Every year we would make a trip across to Haworth to visit the home of my beloved Brontë sisters. Then the pandemic hit and we didn't visit for three years. On Friday my wonderful husband asked "Would you like to go to the Parsonage tomorrow?" Needless to say he scored a billion good husband points in that one moment.
So yesterday we got up bright and early and headed to Haworth. We were there by ten o'clock and I practically ran to see Charlotte, Emily and Anne's home again.
As we stood and looked once again at the Piano Emily used to play and the table the sisters walked around reading out their stories I felt like I was back at an old friend's house. One who you may not see for a while but when you meet it's like you've never been away.
Just walking around the house, looking at the kitchen where Emily baked bread, the study Charlotte had made for her husband, which now houses the copied out manuscript of Wuthering Heights, was a joy.
The only thing that disappointed me a little was that when I entered Charlotte's room, where they usually have one of her dresses on display, this time they had a dress made for the recent film Emily. It's a beautiful dress, made to a pattern described by Emily in her diary and I was glad to see it but I would have been happier to see it in another room - I'm too much of a purist aren't I? As you can see it is a beautiful dress.
After a break for tea and a cream scone at Cobbles and Clay we went to visit St Michael's church again.
Though we visit it every time we go, to see the Brontë chapel and the plaque above the crypt where Charlotte and Emily lie, I always learn something new. This time I got chatting to one of the guides and he told me a few interesting facts about old ministers and showed me something that I had never noticed in the stained glass American window. I won't say what but have a look in the bottom right hand corner next time you visit and see if you can spot something not quite right.
From Haworth we went to visit another old literary friend. This time to the beautiful village of Heptonstall. As my son said "Well of course you did, you always do."
Yesterday Sylvia Plath's grave was still filled with flowers as it was only 7 days since the anniversary of her death. Bizarrely I always stay longer at her grave than I do at my beloved Brontë's graves. Maybe because I have more experience of depression than consumption, maybe because I am a Mum who has struggled with winter too, maybe because I just love The Bell Jar. I really don't know. I just feel a strange affinity to her when I'm there.
Yesterday as I said "Goodbye Sylvia" and walked away the rain began to pour. Very strange - no it's not, you're probably saying, it's Yorkshire in February! Well having visited Sylvia Plath's grave many times I have never been to visit Ted Hughes' parents to pay my respects. They gave us a fine Poet Laureate. This time, rain or no rain, I was determined to find them - and I did.
I felt a sense of completion as though my task was done. Respects had been paid and it was now time to leave.
I just had one more visit to make before I'd earned my cup of tea in the Towngate cafe. I had to see the ruins of St Thomas a Becket Church. My husband will tell you that I have photographed those ruins from every angle over the years and I probably have but the weather may have been different and there maybe some change in the ruins that is barely discernible so I went again.
The final delight of the day was in the Towngate Cafe. They had Sylvia Plath's lemon meringue pie. I got chatting to the owner and it seems that the organisers of Plath Fest had asked if they would like to join in with the festival and gave them scans of recipes in Sylvia's own handwriting. Apparently it was tricky to make as the measurements were in American units and the method was vague but they worked it out as best they could.
So yesterday, after a long time apart, we visited some old literary friends and they even gave us cake!
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