Brontë Parsonage

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.