In all that I’ve read and heard about the Bronte’s I expected Haworth to be more moor like, more barren and harsh but it was absolutely green and lovely. The bus ride to Hebden Bridge gave me a little more of an idea of the whole area though. We wound through the valley and through a few neighboring villages before going up and over a huge moor that was more what I had in mind. Then we descended into another green woodland valley. I managed to pick out the correct stop at the street that heads into Hardcastle Crags. The entrance was about a mile up the road. A bus was due to pass that way shortly but I thought that I would start walking.

It came along when I was about halfway there and I decided to just keep walking. It was really lovely. It was a narrow road and at first there were some houses on the left which overlooked a gorge and on the right a steep wooded hill heading up.

By the time I had made it to the National Trust car park I was a little disappointed to find out that the mill was another mile in. Well, here we go. There were a few wooded trails here and there but I decided to take the gravel road straight to the mill and then perhaps pick another trail from there. There was a group in front and behind me but far enough that there were times when I felt like I was along in the woods, which was fine to me. 

Unbeknownst to me it was an English Heritage open day and so there was no admission charge to the mill. 

It was a functioning cotton mill in the 19th century and then became a dance hall. As it is now the mail floor was the dance hall and there was a tea room upstairs. 

Water from the mill pond still drives two turbines and produces all the electricity used in the visitors centre and cafe. My interested was of course cinematic. Gibson Mill was Dotheboys Hall in Nicholas Nickleby.

After the walk through I went out behind the mill to get a clean shot of the pond from the back side.

 There was a long trail that continued into the woods along the river which I followed for a little while but wanted to head back to catch the 5pm bus into town.

I had a great time taking pictures. From the mill back to the car park I followed the trail along the river which was rocky and rather muddy in places.

There was one set of stairs heading down that was really deep mud and unavoidable. I got back to the car park at 4:40 and decided that instead of waiting for the bus I could start walking in and meet up with it later. When I met up with the main road I just barely missed one of the buses and decided to just keep walking. In the visitor’s centre it said something about in the turn of the century when Hardcastle Crags was a bit holiday destination that people would walk the two miles from town for dances and then like. I had already walked a mile so town couldn’t be too much further. It was a long but lovely walk down into town with a great early evening view of this mass of stone buildings perched along the hills of this little valley.

The rail station wasn’t directly in the town centre so that took a little more wandering and my feet were about to give out as I had racked up nearly 10 miles.

Have I mentioned before that I love Jane Eyre? Once or twice? So how could I pass up the opportunity to visit where the Bronte's grew up, only twenty miles away?  I had planned to go sooner with a friend but it didn't turn out and it still sat there on my outing list. It's so funny that sometimes I'll mention to someone that I'm going somewhere and they'll say, "Who with?"  Myself.  I have a good time.  Don't get me wrong, I'm all about having a travel buddy but I've also gotten used to striking out on my own.


As with many of my adventured half the fun is getting there.  A week or so ago I bought a train/bus day pass so I wouldn’t have to worry about passess as I hopped from bus to bus and train to train or which train I ended up taking.  I headed out hoping that the weather would hold out. I took the bus to the rail station and then a train to Keighley [Keith-ly]. When I arrived in Keighley it was rather overcast and damp and I wandered into town following my guts, map and a few handy signs to find the bus station. I was even lucky enough to walk right on to the correct bus. As is usually the case when riding a new route I got off a little early and was rewarded with a long uphill climb in the rain to the Bronte Parsonage. The ‘main street’ in Haworth is cobbled and very very steep.  Look at that.  Stone villages nestled in green hills.  Love it.

It’s lined with adorable shops, B&Bs and tea rooms. My legs were killing my by the time I reached the top and I wasn’t even sure I was going in the right place.

By the time I found the church and hence the parsonage the rain had blown over and the sun came out. Oh yeah, fall in England, it does that, I had forgotten. 

The parsonage was a large stone home behind the church. Often when you go to restored homes like this you walk through and it can be not all that exciting but I found this one very interesting, and larger and homier than most. Immediately on the left is the front room where the girls would sit and write. [I couldn't take pictures inside so these are borrowed.]

In this room Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall were written. I took a moment to let this sink in. It’s amazing isn’t it? Three parson’s daughters in rural England gathered in their living room writing literary masterpieces. 


Across the hall is their father’s study which had an intriguing looking cabinet piano. 

Behind that a small kitchen, which didn’t feel very kitchen like because there were no windows- I think they’re used to be before a later parson redid the house. To the left behind the living room was a storage room later used as bedroom for Mr. Bronte’s assistant, whom Charlotte ended up marrying later. 

Upstairs there was a servant’s bedroom which now displays relics of the church from the Bronte’s time, before a fire in 1879 (?). There were wood doors from the pews, one had a music staff and notes rather crudely carved into it. Next was a bedroom that for a time served the Bronte’s aunt and then later Charlotte. This room held many of Charlotte’s things. Some clothes, a writing desk, drawings and books etc. It was odd because people were walking through exclaiming over this or that of “Charlotte’s” and I kept turning because I thought someone was talking to me. I’ve never had another Charlotte in my class. There was one Charlotte in my piano studio at UW but that was it. Here it’s a moderately more common name. I love my name. Good job, Mom.

The next room was the children’s study, another place they would write and imagine. Bramwell, the son of the family had been given a set of wooden soldiers and they siblings wrote stories with these soldiers as their characters. As part of a temporary display in the museum an artist had come in and made a large scene with soldiers and a castle and a church made out of pages from books in the children’s study. It was really neat, as though you could see the imaginings and stories walk right out of the books.

Next was Bramwell’s room, where he died. There’s a lot of pressure as the only boy of 6 children. He tried his hand at several things but never really took to them and died young of drugs and alcohol. The next room had been his studio during a year he was a portrait painter. From this room there was a new addition on the building which was more museum like and help a wide variety of possessions, manuscripts etc from the family. It was all very well done and as is the pattern empties into a little shop in which I satisfied myself with a stack of postcards and note cards.

From the shop I headed back around to the front to take some pictures before heading back down the hill to catch the bus. While there is a rail station in Haworth it’s only served on weekends on a local route of a historic steam train. That would have been cool. Here's the coal alongside the station, all ready to go.

I needed some lunch and while all the little shops were super cute I was pretty sure they weren’t quick, easy and fast. There was a Spar grocery store across the street from the rail station, next to the bus stop. I settled on a pasty which was hot and cheap and not to mention greasy. While a pasty combines the twin delights of thick beef stew and light flaky crust they are super hard to eat without making a mess of yourself. But somehow I managed it before the bus showed up which was nice.  On to Hebden Bridge...