In Search of Anne Brontë Read online

  It was for this reason that Reverend Atkinson suggested to Patrick Brontë that they swap parishes. Thornton offered an increased income and came with a rent-free parsonage building. Patrick, of course, quickly accepted, and once the archbishop gave his assent, the Brontë family made the move to Thornton in May of 1815.

  Thornton is a semi-industrial village on the outskirts of the city of Bradford. Its church, of which Patrick had now been made incumbent, was known as the Old Bell Chapel and was positioned at the southern end of the village, in a remote aspect surrounded by fields. The Church of England was not strong in Thornton, and most of the populace attended the dissenting chapels and schools, a problem that he was to face in his next parish as well and one that was becoming increasingly common across the West Riding of Yorkshire as a whole.

  Other than the church, the main building of Thornton was Kipping House, home to the aforementioned Firth family who were to become so important to the Brontës. Kipping House is a very beautiful and imposing building, dating from the seventeenth century but largely rebuilt and extended in the eighteenth century. The Firths were the undoubted leaders of Thornton society and keen Church of England supporters. At the time Patrick arrived, with his wife and two young children, only John Firth and his daughter Elizabeth lived at the house, Mrs Firth having been killed in a tragic accident a year earlier when thrown from a horse.

  The Firth family made the Brontës very welcome, and as Elizabeth Firth’s diary entries reveal, they spent much time at Kipping House.8 Soon after arriving in Thornton, Maria’s sister, also called Elizabeth, came to help look after the children. She would stay for a year at first, but she then returned at regular intervals; in later years, she made her permanent home with the family, a move that would have a profound effect on all of them, particularly Anne.

  On 21 April 1816, another girl was born into the Brontë family. She was christened Charlotte after Maria’s sister. At this time, and with Aunt Elizabeth no longer in residence, further help was needed, and Nancy Garrs was taken on as a nanny. Nancy and her sister Sarah were to remain friends and helpers of the family from then on, even after they were no longer employed by them. They were the first of a succession of servants who would form a close bond above and beyond the call of duty with the Brontës.

  In June 1817, Patrick and Maria were at last blessed with a boy. He was christened Patrick but would always be known by his middle name Branwell; taking on the name his mother had given up on her wedding day. The parents felt blessed: at last a boy to take their name forward. They hatched great plans for him and prayed for a glorious future for one whose duty it would be to take the Brontë name forward into the world.

  On 30 July 1818 the fifth child was born, Anne’s dear, beloved sister Emily Jane. By now, things were again becoming difficult for Patrick and Maria. Thornton Parsonage was a terraced building in the middle of Market Street, on a hilly trajectory, far away from the church itself, with a small walled garden at the back. The building was often in need of repair, and Patrick wrote to the Archbishop of York, and to a friend named Richard Burn, calling it a ‘very ill constructed and inconvenient building’.9 He now had a family of seven in the house, as well as Nancy Garrs, and suffered much from lack of space and resources.

  Nevertheless, the family was not yet finished. On 17 January 1820, Maria was to deliver another child, in front of the roaring fire at Thornton Parsonage, with the village midwife in attendance. Patrick was at the church, offering up thanks and prayers. The Brontë children had been taken for the day to Kipping House, where they were entertained by Elizabeth Firth. She kept a detailed diary of this time, and from it we get glimpses of how Maria, just turned 6 years old, was already ordering the younger children around and how Charlotte acted like quite the young lady, taking great care over her manners. Elizabeth, Branwell and young Emily would have stood transfixed by the sight of snow falling outside of the large windows that looked out on to extensive grounds stretching out on to the Thornton moors.10

  It was on that day that Anne was born. A small and delicate child at birth, all who saw her in those first days fell in love with the tiny and quiet baby. Anne was later baptised, as her brother and sisters had been, by Reverend William Morgan. She was named after her maternal grandmother, and her godmothers were Elizabeth Firth and Miss Fanny Outhwaite, Elizabeth’s close friend, a pillar of polite society and well known to Anne’s parents. How well chosen they were, for although they were soon to be distanced from Anne, they would provide acts of kindness on her behalf throughout her life. It was thanks to Miss Outhwaite, and a legacy that she left to her god-daughter, that Anne was able to make her final journey to Scarborough.

  On that day in January 1820 the family was complete, and complete in their happiness. Maria and Patrick, and their children, Maria, Elizabeth, Charlotte, Branwell, Emily Jane and Anne were not wealthy by any standards, but they had an abundance of love and a belief in a bright future stretching out ahead of them.

  Notes

  1. Barker, Juliet, The Brontës, p.172

  2. On the occasion of Charlotte’s honeymoon, see chapter 19

  3. Barker, Juliet, The Brontës, p.2

  4. Green, Dudley, Patrick Brontë Father Of Genius, p.13

  5. Green, Dudley, Patrick Brontë Father Of Genius, pp.59–60

  6. Manuscript now held in the Leeds University library special collection

  7. Brontë, Anne, Agnes Grey, p.3

  8. Gérin, Winifred, Anne Brontë, p.2

  9. Green, Dudley, Patrick Brontë Father Of Genius, p.70

  10. Gérin, Winifred, Anne Brontë, p.1

  2

  EARLY LOSS

  In all we do and hear, and see,

  Is restless Toil and Vanity,

  While yet the rolling earth abides,

  Men come and go like ocean tides;

  And ere one generation dies;

  Another in its place shall rise;

  That, sinking soon into the grave,

  Others succeed, like wave on wave.

  Vanitas Vanitatum, Omnia Vanitas

  Anne was not to stay in Thornton long. Just three months after her birth, the Brontës were making a trip across the moors to Haworth. A new life awaited them, a life full of hope, tragedy, laughter and loss. One wagon carried their meagre possessions, and another carried the family. Always a keen walker, Patrick walked alongside the carriage the whole way. From time to time Anne would have been passed down from her mother within the carriage to her father, to be carried safely in his arms. At other times, Emily would be passed to him and would ride piggyback on her father’s shoulders. It is a journey of only 8 miles, yet full of undulations, steep inclines and unfirm ground. Progress was slow before they reached the steep Kirkgate, today known as Main Street, which would lead to their new home. The carriage ride took a full day, but for Patrick it was the culmination of a journey that had lasted months.

  Patrick had already complained of the inadequacies of the Thornton Parsonage and was looking for a new, larger parish to meet the demands of his growing family. When the incumbency of Haworth became available, it was offered to Patrick; however, problems quickly arose. Haworth was, and is, a parish like no other. From ancient times Haworth council of elders had held the right to select its own curate, rejecting the choice of the vicar of Bradford, at this time Reverend Henry Heap, who would ordinarily control the rights to the parish. This would normally have been a formality, but the vicar was a man unused to having his actions questioned and had not consulted the council of Haworth elders before announcing the choice of Reverend Brontë as the new priest. They immediately let it be known that they would not accept this priest who had been foisted upon them.1

  In this they were not expressing any slight against Patrick himself but merely exercising their powers. They were hardy and stubborn, although kind-hearted, folk, and when roused they would not back down. Recognising this, and mindful of stirring up any real enmity, Patrick politely declined the offer of the Haworth cu
racy.2

  A new choice was needed, but once more the vicar of Bradford chose not to consult the elders and instead appointed Reverend Samuel Redhead to the position. Redhead had often officiated at Haworth during the prolonged illness of the previous incumbent, Reverend Charnock, and had been well liked by the congregation, so it is likely that Heap foresaw no problem with this appointment. The Haworth men, however, saw it as a great affront; at Reverend Redhead’s first Sunday service, the parishioners stamped on the stone floor with their clogs until he could not be heard, before walking out en masse.3

  The second week was much worse. As the sermon commenced, a great uproar was heard. A drunk chimney sweep, seemingly oblivious to what was happening, had ridden into the church on a donkey. He was facing backwards and shouting as if he could feel the fires of hell. The sweep was then sat in the front pew; he stared at the poor curate all the time, swaying from side to side occasionally. At last he rose unsteadily to his feet, climbed to the pulpit and fell on to Reverend Redhead, to general hilarity from the stalls. The atmosphere then grew worse still, and the reverend had to wrestle his way through the crowd. He managed to reach the safety of the Black Bull Inn next to the church, but a mob had gathered outside and were threatening his very life. By luck and intrigue, Mr Redhead made good his escape by way of the inn’s back door and a nearby horse, but it was clear that his curacy at Haworth could not continue. In later years, Redhead occasionally acted as a guest preacher at Haworth, often joking about the incident, and he was well received by the locals, who had once been much less welcoming to him.

  An impasse had been reached. Patrick acted as a mediator of sorts, with assistance from the Bishop of Ripon, and after speaking to the parish elders they agreed to nominate him to the position of curate, which the vicar would then accept. In this way, pride and tradition were restored, and Patrick Brontë found himself the new curate at Haworth after all, a position he held until the end of his life.

  Thus, on 20 April 1820, the Brontë family, along with Nancy Garrs and her sister Sarah, moved into the Haworth Parsonage. It is a lovely Georgian building, set apart from the rest of the village, although it proved somewhat cold in winter. The parsonage was built in 1775; it had, and indeed still has, a not overly spacious garden to the front, where currant and lilac bushes, along with laburnum and cherry trees, grew. In day time, at that period, it was infused with light, as Patrick would not allow any curtains in the windows because of a morbid fear of fire, in part due to the many funerals he had presided over for victims of conflagrations.

  Anne could remember nothing, of course, of those first few days, but her father often spoke of them as the happiest of his life. His family were all around him, and his days were full. The parish was large and flourishing, and every week brought baptisms, weddings and funerals. At this point he was at the height of his physical and mental powers, and he met the challenge head on.

  Anne’s mother was happy too. Maria had a large house to manage and a loving brood around her at all hours. Her presence was much in demand among the wives of the elders and merchants of Haworth, and she remained in correspondence with her good friends from Thornton. As Anne lay burbling in her cradle, arms outstretched for the happy although as yet unrecognisable faces that gazed down at her, Haworth Parsonage was full of noise and full of life. It was not to last long.

  The day was 29 January 1821. The Brontës had been in Haworth for less than a year. Nothing had presaged the event. A day earlier, Maria had been her usual self, tidying, cleaning and organising. Ensuring that everything was in its rightful place.

  In the morning she came downstairs, but her face was paler than before. She tried to reach the dining table, but fell with a thud to the floor, where she screamed in pain. Maria was Patrick’s whole world; he ran for the local doctor, but when the doctor came he said that she was eaten by a cancer of sorts and would not last the day. It would have been less cruel for Maria if that had indeed been true.

  Maria Brontë was strong and determined: she clung to her new family for as long as she could, enduring torments that could not be borne by many. For Patrick this was a dreadful trial, but it was also a portent of what was yet to come. At times, his wife would cry out in pain and shout, ‘There can be no God that lets me suffer like this!’4 Then later she would be full of terror and curse herself for having spoken against her Lord. For many days, she could not speak at all, could not move.

  In May her sister Elizabeth came to stay to help nurse the sibling that she loved so much. Nobody knew at the time that Haworth was now to be her home until her dying day. Aunt Branwell, as she became known to Anne and her siblings, was greatly affected by what she saw happen to her sister and by the sacrifice that she later had to make. Later biographers, including Elizabeth Gaskell, would make much of her stern aspect,5 but to Anne and Branwell at least, she was always loved and respected as a second mother.

  Patrick refused to give up hope; as always, he turned to the faith that told him anything was possible. He hired a succession of specialists to see Maria, and when they said there was nothing to be done, he dismissed them and turned to others. His wife lingered terribly for eight months, until she left this world on 15 September 1821.

  Anne was just 18 months old, and yet she still felt somehow to blame whenever she heard the tale. Maria was already 30 when she had her first child; within seven years, she gave birth to six children, Anne being the last. People whispered that it was this that proved too much for her and caused the cancer that ate her away. Anne must have wondered whether her mother would have lived a full life if she herself had never been born.

  It is commonly related today that Maria died of uterine cancer, and yet in the early 1970s a medical expert came up with a different and convincing diagnosis.6 Professor Philip Rhodes was not only a Brontë lover, he was also a professor of obstetrics and gynaecology at the University of London’s St Thomas’ Hospital Medical School. In his opinion, it is very unlikely that a woman would die of uterine cancer after giving birth healthily six times, including one birth just a year and a half earlier. It is also highly unusual for this cancer to occur in women under the age of 40, and Maria was 38 at the time of her death. Professor Rhodes diagnosed the cause of death as chronic pelvic sepsis with anaemia, resulting in extreme pain and blood poisoning that would lead to a fatal cardiac arrest. The cause of this deadly infection was poor antenatal care after the birth of Anne, at a time when gynaecological knowledge was very limited.

  From an early age Anne was a deeply thoughtful person, who would consider whether her actions, all of her actions, were right or wrong. As a child, when the bed chamber candles were snuffed out she would think of the mother that she could not remember, and she would wonder how different things could have been. She added it to the list of sins that she stored and carried around within her for the rest of her life, until she finally reached the destination that would free her from sin forever.

  Patrick was now 44, with a family of six children, a job that took up every moment of his time and not a penny to his name. All the savings he had gathered had been spent, in vain, on medical treatment for Maria. The Brontës were now rescued from the very real threat of poverty by the power of friendship, and the kindness of their fellow man, as Patrick’s friends rallied around him and his family. The Firths, Outhwaites, Fennells, Morgans and more proved good and true. Between them, and despite his protestations, they paid off all of Patrick’s not inconsiderable debts.7

  Patrick Brontë’s marriage had not been one of convenience, as so many were in his day, but a match of true love. He had no desire to marry again, but he knew that it was expected of him, and he also recognised that it would be beneficial to his young family. His sister-in-law Elizabeth encouraged him in this endeavour too. She herself had hopes of securing a husband one day, but time’s winged chariot was moving on. Elizabeth Branwell had made a promise to her sister to look after her children for as long as it was needed. In Elizabeth’s mind, this meant until Patrick
took a new bride, at which point she could leave Haworth behind and resume her search for a husband.

  Eventually, worn down by these arguments, Patrick asked Anne’s godmother, Elizabeth Firth, to marry him. The year was 1822, and by now Elizabeth’s father had died, leaving a fortune to her alone. She was young, rich, in good health, held Patrick in great esteem and both knew and loved the Brontë children. Alas, for Patrick and his family, she had her heart set elsewhere. She declined in the kindliest manner and was later to marry a Reverend James Franks of Huddersfield.

  Mr Brontë made two more attempts to find a bride, and one in particular was most forthright, not to say hurtful, in her rejection. This was Mary Burder, a young woman he knew from his days as a curate in Essex. Patrick had briefly been engaged to her, but had broken the engagement off when he was offered the curacy in Wellington. She was now to let him know, via a brutally honest letter telling him that his contact was not remotely welcome, that all had not been forgiven.8 A new plan was needed. It became clear that although Patrick was much respected as a clergyman of some repute, his age and lack of wealth, and the burden of a large family dependent upon him, meant he would never find a woman who would consent to be his bride. You may wonder why Patrick did not enter into a marriage of convenience with his late wife’s sister? Such marriages had been common, even expected, in earlier centuries, but by this time unions of that nature were specifically prohibited by law.

  Elizabeth Branwell had a deep belief in the importance of accepting God’s will, and in putting it before any longings or needs of one’s own. She locked away all hopes of married life and confined herself for evermore to what would become to her the prison of Haworth Parsonage. Although she had once hoped, even expected, to be married, this abandonment of her original plan may have come as some relief, especially when she considered what marriage and child bearing had brought her sister. Patrick too, put all such plans aside. From now on, his mission in life would be to do his best for God, and for his daughters and only son.