For a right understanding of the life of my dear friend, Charlotte
Bronte, it appears to me more necessary in her case than in most others,
that the reader should be made acquainted with the peculiar forms of
population and society amidst which her earliest years were passed, and
from which both her own and her sisters' first impressions of human life
must have been received. I shall endeavour, therefore, before proceeding
further with my work, to present some idea of the character of the people
of Haworth, and the surrounding districts.
Even an inhabitant of the neighbouring county of Lancaster is struck by
the peculiar force of character which the Yorkshiremen display. This
makes them interesting as a race; while, at the same time, as
individuals, the remarkable degree of self-sufficiency they possess gives
them an air of independence rather apt to repel a stranger. I use this
expression "self-sufficiency" in the largest sense. Conscious of the
strong sagacity and the dogged power of will which seem almost the
birthright of the natives of the West Riding, each man relies upon
himself, and seeks no help at the hands of his neighbour. From rarely
requiring the assistance of others, he comes to doubt the power of
bestowing it: from the general success of his efforts, he grows to depend
upon them, and to over-esteem his own energy and power. He belongs to
that keen, yet short-sighted class, who consider suspicion of all whose
honesty is not proved as a sign of wisdom. The practical qualities of a
man are held in great respect; but the want of faith in strangers and
untried modes of action, extends itself even to the manner in which the
virtues are regarded; and if they produce no immediate and tangible
result, they are rather put aside as unfit for this busy, striving world;
especially if they are more of a passive than an active character. The
affections are strong and their foundations lie deep: but they are
not--such affections seldom are--wide-spreading; nor do they show
themselves on the surface. Indeed, there is little display of any of the
amenities of life among this wild, rough population. Their accost is
curt; their accent and tone of speech blunt and harsh. Something of this
may, probably, be attributed to the freedom of mountain air and of
isolated hill-side life; something be derived from their rough Norse
ancestry. They have a quick perception of character, and a keen sense of
humour; the dwellers among them must be prepared for certain
uncomplimentary, though most likely true, observations, pithily
expressed. Their feelings are not easily roused, but their duration is
lasting. Hence there is much close friendship and faithful service; and
for a correct exemplification of the form in which the latter frequently
appears, I need only refer the reader of "Wuthering Heights" to the
character of "Joseph."
From the same cause come also enduring grudges, in some cases amounting
to hatred, which occasionally has been bequeathed from generation to
generation. I remember Miss Bronte once telling me that it was a saying
round about Haworth, "Keep a stone in thy pocket seven year; turn it, and
keep it seven year longer, that it may be ever ready to thine hand when
thine enemy draws near."
The West Riding men are sleuth-hounds in pursuit of money. Miss Bronte
related to my husband a curious instance illustrative of this eager
desire for riches. A man that she knew, who was a small manufacturer,
had engaged in many local speculations which had always turned out well,
and thereby rendered him a person of some wealth. He was rather past
middle age, when he bethought him of insuring his life; and he had only
just taken out his policy, when he fell ill of an acute disease which was
certain to end fatally in a very few days. The doctor,
half-hesitatingly, revealed to him his hopeless state. "By jingo!" cried
he, rousing up at once into the old energy, "I shall _do_ the insurance
company! I always was a lucky fellow!"
These men are keen and shrewd; faithful and persevering in following out
a good purpose, fell in tracking an evil one. They are not emotional;
they are not easily made into either friends or enemies; but once lovers
or haters, it is difficult to change their feeling. They are a powerful
race both in mind and body, both for good and for evil.
The woollen manufacture was introduced into this district in the days of
Edward III. It is traditionally said that a colony of Flemings came over
and settled in the West Riding to teach the inhabitants what to do with
their wool. The mixture of agricultural with manufacturing labour that
ensued and prevailed in the West Riding up to a very recent period,
sounds pleasant enough at this distance of time, when the classical
impression is left, and the details forgotten, or only brought to light
by those who explore the few remote parts of England where the custom
still lingers. The idea of the mistress and her maidens spinning at the
great wheels while the master was abroad ploughing his fields, or seeing
after his flocks on the purple moors, is very poetical to look back upon;
but when such life actually touches on our own days, and we can hear
particulars from the lips of those now living, there come out details of
coarseness--of the uncouthness of the rustic mingled with the sharpness
of the tradesman--of irregularity and fierce lawlessness--that rather mar
the vision of pastoral innocence and simplicity. Still, as it is the
exceptional and exaggerated characteristics of any period that leave the
most vivid memory behind them, it would be wrong, and in my opinion
faithless, to conclude that such and such forms of society and modes of
living were not best for the period when they prevailed, although the
abuses they may have led into, and the gradual progress of the world,
have made it well that such ways and manners should pass away for ever,
and as preposterous to attempt to return to them, as it would be for a
man to return to the clothes of his childhood.
The patent granted to Alderman Cockayne, and the further restrictions
imposed by James I. on the export of undyed woollen cloths (met by a
prohibition on the part of the States of Holland of the import of English-
dyed cloths), injured the trade of the West Riding manufacturers
considerably. Their independence of character, their dislike of
authority, and their strong powers of thought, predisposed them to
rebellion against the religious dictation of such men as Laud, and the
arbitrary rule of the Stuarts; and the injury done by James and Charles
to the trade by which they gained their bread, made the great majority of
them Commonwealth men. I shall have occasion afterwards to give one or
two instances of the warm feelings and extensive knowledge on subjects of
both home and foreign politics existing at the present day in the
villages lying west and east of the mountainous ridge that separates
Yorkshire and Lancashire; the inhabitants of which are of the same race
and possess the same quality of character.
The descendants of many who served under Cromwell at Dunbar, live on the
same lands as their ancestors occupied then; and perhaps there is no part
of England where the traditional and fond recollections of the
Commonwealth have lingered so long as in that inhabited by the woollen
manufacturing population of the West Riding, who had the restrictions
taken off their trade by the Protector's admirable commercial policy. I
have it on good authority that, not thirty years ago, the phrase, "in
Oliver's days," was in common use to denote a time of unusual prosperity.
The class of Christian names prevalent in a district is one indication of
the direction in which its tide of hero-worship sets. Grave enthusiasts
in politics or religion perceive not the ludicrous side of those which
they give to their children; and some are to be found, still in their
infancy, not a dozen miles from Haworth, that will have to go through
life as Lamartine, Kossuth, and Dembinsky. And so there is a testimony
to what I have said, of the traditional feeling of the district, in the
fact that the Old Testament names in general use among the Puritans are
yet the prevalent appellations in most Yorkshire families of middle or
humble rank, whatever their religious persuasion may be. There are
numerous records, too, that show the kindly way in which the ejected
ministers were received by the gentry, as well as by the poorer part of
the inhabitants, during the persecuting days of Charles II. These little
facts all testify to the old hereditary spirit of independence, ready
ever to resist authority which was conceived to be unjustly exercised,
that distinguishes the people of the West Riding to the present day.
The parish of Halifax touches that of Bradford, in which the chapelry of
Haworth is included; and the nature of the ground in the two parishes is
much the of the same wild and hilly description. The abundance of coal,
and the number of mountain streams in the district, make it highly
favourable to manufactures; and accordingly, as I stated, the inhabitants
have for centuries been engaged in making cloth, as well as in
agricultural pursuits. But the intercourse of trade failed, for a long
time, to bring amenity and civilization into these outlying hamlets, or
widely scattered dwellings. Mr. Hunter, in his "Life of Oliver Heywood,"
quotes a sentence out of a memorial of one James Rither, living in the
reign of Elizabeth, which is partially true to this day:--
"They have no superior to court, no civilities to practise: a sour and
sturdy humour is the consequence, so that a stranger is shocked by a tone
of defiance in every voice, and an air of fierceness in every
countenance."
Even now, a stranger can hardly ask a question without receiving some
crusty reply, if, indeed, he receive any at all. Sometimes the sour
rudeness amounts to positive insult. Yet, if the "foreigner" takes all
this churlishness good-humouredly, or as a matter of course, and makes
good any claim upon their latent kindliness and hospitality, they are
faithful and generous, and thoroughly to be relied upon. As a slight
illustration of the roughness that pervades all classes in these out-of-
the-way villages, I may relate a little adventure which happened to my
husband and myself, three years ago, at Addingham--
From Penigent to Pendle Hill,
From Linton to Long-_Addingham_
And all that Craven coasts did tell, &c.--
one of the places that sent forth its fighting men to the famous old
battle of Flodden Field, and a village not many miles from Haworth.
We were driving along the street, when one of those ne'er-do-weel lads
who seem to have a kind of magnetic power for misfortunes, having jumped
into the stream that runs through the place, just where all the broken
glass and bottles are thrown, staggered naked and nearly covered with
blood into a cottage before us. Besides receiving another bad cut in the
arm, he had completely laid open the artery, and was in a fair way of
bleeding to death--which, one of his relations comforted him by saying,
would be likely to "save a deal o' trouble."
When my husband had checked the effusion of blood with a strap that one
of the bystanders unbuckled from his leg, he asked if a surgeon had been
sent for.
"Yoi," was the answer; "but we dunna think he'll come."
"Why not?"
"He's owd, yo seen, and asthmatic, and it's up-hill."
My husband taking a boy for his guide, drove as fast as he could to the
surgeon's house, which was about three-quarters of a mile off, and met
the aunt of the wounded lad leaving it.
"Is he coming?" inquired my husband.
"Well, he didna' say he wouldna' come."
"But, tell him the lad may bleed to death."
"I did."
"And what did he say?"
"Why, only, 'D-n him; what do I care?'"
It ended, however, in his sending one of his sons, who, though not
brought up to "the surgering trade," was able to do what was necessary in
the way of bandages and plasters. The excuse made for the surgeon was,
that "he was near eighty, and getting a bit doited, and had had a matter
o' twenty childer."
Among the most unmoved of the lookers-on was the brother of the boy so
badly hurt; and while he was lying in a pool of blood on the flag floor,
and crying out how much his arm was "warching," his stoical relation
stood coolly smoking his bit of black pipe, and uttered not a single word
of either sympathy or sorrow.
Forest customs, existing in the fringes of dark wood, which clothed the
declivity of the hills on either side, tended to brutalize the population
until the middle of the seventeenth century. Execution by beheading was
performed in a summary way upon either men or women who were guilty of
but very slight crimes; and a dogged, yet in some cases fine,
indifference to human life was thus generated. The roads were so
notoriously bad, even up to the last thirty years, that there was little
communication between one village and another; if the produce of industry
could be conveyed at stated times to the cloth market of the district, it
was all that could be done; and, in lonely houses on the distant hill-
side, or by the small magnates of secluded hamlets, crimes might be
committed almost unknown, certainly without any great uprising of popular
indignation calculated to bring down the strong arm of the law. It must
be remembered that in those days there was no rural constabulary; and the
few magistrates left to themselves, and generally related to one another,
were most of them inclined to tolerate eccentricity, and to wink at
faults too much like their own.
Men hardly past middle life talk of the days of their youth, spent in
this part of the country, when, during the winter months, they rode up to
the saddle-girths in mud; when absolute business was the only reason for
stirring beyond the precincts of home, and when that business was
conducted under a pressure of difficulties which they themselves, borne
along to Bradford market in a swift first-class carriage, can hardly
believe to have been possible. For instance, one woollen manufacturer
says that, not five and twenty years ago, he had to rise betimes to set
off on a winter's-morning in order to be at Bradford with the great
waggon-load of goods manufactured by his father; this load was packed
over-night, but in the morning there was a great gathering around it, and
flashing of lanterns, and examination of horses' feet, before the
ponderous waggon got under way; and then some one had to go groping here
and there, on hands and knees, and always sounding with a staff down the
long, steep, slippery brow, to find where the horses might tread safely,
until they reached the comparative easy-going of the deep-rutted main
road. People went on horseback over the upland moors, following the
tracks of the pack-horses that carried the parcels, baggage, or goods
from one town to another, between which there did not happen to be a
highway.
But in winter, all such communication was impossible, by reason of the
snow which lay long and late on the bleak high ground. I have known
people who, travelling by the mail-coach over Blackstone Edge, had been
snowed up for a week or ten days at the little inn near the summit, and
obliged to spend both Christmas and New Year's Day there, till the store
of provisions laid in for the use of the landlord and his family falling
short before the inroads of the unexpected visitors, they had recourse to
the turkeys, geese, and Yorkshire pies with which the coach was laden;
and even these were beginning to fail, when a fortunate thaw released
them from their prison.
Isolated as the hill villages may be, they are in the world, compared
with the loneliness of the grey ancestral houses to be seen here and
there in the dense hollows of the moors. These dwellings are not large,
yet they are solid and roomy enough for the accommodation of those who
live in them, and to whom the surrounding estates belong. The land has
often been held by one family since the days of the Tudors; the owners
are, in fact, the remains of the old yeomanry--small squires--who are
rapidly becoming extinct as a class, from one of two causes. Either the
possessor falls into idle, drinking habits, and so is obliged eventually
to sell his property: or he finds, if more shrewd and adventurous, that
the "beck" running down the mountain-side, or the minerals beneath his
feet, can be turned into a new source of wealth; and leaving the old
plodding life of a landowner with small capital, he turns manufacturer,
or digs for coal, or quarries for stone.
Still there are those remaining of this class--dwellers in the lonely
houses far away in the upland districts--even at the present day, who
sufficiently indicate what strange eccentricity--what wild strength of
will--nay, even what unnatural power of crime was fostered by a mode of
living in which a man seldom met his fellows, and where public opinion
was only a distant and inarticulate echo of some clearer voice sounding
behind the sweeping horizon.
A solitary life cherishes mere fancies until they become manias. And the
powerful Yorkshire character, which was scarcely tamed into subjection by
all the contact it met with in "busy town or crowded mart," has before
now broken out into strange wilfulness in the remoter districts. A
singular account was recently given me of a landowner (living, it is
true, on the Lancashire side of the hills, but of the same blood and
nature as the dwellers on the other,) who was supposed to be in the
receipt of seven or eight hundred a year, and whose house bore marks of
handsome antiquity, as if his forefathers had been for a long time people
of consideration. My informant was struck with the appearance of the
place, and proposed to the countryman who was accompanying him, to go up
to it and take a nearer inspection. The reply was, "Yo'd better not;
he'd threap yo' down th' loan. He's let fly at some folk's legs, and let
shot lodge in 'em afore now, for going too near to his house." And
finding, on closer inquiry, that such was really the inhospitable custom
of this moorland squire, the gentleman gave up his purpose. I believe
that the savage yeoman is still living.
Another squire, of more distinguished family and larger property--one is
thence led to imagine of better education, but that does not always
follow--died at his house, not many miles from Haworth, only a few years
ago. His great amusement and occupation had been cock-fighting. When he
was confined to his chamber with what he knew would be his last illness,
he had his cocks brought up there, and watched the bloody battle from his
bed. As his mortal disease increased, and it became impossible for him
to turn so as to follow the combat, he had looking-glasses arranged in
such a manner, around and above him, as he lay, that he could still see
the cocks fighting. And in this manner he died.
These are merely instances of eccentricity compared to the tales of
positive violence and crime that have occurred in these isolated
dwellings, which still linger in the memories of the old people of the
district, and some of which were doubtless familiar to the authors of
"Wuthering Heights" and "The Tenant of Wildfell Hall."
The amusements of the lower classes could hardly be expected to be more
humane than those of the wealthy and better educated. The gentleman, who
has kindly furnished me with some of the particulars I have given,
remembers the bull-baitings at Rochdale, not thirty years ago. The bull
was fastened by a chain or rope to a post in the river. To increase the
amount of water, as well as to give their workpeople the opportunity of
savage delight, the masters were accustomed to stop their mills on the
day when the sport took place. The bull would sometimes wheel suddenly
round, so that the rope by which he was fastened swept those who had been
careless enough to come within its range down into the water, and the
good people of Rochdale had the excitement of seeing one or two of their
neighbours drowned, as well as of witnessing the bull baited, and the
dogs torn and tossed.
The people of Haworth were not less strong and full of character than
their neighbours on either side of the hills. The village lies embedded
in the moors, between the two counties, on the old road between Keighley
and Colne. About the middle of the last century, it became famous in the
religious world as the scene of the ministrations of the Rev. William
Grimshaw, curate of Haworth for twenty years. Before this time, it is
probable that the curates were of the same order as one Mr. Nicholls, a
Yorkshire clergyman, in the days immediately succeeding the Reformation,
who was "much addicted to drinking and company-keeping," and used to say
to his companions, "You must not heed me but when I am got three feet
above the earth," that was, into the pulpit.
Mr. Grimshaw's life was written by Newton, Cowper's friend; and from it
may be gathered some curious particulars of the manner in which a rough
population were swayed and governed by a man of deep convictions, and
strong earnestness of purpose. It seems that he had not been in any way
remarkable for religious zeal, though he had led a moral life, and been
conscientious in fulfilling his parochial duties, until a certain Sunday
in September, 1744, when the servant, rising at five, found her master
already engaged in prayer; she stated that, after remaining in his
chamber for some time, he went to engage in religious exercises in the
house of a parishioner, then home again to pray; thence, still fasting,
to the church, where, as he was reading the second lesson, he fell down,
and, on his partial recovery, had to be led from the church. As he went
out, he spoke to the congregation, and told them not to disperse, as he
had something to say to them, and would return presently. He was taken
to the clerk's house, and again became insensible. His servant rubbed
him, to restore the circulation; and when he was brought to himself "he
seemed in a great rapture," and the first words he uttered were, "I have
had a glorious vision from the third heaven." He did not say what he had
seen, but returned into the church, and began the service again, at two
in the afternoon, and went on until seven.
From this time he devoted himself, with the fervour of a Wesley, and
something of the fanaticism of a Whitfield, to calling out a religious
life among his parishioners. They had been in the habit of playing at
foot-ball on Sunday, using stones for this purpose; and giving and
receiving challenges from other parishes. There were horse-races held on
the moors just above the village, which were periodical sources of
drunkenness and profligacy. Scarcely a wedding took place without the
rough amusement of foot-races, where the half-naked runners were a
scandal to all decent strangers. The old custom of "arvills," or funeral
feasts, led to frequent pitched battles between the drunken mourners.
Such customs were the outward signs of the kind of people with whom Mr.
Grimshaw had to deal. But, by various means, some of the most practical
kind, he wrought a great change in his parish. In his preaching he was
occasionally assisted by Wesley and Whitfield, and at such times the
little church proved much too small to hold the throng that poured in
from distant villages, or lonely moorland hamlets; and frequently they
were obliged to meet in the open air; indeed, there was not room enough
in the church even for the communicants. Mr. Whitfield was once
preaching in Haworth, and made use of some such expression, as that he
hoped there was no need to say much to this congregation, as they had sat
under so pious and godly a minister for so many years; "whereupon Mr.
Grimshaw stood up in his place, and said with a loud voice, 'Oh, sir! for
God's sake do not speak so. I pray you do not flatter them. I fear the
greater part of them are going to hell with their eyes open.'" But if
they were so bound, it was not for want of exertion on Mr. Grimshaw's
part to prevent them. He used to preach twenty or thirty times a week in
private houses. If he perceived any one inattentive to his prayers, he
would stop and rebuke the offender, and not go on till he saw every one
on their knees. He was very earnest in enforcing the strict observance
of Sunday; and would not even allow his parishioners to walk in the
fields between services. He sometimes gave out a very long Psalm
(tradition says the 119th), and while it was being sung, he left the
reading-desk, and taking a horsewhip went into the public-houses, and
flogged the loiterers into church. They were swift who could escape the
lash of the parson by sneaking out the back way. He had strong health
and an active body, and rode far and wide over the hills, "awakening"
those who had previously had no sense of religion. To save time, and be
no charge to the families at whose houses he held his prayer-meetings, he
carried his provisions with him; all the food he took in the day on such
occasions consisting simply of a piece of bread and butter, or dry bread
and a raw onion.
The horse-races were justly objectionable to Mr. Grimshaw; they attracted
numbers of profligate people to Haworth, and brought a match to the
combustible materials of the place, only too ready to blaze out into
wickedness. The story is, that he tried all means of persuasion, and
even intimidation, to have the races discontinued, but in vain. At
length, in despair, he prayed with such fervour of earnestness that the
rain came down in torrents, and deluged the ground, so that there was no
footing for man or beast, even if the multitude had been willing to stand
such a flood let down from above. And so Haworth races were stopped, and
have never been resumed to this day. Even now the memory of this good
man is held in reverence, and his faithful ministrations and real virtues
are one of the boasts of the parish.
But after his time, I fear there was a falling back into the wild rough
heathen ways, from which he had pulled them up, as it were, by the
passionate force of his individual character. He had built a chapel for
the Wesleyan Methodists, and not very long after the Baptists established
themselves in a place of worship. Indeed, as Dr. Whitaker says, the
people of this district are "strong religionists;" only, fifty years ago,
their religion did not work down into their lives. Half that length of
time back, the code of morals seemed to be formed upon that of their
Norse ancestors. Revenge was handed down from father to son as an
hereditary duty; and a great capability for drinking without the head
being affected was considered as one of the manly virtues. The games of
foot-ball on Sundays, with the challenges to the neighbouring parishes,
were resumed, bringing in an influx of riotous strangers to fill the
public-houses, and make the more sober-minded inhabitants long for good
Mr. Grimshaw's stout arm, and ready horsewhip. The old custom of
"arvills" was as prevalent as ever. The sexton, standing at the foot of
the open grave, announced that the "arvill" would be held at the Black
Bull, or whatever public-house might be fixed upon by the friends of the
dead; and thither the mourners and their acquaintances repaired. The
origin of the custom had been the necessity of furnishing some
refreshment for those who came from a distance, to pay the last mark of
respect to a friend. In the life of Oliver Heywood there are two
quotations, which show what sort of food was provided for "arvills" in
quiet Nonconformist connections in the seventeenth century; the first
(from Thoresby) tells of "cold possets, stewed prunes, cake, and cheese,"
as being the arvill after Oliver Heywood's funeral. The second gives, as
rather shabby, according to the notion of the times (1673), "nothing but
a bit of cake, draught of wine, piece of rosemary, and pair of gloves."
But the arvills at Haworth were often far more jovial doings. Among the
poor, the mourners were only expected to provide a kind of spiced roll
for each person; and the expense of the liquors--rum, or ale, or a
mixture of both called "dog's nose"--was generally defrayed by each guest
placing some money on a plate, set in the middle of the table. Richer
people would order a dinner for their friends. At the funeral of Mr.
Charnock (the next successor but one to Mr. Grimshaw in the incumbency),
above eighty people were bid to the arvill, and the price of the feast
was 4s. 6d. per head, all of which was defrayed by the friends of the
deceased. As few "shirked their liquor," there were very frequently "up-
and-down fights" before the close of the day; sometimes with the horrid
additions of "pawsing" and "gouging," and biting.
Although I have dwelt on the exceptional traits in the characteristics of
these stalwart West-Ridingers, such as they were in the first quarter of
this century, if not a few years later, I have little doubt that in the
everyday life of the people so independent, wilful, and full of grim
humour, there would be much found even at present that would shock those
accustomed only to the local manners of the south; and, in return, I
suspect the shrewd, sagacious, energetic Yorkshireman would hold such
"foreigners" in no small contempt.
I have said, it is most probable that where Haworth Church now stands,
there was once an ancient "field-kirk," or oratory. It occupied the
third or lowest class of ecclesiastical structures, according to the
Saxon law, and had no right of sepulture, or administration of
sacraments. It was so called because it was built without enclosure, and
open to the adjoining fields or moors. The founder, according to the
laws of Edgar, was bound, without subtracting from his tithes, to
maintain the ministering priest out of the remaining nine parts of his
income. After the Reformation, the right of choosing their clergyman, at
any of those chapels of ease which had formerly been field-kirks, was
vested in the freeholders and trustees, subject to the approval of the
vicar of the parish. But owing to some negligence, this right has been
lost to the freeholders and trustees at Haworth, ever since the days of
Archbishop Sharp; and the power of choosing a minister has lapsed into
the hands of the Vicar of Bradford. So runs the account, according to
one authority.
Mr. Bronte says,--"This living has for its patrons the Vicar of Bradford
and certain trustees. My predecessor took the living with the consent of
the Vicar of Bradford, but in opposition to the trustees; in consequence
of which he was so opposed that, after only three weeks' possession, he
was compelled to resign." A Yorkshire gentleman, who has kindly sent me
some additional information on this subject since the second edition of
my work was published, write, thus:--
"The sole right of presentation to the incumbency of Haworth is vested
in the Vicar of Bradford. He only can present. The funds, however,
from which the clergyman's stipend mainly proceeds, are vested in the
hands of trustees, who have the power to withhold them, if a nominee
is sent of whom they disapprove. On the decease of Mr. Charnock, the
Vicar first tendered the preferment to Mr. Bronte, and he went over to
his expected cure. He was told that towards himself they had no
personal objection; but as a nominee of the Vicar he would not be
received. He therefore retired, with the declaration that if he could
not come with the approval of the parish, his ministry could not be
useful. Upon this the attempt was made to introduce Mr. Redhead.
"When Mr. Redhead was repelled, a fresh difficulty arose. Some one
must first move towards a settlement, but a spirit being evoked which
could not be allayed, action became perplexing. The matter had to be
referred to some independent arbitrator, and my father was the
gentleman to whom each party turned its eye. A meeting was convened,
and the business settled by the Vicar's conceding the choice to the
trustees, and the acceptance of the Vicar's presentation. That choice
forthwith fell on Mr. Bronte, whose promptness and prudence had won
their hearts."
In conversing on the character of the inhabitants of the West Riding with
Dr. Scoresby, who had been for some time Vicar of Bradford, he alluded to
certain riotous transactions which had taken place at Haworth on the
presentation of the living to Mr. Redhead, and said that there had been
so much in the particulars indicative of the character of the people,
that he advised me to inquire into them. I have accordingly done so,
and, from the lips of some of the survivors among the actors and
spectators, I have learnt the means taken to eject the nominee of the
Vicar.
The previous incumbent had been the Mr. Charnock whom I have mentioned as
next but one in succession to Mr. Grimshaw. He had a long illness which
rendered him unable to discharge his duties without assistance, and Mr.
Redhead gave him occasional help, to the great satisfaction of the
parishioners, and was highly respected by them during Mr. Charnock's
lifetime. But the case was entirely altered when, at Mr. Charnock's
death in 1819, they conceived that the trustees had been unjustly
deprived of their rights by the Vicar of Bradford, who appointed Mr.
Redhead as perpetual curate.
The first Sunday he officiated, Haworth Church was filled even to the
aisles; most of the people wearing the wooden clogs of the district. But
while Mr. Redhead was reading the second lesson, the whole congregation,
as by one impulse, began to leave the church, making all the noise they
could with clattering and clumping of clogs, till, at length, Mr. Redhead
and the clerk were the only two left to continue the service. This was
bad enough, but the next Sunday the proceedings were far worse. Then, as
before, the church was well filled, but the aisles were left clear; not a
creature, not an obstacle was in the way. The reason for this was made
evident about the same time in the reading of the service as the
disturbances had begun the previous week. A man rode into the church
upon an ass, with his face turned towards the tail, and as many old hats
piled on his head as he could possibly carry. He began urging his beast
round the aisles, and the screams, and cries, and laughter of the
congregation entirely drowned all sound of Mr. Redhead's voice, and, I
believe, he was obliged to desist.
Hitherto they had not proceeded to anything like personal violence; but
on the third Sunday they must have been greatly irritated at seeing Mr.
Redhead, determined to brave their will, ride up the village street,
accompanied by several gentlemen from Bradford. They put up their horses
at the Black Bull--the little inn close upon the churchyard, for the
convenience of arvills as well as for other purposes--and went into
church. On this the people followed, with a chimney-sweeper, whom they
had employed to clean the chimneys of some out-buildings belonging to the
church that very morning, and afterward plied with drink till he was in a
state of solemn intoxication. They placed him right before the reading-
desk, where his blackened face nodded a drunken, stupid assent to all
that Mr. Redhead said. At last, either prompted by some mischief-maker,
or from some tipsy impulse, he clambered up the pulpit stairs, and
attempted to embrace Mr. Redhead. Then the profane fun grew fast and
furious. Some of the more riotous, pushed the soot-covered
chimney-sweeper against Mr. Redhead, as he tried to escape. They threw
both him and his tormentor down on the ground in the churchyard where the
soot-bag had been emptied, and, though, at last, Mr. Redhead escaped into
the Black Bull, the doors of which were immediately barred, the people
raged without, threatening to stone him and his friends. One of my
informants is an old man, who was the landlord of the inn at the time,
and he stands to it that such was the temper of the irritated mob, that
Mr. Redhead was in real danger of his life. This man, however, planned
an escape for his unpopular inmates. The Black Bull is near the top of
the long, steep Haworth street, and at the bottom, close by the bridge,
on the road to Keighley, is a turnpike. Giving directions to his hunted
guests to steal out at the back door (through which, probably, many a
ne'er-do-weel has escaped from good Mr. Grimshaw's horsewhip), the
landlord and some of the stable-boys rode the horses belonging to the
party from Bradford backwards and forwards before his front door, among
the fiercely-expectant crowd. Through some opening between the houses,
those on the horses saw Mr. Redhead and his friends creeping along behind
the street; and then, striking spurs, they dashed quickly down to the
turnpike; the obnoxious clergyman and his friends mounted in haste, and
had sped some distance before the people found out that their prey had
escaped, and came running to the closed turnpike gate.
This was Mr. Redhead's last appearance at Haworth for many years. Long
afterwards, he came to preach, and in his sermon to a large and attentive
congregation he good-humouredly reminded them of the circumstances which
I have described. They gave him a hearty welcome, for they owed him no
grudge; although before they had been ready enough to stone him, in order
to maintain what they considered to be their rights.
The foregoing account, which I heard from two of the survivors, in the
presence of a friend who can vouch for the accuracy of my repetition, has
to a certain degree been confirmed by a letter from the Yorkshire
gentleman, whose words I have already quoted.
"I am not surprised at your difficulty in authenticating matter-of-fact.
I find this in recalling what I have heard, and the authority on which I
have heard anything. As to the donkey tale, I believe you are right. Mr.
Redhead and Dr. Ramsbotham, his son-in-law, are no strangers to me. Each
of them has a niche in my affections.
"I have asked, this day, two persons who lived in Haworth at the time to
which you allude, the son and daughter of an acting trustee, and each of
them between sixty and seventy years of age, and they assure me that the
donkey was introduced. One of them says it was mounted by a half-witted
man, seated with his face towards the tail of the beast, and having
several hats piled on his head. Neither of my informants was, however,
present at these edifying services. I believe that no movement was made
in the church on either Sunday, until the whole of the authorised reading-
service was gone through, and I am sure that nothing was more remote from
the more respectable party than any personal antagonism toward Mr.
Redhead. He was one of the most amiable and worthy of men, a man to
myself endeared by many ties and obligations. I never heard before your
book that the sweep ascended the pulpit steps. He was present, however,
in the clerical habiliments of his order . . . I may also add that among
the many who were present at those sad Sunday orgies the majority were
non-residents, and came from those moorland fastnesses on the outskirts
of the parish locally designated as 'ovver th' steyres,' one stage more
remote than Haworth from modern civilization.
"To an instance or two more of the rusticity of the inhabitants of the
chapelry of Haworth, I may introduce you.
"A Haworth carrier called at the office of a friend of mine to deliver a
parcel on a cold winter's day, and stood with the door open. 'Robin!
shut the door!' said the recipient. 'Have you no doors in your country?'
'Yoi,' responded Robin, 'we hev, but we nivver steik 'em.' I have
frequently remarked the number of doors open even in winter.
"When well directed, the indomitable and independent energies of the
natives of this part of the country are invaluable; dangerous when
perverted. I shall never forget the fierce actions and utterances of one
suffering from delirium tremens. Whether in its wrath, disdain, or its
dismay, the countenance was infernal. I called once upon a time on a
most respectable yeoman, and I was, in language earnest and homely,
pressed to accept the hospitality of the house. I consented. The word
to me was, 'Nah, Maister, yah mun stop an hev sum te-ah, yah mun, eah,
yah mun.' A bountiful table was soon spread; at all events, time soon
went while I scaled the hills to see 't' maire at wor thretty year owd,
an't' feil at wor fewer.' On sitting down to the table, a venerable
woman officiated, and after filling the cups, she thus addressed me:
'Nah, Maister, yah mun loawze th'taible' (loose the table). The master
said, 'Shah meeans yah mun sey t' greyce.' I took the hint, and uttered
the blessing.
"I spoke with an aged and tried woman at one time, who, after recording
her mercies, stated, among others, her powers of speech, by asserting
'Thank the Lord, ah nivver wor a meilly-meouthed wumman.' I feel
particularly at fault in attempting the orthography of the dialect, but
must excuse myself by telling you that I once saw a letter in which the
word I have just now used (excuse) was written 'ecksqueaize!'
"There are some things, however, which rather tend to soften the idea of
the rudeness of Haworth. No rural district has been more markedly the
abode of musical taste and acquirement, and this at a period when it was
difficult to find them to the same extent apart from towns in advance of
their times. I have gone to Haworth and found an orchestra to meet me,
filled with local performers, vocal and instrumental, to whom the best
works of Handel, Haydn, Mozart, Marcello, &c. &c., were familiar as
household words. By knowledge, taste, and voice, they were markedly
separate from ordinary village choirs, and have been put in extensive
requisition for the solo and chorus of many an imposing festival. One
man still survives, who, for fifty years, has had one of the finest tenor
voices I ever heard, and with it a refined and cultivated taste. To him
and to others many inducements have been offered to migrate; but the
loom, the association, the mountain air have had charms enow to secure
their continuance at home. I love the recollection of their performance;
that recollection extends over more than sixty years. The attachments,
the antipathies and the hospitalities of the district are ardent, hearty,
and homely. Cordiality in each is the prominent characteristic. As a
people, these mountaineers have ever been accessible to gentleness and
truth, so far as I have known them; but excite suspicion or resentment,
and they give emphatic and not impotent resistance. Compulsion they
defy.
"I accompanied Mr. Heap on his first visit to Haworth after his accession
to the vicarage of Bradford. It was on Easter day, either 1816 or 1817.
His predecessor, the venerable John Crosse, known as the 'blind vicar,'
had been inattentive to the vicarial claims. A searching investigation
had to be made and enforced, and as it proceeded stout and sturdy
utterances were not lacking on the part of the parishioners. To a
spectator, though rude, they were amusing, and significant, foretelling
what might be expected, and what was afterwards realised, on the advent
of a new incumbent, if they deemed him an intruder.
"From their peculiar parochial position and circumstances, the
inhabitants of the chapelry have been prompt, earnest, and persevering in
their opposition to church-rates. Although ten miles from the mother-
church, they were called upon to defray a large proportion of this
obnoxious tax,--I believe one fifth.
"Besides this, they had to maintain their own edifice, &c., &c. They
resisted, therefore, with energy, that which they deemed to be oppression
and injustice. By scores would they wend their way from the hills to
attend a vestry meeting at Bradford, and in such service failed not to
show less of the _suaviter in modo_ than the _fortiter in re_. Happily
such occasion for their action has not occurred for many years.
"The use of patronymics has been common in this locality. Inquire for a
man by his Christian name and surname, and you may have some difficulty
in finding him: ask, however, for 'George o' Ned's,' or 'Dick o' Bob's,'
or 'Tom o' Jack's,' as the case may be, and your difficulty is at an end.
In many instances the person is designated by his residence. In my early
years I had occasion to inquire for Jonathan Whitaker, who owned a
considerable farm in the township. I was sent hither and thither, until
it occurred to me to ask for 'Jonathan o' th' Gate.' My difficulties
were then at an end. Such circumstances arise out of the settled
character and isolation of the natives.
"Those who have witnessed a Haworth wedding when the parties were above
the rank of labourers, will not easily forget the scene. A levy was made
on the horses of the neighbourhood, and a merry cavalcade of mounted men
and women, single or double, traversed the way to Bradford church. The
inn and church appeared to be in natural connection, and as the labours
of the Temperance Society had then to begin, the interests of sobriety
were not always consulted. On remounting their steeds they commenced
with a race, and not unfrequently an inebriate or unskilful horseman or
woman was put _hors de combat_. A race also was frequent at the end. of
these wedding expeditions, from the bridge to the toll-bar at Haworth.
The race-course you will know to be anything but level."
Into the midst of this lawless, yet not unkindly population, Mr. Bronte
brought his wife and six little children, in February, 1820. There are
those yet alive who remember seven heavily-laden carts lumbering slowly
up the long stone street, bearing the "new parson's" household goods to
his future abode.
One wonders how the bleak aspect of her new home--the low, oblong, stone
parsonage, high up, yet with a still higher back-ground of sweeping
moors--struck on the gentle, delicate wife, whose health even then was
failing.