Day #16
Breakfast
Oops! We woke up too late for our "free" breakfast (part of the room charge). These (st/d)ody British wouldn’t give us a discount in a fit. When we mentioned that the clock they provided wasn’t set for summer time (and so was an hour behind), the owner said "Everybody plays with that clock, I wouldn’t trust it for the time" (Time is one of the hardest things to manage when on holidays - someone once said a holiday is nothing to do and all the time in the world to do it - maybe I am not on a holiday?). The kitchen was closed and he was not going to open it for anyone. So we decided to cut our losses and head into town for breakfast.
Howath has 2 parts - the main town (which we largely ignored) and the Bronte Village part (which we spent most of our time). (As previously mentioned) Bronte Village is cobble-stone streets with pubs and small shops lining them. A gentlemen as on the street "fishing" for customers for his café and he roped us in. He asked us where we from and we said "Australia". He then said how impressed he was that Sydney did a lights off day, and Australia was phasing out the incandescent light bulb (and going to fluoros) and pointed out how all his lights were fluoros). The waitress then came out and misplaced the tray on our table, which overturned and crashed pots and tea all over the floor. She ran off flustered, while the owner (who was the "fishing" guy) tried to calm the situation (being Aussies we were much more relaxed about it than everyone else was - I just said "Don't let it happen again" [just kidding ;)]). After breakfast we then made our way to Bronte Parsonage Museum.
Bronte Parsonage Museum
Bronte Parsonage Museum is the house where the sisters grew up and wrote their books. The family has quite a sad history.
Patrick Bronte married Elizabeth(?) Bramwell and had Maria, Elizabeth, Patrick Bramwell Bronte, Charlotte, Emily, and Anne Bronte. Maria and Elizabeth both died at roughly 10 years old from diseases (probably TB) that they caught at their school (which was a dump - it is written about under the pseudonym of "Lowood School" in Jane Eyre).
Mrs Bonte died of Breast Cancer (I think) when the bronte girls were small children.
Patrick Bramwell was a brat, who set off for Art school but got distracted by a pub and blew all his money, failed to hold down several jobs and then finally died (at about 30 yo) of TB. Emily contracted TB at his funeral (purportedly) but refused to get medical attention ("its just a cold, really") until it was too late, she died less than a year later (she was about 30 years old too). Anne then died a short time after that (roughly the same year) of TB (probably) in her 20s.
Charlotte was very lonely but managed to hitch up with some guy (Arthur Nicholls) and they married when she was 38 (wow! She was ancient when they got married ;). A year or 2 later she died of consumption (and she was pregnant too ;( ). A short time after that (the now old and senile) Patrick Bronte father died (but he outlived them all).
A life-long friend of Charlotte Bronte released a Biography of the Bronte family which was supported by the father (and would have been supported by Charlotte by all accounts) but was condemned by Charlotte's husband and the town of Haworth in general (because it rubbished the school and exposed an affair in the time).
The Bronte Sister pretty much did not like the town of Haworth (and didn’t have much good to say about it). They mostly hung around the house and wrote and egged each other on with their writings. Because they were women, to get published they assumed the (male) pseudonyms of Currie Bell, Ellis Bell, and Acton Bell (see the connection? ;).
Their writing was criticized by the establishment for being coarse and unfeminine (people could still tell the writers were female). For example their stories contained kissing (god forbid!!) which women in those days should not write about.
Patrick Bronte (the father) did not like the state of the town and in 1850(? - I am writing this all from memory ;), commissioned a guy called Babbage to do a review of the town, The report that came back was damning. 41% of children in the town died before 6 years old, the average life expectancy was 27 years ("worse than some of the unhealthiest parts of London"). Only 1 in 4 1/2 houses had privvies (toilet). The place stank of human waste. He recommended amongst other things:
- That sewerage be installed to take away human waste
- That water closets be installed
- That fresh water be made available on tap
- That the town stop the practice of putting stone slabs on top of graves in the graveyard (apparently this is unhygenic because it suppresses the decomposition of human bodies - they never stopped doing this but they did plant large trees to aid in the process - Amy was not feeling well at all these things - and the green moss over all the graves spooked her too)
The Bronte's had a low of opinion of Haworth and I say that in a way I have to agree with them. The town had no intellectual attractions apart from this family and still has none today (in fact its 3 main attractions are the Bronte Parsonage, a wool shed, and some mines). The place we stayed in was very lavish, and the "old" town is cute but otherwise the place just looks like a typical small town. The locals also exploit the Bronte name everywhere even though by all accounts they had a poor relationship with the family at the time.
Bronte Wool Shed
We left the museum and then went to the wool shed (called the Bronte wool shed - the irony is that Charlotte Bronte once described the place as "the chimney that vomited vile black fumes"). It was nothing amazing and apart from an original loom on display was pretty much just a shop.
Dinner
We went down to the Old White Lion again for dinner. Even though Haworth as a town lacks greatness (and probably relies too heavily on its tourism - they better pray that people don’t lose interest in the Brontes), the individual shops in it are excellent. I would recommend the Old White Lion to anyone looking for a place to eat and drink.
(Apart from the bar menu being a limited menu - the usual English faire - but I think this is the same in all English pubs). We then headed back to the guest house.
Sleep
We listened to music again for the rest of the night and then slept in preparation for our big train trip (trips actually) from Haworth to Hastings (Haworth-Keighley-Leeds-London-Hastings).
