Author: insearchofannebronte@hotmail.com

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.’

Christmas Eve is here, a time for house cleaning, food prepping and gift wrapping. A time for singing carols: carols such as The Twelve Days Of Christmas. We’re onto day 11 of our 12 day Bronte countdown, so what twist can we put on the 11 pipers piping as featured in the original song?

Pipers are commonly associated with the military, or with Scotland – especially with their great New Year feast of Hogmanay. The Brontes were lovers of all things Scottish, having been influenced from a young age by the writings of Walter Scott. 

Charlotte Bronte eventually visited Scotland along with her publisher George Smith and his family, and fell deeply in love with Edinburgh. She wrote of the city in a letter dated July 30th 1850 to her friend Laetitia Wheelwright:

“My stay in Scotland was short, and what I saw was chiefly comprised in Edinburgh and the neighbourhood, in Abbotsford and in Melrose; for I was obliged to relinquish my first intention of going from Glasgow to Oban and thence through a portion of the Highlands — but — though the time was brief, and the view of objects limited, I found such a charm of situation, association and circumstance that I think the enjoyment experienced in that little space equalled in degree and excelled in kind all which London yielded during a month’s sojourn. Edinburgh compared to London is like a vivid page of history compared to a huge dull treatise on Political Economy – and as to Melrose and Abbotsford the very names possess music and magic.”

Could Charlotte have heard pipes piping during this Scottish visit? Quite possibly, and we can safely say, given her love of all things Scottish, she would have been enchanted by them. Pipes of a different kind could be heard in Haworth every Christmas – in the form of the brass and woodwind instruments played by local brass bands who visited leading houses in the district, such as Haworth Parsonage. We get a glimpse of what this would have been like in the Christmas scene in Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights:

“In the evening we had a dance. Cathy begged that he might be liberated then, as Isabella Linton had no partner: her entreaties were vain, and I was appointed to supply the deficiency. We got rid of all gloom in the excitement of the exercise, and our pleasure was increased by the arrival of the Gimmerton band, mustering fifteen strong: a trumpet, a trombone, clarionets, bassoons, French horns, and a bass viol, besides singers. They go the rounds of all the respectable houses, and receive contributions every Christmas, and we esteemed it a first-rate treat to hear them. After the usual carols had been sung, we set them to songs and glees. Mrs. Earnshaw loved the music, and so they gave us plenty.”

Let us then update our Christmas song to: “On the eleventh day of Christmas the Brontes gave to me 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.”

Hearing festive bands, then or today, is a joyous experience, but I know that Christmas isn’t always a happy time for many. There are many who will be dealing with loss, myself included, at this Christmas time. I can very much recommend the e-books on “Coping With Grief” and “Dealing With Loneliness” authored by my wonderful wife Yvette, a specialist in bereavement therapy. She has been immensely helpful to me in so many ways, and you cand find out more about her books at this Restorative Creativity link.

Please, if you can, join me tomorrow for the twelfth instalment of our 12 Days Of Bronte Christmas countdown, which will also feature a certain Bronte poem that I always post on Christmas Day itself! Until then, may all your preparations go smoothly.

If you’ve been following my 12 Days Of Brontë Christmas countdown you’ll know that it’s already been a very mixed selection: we’ve had everything from portraits of dogs, to mourning rings, pet geese and Brontës dancing in old Hollywood movies. Today we take inspiration from one of the greatest Brontë novels: Anne Brontë’s The Tenant Of Wildfell Hall.

We’re following, as always, the pattern of the Christmas song we all know and love, and on this day the true love gifted ten lords a leaping. It doesn’t sound like a very practical gift, but many believe that the song as a whole is a form of Catholic symbolism. After the reformation, particularly during the reigns of Elizabeth I and James I to be a Catholic in England was to be in danger. It was illegal to attend Catholic mass and compulsory to attend Anglican services, and failure to comply could result in fines, jail or worse. It was this tension that led to the gunpowder plot of 1605 (as you can find out in my book The Real Guy Fawkes).

The Catholic faith was forced underground, with hidden chapels and priest holes where priests could hide from troops sent to catch them. It’s said that each day of the twelve day song represents one element of the Catholic faith – and the  ten lords are actually the ten commandments, whilst yesterday’s nine ladies dancing were the nine fruits of the holy spirit.

Onto today’s Brontë connection. There were no Lords at Haworth Parsonage, although the Bishop of Ripon Charles Longley, who was a guest of the Brontës there, later became a ‘Lord Spiritual’ when he was appointed Archbishop of Canterbury.

A Lord features prominently in a Brontë novel however: Lord Lowborough in The Tenant Of Wildfell Hall. Some people believe that Branwell Brontë is at the heart of the villain of the novel Arthur Huntingdon, but Huntingdon is an irredeemable character – a drunk and an adulterer who makes the life of his wife Helen an utter misery. Branwell had his faults and weaknesses, but Anne Brontë had faith in him and would not have portrayed him in that way.

I feel that Lord Lowborough has more of Branwell in him. Lowborough is a weak and troubled man, easily led by his circle of friends into a life of debauchery, drunkenness, drug taking and gambling. Nevertheless we see in Anne’s novels his attempts to change: he weans himself off of drink, but Huntingdon’s gang hold him down and force drink down his throat.

Anne Brontë sups up Lord Lowborough’s trials and efforts towards the close of her great novel: 

“Some time before Mr. Huntingdon’s death Lady Lowborough eloped with another gallant to the Continent, where, having lived a while in reckless gaiety and dissipation, they quarrelled and parted. She went dashing on for a season, but years came and money went: she sunk, at length, in difficulty and debt, disgrace and misery; and died at last, as I have heard, in penury, neglect, and utter wretchedness. But this might be only a report: she may be living yet for anything I or any of her relatives or former acquaintances can tell; for they have all lost sight of her long years ago, and would as thoroughly forget her if they could. Her husband, however, upon this second misdemeanour, immediately sought and obtained a divorce, and, not long after, married again. It was well he did, for Lord Lowborough, morose and moody as he seemed, was not the man for a bachelor’s life. No public interests, no ambitious projects, or active pursuits, – or ties of friendship even (if he had had any friends), could compensate to him for the absence of domestic comforts and endearments. He had a son and a nominal daughter, it is true, but they too painfully reminded him of their mother, and the unfortunate little Annabella was a source of perpetual bitterness to his soul. He had obliged himself to treat her with paternal kindness: he had forced himself not to hate her, and even, perhaps, to feel some degree of kindly regard for her, at last, in return for her artless and unsuspecting attachment to himself; but the bitterness of his self-condemnation for his inward feelings towards that innocent being, his constant struggles to subdue the evil promptings of his nature (for it was not a generous one), though partly guessed at by those who knew him, could be known to God and his own heart alone; – so also was the hardness of his conflicts with the temptation to return to the vice of his youth, and seek oblivion for past calamities, and deadness to the present misery of a blighted heart a joyless, friendless life, and a morbidly disconsolate mind, by yielding again to that insidious foe to health, and sense, and virtue, which had so deplorably enslaved and degraded him before.

The second object of his choice was widely different from the first. Some wondered at his taste; some even ridiculed it – but in this their folly was more apparent than his. The lady was about his own age – i.e., between thirty and forty – remarkable neither for beauty, nor wealth, nor brilliant accomplishments; nor any other thing that I ever heard of, except genuine good sense, unswerving integrity, active piety, warm-hearted benevolence, and a fund of cheerful spirits. These qualities, however, as you may readily imagine, combined to render her an excellent mother to the children, and an invaluable wife to his lordship. He, with his usual self-depreciation, thought her a world too good for him, and while he wondered at the kindness of Providence in conferring such a gift upon him, and even at her taste in preferring him to other men, he did his best to reciprocate the good she did him, and so far succeeded that she was, and I believe still is, one of the happiest and fondest wives in England; and all who question the good taste of either partner may be thankful if their respective selections afford them half the genuine satisfaction in the end, or repay their preference with affection half as lasting and sincere.”

It is a reform and redemption, of a kind, for Lord Lowborough just as Anne always believed her brother Branwell was capable of change. So now we have: “On the tenth day of Christmas the Brontës gave to me 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 can join me tomorrow, Christmas Eve, as we continue our countdown of the twelve days of Brontë Christmas.

Christmas week has arrived: how did that happen, it seems only the blink of an eye since Advent appeared over the horizon? It may be a busy week for you, but I hope you still find time to enjoy the four remaining posts in my 12 Days Of Brontë Christmas countdown!

In the original song we have arrived at ‘nine ladies dancing’, so did the Brontë sisters dance? The Brontës were a lower middle class family at a time when social position was more entrenched and more important than it is today. As daughters of a Church of England clergyman they were eminently respectable, but they didn’t have a lot of money compared to many clergy families. Many vicars and curates at this time, such as Patrick Brontë’s forerunner at Haworth Samuel Redhead, came from wealthy families, but Patrick came from a poor farming family which meant that he didn’t have the money to lavish on his children that he might have liked.

From an early age the Brontë sisters were being shaped for life as a governess: they would be expected to be able to teach sewing, literature and art, arithmetic and the humanities, but dancing was a skill that specialist teachers would be engaged for. Therefore, in short, I doubt whether the Brontës engaged in much dancing in their lives, other than perhaps with each other or their father or brother at Christmas.

We know Charlotte Brontë’s opinion of dancing thanks to a letter that she sent, aged 18, to her best friend Ellen Nussey. In the letter Charlotte names the sins of dancing as ‘shaking the shanks’, frivolity, and wasting time – but concludes that young people should still be permitted to engage in it from time to time.

There is much frivolity, and much shaking of the shanks, in a clip from the rather eccentric Hollywood Brontë biopic ‘Devotion’. In one notable scene Emily, Anne and Charlotte are seen dancing in a grand country house, and Charlotte is soon dancing with a rather posh Arthur Bell Nicholls. It’s all phooey, but enjoyable phooey. You can see the clip below, so now we can add to our song: On the ninth day of Christmas the Brontës gave to me 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 can join me tomorrow as we reach double figures in our Brontë festive fun countdown, and if you are shaking your shanks over the next four days I hope you are the king or queen of your dancefloor.

As regular readers of this blog will know, I try to do at least one Brontë post every week, as I have done for over ten years now, with a post usually appearing on Sunday. In the run up to Christmas this year I have been posting a daily post following the pattern of the 12 Days Of Christmas song, so if you’ve missed any of the previous posts here they are:

7 books a reading

6 geese a straying

5 Brontë rings

4 coloured dogs

3 French letters

2 Captive doves

and a merlin in a bare tree

Day 8 of the original song requires 8 maids a milking, but not having a cow of their own the Brontë family have little need of a milkmaid. They did, however, have a succession of nursemaids, general maids and cooks. The ones we know most about are:

The de Garrs Sisters: Nancy and Sarah de Garrs were initially employed as maids at Thornton but travelled with the Brontë family to Haworth. Sarah married and emigrated to America, but Nancy remained in the West Riding of Yorkshire. She ended her days, like so many others, in Bradford Workhouse but she had a steady stream of visitors who were keen to hear her tales of the Brontë children she’d known and loved.

Tabby Aykroyd: After the de Garrs sisters married and left the employ of Patrick Brontë, Aunt Branwell suggested that one older servant would be better than two younger ones, so Tabitha Aykroyd came to the parsonage. The Brontë siblings loved this bluff Yorkshire woman who told them folk tales, so much so that they refused to eat when their father wanted to let Tabby go after she broke her leg. In later years Charlotte would complete the work that the by then elderly Tabby missed without telling her; another mark of the respect and love she was held in.

Martha Brown: Martha was the daughter of Haworth sexton, and parsonage neighbour, John Brown. She entered service at the parsonage aged 13 and remained there for over 20 years. After the deaths of Emily and Anne Brontë she became a confidante and friend of Charlotte, and after Charlotte’s death she moved to Ireland to live with Charlotte’s widower Arthur Bell Nicholls and his second wife Mary Anna.

Tabitha Brown: Tabitha was the younger sister of Martha, and although she never lived in the parsonage she was often called upon when an extra pair of hands were needed. It was Tabitha Brown, by then the elderly Tabitha Ratcliffe, who gave this moving recollection of the Brontë sisters to a newspaper in 1910:

‘Her most interesting relic is a photograph on glass of the three sisters. “I believe Charlotte was the lowest and the broadest, and Emily was the tallest. She’d bigger bones and was stronger looking and more masculine, but very nice in her ways,” she comments. “But I used to think Miss Anne looked the nicest and most serious like; she used to teach at Sunday school. I’ve been taught by her and by Charlotte and all.” And it is on Anne that her glance rests as she says, “I think that is a good face.” There is no doubt which of the sisters of Haworth was Mrs Ratcliffe’s favourite.’

So we have five maids, or servants, but there would undoubtedly have been others from time to time, and it is clear that they all loved the Brontë children very much. So on this eighth day of Christmas the Brontës gave to us Eight maids a loving.

I hope you can join me tomorrow, amidst your festive celebrations, as we reach day nine of our 12 Days of Brontë Christmas countdown.