Author: insearchofannebronte@hotmail.com

All you need is love, said a famous and fabulous foursome. Today we’re going to be looking at another fab four who received some love on this weekend in 1840: Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë and their friend Ellen Nussey.

Ellen was staying as a guest of the Brontës as Valentine’s Day of that year arrived. Doubtless all would have been expecting a day like any other, with no cards to brighten their day, but their father’s assistant curate William Weightman had other ideas. Knowing that the Brontë sisters had never received a Valentine’s card in their lives, he set about writing personalised verse for all three sisters and for their guest.

His labours didn’t stop there, as he then walked all the way from Haworth to Bradford to post the cards so the postmark wouldn’t give away that he had sent them. That’s a walk of 18 miles, there and back, across undulating moors and, let’s face it, probably in terrible weather too. That’s dedication. That’s kindness.

It didn’t take too long, despite this, for those perceptive Brontës to work out who had sent the cards, and they then sent him a poem back in return which read thus:

“We cannot write or talk like you;
We’re plain folks every one;
You’ve played a clever trick on us,
We thank you for the fun.
Believe us frankly when we say
(Our words though blunt are true).
At home, abroad, by night or day,
We all wish well to you.”

If Charlotte (for this reply has all the hallmarks of her correspondence) thought that she and her sisters could not write verse like Weightman did, then he must have been a fine wordsmith indeed! Alas, we do not have any of the poems within the cards, or the cards themselves although I have put images of some Victorian Valentine’s cards throughout this post. What we do have is the titles of three of the poems William Weightman crafted thanks to a letter Charlotte sent to Ellen after the event:

‘Walk up to Gomersal and tell her [Mary Taylor] forthwith every individual occurrence you can recollect, including Valentines, “Fair Ellen, Fair Ellen” – “Away Fond Love”, “Soul Divine” and all.’

I think it’s safe to conclude that Charlotte left the title of her own poem out of her letter, so we will never know its name. “Fair Ellen, Fair Ellen” is clearly for Ellen Nussey; “Soul Divine” seems fitting for Emily Brontë, and so “Away Fond Love” could be for Anne who was preparing to depart for her work as a governess.

I don’t think Weightman’s cards were meant as a joke, I think he simply wanted to bring some romance and happiness in the lives of the sisters and their friend – and well done to him for that.

Today is a rather romantic day for me too, as today marks the first anniversary of my wedding to my beautiful wife Yvette. We are celebrating by heading to York, a city much loved by us and by Anne Brontë who lived nearby for over five years when a governess to the Robinson family of Thorp Green Hall.

Upon my return I will be refreshing this website slightly and bringing news of some other changes to this blog – don’t worry, it’s all positive and I will be bringing you even more Brontë coverage. I hope you can join me next Wednesday for more news on that, and next Sunday for another new Brontë blog post.

I’m sure you’ve noticed that there’s a new ‘Wuthering Heights’ film coming out next week (a still from it is featured at the head of this post)? Its adverts are as ubiquitous on billboards as they are online, and the stars of the film are busy doing the publicity rounds as we speak. The official UK release date is next week on Friday 13th, so I can’t give any opinion on the film as yet. The trailer is certainly eye catching, but will this stylish remake do justice to Emily Brontë’s great work or draw a new generation of fans to the Brontë sisters?

As yet, that remains to be seen – but one thing we have seen is a rather unusual bracelet worn by the film’s star Margot Robbie to the premiere at Leicester Square on Thursday. It was an expertly crafted replica of the bracelet Charlotte Brontë wore after the death of her younger sisters – and featuring a garnet atop intertwined strands of the hair of Emily and Anne Brontë. 

At first, some people assumed it was the actual bracelet, and that it had been loaned to Margot by the Brontë Parsonage Museum. The museum staff are passionate about the Brontës and their collection, however, so that was never going to be the case.

In fact, the replica bracelet was made somewhere very appropriate – Wyedean Weaving based in Haworth itself. “When she [Robbie] saw it, I was told she was thrilled at how close we got to the original,” said Wyedean’s MD Robin Wright. Even so, many Brontë fans have expressed reservations about the use of the replica – it was, after all, mourning jewellery and not a fashion statement. In the days before photographs became widespread, hair was often taken from deceased loved ones and turned into bracelets, necklaces and rings. It was a way to remember ones who had been loved and lost, a physical connection that would endure and that one could look at and remember. The supplier of the replica bracelet was sourced for Robbie by Rebecca Yorke, director of the museum and of the Brontë Society.

We will have to wait a little longer to see what director Emerald Fennell has produced with her fresh take on what is, to me and many others, the greatest novel of all time. If names are anything to go by then we should be in safe hands, as Fennell is a name with strong Brontë connections. Jane and John Fennell were aunt and uncle to Maria Branwell – after setting up a school at Woodhouse Grove in Yorkshire they invited their Cornish niece to work in it. When Maria arrived there she fell in love with the school’s classics examiner and they were married less than six months later. That man was Patrick Brontë, and from their marriage, facilitated by the Fennells, the Brontë siblings came.

Interest in the film is certainly high, and so interest in the great genius Emily Brontë is high too. I’m pleased to say that I’m being interviewed about both by Vanity Fair magazine tomorrow – so more on that next week. Until then, have a happy Brontë filled week and I hope to see you again next Sunday for another new Brontë blog post.

 

One of my personal highlights of 2025, other than my marriage of course which was the highlight of my life, was being invited to address the Brussels Brontë Group in the city that two of the Brontë sisters, Charlotte Brontë and Emily Brontë, had known so well. My talk addressed the sisters’ differing attitudes towards faith and religion, and its influence upon their writing. There is no doubt in my mind that Anne Brontë was the most devout of the three writing Brontës, and today we are going to look at one of her most religious poems.

I myself am a believer, and spent this morning serving teas and coffees to the congregation whilst wearing a Brontë apron. It’s quite fitting, I feel, that we look at one of Anne’s religious works on a Sunday, but I hope that you enjoy Anne Brontë’s poetic skills even if you have a different faith or no faith.

Anne’s verse covers a diverse range of subjects. We have poems of love and loss, especially after the all too early death of William Weightman, such as “A Reminiscence”; we have nature poems such as “Lines Composed In A Wood On A Windy Day”; poems of longing for family and for Haworth such as “Home”. We also have poems of faith, and it is perhaps these which meant most to Anne. Some of this verse has been converted into hymns, a tribute to the natural melodic qualities of much of Anne’s poetry – poems such as “The Three Guides” which has found itself part of the Moravian hymn book. This is particularly fitting as it was a Moravian priest, James La Trobe who tended Anne and saved her life when she was dangerously ill as a pupil at Roe Head School.

We turn now to Anne Brontë’s poem “My God! O Let Me Call Thee Thine!” also sometimes called simply “A Prayer”:

‘My God! O let me call Thee mine!
Weak wretched sinner though I be,
My trembling soul would fain be Thine,
My feeble faith still clings to Thee,
My feeble faith still clings to Thee.
Not only for the past I grieve,
The future fills me with dismay;
Unless Thou hasten to relieve,
I know my heart will fall away,
I know my heart will fall away.
I cannot say my faith is strong,
I dare not hope my love is great;
But strength and love to Thee belong,
O, do not leave me desolate!
O, do not leave me desolate!
I know I owe my all to Thee,
O, take this heart I cannot give.
Do Thou my Strength my Saviour be;
And make me to Thy glory live!
And make me to Thy glory live!’

In twenty lines across five stanzas we find a declaration of faith by Anne Brontë. It is a personal faith; to Anne, God is not something to be read about in the Bible and then set aside, it is something you can call upon, something that will listen and help. It is this faith that made Anne so strong as she faced her final hours in Scarborough, and that proved in the end to be an impenetrable shield against despair.

I hope this post finds you all far from despair, and if not then I hope you find help and solace of some kind to help you through it. January, surely the longest month in the calendar, has finally slung its hook, and February with the promise of spring has arrived. A new Brontë blog post will also arrive, next Sunday, so I hope you can join me here for that.

It’s the 25th of January, which means we’ve nearly made it through this grey, seemingly interminable month – surely the longest month of the year. For Scottish people, and literature lovers across the globe, this day brings a moment of colour and relief amidst the dank, dricht January nights – for Robert Burns was born in Alloway on this day in 1759 – meaning that tonight is Burns night.

Robbie or Rabbie Burns transformed English language poetry; not only did he preserve many old Scottish folk songs, he also acted as a forerunner for the Romantic poetry movement that followed him. That’s romantic with a big R of course, but he also wrote possibly the world’s greatest love poem which it seems appropriate to share on this day:

The Brontës were keen poetry lovers and keen fans of all things Scottish, with James Hogg and, especially, Walter Scott being among the writers they adored and were influenced by. There can be little doubt that they also knew Burns’ poetry which was becoming increasingly popular and influential during the time they lived. One song which Burns set down on paper, and immortalised forever, was Auld Lang Syne, and it’s one that we know Anne Brontë especially valued. Anne’s music book contains the words and score to it written out in Anne’s own hand, so perhaps she and Emily Brontë played and sang it together during new year celebrations at Haworth Parsonage?

It’s also clear that Burns was a particular hero of Branwell Brontë. Branwell wrote a poem entitled ‘Robert Burns’, of which this fragment remains:

‘He little knows – whose life has smoothly passed
Unharmed by storm or strife, undimmed by care
Who – clad in purple laughs at every blast
Wrapped up contented in the joys that are
He little knows the long and truceless war
Of one on poverty’s rough waters cast
With eyes fixed forward on the glorious Star
That from fames temple beams – alas! How far
Til backward buffeted o’er ocean’s waste.’

It’s clearly a day for poetry, so I will leave you now with a poem by the Bard of Ayrshire himself – his immortal ‘Address To A Haggis’. I’m off to cook my neeps and tatties now, but I hope you can join me next week for another new Brontë blog post:

‘Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great Chieftain o’ the Puddin-race!
Aboon them a’ ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang‘s my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o’ need,
While thro’ your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.
His knife see Rustic-labour dight,
An’ cut ye up wi’ ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!
Then, horn for horn, they stretch an’ strive:
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,
Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
Bethankit hums.
Is there that owre his French ragout,
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi’ perfect sconner,
Looks down wi’ sneering, scornfu’ view
On sic a dinner?
Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither’d rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro’ bluidy flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!
But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He’ll make it whissle;
An’ legs, an’ arms, an’ heads will sned,
Like taps o’ thrissle.
Ye Pow’rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o’ fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer,
Gie her a Haggis!’

This weekend has been one to celebrate for Brontë lovers, and especially for fans of the youngest Brontë sister, for it has marked the 206th anniversary of the birth of Anne Brontë in Thornton, near Bradford. In recent years there has been a real resurgence in interest in Anne, and she is finally gaining the recognition she deserves as one of the great novelists of the nineteenth century. The Anne Brontë story began on January 17th 1820, in what is now the fabulous Brontë birthplace centre, in front of the fireplace you can see at the head of this post.

In today’s post we are going to look at some of the everyday things that were so important in Anne’s life, starting with this very special cradle. Rarely exhibited by the Brontë Parsonage Museum now, due to both its importance and fragility, this cradle was used to rock Anne, Emily and Charlotte Brontë among others. 

Anne was baptised on 25th March 1820 in what is now called Thornton’s ‘Old Bell Chapel’. Here is her baptismal entry, Interesting her father Patrick is listed as ‘Minister of Haworth’ although he and his family weren’t to move to their new parish until the following month.

Sometimes old houses hide remarkable treasures. These Brontë toys were found under parsonage floorboards lifted up during a 1949 renovation. As the final child in the family, Anne would undoubtedly have played with these alphabet blocks, and the toy iron and a tiny porcelain doll whose dress was made from a fragment of a dress worn by older sister Charlotte.

As I type this on a cold Sunday in January, looking out at a bank of Yorkshire fog, I look forward to a summer holiday by the sea. Anne Brontë loved the sea too, and annual visits to Scarborough were the highlights of her five years service as governess to the Robinson family of Thorp Green Hall near York. Anne loved to collect pebbles from the beach, and here is some of her pebble collection.

Talking of the Robinsons, there was one other thing she treasured from her time with the wealthy well-connected family: her pet spaniel Flossy which was gifted to Anne by the children she looked after. Anne drew two pictures of Flossy (Emily Brontë also produced one), but both were unfinished. One is shown below. Perhaps Flossy simply wouldn’t sit still long enough for Anne to complete the paintings?

Of course, the greatest thing Anne left to the world were her great books. In Agnes Grey and The Tenant Of Wildfell Hall Anne Brontë completed two very different books which deserve to be counted amongst the greatest novels of all time. Tenant in particular continues to astonish readers with its power and its messaging which is as relevant today as it has ever been.

If you’re a fellow Anne Brontë lover please do comment below and let me know why she means so much to you. I’ve also created a new House Of Brontë video over on my YouTube channel to explain just why I think Anne Brontë matters today:

Let’s all raise a glass or mug to toast this very special writer, and to say “Happy 206th birthday Anne Brontë!”. She faced great challenges in her life, but achieved great things and through it all she remained determined to do what she felt was right and proper – regardless of what criticisms might come her way. That, along with her novels and poems, is her lasting legacy. I hope you can join me next week for another new Brontë blog post.

Archbishops of Canterbury have been very much in the news recently, as the new Archbishop Sarah Mullally gave her official new year address after becoming the first woman to hold the post. Patrick and Charlotte Brontë themselves knew a future Archbishop of Canterbury, and in today’s post we’re going to look at his fascinating assessment of Charlotte and her character.

Charles Longley was Bishop of Ripon, in the North Riding of Yorkshire, when he was a guest of the Brontës visiting Haworth Parsonage in March 1853. It was he who gave the fascinating account of what happened to Patrick’s predecessor as Haworth’s curate Samuel Redhead:

‘in the case of Mr. Redhead, the inhabitants exercised their right of resistance and opposition and to such a point did they carry it, that they actually brought a Donkey into the church while Mr. Redhead was officiating and held up its head to stare him in the face – they then laid a plan to crush him to death in the vestry, by pushing a table against him as he was taking off his surplice and hanging it up, foiled in this for some reason or other they then turned out into the Churchyard where Mr. Redhead was going to perform a funeral and were determined to throw him into the grave and bury him alive.’

Being made Bishop of Ripon wasn’t the pinnacle of Charles Longley’s achievements, for he next became Bishop of Durham, followed by Archbishop of York and then, in 1860, he became the Archbishop of Canterbury – the great Canterbury Cathedral can be seen at the head of this post.

He also gave an account of Charlotte Brontë in two letters sent to his wife Caroline. The first was sent from Haworth and described the village and parsonage:

‘It snowed the whole way here – becoming a storm when I got within a mile of this place. It is a curious spot… I had to cross a great deal of moor to get to it… Old Mr Brontë called it “that dismal hill – that fearful precipice”… In driving up to the parsonage, I had to go thro’ so narrow, dent-like a street that I thought  the carriage would have stuck – arrived however at the Parsonage I found Mr Brontë in a very comfortable room and his sight much restored, cheerful. 

His daughter appeared soon after – the only surviving child of six – but before I had seen her, I had seen a very fine crayon full sized portrait of her by Richmond, which someone presented to her father. You have heard her person described – she is small, but with marked features but quite self possessed. Her conversation is interesting and agreeable and she does not assume the Blue at all – we had a young clergyman at supper here who would talk to her about her books – but she soon gave him to understand she did not like this subject on all occasions.’

Two days later Bishop Longley had moved on to Wilsden, and he wrote to his wife again on a subject which seemed to have grabbed his attention: Charlotte Brontë:

‘She is not the least like the MIss Barkers – she has none of that stamp of genius in her countenance which they undoubtedly bear about them – she has none of that mark of inward inspiration (if I may be allowed thus to use the term) which one cannot but read in their expression. None of that close reserve, and difficulty of access in conversation which I at any rate found in them. She looks like a clever little boy, well-mannered, ready in conversation, just and sensible in her remarks which indicate thoughts and reflexions, active in her household duties, an excellent daughter, as her father assured me, without any of the abstractions of genius. Without making any fuss, she was exceedingly attentive to my comfort – would go up to my room and stir the fire, and see that all was ready for me before I went up for my morning writing before breakfast. Her young clerical neighbours speak of her as satirical and I cannot help suspecting that they have a little tournament with her now and then – and that she took revenge on them in Shirley.’

As the Archbishop, and most people in the area, knew, Charlotte had used her novel Shirley to give unflattering, but not mean, portraits of many of the local curates she knew – including her future husband Arthur Bell Nicholls. These fascinating letters get to the heart of what Charlotte Brontë was like after she found fame as an author – she was a great genius, but she was also greatly unassuming and preferred the everyday matters of domestic life to talking about her own novels and talents.

I hope you aren’t snowed in, and that you can join me next week for another new Brontë blog post.

The new year has arrived, and we now enter the twelfth year of my Anne Brontë, and Brontë family, blog. Thank you again for all the great comments over the last few weeks, I’m always happy to read them, and I have big plans for this blog over the coming year. Today we are going to look at the man at the centre of a monumental event in the Brontë story on this day in 1844.

How has your new year started? Are you easing your way in slowly but surely, or maybe getting ready for a return to work tomorrow (my commiserations)? In 1846 Emily Brontë opened the year in dramatic fashion, as on the 2nd of January she penned what many see as her poetic masterpiece: “No Coward Soul Is Mine”. Here is Emily’s manuscript version of the poem, and she’s helpfully dated it for us:

The start of the year 1844 saw a dramatic turn in events for Charlotte Brontë, for it was on 1st January of that year that she set sail and ended her near two year stint at the Pensionnat Heger school in Brussels (first as a pupil and then as a teacher). The Heger family can be seen at the head of this post. Charlotte arrived back in Haworth on 3rd January, and would never see Belgium again. 

Charlotte returned with a heavy heart, but for me it’s quite clear that her unrequited love for Monsieur Constantin Heger heavily influenced the novels she would soon write. It’s clear that Heger was a complex man – he could be a stern man, but did he treat Charlotte Brontë badly, did he trifle with her affections, or was he simply the unwilling target of a student then colleague’s affections? The truth is we will never know, but we get a glimpse of him in an account given to the Carluke and Lanark Gazette on 16th January 1915. In it, a Mrs O’ Brien, looking back at her life, recalls a friend with a Brontë connection and who had her own time at the Pensionnat Heger some years after Charlotte Brontë had left. I reproduce it below:

‘Mrs. O’Brien writes: Only the other day a French friend was telling me that her whole life was influenced by Charlotte Brontë. This friend was not born when Charlotte Brontë lived, and I was puzzled to find the connecting-link between them. My friend explained to me that when she left the French convent where she was educated she found a situation in a Belgian school. She was getting on happily when an English girl who was discontented with her surroundings told her that she shared Charlotte Brontë’s opinions of the Belgians. Charlotte Brontë! The name had not penetrated the French convent school library. The English girl was indignant. “You never heard of Charlotte Brontë! You don’t know that she lived here in this very place, and suffered as I am suffering.”

It was the famous school which Charlotte described in Villette, and when she had read it she was intensely miserable. In those days, Mme. Heger was still ruling, and her husband, when questioned as to his famous pupil, replied with insufferable vanity that he had liked his English eleve [tr: ‘pupil’], and she had responded with a warmer feeling. The tone of the reply disgusted my friend, both with the speaker and with her surroundings. Her heart ached at the thought of what Charlotte Brontë had suffered in that place, at the hands of those people, who had prospered and done well. The feeling grew so acute that it seemed to her the place was haunted. She decided to leave it and accept a worse situation where her mind was at peace.”

I hope you all enjoyed that almost first hand account of Monsieur Heger, and that you are also at peace even in the midst of January – surely the longest month in the year, but lighter and longer days are coming. I also hope you can join me again next Sunday for another new Brontë blog post.

We’ve made it to 2026 so Happy New Year to you and your loved ones, and to all who have done so much to support this blog throughout the years, and to support me! It’s a time of change and a time of opportunity for us all, just as it was for Charlotte Brontë on this day in 1844.

January 1st of that year saw Charlotte Brontë leave Brussels after nearly two years in Belgium (interrupted by a brief return to Haworth after Aunt Branwell’s death). In her hands Charlotte carried a diploma given to her by Constantin Heger certifying that she had completed her studies. It was hoped that she, supported by sisters Emily and Anne Brontë, would now be able to open a school in Haworth or elsewhere, but in fact the lessons learnt in Brussels would lead to a very different future for them all. There can be no doubt that the shadow of Charlotte’s unrequited love for Monsieur Heger influenced much of her writing, and led directly to the great novels of the Brontë sisters we know and love today. The diploma itself is lost, but we still have the envelope it was contained in.

I’m now in the twelfth year of writing this blog, and in that time my posts have received millions of views. It’s such a privilege and honour to share my love of the Brontës with so many people who feel the same about these brilliant writers and brilliant human beings. There’s always something new to write about, and I have big plans for this blog in the coming year – but more on that as January progresses. For now I want to wish you all a very very happy and healthy new year, and I leave you with a copy of Auld Lang Syne transcribed in Anne Brontë’s own handwriting: 

I hope you all had a very Happy Christmas, and thanks to you all for joining me over my 12 days of Brontë Christmas countdown – I had so many lovely comments about the posts, and that makes it all worthwhile. This period between Christmas and New Year can be a time to relax and recharge the batteries, but this week in 1812 was anything but relaxing for the founding figures of the Brontë family: for Patrick Brontë and Maria Branwell it was a time of excited anticipation, a time of joy and a time of wedding preparation.

Patrick and Maria were married in Guiseley’s St. Oswald’s church on 29th December 1812, less than six months after their first meeting (although it has been conjectured that there may have been an earlier meeting between the two). It was a happy and unique event, for in fact it was a triple wedding spread across four hundred miles involving two sisters, two best friends, and four cousins. Phew, I will leave it to Charlotte Branwell, daughter of one of the participants (and cousin of the Brontë sisters), to explain it in a letter printed in a Cornish newspaper on Christmas Day 1884:

On this day in 1812 bride and groom-to-be were on the eve of their wedding – I can well imagine how they must have been feeling as I had my own wedding day earlier this year, making me the happiest man in the world. Patrick and Maria must have been feeling just as happy, and their married life was a happy one which produced six children.

In a letter of 5th December, Maria wrote of their wedding preparations: ‘We intend to set about making the cakes here next week, but as fifteen or twenty persons whom you mention live probably in your neighbourhood, I think it will be most convenient for Mrs Bedford to make a small one for the purpose of distributing there, which will save us the difficulty of sending so far.’

Mr and Mrs Bedford were Patrick’s landlords at his rented home of Lousy Thorn Farm near Hartshead-cum-Clifton in the West Riding of Yorkshire, although shortly after the wedding the new Mr and Mrs Brontë made their first home at Clough House in nearby Hightown.

Whatever your plans are for the New Year I hope they can go smoothly, and I hope you can join me on Sunday for our first Brontë blog post of 2026 – and I have big plans for this website, and for celebrations of all things Brontë, in the year to come.

So here it is – Merry Christmas! I opened my curtains to not a single snowflake this morning, but we can still get in the festive mood by finalising our 12 day Brontë Christmas countdown!

In the famous song that we’ve been following for nearly two weeks now, the twelfth day brought with it a gift of 12 drummers drumming.

There are no records of a Brontë owning a drum, or even hearing a drum, but we know that the family loved music. Patrick bought a second hand piano that Emily (who was reportedly a brilliant player) and Anne Brontë played (Charlotte apparently didn’t play as she was too short sighted to read music), and you can still see it in Patrick’s study in the Brontë Parsonage today. Branwell Brontë also played the church organ from time to time, and flute.

There is one other instrument that has become associated with the Brontës, thanks to a poem by Emily, and it’s one which was in its infancy at the time although it has come to dominate the world of popular music today: the guitar. Here is Emily Brontë’s poem “The Lady To Her Guitar”:

So now we have concluded our 12 Days Of Brontë Christmas countdown. We’ve had to use a little artistic license on some days, but I hope you’ve enjoyed reading these posts as much as I’ve enjoyed writing them. Our song now reads: “On the twelfth day of Christmas the Brontës gave to me twelve strummers strumming, eleven trumpets playing, ten Lords a changing, nine sisters dancing, eight maids a loving, seven books a reading, six geese a straying, five Brontë rings, four coloured dogs, three French letters, two captive doves, and a merlin in a bare tree.”

I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas, and I look forward to seeing you on Sunday for another new Brontë blog post. I leave you today, as on every Christmas Day for the last 11 years with Anne Brontë’s poem “Music On Christmas Morning”:

‘Music I love – but never strain
Could kindle raptures so divine,
So grief assuage, so conquer pain,
And rouse this pensive heart of mine –
As that we hear on Christmas morn,
Upon the wintry breezes born.
Though Darkness still her empire keep,
And hours must pass, ere morning break;
From troubled dreams, or slumbers deep,
That music kindly bids us wake:
It calls us, with an angel’s voice,
To wake, and worship, and rejoice;
To greet with joy the glorious morn,
Which angels welcomed long ago,
When our redeeming Lord was born,
To bring the light of Heaven below;
The Powers of Darkness to dispel,
And rescue Earth from Death and Hell.
While listening to that sacred strain,
My raptured spirit soars on high;
I seem to hear those songs again
Resounding through the open sky,
That kindled such divine delight,
In those who watched their flocks by night.
With them – I celebrate His birth –
Glory to God, in highest Heaven,
Good will to men, and peace on Earth,
To us a saviour-king is given;
Our God is come to claim His own,
And Satan’s power is overthrown!
A sinless God, for sinful men,
Descends to suffer and to bleed;
Hell must renounce its empire then;
The price is paid, the world is freed.
And Satan’s self must now confess,
That Christ has earned a Right to bless:
Now holy Peace may smile from heaven,
And heavenly Truth from earth shall spring:
The captive’s galling bonds are riven,
For our Redeemer is our king;
And He that gave his blood for men
Will lead us home to God again.’