Going home

Well, that’s what it always feels like when we return to West Yorkshire. But then I was born and brought up and spent most of my life there and Gordon considers he belongs there more than he does to Cumbria.

We were in Haworth, me to visit the Brontë Parsonage, a place I hadn’t been to for a long time, and Gordon went running, retracing his steps on a route over the moors he has done many times in the past.
 
I have to say I was a little disappointed with the Parsonage visit. This is a place I was taken to on many occasions as a child. Haworth was one of my Grandma’s favourite places, although I think she was more interested in the shops and tea shops than the Brontës. Nevertheless, I certainly remember very vividly exploring the dark house with its dark furniture and thinking one of the family might step out at any minute. I remember looking out of the windows and seeing the gravestones in the churchyard. But most of all I remember the ‘little books’, which the Brontë siblings wrote together. I loved these and I am sure they were an inspiration to me. I used to ponder the tiny writing and pictures for a long, long time and my mother told me I would always go home and start making little books of my own.
 
Sadly, the magic of the place has gone. Of course our perception of places changes with the passage of time, but there is more to it than that here. The place is no longer Brontë Parsonage, but Brontë Parsonage Museum and the emphasis is very much now on things behind glass and with labels. As you walk through all of these quite sanitised spaces after the rooms in the house, your lasting impression is far more of a museum, than of a house in which people lived. The views of the churchyard are no more, as the windows are all covered over. And the ‘little books’ are no longer on display – a big disappointment.
 
Anyway, I went to a talk about Charlotte’s book – Villette. I was amazed to find over 40 people attended this, but only three of us had actually read the book. The speaker gave a lively talk and did a lot to persuade us that this was indeed Charlotte’s greatest work. I am still pondering this, but I can see what she means. A strange and powerful work, well ahead of its time in many ways. Takes a bit of reading though.
 
Then we went to see some friends who live in Haworth and we all went for a great meal out in a place with fine views over the moors. Then it was a lovely drive back on a gorgeous sunny evening.