Postcard From Bronte Country: The Full Bronte

After traipsing around the Peak District for nearly a week, the next stop on my somewhat literary-inspired solo trip was Haworth, home of the Bronte sisters and the delightful Yorkshire accent.

I first read Wuthering Heights when I was 15, and may have watched the 1992 movie version a dozen or so times possibly because it starred Ralph Fiennes. Allegedly.

Over the years, I went on to read Jane Eyre, Agnes Grey, Villette, and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. I also read a good portion of Elizabeth Gaskell's The Life of Charlotte Bronte, commissioned by her father Patrick after her death and became increasingly intrigued by the isolated lives of the three sisters and their brother Branwell. So when I started planning this trip, Haworth was at the top of the list both because of the Bronte connection and the outstanding beauty of Yorkshire. Walking on the windswept moors sounded like a nice contrast to the picturesque beauty of the Peak District.

England really does offer a variety of different landscapes for such a small place. A local man I met commented that "In France it's vineyard after vineyard. Beautiful, but it's all the same. Here, everything is so different even just a couple hours away." Indeed, Yorkshire might as well have been another country. In any case, it certainly felt like I was traveling father than just two hours north. I took a local bus from Eyam to the train station in Sheffield. From there it was a  an hour ride to Leeds. Because of cancellations of some earlier trains, mine was so packed I couldn't even take my seat and was made to stand, along with a dozen other people, in the crowded entryway for the journey. In Leeds I switched to a local train for a half hour ride to the town of Keighley. There is a bus that runs from Keighley to Haworth with a stop near the YHA where I stayed, but I didn't learn this until later. Instead, during my research I had read about a steam engine that did a loop through the Worth Valley, stopping at Haworth, and thought this would be a cool alternative to paying for a cab. I bought a round trip ticket because I thought I would take it back to Keighley in a few days, then while on the train realized it wasn't running during the week since it was no longer summer. So, for 10 GBP I road a steam engine for 20 minutes. 

                      The steam train on it's way back to 1862

I was also expecting Haworth to be tiny--comparable to the size of Eyam--but it is not. It was much bigger, though apparently not big enough to have a library--kind of sad, considering its most famous locals. As I got off the train the conductor helped me with my bag and asked where I was staying. When I said the YHA he suggested I should probably get a cab, since the hostel was at the top of a steep hill. I laughed and said I was used to hills, having just come from the Peak District.

I went along my way and nearly broke my neck on the two steps down to the street. An older couple who had been on the train with me and watched me almost fall on my face also inquired where I was staying. When I cheerily answered that I was close by at the YHA they, like the conductor, said I should try to take a taxi or the bus, which they were waiting for. "It's just at the top of the hill, but it's a steep walk," they warned. I had read a lot about the hills of the Peak District, but no one had really said anything about Haworth. I decided to heed their warning and got on the bus with them. True to their word it was a short ride, no more than five minutes, but it was up a long incline. The YHA is housed in the former mansion of a wool merchant and, as luck would have it, my room was on the top floor, four flights up. However, I was promised that the views were worth it. 

Indeed, the stress of taking a bus, two trains, a steam train, and another bus ride to get here all melted away when I saw this:

The town of Haworth has a reputation as being a mucky, dirty place (more on that in a minute) but I was struck by its beauty long before I even reached the moors. I would walk up and down that hill nearly every day during my stay, but the view pictured above always filled me with excitement. Well, maybe not on the way up but sometimes fun stuff like horse peek-a-boo would happen to keep me entertained: 

                                             I see you!

There was also a little old lady whose front yard was entirely covered with little ceramic gnomes who always greeted me with a 'Hullo love!" as I was walking by. The whole place is really quite charming and I always felt comfortable and safe walking around, even as a solo female traveler. I have a hunch that the Brontes attract many types like me. 

Even after days spent walking up the steep mounts of the Peak District, I was surprised by how hilly Haworth was. The main street was about a fifteen minute walk from the hostel but the street itself is one of the steepest I've ever encountered. Why anyone thought this was the ideal place to build a town, I have no idea. Just the thought of carting stones up that road makes my back hurt. However, the top of the street offers some amazing views. The village has also done a nice job of preserving many of its historical buildings on Main street--so many, in fact, that the Brontes would recognize much of the area today.

At the top of Main street is the parish church, the parsonage which is now the Bronte Parsonage Museum, and the cemetery where an estimated 40,000 bodies have been buried since the 17th century. 

This, of course, wasn't very good planning and the overcrowded graveyard poisoned the water of the village below. Typhus, dysentery, scarlet fever and consumption (now known as tuberculosis) were prevalent. Over 40% of the town's children died before age 6 while the average life expectancy was only 26. During his tenure as curate Patrick Bronte worked to improve sanitation in the village. The churchyard was even shut down for a time by order of the Queen after an investigation by the General Board of Health. Some blame the village's abysmal sanitation for killing the Brontes themselves, though this is unclear. Today, however, conditions are much improved at the main street is lined with a number of lovely shops and cafes. I spend a good deal of time in Cobbles and Clay, first drawn by the promise of free wifi and then by the delicious food.

                       The first of many Yorkshire scones...

The day after I arrived I visited the Bronte Parsonage museum, which has been set up to look as it did when the family lived there. It is a wonderful home museum and feels very personal, perhaps because home was such a major part of their lives. The sisters lived, worked, and, in the case of Charlotte and Emily, died here. 

There are a number of items owned by the Brontes on display, including some of Charlotte Bronte's tiny wedding clothes (she was 4ft 9 in.) and the couch where Emily supposedly died. One can look at the dining room where the sisters did most of their writing, often taking turns walking around the table discussing their novels aloud.  The Brontes were plagued by tragedy which seemed to come in waves. The first contained the deaths of their mother from cancer in 1821 followed by the two eldest siblings, Maria and Elizabeth, in 1825. The second wave struck in 1848 with the sudden death of Branwell (most likely due to his drinking and opium habits) followed by Emily, who was ill with tuberculosis three months later.  Anne, also ill with tuberculosis, set out for the coast the following May to try a sea cure but died in Scarborough four days after her arrival. She was 29. This would be too much to bear for anyone, but for these uncommonly close siblings, Charlotte's grief is unimaginable. She threw herself into her writing, publishing Shirley and Villette, and traveled to London, enjoying the celebrity of her newfound literary fame. Charlotte did eventually find some happiness at the end of her life after marrying Arthur Nichols, her father's curate, in 1854. But, as seems to be the fate of the Brontes, this happiness was short-lived. She died less than a year later in 1855, in the early stages of pregnancy, shortly before her 39th birthday. Their father, Patrick Bronte, continued to live in the house until his death in 1861 at the age of 84 having outlived his wife and all six children. 

After leaving the museum I was, understandably, left with a sense of overwhelming sadness. Behind the museum is a path leading onto the moors so beloved by the sisters. One can walk along Bronte Way to Bronte Falls, a good  2 mile hike from the museum. Another mile beyond that is Top Withens which, according to local legend, was the inspiration for Wuthering Heights. 

Between such a tragic family history and their dramatic surroundings it becomes very obvious why the Brontes wrote the way they did. Charlotte once called Haworth a 'strange, uncivilized little place.' The landscape is rugged and raw and when the wind blows (which is normally the case) it chills you to the bone. And yet, it is one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. 

"This is certainly a beautiful country! In all England, I do not believe I could have fixed on a situation so completely removed from the stir of society."~Wuthering Heights

The sisters walked on the moors daily, in all kinds of weather, and it was fun to imagine Emily or Charlotte or Anne going over plot points and character development in their heads along the very same path I was taking. Haunting is the best word I can think of to describe it. 

If the Peak District is like being on a movie set, a visit to the moors really feels like being in a Bronte novel.

 

It took me about two hours to reach Bronte Falls, which is at the bottom of a steep little valley and provides a nice respite before turning back or heading on towards Top Withens. The creek seemed pretty high when I visited but I guess it can be closer to a trickle if it hasn't rained. There is supposedly a chair shaped rock that Charlotte used to sit on but I couldn't find it.
  

After resting a bit, I climbed up the rocky face of the valley towards Top Withens but ultimately decided against making the hike because 1.) I was exhausted 2.) I still had to walk all the way back to the hostel 3.) I wanted to get off the moors before it got dark. By the time I got back, all I wanted to do was soak in a hot bath but had to settle for a hot shower instead. 

The following day it rained, which was just as well. The leg injury I had sustained the previous month needed some rest so I used the morning to get some writing done and then explored more of the town in the late afternoon when the rain let up a bit. Though all the while the moors were on my mind. When I woke up the next morning the sun was shining, though it was supposed to rain all day. But my time in the midlands of England had taught me not to trust the weather forecast--it seemed to change on a dime. I thought of Top Withens and decided to take a chance. 

In Wuthering Heights, Cathy claims that "I'm sure I should be myself were I once among the heather on those hills," and indeed there is something so stimulating about walking there. Though I had spent four hours walking to and from the falls, I was excited to return just two days later for an even longer hike. I packed a light lunch, charged my ipod, and layered up. When I left, the sun was gone and the sky had turned a light gray, but no rain fell. By the time I reached Bronte Falls to eat lunch, the sky had darkened but this was my last chance to get there before leaving Haworth and there was no way I was turning back. 

You can see Top Withens from a mile away. It is nothing more than a dark blip on the hill, but it looms ahead of you as you walk towards it. 

During my two hikes I took a cue from the Brontes and thought about pieces I was working on, but mostly I just focused on being there and being alone in the moment. I got a lot of funny looks when I told people I was going to be traveling alone for parts of my travels and even though there were times when it was a challenge, I'm so glad I did it. Hiking on the moors was one of the best experiences of this whole trip and as much as I want other people to see and understand how beautiful it is, I'm so glad I was there by myself. In those moments when we are truly alone we can learn things that would otherwise elude us and walking the moors is a great place for some deep contemplation.

"Wuthering" is Yorkshire slag for bad weather and by the time I reached Top Withens, the wind started blowing and scatterings of rain drops came and went. I was cold and my cheeks and nose were red with windburn. I was exhausted and my hip throbbed, yet I felt exhilarated. 

"Pure, bracing ventilation they must have up there at all times, indeed: one may guess the power of the north wind blowing over the edge, by the excessive slant of a few stunted firs at the end of the house; and by a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs one way, as if craving alms of the sun. "~Wuthering Heights

I spent a long time at Top Withens despite the chilly wind and rain because I wanted to absorb as much as possible. When I had downloaded the pictures from the previous day I was immediately disappointed because I realized that I hadn't truly captured what I had experienced. As lovely as they are, it's just not the same. Not even close. 

And even though I'm fairly certain that hike is the reason I was still limping 2 weeks later, walking in Emily's footsteps  and taking in the landscape that helped inspire her work was truly one of the most awe-inspiring moments of my life. 

Postcard From The Peak District: Austen, Bronte, The Plague, and Mr. Darcy

"We shall not be like other travelers, without being able to give one accurate idea of anything. We WILL know where we have gone--we WILL recollect what we have seen. Lakes, mountains, and rivers shall not be jumbled together in our imaginations"~Elizabeth Bennet

I first read about the Peaks District when it played a pivotal role in the plot of Pride and Prejudice: Elizabeth journeys to Derbyshire on a holiday with her aunt and uncle because the lakes were too far. As she says before their trip "What are young men to mountains?" Of course, it is also home to Mr. Darcy and, well, we all know how that worked out. 

But I became more aware of the area's outstanding natural beauty while watching one of the many television shows or films shot there.  The Peak District seems to have embraced it's association with televised costume dramas--but it's worth pointing out that before the location scouts came, the area served as inspiration for settings in both Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte's most beloved works.

Some places let you down, like Epcot center or your local harvest fair. (Every fall I get duped into thinking fairs are cute and quaint but then when I go it's full of packs of rural teenagers huddled together gorging on cotton candy and wearing far too much eyeliner.) But, unlike Walt Disney's vision of the future or the Big E's cream puffs, England's Peak District surpasses your expectations. You can spend the whole time wondering if you've actually wandered onto a movie set. Pop in your headphones and play the soundtrack to Pride and Prejudice and you could be the star of your own film. Not that I would know anything about that...  

I stayed at a youth hostel in the tiny village of Eyam, also known as 'the plague village', because if you're me, you want to be as close to a historical bubonic plague site as possible. 

It looks like the quintessential English village--something you might come across in an Agatha Christie novel. Except instead of a disgruntled school marm or vengeful stable boy, the bubonic plague was doing most of the killing. 

The only thing scarier than the bubonic plague being delivered to your doorstep are awkwardly posed mannequins in bad wigs.

The downside to staying in Eyam was that when I had to actually get around the area I was at the mercy of the local bus system. I had prepared for this by spending far too much time on a TripAdvisor forum solely dedicated to the purpose of helping visitors without cars manage public transportation. I don't want to say it is impossible, because clearly I managed. But if you do go, I strongly suggest driving unless you like the idea of carrying your luggage up deceptively steep hills or returning to your hostel by 3 pm each afternoon. 

This photo is on an incline because I was on an incline. Also, llamas!

In Pride and Prejudice, the nearby (but poorly bus serviced) town of Bakewell fills in for Lambton--very pleasant, rather touristy and the namesake for Bakewell puddings and tarts. 

Though much like NYC's Original Ray's pizza there is much debate over which establishment was the first to offer it. My money is on The Old Original Bakewell Pudding Shop, mostly because it was the best one I had. 

A short (and frequent) bus ride away is Chatsworth, the grand estate of the Duke of Devonshire, and inspiration for Pemberley, the ancestral home of the Darcys. 

"It was a large, handsome stone building, standing well on rising ground, and backed by a ridge of high woody hills…"

In the 1995 miniseries starring little known actor Colin Firth, Lyme Park in Disley, a couple hours northwest of where I was,  served as Pemberly. But in the 2006 film version, Chatsworth takes on the part it was born to play. Perhaps it isn't surprising then that about a quarter of Chatsworth's giftshop is devoted exclusively to Mr. Darcy.This includes a greeting card featuring an illustration of Colin Firth making this face:

I actually felt embarrassed for a moment because such a thing actually exists for people to buy. I prefer this face instead:

"Dearest, loveliest Emily. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire the new Monsoon dress I bought for you."

"Yes, of course we can sit on the couch and watch the entirety of the television program Parks and Recreation. I too enjoy Ron Swanson's moustache and Andy's silly antics."

"Is it really necessary for me to walk around in this wetted shirt all afternoon? It is? Very well."

But, if I'm completely honest with myself, I probably would have bought the card if no one had been around and if the cash register was instead manned by a fancy robot with a British accent--think C3-PO in a powdered wig. I mean, who am I to judge? I had just spent the entire tour pretending to be Elizabeth Bennet during her inaugural visit to Pemberley. 

It was a bit difficult, what with the mob of tourists around, but if I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the swarms of old Germans on either side (it's always Germans), I could, for a very brief moment, hear Darcy calling to me from the boudoir. And, in that instance, he was definitely making this face:

After visiting Chatsworth I decided to check out Haddon Hall, a Tudor manor that was supposed to contrast nicely with the Georgian elegance of the former. And, like Chatsworth, it also has it's fair share of movie credits: The Princess Bride, Elizabeth, Jane Eyre, etc, etc. 

It was amazing. The place even smelled old, which probably sounds gross but really just added to the whole experience. 

But, I think it's very telling that there weren't any souvenirs of Orson Welles or Michael Fassbender as Mr. Rochester. There may have been some DVDs, but that's it. No one goes to bits over that character. I suppose he's a bit too dour for that sort of thing, plus there's the whole 'locking his first wife in the attic' debacle. Whereas Darcy may act all dark and serious, Rochester actually lives it. And it ain't pretty.

A little to the north, near the village of Hathersage, one can visit North Lees Hall, which was allegedly Charlotte Bronte's inspiration for Thornfield Hall in Jane Eyre and, as several area brochures made sure to mention, where Mrs. Rochester threw herself off the roof. First of all, spoiler alert? Secondly, what-- 'Home of Mr. Rochester' wasn't dramatic enough? Even the Peak District tourist board seems to adhere to the adage: "If it bleeds, it leads." Interestingly, Jane Eyre got her surname from a wealthy local family, and as is befitting a well-respected family, they now have several area pubs named after them. 

Hathersage is also home to Little John's grave, which made my earlier observation that the area reminded me of Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves slightly less embarrassing, and  

Stanage Edge, where you can recreate Keira Knightly's stance in the inferior non-Colin Firth version of Pride and Prejudice, as a twentysomething British guy helpfully informed me. Apparently he has a picture of himself doing the same pose. But, sadly on the day I traveled to Hathersage it poured for hours. I tried to wait it out but when the lone bus back to Eyam came, away I went. 

Caraway Seed Cake From Jane Eyre

Poor Jane Eyre. Girl can’t get a break. First, her parents die of typhus. Then, her beloved uncle and guardian Mr. Reed dies, leaving her in the care of an aunt who despises her and encourages Jane’s abuse at the hands of her cousins. After a particularly distressing conflict with her cousin John, she is sent away to the Lowood School for girls, where she finds a new abuser in Mr. Brocklehurst, the school’s headmaster. Eventually, Jane befriends a fellow student, Helen Burns, and finds a supporter in her teacher, Miss Temple. 

In one of the first bright spots in the novel Miss Temple invites Helen and Jane for tea, and shows the young girls true kindness: 

“[...] she got up, unlocked a drawer, and taking from it a parcel wrapped in paper, disclosed presently to our eyes a good-sized seed-cake.

‘I meant to give each of you some of this to take with you,’ said she: ‘but as there is so little toast, you must have it now,’ and she proceeded to cut slices with a generous hand.

We feasted that evening as on nectar and ambrosia; and not the least delight of the entertainment was the smile of gratification with which our hostess regarded us, as we satisfied our famished appetites on the delicate fare she liberally supplied.”

I mean, at this point, this was probably the best afternoon of Jane’s life. Of course, (SPOILER ALERT) then Helen goes on to die of consumption in her arms. 

Seed cakes were quite popular in Britain well into the 19^th century and were usually flavored with caraway seeds—hence the name. You may know caraway seeds from their role in rye bread, but they actually work nicely in sweet breads too. According to Andrea Broomfield in her book Food and Cooking In Victorian England: A History, seed cakes originated in East Anglia in the 16^th Century where they were traditionally served during the harvest time. Caraway seeds were also thought to aid in digestion, so this cake was served after large meals. It became most popular during the Victorian age and was frequently served with tea. It was usually flavored with some kind of spirit, such as Madeira wine or brandy, was nicknamed a “keeping cake” because it didn’t spoil easily. 

I couldn’t find a recipe from the 1840s, so one from the infamous Mrs. Beeton will have to do. She was kind of like the Martha Stewart of her day. She came up with such revolutionary ideas as listing ingredients at the beginning of the recipe and telling readers how long they should cook something for:

A Very Good Seed-Cake: 1861 From Mrs. Beeton’s ‘Household Management’

 INGREDIENTS – 1 lb. of butter, 6 eggs, 3/4 lb. of sifted sugar, pounded mace and grated nutmeg to taste, 1 lb. of flour, 3/4 oz. of caraway seeds, 1 wineglassful of brandy.

Mode.—Beat the butter to a cream; dredge in the flour; add the sugar, mace, nutmeg, and caraway seeds, and mix these ingredients well together. Whisk the eggs, stir to them the brandy, and beat the cake again for 10 minutes. Put it into a tin lined with buttered paper, and bake it from 1–1/2 to 2 hours. This cake would be equally nice made with currants, and omitting the caraway seeds.

Time.—1–1/2 to 2 hours.

I decided to find a recipe that didn't include 6 eggs because I like my cholesterol level. This one from GoodToKnow.co.uk seemed like a great balance between classic ingredients and modern methods:

Caraway Seed Loaf Cake

Recipe

• 175g (6oz) butter, softened
• 175g (6oz) caster sugar
• 3 medium eggs
• 250g (8oz) self-raising flour
• 38g jar caraway seeds
• 2tbsp milk
• 1kg (2lb) loaf tin, buttered and lined with a strip of baking parchment

 Method

1. Tip all the ingredients into a bowl and beat until smooth. Spoon mixture into the loaf tin and level the surface.
2. Bake the cake in the centre of the oven 160°C (320°F, gas mark 3) for 45 mins-1 hr, or until the cake feels just firm to the touch in the centre, and a skewer comes out clean when inserted into cake.
3. Remove the cake from the oven and leave to cool in the tin for 10-15 mins.
4. Transfer it to a wire rack to cool completely.

The amount of eggs gives this cake a rather spongey texture, much different from the sweetbreads I'm used to, but it all works to create a nice, fluffy cake . However, I can see why wine or brandy was used to help preserve this cake because it seems to get a bit mushy from all the butter after a few days.

Now invite this guy over to tea and you'll be all set: