Aunt Branwell and the Brontë Legacy

by Aunt Branwell

  A clue, perhaps, lies in one of the possessions that she brought from Penzance to Haworth in 1821, and which can be seen in the Brontë Parsonage Museum today. It is a beautifully ornate and lacquered dressing case in the then highly fashionable ‘Japan’ style. Opened up, it contains one long compartment and four smaller compartments, and on the lid are her initials. This was a treasured possession of Elizabeth’s, as we shall see when we later come to it in her will, and the inclusion of the initials on top seem to indicate that it had been given as a present to her.

  As a thing of beauty, which it still is today over two hundred years after it was crafted, it is entirely plausible that it was given to Elizabeth as a mark of affection by someone who she had grown close to. The early-twentieth century Brontë scholar, C. Mabel Edgerley, after talking to Captain Arthur Branwell, Elizabeth’s nephew once removed, opined that it may have been gifted to Elizabeth by her cousin, the dashing naval officer Thomas Branwell, son of her Uncle Richard. She also gave this description of cousin Thomas from his miniature painted as part of the same series that saw Elizabeth herself drawn:

  ‘He looks a merry, bright, young fellow, with his fresh complexion, brown eyes, powdered hair, and his cocked hat and coat with gilt buttons. There is a strong resemblance between Branwell Brontë and him16.’

  This is the sort of man whose recollection would bring a smile to Elizabeth Branwell in later years, to whom her thoughts turned on those dark nights when the wind howled around the Yorkshire parsonage that had become her home, when she was alone and far from the place she loved more than any other.

  If Elizabeth Branwell did have a suitor, and if for nothing other than the conventions of the time, it is likely that she did, she never married. There would soon be further marriages within her family, however, and two rapid deaths. The results of these events would separate the Branwell family forever.

  Chapter 6

  By Sight and Report

  ‘I am now acquainted with all the ladies in my parish, and several in this town too; and many others I know by sight and report; but not one of them will suit me for a companion: in fact there is only one person in the world that will; and that is yourself and I want to know your decision?’

  Anne Brontë, Agnes Grey

  As the new century opened in Penzance, the 23-year-old Elizabeth Branwell looked forward to the years to come with hope and optimism. Her parents were happily married and financially secure, with a growing property empire and a respected place within society. Her sister Jane had found love with a Wesleyan preacher, a love that would be resolved in marriage in that summer of 1800, and she may have anticipated similar happiness for herself and her other sisters Maria and Charlotte.

  The dawn was greeted by crowds who waited to see the first rising sun of the nineteenth century. It was a time when the festivities were especially loud and gregarious, and based upon centuries-old Cornish traditions. Turning aside from the alcohol-fuelled over-exuberance, Elizabeth instead devoted herself to another new year tradition, sanding a line on the front doorstep, so a first footer could cross it and bring good luck with them. Before retiring to bed on the last night of the eighteenth century she would have lifted her favourite Bible, flicked through its leaves and placed the forefinger of her right hand on a page without looking down – the passage thus selected would give an indication of the year to come.

  The 1800 new year celebrations allowed a moment of reflection and an opportunity for a hard-working populace to forget the everyday stresses and strains in a community-wide revel. This hedonistic spirit was even more apparent on 21 June, when the town celebrated Midsummer in a wild and colourful manner. Midsummer festivities were common across Cornwall, but it was noted that:

  ‘In no part of Cornwall, is Midsummer celebrated with more hilarity than Penzance and its neighbourhood; for on the 23rd of June, the young people are all alert in the preparations for their favourite festival1.’

  The 1831 account of these festivities given by William Colenso of Penzance is detailed and illuminating, and fully captures the joyous nature of the event. Even though the drunkenness that was prevalent at these events did not suit Elizabeth’s tastes, she would surely have relished the atmosphere of fun and happiness, and the sheer spectacle would have thrilled her. It was a time when the whole town came together, wealthy and poor alike, so we can imagine Elizabeth playing her part alongside her sisters. The 1800 Golowan festival, or Mazey Day as it was also known, would have seemed especially auspicious for the Branwell family, coming as it did just eleven days after the marriage of Jane to John Kingston.

  Men and women, boys and girls, some wearing masks but all in their finery, marched through the streets with burning torches held aloft, singing as they went, and burning barrels of tar added to the spectacle. Fireworks burst into the night sky before a dizzying yet intricate finale was enacted:

  ‘No sooner are the torches burnt out than the inhabitants of the quay quarter, (a great multitude,) male and female, young, middle-aged, and old, virtuous and vicious, sober and drunk, take hands, and forming a long line, run violently through every street, lane, and alley, crying “an eye, an eye, an eye!” At last they stop suddenly and an eye to this enormous needle being opened, by the last two in the string, (whose clasped hands are elevated and arched) the thread of populace run under and through; and continue to repeat the same, till weariness dissolves the union, and sends them home to bed, which is never till past the hour of midnight2.’

  Mazey Day, with its profusion of flames, alcohol and revelry, was banned for safety reasons for 100 years until it returned to Penzance in 1991. It is once again held annually, and although it is still a spectacular sight it must have been even more exhilarating in Elizabeth Branwell’s time. It’s easy to imagine Elizabeth clasping her sister Jane, now Mrs. Kingston, to herself at the conclusion of the festivities in 1800, tears of happiness and sorrow running down their cheeks, for they knew they would not celebrate together in that way again.

  Jane soon found that being a Wesleyan minister’s wife, especially a Wesleyan minister filled with missionary zeal like John Kingston, was not as stable as she may have hoped. The Methodist Conference, as its ruling council was called, frequently assigned its preachers to new parishes, so that in 1801, and with Jane already pregnant with the first of her five children, the Kingstons moved to Truro3. This was still within visiting distance for Jane’s family, as was Launceston where they settled in 1802, but in 1803 he was sent to Nottingham and then in 1805 to Shrewsbury4. Jane was now only reachable via letter, by which means Elizabeth learned of her sister’s growing family, but at least she could be sure of the respectable life Jane had entered into, and she knew that she need have no concerns for the future of her elder sister.

  Jane was not the only one of Elizabeth’s siblings that married and started their own family as the eighteenth century moved into the nineteenth. Benjamin Carne Branwell, her only brother, had married on 25 January 1799, at the Madron church that witnessed so many defining events, happy and sad, in the family’s story. Once again, we find Elizabeth taking a central role in the wedding, signing her name as a witness on the marriage register5. The fact that Elizabeth was chosen as witness rather than her elder sister Jane shows the high regard she was held in by her family and others, and the reputation she had for dependability.

  Benjamin’s choice of wife, Mary Batten, was looked upon with delight by his father and mother, for she too came from one of Penzance’s leading families. Her father, John Batten, had already served as the town’s mayor on three occasions, with two more stints to come, and her brother, another John Batten, was made mayor the year after her marriage to Benjamin6. The Batten family was at the heart of Penzance politics and administration, and now that Benjamin Branwell had married into it he too would benefit, thanks no doubt to the encouragement and support of his wife who expected nothing less. Whilst his father Thomas had been delighted to have been made a councillor in 1788, at the age of 42, Benjamin climbed ev
en higher and was himself made mayor of Penzance for the year 1809, aged just 33.

  Elizabeth was unsurprised at her brother’s elevation, for he had always shown himself as one whose talents matched his ambition. Alongside his roles first as councillor and then as mayor, Benjamin was also a town magistrate, and he had also inherited his father Thomas’ mercantile acumen as he proved himself to be an excellent businessman and a successful estate agent.

  Benjamin and Mary’s first child was born in 1801, and named Thomas after his grandfather. This was Elizabeth’s first opportunity to fulfil the role of aunt, as she saw far more of little Thomas than her sister Jane’s first child born in Truro, also called Thomas and also born in 1801. In what must have been a tragedy for Benjamin, however, his first son died in infancy just as his two brothers of the same name had done.

  By the time Benjamin accepted the mayoral chain and ascended into the highest position in Penzance society in January 1808, he had three further children, all of whom would live into adulthood, Mary, Emma and Benjamin Batten. It was a day of great pride not only for him but also for his sisters Elizabeth, Maria and Charlotte who were looking on as he took up his new role amidst ceremonial pomp.

  Full of pride, Elizabeth queued with others in 1809, to welcome the new mayor of Penzance. This was the zenith of her life so far, a life that stretched with such promise before her into a future filled with even greater success and prosperity for the Branwells of Penzance. It was also, however, a day tinged with sadness, for Elizabeth and her family were in the middle of a tragic two year period.

  The first sign of things to come came in letters from her sister Jane Kingston in Shropshire. Jane’s time in Shrewsbury should have been happy, as it gave her a chance to renew acquaintances with her aunt Jane and uncle John Fennell who were also in the county. None of the letters from Jane Kingston to her family survive, but whilst they were at first guarded in their content they must slowly but surely have taken on a despondent tone.

  By 1807, there could be no more hiding the truth – John had committed a grievous offence that led to him facing an ecclesiastical court and dismissal as a Wesleyan minister. The nature of this offence was unspecified, although we shall return to it and the effect it had upon his wife and family later7. The letter revealing this terrible downturn in Jane’s fortunes was also a blow to her sister Elizabeth; with a naturally sensitive and caring disposition, and wishing, above all other things, happiness for those in her own family, Elizabeth realised the far reaching implications contained within a few short lines. Jane by now had four children, and she was pregnant with a fifth. The nature of her husband’s dismissal not only meant a halt to the income they relied upon, it also brought shame upon their name, and it was a shame that would follow them wherever they went, making it impossible for him to become a preacher or minister in England again.

  This much was evident to John Kingston as well, and his solution was to return to America – the land he had left nine years earlier, but which he saw as a land of opportunity, and a place where he could find the welcome anonymity that was now lost to him in his homeland’s Wesleyan community. The idea of emigration was anathema to Jane; she had after all read and heard of his original journeys across America, and the numerous dangers he had faced. She had no desire to expose her children to such an arduous journey to a country where they would have no other family and where deadly fevers were rife. Given moral support and encouragement, via letter, by her eldest sister Elizabeth, Jane argued fiercely for remaining in England, but eventually she had no option but to follow her husband, and he had decided upon returning to Baltimore, a town he’d grown fond of during his time as a preacher there, as described in his memoir:

  ‘The Methodist Society of Baltimore is large and respectable; they are a plain, simple, and truly affectionate people, and I received from them every token of friendship that could possibly be expected8.’

  Back in Penzance, Thomas was dismayed at the plight of his daughter, being taken against her will to a land so far away by a man who had disgraced the religion Thomas held so dear. His opinion of Jane’s husband was made evident in his will, written in the year after Jane, John and their children sailed for America. The will specified that Jane, along with the rest of Thomas’ children, should receive the generous annuity of £50 per year, but only on condition that it all went to Jane and that not one part of her inheritance could go to her husband9.

  Thomas Branwell made his will on 26 March 1808, and it seems clear that it was made urgently at a time when he knew he was gravely ill. Thomas died on 5 April and was buried three days later. The cause of his death is unknown, but given that he wrote his will just ten days beforehand, we can assume that it was from natural causes, probably a long-standing illness that was reaching its conclusion.

  Sitting silently in St Maddern’s church on that bleak April morning, Elizabeth knew this was a day that marked the end of her carefree days. She was now 31 years old, but her life up to that point had been spent in the happy security of her father’s embrace. Wiping a tear from her eye, she remained strong for her mother’s sake, but looking across at the black veiled woman beside her a further pang of anxiety pricked at her heart. Without the presence of her father the world was something less than it had once been, and so she must become something more. Was this the time to find a job for herself? She had, after all, at least some experience of teaching in her late father’s penny school. The time would come when she would have to make that decision, when she would have to test herself outside of the safe family surroundings she had always known, but for now she knew that her place was at her mother’s side. Whatever private ambitions she held, Elizabeth put them to one side until the time was propitious to examine them again.

  For many women at this time, the death of their father would have brought not only grief but the awful spectre of poverty, perhaps even bankruptcy or the dreaded workhouse, but thanks to the recently made will, the Branwell girls were freed from that concern. Thomas had ensured that all his five surviving children would receive an annuity of £50, secured against his many properties. Comparing monetary values from the start of the nineteenth century to today is a difficult task, as after all the people of 200 years ago had no need of money for what we would consider essentials today, such as buying or running a car, annual holidays, and utility bills, so a purely inflationary calculation would greatly underestimate how far the money would go. The specialist website Measuring Worth, however, estimates the actual value of that £50 now to be worth somewhere in the mid-forty thousands10.

  Thomas knew that having this money guaranteed year after year would free his daughters from the financial concerns that affected so many, but it also gave one particular daughter freedom of another kind. Upon receiving news of her father’s death and the legacy left to her, along with its stipulation that it would become her property and not, as would have been usual, her husband’s, Jane Kingston had a heart-breaking decision to make. She had not taken well to life on the east coast of America, and could see that her husband’s fortunes were still on a downward turn. Debarred from seeking a career as a Methodist preacher, even on the other side of the Atlantic, John Kingston had instead become a bookseller, with little success. Jane begged him to let her return to Cornwall with her children, saying that whilst their marriage was irretrievably broken she could at least give their children a better life in England. John would hear none of it; he was the husband after all, and his wife must remain by his side.

  The arguments must have been fierce and bitter, for in the end a compromise was reached that was suitable to neither party. In April 1809, she set sail11 from New York to the country she had pined for, leaving her three oldest children behind with their father. Alongside Jane as she waved what she must have thought was a final goodbye to her sons John and Thomas and her daughter Anne, was her infant daughter Elizabeth Jane Kingston, known as Eliza. Ironically, the only child born in America was the only one who had been allowed to travel with her mot
her to England.

  Jane Kingston returned not only to England, but to Penzance, for she set up home with her daughter at 10, Morrab Place, two streets away from the house of her mother and sisters on Chapel Street. It was highly unusual at this time for a mother to leave her husband in this manner, and she was looked down upon by many, especially those who remembered her wedding just nine years earlier. Elizabeth, however, was not a judgemental woman. Others could scorn and sneer, but Elizabeth offered her elder sister support and understanding. Familial love was always unconditional as far as she was concerned; if a sister was in need, she would be there. Elizabeth never stopped looking out for her unfortunate sister Jane and her niece born in America, as we shall see later in the provisions of her will.

  Far from seeing Jane’s actions as shameful, as many did, Elizabeth instead saw it as an act of courage that allowed her to save at least one of her children. She did not keep this a closely guarded family secret, but talked openly of it to the Brontë children, explaining the lessons that could be learned from Jane’s story. It is clear to me that the prototype of Helen Graham, the titular tenant of Wildfell Hall in Anne Brontë’s great novel of 1848, was actually Anne’s own Aunt Jane – a woman who had defied conventional norms and refused to stay with a husband who threatened her future and that of her child.

  Jane Kingston now had her own home and a brighter future to look forward to, but could the same be said of her sisters? The family home at 25, Chapel Street, along with businesses and other properties once owned by Thomas Branwell, had been left to his elder brother Richard, so there was a real possibility that Thomas’ wife and children would have to leave. One possible destination was a house at 17, Clare Street in Penzance, that had been left to his widow, presumably so that Richard could move with his family to Chapel Street. From Richard’s own will, however, written in 1811, we see that he had allowed his brother’s wife and children to remain in situ, while he persevered at the Golden Lion Inn: