He charged in as he always did on even the deadest of pitches, lost his footing at the crease and after the sound of a crack as chilling as gunfire, hit the deck with such force that hard men had the blood drained from the faces.
Lawrence had severed his left patella and was carried from the field by worried cricketers who could see from the panic in the big man's eyes that a popular and respected career was, if not over, then on the line. To a man, the team remembers the moment with gravity.
``Never forget it,'' says his friend and admired opponent Robin Smith. ``The most sickening thing that I've seen on a cricket field. The sight of such a powerful character, someone who gave so much, crumbled on the pitch and screaming in pain was made worse by it being so unlikely. He sort of deserved better for his efforts to become an England player. I don't suppose anyone thought he'd play again after all the operations and so long away from the game. What he's doing now is amazing, though typical of the man.''
What he is doing now of course is 'coming back'. Eighteen stone of manically propelled human beef has already greeted Hampshire and Surrey with its customary gusto and is likely, given patience and fortune, to rip into Derbyshire and Durham during the Cheltenham Festival in the middle of July. After retirement, twice, insurance pay-outs and so much pain, how can this be?
``Well, I've kept training and particularly worked on strengthening the muscles in the leg just to make moving about more comfortable,'' said smooth-looking Syd on the boundary edge in Bristol last week, ``and I played a game for Paul Getty's team last summer, bowled OK and quick enough and best of all felt great running around the outfield. Next morning, there was no reaction and no swelling and I thought, hello . . . ``
Against medical advice, he began more serious work in the gym, turning 30-minute runs into near sprint sessions and stressing his knee with deliberate over-indulgence to convince himself it would last.
The truth, though he tried to ignore it, was that he was frightened of letting people down. Back in January 1994, he had done something of which he was not proud and it ached away almost as much as his knee.
``I was in Sydney playing third grade for Randwick in one last attempt to return and a kid ran down the pitch and hit me back over my head for six. I knew I didn't have it in me to return the aggression, the knee was at its worst, the build-up of anger and agony got to me and I dropped my shoulder and barged him as he ran past. No, I thought what are you doing; stop, get out of this. So I phoned home to tell mum and dad I was retiring for good that evening.''
The insurance firm payed out, to Lawrence and Gloucestershire, and a favourite son of Bristol went into limbo. The bowling career which had taken so long to turn from innocent brawn into a telling combination of speed and skill was on the rocks.
Until, that is, eight weeks ago, when batsmen such as Alec Stewart, who fell to a perfect out- swinger, Mark Butcher, who twice hooked fatally, and Smith, who was startled by the force with which Lawrence jarred his bat, suffered the mixed emotions of the shock of their lives and the joy of a special sportsman beginning a second life.
``Everyone has been supportive. From the club who've taken me back on a full contract, to the insurers who were so positive and didn't want to stand in my way, to the supporters who it seems have never lost faith in me, to the players both home and away,'' says Lawrence.
What now? Why the lay-off? Is the knee playing up?
``Not at all, the knee is great. It's the hamstrings and the groin and the inter-costals! I got in the bath that first night against Hampshire and didn't move for three hours. For one thing, the day had been very emotional; for another, I'd forgotten how hard bowling was and remembered why I'd packed it in!''
His determination to return, whether ultimately successful or not, is the bravest imaginable effort primarily because it is so fraught by physical danger and by the feat of failure.
Not that physics and fear have ever bothered Lawrence. From the first day I saw him, in 1991, raw as you like for Gloucestershire seconds, he was proving that anyone who wanted to do something badly enough could probably do it. He's still at it now, at 33, and more than 500 first-class wickets later, so watch the scoreboards in July. The fairy-tale is still running.