as having “a gargoyle” face: “she would see the eyes rolling strangely, and then Miss Frost would feel that never, never had she known anything so utterly alien”.23

When Katherine got to know the Bloomsburies, after first meeting them in Dorothy Brett’s studio in November 1915, a number of them discussed her appearance.24 Dorothy Brett remarked on Katherine’s “mask-like composure”. Lytton Strachey described Katherine as “an odd satirical woman behind a regular mask of a face”. Strachey wrote to Virginia Woolf: “I may add that she has an ugly impassive mask of a face—cut in wood, with brown hair and brown eyes very far apart; and a sharp and slightly vulgarly-fanciful intellect sitting behind it.” (Katherine’s penchant for mockery was often remarked on.) An echo of this “gargoyle look” also appears in Women in Love where “Gudrun looked at Ursula with a mask-like expressionless face”25 and in Lawrence’s short story “Smile”. 26

But appearance is not the only parallel between the fictional Alvina and the real-life Katherine. Both had sharp tempers. Jeffrey Meyers notes that Dorothy Brett remarked on Katherine’s rapid and disconcerting changes in mood—“ironic ruthlessness”, “satirical wit”—and said Katherine had “a tongue like a knife”. Dora Carrington described her as having “the language of a fishwife”. And Virginia Woolf, despite being a great admirer of Katherine and her writing, said cattily that Katherine “dressed like a tart and behaved like a bitch”. Lawrence in The Lost Girl says that Alvina had outbursts of temper, with the addition of sudden fits of “boisterous hilarity” and “mad bursts of hilarious jeering”. (Katherine was known for her ill temper. She once wrote: “I think the only thing which is really ‘serious’ about me, really ‘bad’, really incurable, is my temper.”27)

However, it is in the theme of The Lost Girl where Katherine makes her greatest contribution to the novel. Lawrence saw in Katherine the personification of the dilemma of the modern woman, which he then played out in The Lost Girl. Lawrence had observed Katherine’s repeated attempts to leave Murry, and he likened her role as the “mother” to Murry’s “child”28. He had suggested Katherine should look for a more manly, sensual man—perhaps like Ciccio, the swarthy Italian with whom Alvina runs off in The Lost Girl. Perhaps there is a veiled reference here to Katherine’s brief affair with the swarthy poet Francis Carco. Surely there is an echo in Ciccio of the name Carco.

But Lawrence had some misgivings about this. Was Ciccio the solution to Alvina’s dilemma? Lawrence confessed he was troubled by Alvina. He was concerned that he hadn’t found a solution to her quest for independence. He could see similarities between Alvina and the heroine of his friend Compton Mackenzie’s recently published novel The Adventures of Sylvia Scarlett,29 a picaresque story of a young girl questing for independence. In a letter to Mackenzie in May 1920, Lawrence wrote that he was “terrified of my Alvina who marries a Ciccio”. Referring to Mackenzie’s heroine, Sylvia, who married an upper-middle-class Englishman, but finally decided to leave him, he writes: “I believe neither of us has found a way out of the labyrinth. How we hang on to the marriage clue! Doubt if it’s really a way out.”30 Lawrence leaves Alvina still married to Ciccio, but he also leaves a question over the future of that marriage—as he did over the relationship between Katherine and Murry. He summed up the complicated relationships between himself, Murry and Katherine in fictional form in his 1920 play, Touch and Go31. Anabel Wrath (a Katherine/Gudrun figure) and Oliver Turton (a Lawrence/Birkin figure) are talking about the failure of their relationship with Gerald Barlow (a Murry/Gerald Crich figure):

Anabel: But we were a vicious triangle, Oliver—you must admit it.
Oliver: You mean my friendship with Gerald went against you?
Anabel: Yes. And your friendship with me went against Gerald.
Oliver: So I am the devil in the piece.
Anabel: You see, Oliver, Gerald loved you far too well ever to love me altogether. He loved us both. But the Gerald who loved you so dearly, old, old friends as you were, and trusted you, he turned a terrible face of contempt on me … He had a passion for me but he loved you.

Murry reviewed The Lost Girl in his literary magazine, the Athenaeum, in December 1920. It was not a favourable critique. Indeed, it was vitriolic.32 By the time the novel was published Katherine was too ill to review it, but she recorded her feelings about it in her scrapbook, and these echo Murry’s opinion that Alvina and Ciccio “behaved like animals”.

Yet Katherine apparently detected no overt parallel with herself.33 She wrote: “Lawrence denies his humanity. He denies the powers of the imagination. He denies life—I mean human life. His hero and heroine are non-human. They are animals on the prowl.” And she continued: “Oh, don’t forget where Alvina feels a trill in her bowels, and discovers herself with child. A TRILL. What does that mean?”

Others have mentioned Katherine’s criticism of Lawrence’s use of the word trill to describe how Alvina sensed she was pregnant—perhaps Katherine’s strong reaction to the use of the word dragged up memories of her own pregnancy. But she goes on: “Earth-closets too. Do they exist, qua earth-closets? … to build an earth-closet because the former one was so exposed. No.”

Her singling out of the matter of the earth-closet is a reference to an incident in the novel when Ciccio has taken Alvina to live in a hovel in his remote Italian alpine village. This is described in a paragraph in The Lost Girl: “Ciccio … was building a little earth-closet also; the obvious and unscreened place outside was impossible.”34

Why did Katherine bring this minor incident up? And why did she feign ignorance of such sanitary arrangements? The reference in the novel clearly originated in an incident at Higher Tregerthen in Cornwall when she and Murry were about to take up residence in the cottage alongside Lawrence and Frieda. Lawrence had entered into a frenzy of domestic arrangements, including organising the rearrangement of the outdoor earth-closet. He wrote to his landlord, Captain John Short, on March 23, 1916: 35

There only remains the question of the W.C. The one that stands already is not very satisfactory. Surely it should have a bucket, that it might be emptied quite cleanly. It is a pity it stands there at all, spoiling the only bit of ground. And it would never do to stand another beside it: one might as well, at that rate, live in a public-lavatory. I can see Katherine Murry’s face, if she saw two W.Cs staring at her every time she came out of the door or looked out of the window. It would never do.


Lawrence’s creative genius took aspects of real people and real events and reshaped them into fiction. That he found inspiration in Katherine Mansfield is not surprising. She was a particularly striking and unusual person. He got to know her closely over a number of years, and there was a strong affinity between them. I contend that much of Alvina Houghton is an amalgam of Florence Cullen and Katherine Mansfield.

Yet it is Katherine who ends up as Lawrence’s Lost Girl.

Sandra Jobson Darroch is the author of Ottoline: The Life of Lady Ottoline Morrell. She is the Secretary of the D.H. Lawrence Society of Australia and publisher of its journal, Rananim.

End Notes


 D.H. Lawrence, The Lost Girl. John Worthen, ed, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981).


‘Elsa Culverwell’, published in the CUP edition of The Lost Girl.


The Lost Girl. John Worthen, ed. Explanatory Notes 140:28


The Lost Girl. John Worthen, ed. Explanatory Notes 113.2

5 based on Te Aka Māori-English, English- Māori Dictionary and Index. See end note 6


Katherine Mansfield, The Katherine Mansfield Notebooks, Complete

edition Margaret Scott, ed, (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press

2002), Notebook 2, p.166 and Unbound Papers, poem “In the

Darkness”, p. 125. Katherine listed a similar word in her Notebook: “range tewera”.


 The Letters of D.H. Lawrence General Editor, James T. Boulton (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), To Sally Hopkin, 23 December 1912, p.490


The following biographical details are based principally on:

Antony Alpers, The Life of Katherine Mansfield (London: Jonathan Cape, 1980).

Claire Tomalin Katherine Mansfield A Secret Life (London: Penguin Books, 1988).

Jeffrey Meyers, Katheine Mansfield A Biography (London: Hamish Hamilton. 1978).

D.H. Lawrence, Letters

Vincent O”Sullivan and Margaret Scott, eds, The Collected Letters of Katherine Mansfield. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984-2008).


Both Katherine and Ottoline had been tutored by John Adam Cramb, who, I discovered when researching my biography of Ottoline, had written a novel based on Ottoline.


This fragment, published for the first time in the CUP edition of The Lost Girl,

I is in the Morris Library, Univeristy of Southern Illinois at Carbondale. (Note on

the text facing page 343 and note 343.1. CUP edition, The Lost Girl.)


Katherine Mansfield, Journal, ed. J. Middleton Murry, (New York: Knopf, 1946), 20 September 1918,


Mansfield, Journal, (London: Constable, 1927), 9 January 1915, p 20.


C.J. Stevens, Lawrence at Tregerthen (New York: The Whitstone

Publishing Company, 1988).


Vincent O”Sullivan and Margaret Scott, eds, The Collected Letters of Katherine Mansfield (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984). Mansfield Letters Vol 2, To Ottoline Morrell, 8 October 1918, p 179.


Alpers, p 310, and John Middleton Murry, The Letters of John Middleton

Murry to Katherine Mansfiel, (London: Constable, 1983), p. 268 and notes

on p. 269 re Lawrence’s letter.


Mansfield Journal, 20 January 1922, p. 223.


The Collected Letters of Katherine Mansfield (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984). To John Middleton Murry, 10 September 1922; D.H. Lawrence, The Letters of D.H. Lawrence Vol 4, p. 283 note to letter 2565.


Mansfield, Letters, 13 October,1922.


Alpers, pp. 69 and p. 92.


Lost Girl, p. 20.


Lost Girl, p. 23.


Culverwell”, p. 356.


Lost Girl, p. 21.


 Myers, p. 63


Lawrence, Women in Love, p. 9.


D. H. Lawrence ‘Smile in The Woman Who Rode Away and Other Stories

(London:Martin Secker 1928), p. 110.


Mansfield, Journal , September 20, 1918, p.99.


Meyers, p. 96.


Compton Mackenzie, Life and Adventures of Sylvia Scarlett (London: Hutchinson, No Date).


Lawrence to Mackenzie. Lawrence Letters, 10 May 1920, p. 521


‘Touch and G’o, Act 1, Scene 11, p. 331. (Lawrence sent Katherine a copy of the play but she did not seem to recognize herself or Murry.


John Middleton Murry, Between Two Worlds (London: Jonathan Cape, 1935)

p. 413.


Katherine Mansfield The Scrapbook of Katherine Mansfield, ed. J. Middleton Murry (New York: Knopf 1940),pp. 182-184.


Lost Girl, p. 323.


Lawrence, Letters, Vol XX, 25 March 1916, p. 585.


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