Stephen, his father, and I all set out for the Brontë Parsonage
on a lovely afternoon. It was sunny and warm, not the usual English weather,
but it was such a lovely change, almost like the weather knew we were on an
adventure, and accommodated us for our outing. Instead of just driving to
parsonage as a normal North American would, we decided to really revel in the
era they would have known. To begin our adventure, we drove to a town called
Keighley (pronounced KEEF-lee for all us North American folk). It was here that
we caught a steam train that would take us to Howarth, the town where the Brontës are
officially from (although now both of these towns are part of Bradford).
Travelling on this train was absolutely delightful, especially for someone like
myself who is so unused to travelling by train. While the journey was slow, it
was definitely a lovely experience to see the countryside as someone in the
earlier eras had done, and was the beginning of our trip back in time.
Upon arriving at the Howarth station, we came out of the station to a
lovely hilly view – the real Yorkshire countryside. It was absolutely lovely:
lush and green, and it all looked so historic, minus the single wind turbine
they had on one of the hills. We turned right coming out of the station and
crossed a wooden bridge that went over the tracks. We all waved at the
conductor as the train continued down the line, and made our way up the first
of two hills. This first hill almost seemed like a back alley as there was
absolutely no traffic other than pedestrians. This road ran alongside a
beautiful garden area that we explored on our way back down to the train
station after we had finished. We then crossed a main road, and came to our next
hill, the road that would lead us to the parsonage. This road was quite steeper
than the first, and the further we went up, the narrower the road became!
We took a detour around the church where Mr. Brontë had been
the parson, and read a quaint sign that told us that after all the Brontës had
passed away, they were moved into a crypt beneath the church, as this was a
place of honour for the family. The church was undergoing construction/upkeep,
so we were not allowed to venture inside. I also made friends with a cat while
in the cemetery, a point that is of no importance, but I thought I should tell
you anyway, just in case there are a few random pictures of cats in the album
for this post!
The parsonage was originally quite large for a house of it’s time, but
this would have been indicative of the parson’s esteemed position. You can also
see that an extension was added on at a later time when looking at the house
from the front (I believe I do have a picture of this), as it is the very far
right side of the house (your right, not the house’s right). I definitely
recommend that you take your student card if you are a student as you will get
a little bit of a discounted rate, seniors pricing is also a little lower. That
being said, the pricing is still quite high, but if you really want to see the
parsonage, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind.
After paying you are given a brochure that acts as a tour guide, and
are left to your own devices as you wander room to room. There were a few
attendants present, but they are mostly there to remind you not to take photos,
and to show you the correct way out of the parsonage. You really did get a good
feel for the times in this house. Hollywood’s most recent production of “Jane
Eyre” (2011) with Mia Wasikowska (Alice from Tim Burton’s “Alice in
Wonderland”) has loaned their costumes to the parsonage and these were on
display in quite a few rooms that we viewed.
A sense of morbidity settled over you quite quickly after entering the
building, despite the nice touch of the donated costumes from Hollywood – there
was no glimmer. Due to the parsonage having obtained original artifacts for the
rooms (it was a very long process, I’m sure), all the shutters had to be closed,
and there was only minimal, low lighting to preserve the artifacts (this is why
we could not take photos, as well). The real sense of morbidity set over you
upon entering the second room. Each room has plaques describing items and daily
events that would have taken place there, which is further supplemented by your
tour brochure that you were given at the door. Well, in this second room one of
the plaques states that Charlotte Brontë died in the room, most likely on the
sofa! Let me tell you that sure set the mood for the remainder of the tour!
Now fortunately, each room did not get progressively worse, but each
room contained another sad fact of the Brontës’ unfortunate existence. Through the
course of discovering the parsonage I had learned that: one sister had died in
the study, the son was seen as a failure of an artist and removed himself from
a portrait he painted of himself and his sisters, that Charlotte died in the
early months of pregnancy (she was the only sister who lived long enough to get
married), that Emily died from catching tuberculosis while she was off
teaching, that Anne also caught the disease and Charlotte had to bury her in
Scarborough while on their way to find a cure for her at the seaside, that the
sole son ended up being accused of adultery with a wealthy woman who would not
marry him after her husband died and so became and alcoholic, drinking himself
to death, and that finally, Mr. Brontë, the father, outlived all of his
children and of course, his wife.
Of course I had known that the Brontë story was not a romantic story, but
the extent to which this poor family suffered was unbelievable. To put their
life in perspective though, it wasn’t uncommon in the area that families died
young as there was poor water and sewage systems in the area – something the
parson tried hard to change in his time. What might have further compound the
macabre life the Brontës’ had to lead would be that their house not
only looked upon the church, but also the (now) overcrowded graveyard. The high
death rate at the time due to poor living conditions and medicine that had not
yet advanced were shown clearly through the high activity in the graveyard
everyday. The constant sound of the gravedigger’s shovel and of the hammer on
stone engraving names on the tombs would be a constant reminder of the
eventuality of death, and not overly reassuring sounds. It is no wonder that
instead, the sisters chose instead to look out the back window for inspiration,
where the moors, which were so often depicted in their literature, stood,
waiting for imaginary exploration.
The moors were what brought we three travellers some relief from the
sad story of the Brontës’ lives. When we exited the parsonage (the
additional extension was used to show bits of the Brontës’ art and
writing, items that were used as inspiration, and of course, costumes!) through
the gift shop, we were greeted with a modern view of the moors, and took a
stroll through the parsonage gardens which was separated from a farm by one of
the frequently seen stone walls. To cheer ourselves up after the tour, we took
advantage of an old style sweets shop located on the top of the descent from
the street below (the ever-narrowing street, if you remember me talking about
that). We reminisced with sweets from all three of our youths and seemed to sweeten
the previous mood, pun intended.
On our way home we toured the gardens that we passed on the first hill
up that I had previously mentioned, but there was nothing much extraordinary
about them. We took our time walking, enjoying our sweets, and just managed to
catch the last train back. As we stepped onto the Victorian at Keighley, our
time travel experience came to an end.
It certainly was a magical day in the sense that we experienced life
as it was during the Brontës’ lifetime, but it made me so thankful to be
living now rather than then.
