Month: November 2025

We love our hot drinks in England, from morning coffee to a mug of cocoa before bed (or even Ovaltine), but there’s one drink that has become synonymous with England: tea. The Brontë sisters loved cups of tea too, which is probably a good thing given how cold and wuthering it often is around Haworth Parsonage! In today’s new Brontë blog post we’re going to look at just how we know that the Brontës were tea drinkers.

Our first evidence comes from the Brontë childhood, but it wasn’t discovered until the mid-Twentieth century when renovation was being done on the parsonage floorboards. When the original floorboards were lifted up, workers were astonished to find toys which had once belonged to the Brontë siblings and this rather charming miniature tea set. It bears the inscription: “Ladies all I pray make free, and tell me how you like your tea?”. It also features three sisters drinking tea together who look not unlike the Brontës, which is possibly why their father, or more likely Aunt Branwell, bought it for them. Certainly we can imagine Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë playing with this tea set, perhaps pretending to serve drinks to their toy dolls (we know they had dolls, and that Patrick brought Anne a “dancing doll” back from Leeds with him on one occasion).

Aunt Branwell herself was a tea drinker, and she had a very special tea pot which says a lot about her personal journey. Elizabeth Branwell came to Haworth, after a 400 mile trip from Penzance, in 1821 to nurse her ill sister Maria. When Maria died, Elizabeth could have returned home to the warm climes of Cornwall, but instead she remained in Haworth for the rest of her life and became like a second mother to the Brontës, her nephew and nieces.

Aunt Branwell was a devout Christian, and she would have known of Haworth because of its connection to William Grimshaw. Reverend Grimshaw was, along with the Wesleys, one of the founding fathers of what we now know as Methodism, and he was parish priest of Haworth for 21 years until his death in 1763. During his lifetime vast crowds would flock to Haworth to hear his sermons, sometimes so many that he had to hold his services on the moors outside his church. Grimshaw’s fame endured into the 19th century, and Aunt Branwell had a William Grimshaw commemorative teapot. On the front it says “Wm Grimshaw, Haworth” and on the reverse it has a quote from Grimshaw himself: “To me, to live is Christ, to die is Gain.”

In adulthood, the Brontë sisters had their own tea service, and here it is, as well as being pictured in situ at the Brontë Parsonage Museum at the head of this post:

Ever practical, Charlotte also made this rather beautiful red tea cosy – a device which was designed to keep tea warm and ready for pouring long after it had been brewed in the pot: 

Tea was clearly a delight for the family, and perhaps for Charlotte especially as it features in her novel Jane Eyre. Young Jane has been sent to Lowood school by her uncaring Aunt Reed but Mrs Temple of the school has called the new arrival to her, and presented with a cup of tea that soon lifts the young girl’s spirits:

“A tray was soon brought. How pretty, to my eyes, did the china cups and bright teapot look, placed on the little round table near the fire! How fragrant was the steam of the beverage, and the scent of the toast!”

I’m just popping off to make a brew for myself, but I want to thank you all again for your support and kind comments at what has been a difficult time personally for me and my family. I raise my cup to you all, and hope you can join me again next week for another new Brontë blog post when we will begin a Brontë countdown to (yes, it’s that time again) Christmas.

The Brontës wrote some of the world’s greatest books, as I’m sure we would all agree, and there have also been many fine, informative and entertaining books written about them and their work. Brontë books keep on coming, which shows just how relevant and loved they still are, and I think that can only be a good thing.I never tire of reading a good book about the Brontë sisters, and so today I’m going to review a new book on the subject: The Birthplace Of Dreams by Mark Davis and Steven Stanworth. All images featured on this page are copyright of the above authors.

I was very honoured to be asked to write the foreword for this book, but I wasn’t paid for it and make no financial gains from its sales, so this is an honest and unbiased review. I was more than happy to contribute the foreword because I know that both Mark and Steven have Brontë running through their veins. Mark is the preeminent Haworth photographer and author of a number of books, including In The Footsteps Of The Brontës which he co-authored with the Brontë Parsonage Museum’s curator in chief Ann Dinsdale. Steven has worked tirelessly over the years to maintain and resurrect Thornton’s Brontë Bell Chapel, and it’s fair to say that without both Steven and Mark the recent saving of the Brontë birthplace in Thornton, and its opening to the public, would not have happened.

The pedigree of the authors, therefore, is not in doubt, so just what makes The Birthplace Of Dreams stand out from the crowd of this year’s crop of Brontë books? Firstly, it places the Brontë birthplace of Thornton near Bradford front and centre to its story. Haworth has long been a place of pilgrimage for Brontë fans of course, but this book shows just why Thornton is so important to the Brontë story and why it offers so much to Brontë fans today.

Secondly, it is a very picture-heavy book, and as you’d expect when the photographs have been taken by as skilled a cameraman as Mark Davis, the pictures are very good indeed. I also liked the smattering of illustrations painted by talented artist John Ellis which can be found throughout the book.

 

Rather than focusing purely on the sisters, this book takes us on a journey through the places the Brontës knew, the places which shaped and changed them. We see and hear about Thornton and Haworth of course, but there are fascinating insights into other locations too from Lousy Thorn Farm to Cowan Bridge and Scarborough.

This is without a doubt a beautiful book, and it’s accessible to anyone, whatever their prior knowledge of the Brontës. One of things I liked most about it is that whilst it’s a fun and easy read, it’s also full of fascinating snippets of information: for instance, did you know that Patrick Brontë’s nickname when a minister at Dewsbury (after first moving to Yorkshire) was ‘Old Staff’, or that his landlord in Dewsbury went by the rather unusual name of Elliot Carrot? The book is full of facts like these, which just goes to show how much excellent research was carried out by Mark Davis and Steven Stanworth during its genesis.

The book was officially launched at the fabulous Grove Bookshop in Ilkley on Thursday evening, and it was a very successful and well attended event by all accounts. I had hoped to be there myself, but following on from the recent passing of my mother my father has now been taken ill, and much of my time is spent helping him. Your continued support and kind words at this time means the world to me, so thank you.

In short I’m very pleased with how this book has turned out, and am proud that my foreword is featured within it. If you’re looking for a Brontë Christmas present for someone, then you can order it from good bookshops, from the publisher Amberley or you can find it on Amazon.

I hope you can join me next Sunday for another new Brontë blog post. We are heading into Advent so look out for lots of festive posts filled with Christmas cheer – after all, I think that’s something we could all do with a little more of.

As regular readers of this blog will know, I always (technology and life events permitting) produce a weekly blog post about Anne Brontë and her family. I’ve been doing that since 2015, meaning that I’ve been creating Brontë posts for over a decade now – and in that time I’ve covered a very wide range of Brontë-related subjects. If you’ve not subscribed please do hit the button on the left hand side of the screen and enter your details.

Today, as I sometimes do, I’m sending out an extra post. As many of you will know, the director Emerald Fennell is producing a new film version of ‘Wuthering Heights’, which will be released next year. It’s caused a stir already, as Fennel is seemingly putting her own spin on what I feel is the greatest novel of all time, and adding a little extra raunch factor.

I’m in many respects a Brontë traditionalist, as I always think the sisters themselves and their work should be front and centre, but that doesn’t mean that I automatically dislike modern or unusual interpretations – after all I enjoy watching the 1946 Hollywood Brontë biopic “Devotion”, and that has to be one of the strangest, least accurate biopic ever made.

In short, I’m looking forward to the film’s release next year and am prepared to judge it with an open mind. I wrote about it for the esteemed Newsweek magazine last year:

Emerald Fennell is clearly seeking a young audience for her work (and nothing wrong with that) and hired super-popular singer Charli XCX to provide the theme song. Running with this, Charli XCX was so taken with the script and concept of the film that she has created a whole Wuthering Heights themed album which is due out next February, as is the film itself.

Now I have a very eclectic taste in music, I like everything from classical and opera to Motown, Sinatra and Pulp. It has to be said, however, that I’m an old fuddy duddy in many ways. When I first encountered the Brontës as an 18 year old English literature student I was a young fuddy duddy, now in my mid-50s I’m a fully fledged fuddy duddy. I gave up listening to chart music when the new millennium arrived and frankly didn’t know what Charli XCX sang or what she sounded like, although I was aware of her popularity. It seems that Emily’s immortal story has really enthused her, as she told the BBC:

“When I think of Wuthering Heights, I think of many things, I think of passion and pain. I think of the mud and the cold. I think of determination and grit.”

That’s a pretty good one sentence summation of the book. I was also very impressed that she has linked up with John Cale for her first single from the soundtrack. Cale, now 83, was the bassist, and occasional viola player, for The Velvet Underground – the seminal New York band at one point managed by Andy Warhol. Cale, alongside singer Lou Reed, was the heart of the band’s creativity, and I’ve long been a big fan of his idiosyncratic music that never compromises. Here is the video for ‘House’ by Charli XCX featuring John Cale, and I think it very much captures the dark, brooding atmosphere of much of Emily Brontë’s novel:

I’m looking forward to hearing more of this soundtrack, and I’m looking forward to welcoming you here this Sunday for another new Brontë blog post.

We all know that the Brontë sisters were novelists and poets of the very highest order. Their work will live on for as long as humanity lives on, although the means of consumption of it may differ greatly in the vast futures we are unable to imagine. There is one other field in which Charlotte Brontë in particular excelled: letter writing.

Today we are going to look at a letter written by Charlotte Brontë on this day in 1848, and it provides a fascinating, historically important and yet sad snapshot of an anxious day spent in Haworth Parsonage. 

I recommend every Brontë fan to read Charlotte’s letters – in them she displays her characteristic wit, her characteristic intelligence, her characteristic kindness and her characteristic sharpness. In short, they offer us a great way to get to know the very essence of Charlotte Brontë herself, despite two hundred years settling between us.

The complete letters of Charlotte Brontë are available across three volumes, but they cost in excess of £800 which puts them out of the reach of many who would otherwise appreciate them. I’m lucky enough to have seen, and even held, original copies of many of her letters which is one reason I love to share them here – and why my dream is to make them more accessible to people.

On this day exactly 177 years ago Charlotte Brontë had been perusing reviews of Jane Eyre, some perceptive, some decidedly less so, but any joy she could have taken in this is removed by the anxiety of the increasing illness of her sister Emily Brontë. At this stage Charlotte still tempered that anguish with hope, but a month later all hope would be extinguished. When we read these lines it is as if we can step across that threshold into Haworth Parsonage itself, and were we to do so we would realise that times and technologies change, but the human condition, and the challenges we face, remain unchanged.

I hope to see you next week for another new Brontë blog post, when I will bring you news of a great new Brontë book that I’m privileged to have been a small part of.

 

Thank you for all your support following my news about the passing of my wonderful mother recently. Normal service will now be resumed in this blog, and regular weekly Brontë posts will recommence. I will always remember her, just as the Brontës remembered the people they loved and lost. Today is a day of remembrance, so we will turn once again to the story of the Brontë first cousin, once removed, who came out of retirement to fight on the western front during World War One – and at one particularly poignant photograph.

Today is Remembrance Sunday, a day when we can remember the members of the armed forces, and civilians, across the world and throughout the centuries who have fought in conflicts for the country and causes they believed in. Many fought and were injured, many fought and died. Brontë relative Arthur Milton Cooper Branwell was one of the lucky ones to fight and survive.

Arthur Branwell was the son of Thomas Brontë Branwell, which makes him a first cousin once removed of the Brontë siblings. His grandmother was Charlotte Branwell, younger sister of Maria Branwell and the aunt after whom Charlotte Brontë was named. Arthur was born in 1862 and had a long military career in which he fought in the nineteenth century Boer War among other conflicts. At the start of World War One in 1914 he came out of retirement and initially served as an instructor preparing troops about to be sent to the front line. Eventually his skills were needed in the front line himself and he was sent to France – as this picture of him and his fellow officers shows:

This is surely a happy photograph amidst the conflict raging across Europe and beyond. Captain Branwell is seated at the front, with four fresh faced lieutenants around him. Did they, like Arthur, return to civilian life after the war? The caption on the Tatler photograph gives us a sad clue: ‘this group has, alas, suffered severely since the picture was taken.’
In fact today I reveal the tragic tale of this photograph – the truth is that everyone in it, except Captain Arthur Branwell, was killed. Here are their stories:

Lieutenant Herbert Stofford Maunsell
Herbert Maunsell was born in Ottawa, Canada – his father was Brigadier General G.S. Marshall. He died of his wounds on 1st September 1915 after fighting in the Pas-de-Calais, and is buried in Choques Military Cemetery.

2nd Lieutenant William Stanley Giles
William Giles was the son of J.G. Giles. Born in Cardiff he survived the battles of France and, showing the global nature of this conflict, he was sent to Palestine. He was killed in action there aged 29 on 2nd November 1917, and is buried in Gaza Military Cemetery.

2nd Lieutenant James Frederick Gamble
James Gamble was the son of Joseph Frederick Gamble of Middlesbrough. He was killed in action aged 25 at the Battle of the Somme on 25th June 1916, and is buried at Auchonvillers Military Cemetery.

Lieutenant James Harold Elliott
James Elliott was the son of Henry and Anne Elliott of Cheltenham. He too was killed at the Battle of the Somme, on 29th November 1916. He was just 18 years old. James is buried at Beaumont-Hamel Military Cemetery.

Five men posing for a photograph, ready to give their all for their country. Only one man would ever see it again – Brontë relative Arthur Branwell. Their tales are like so many, today they are just faces on a photograph but in 1916 and 1917 they were the dead sons of fathers and mothers; they were the subjects of terse telegrams that destroyed lives forever. They were men who could have had long years ahead of them, who had so much to see, so much to give, but instead they gave their lives. Let us remember them.

There are many others to remember, from the 1914-18 war, and from far too many others, and of course, as John Milton said, they also serve who only stand and wait. On this Remembrance Sunday of 2025 let us remember them all, and all who are close to our hearts. I hope to see you here next week for another new Brontë blog post.