Luddite campaigns consisted of smashing machines and intimidating mill owners, and Patrick and Maria discovered that they had many of that persuasion in their congregation. Reverend Brontë had seen enough proof of this when a large group of Luddites marched past Lousy Thorn Farm on 11 April 1812 to a meeting point on Hartshead moor known as Dumb Steeple. That night, they attacked Rawfold’s Mill and a pitched battle occurred that left some of the Luddites dead and others arrested and facing transportation or hanging. It is said that Patrick turned a blind eye to some of the slain Luddites being buried surreptitiously in his churchyard6. We can say without doubt that he later told the story of what must have been a terrible, yet exciting, night to his children, for it is recreated with a little artistic license as a pivotal scene in Charlotte Brontë’s Shirley:
‘All the copse up the Hollow was shady and dewy, the hill at its head was green: but just here, in the centre of the sweet glen, Discord, broken loose in the night from control, had beaten the ground with his stamping hoofs, and left it waste and pulverised. The mill yawned all ruinous with unglazed frames; the yard was thickly bestrewn with stones and brickbats; and close under the mill, with the glittering fragments of the shattered windows, muskets and other weapons lay here and there. More than one deep crimson stain was visible on the gravel, a human body lay quiet on its face near the gates, and five or six wounded men writhed and moaned in the bloody dust7.’
Maria may well have thought this was far from an ideal place to raise a child, and the accommodation she and Patrick were renting was placing a strain on their finances. These problems became more pressing in February 1815, for it was then that their second child, another daughter, was born. Providence smiled on the Brontë family at this point, for Patrick was offered the curacy of the parish of Thornton, near Bradford, which came with the invaluable addition of its own rent-free parsonage. The incumbent minister of Thornton, Thomas Atkinson, had fallen in love with Frances Walker of Lascelles Hall near Huddersfield, 5 miles to the south of Hartshead-cum-Clifton. An agreement was made between the two ministers, after consulting their Bishop, that they would swap parishes8; Patrick gained a new home for his growing family, and Thomas was now able to court Frances, who he later married.
Whilst the exchange was agreed in March 1815, the actual move did not take place until 15 May 1815, but when Patrick and Maria arrived in Thornton with their two daughters there was another member of the family alongside them; one who had travelled hundreds of miles to be there.
The letter that Elizabeth Branwell opened in March 1815, brought the welcome news that Maria had successfully given birth to her second child, but it also brought much more. Firstly, there was the revelation that they had decided to name their second daughter Elizabeth in honour of her aunt. This would have brought a happy swell of pride, but tinged with sadness as well at the realisation that this was a niece she would never see; reading further, however, she was presented with an opportunity to do just that.
Maria had explained that there were plans afoot to move to a new parish and a larger house in Thornton, and this allowed them to extend an invitation to Elizabeth to visit them, and also to be a godmother to their new daughter. Tears welled in Elizabeth’s eyes as she placed the letter carefully back into its envelope, but how should she respond? There was nothing she would like more than seeing her favourite sister Maria again, for while she was grateful to Charlotte and Benjamin for letting her live with them, the age gap prevented them from ever being close confidantes as she was with Maria. She was also thrilled to be asked to be a godmother to a niece who would bear her own name, especially as by now she must have known that she herself would never marry and have children.
Elizabeth’s intuitive response was to accept the invitation, but she was above all else a practical woman, and she also knew the logistical difficulties a journey of this kind presented. Whether travelling by road or sea, it was a long and potentially dangerous undertaking; such journeys were usually only taken as an absolute necessity, and some who did take them wrote out a will beforehand9.
Elizabeth already had first-hand knowledge of the trouble that such a journey could bring. Shortly after Maria’s arrival in Yorkshire in 1812, she had written to Elizabeth asking her to send a selection of her goods after her. Acting on her instructions, Maria’s property was carefully packed into a large case that was then sent by sea to Liverpool, after which it would be transported over land to rejoin Maria at Woodhouse Grove. A letter sent by Maria to her beau Patrick a month before they married confirms happened next:
‘I mentioned having sent for my books, clothes, etc. On Saturday evening about the time you were writing the description of your imaginary shipwreck, I was reading and feeling the effects of a real one, having then received a letter from my sister giving me an account of the vessel in which she had sent my box being stranded upon the coast of Devonshire, in consequence of which the box was dashed to pieces with the violence of the sea, and all my little property, with the exception of a very few articles, being swallowed up by the mighty deep10.’
It is telling that Maria places her books before her clothing and property in order of importance. One of the books that did survive the disaster was The Remains of Henry Kirk White by Robert Southey, published by Vernor, Hood and Sharpe in 1810. White was a deeply pious poet whose tragic life ended aged just 21. Maria Branwell was clearly a great fan of his; rescued from ‘the mighty deep’ it was purchased from a private collection in 2016, by the Brontë Parsonage Museum for the mighty sum of £200,00011.
Elizabeth was doubtless mortified at the shipwreck near the Devon coast, not only for the irretrievable loss it occasioned her sister but also for the memories of the death of Lieutenant Thomas Branwell it brought back. Memories of both these events also played upon her mind as she contemplated visiting her sister in Yorkshire in 1815, but the call of family was too strong to resist, and she arrived in the West Riding in time to help the Brontë family move from Hartshead-cum-Clifton to Thornton.
Elizabeth’s delight at seeing Maria again was reciprocated by her sister, and she was instantly aware that the three years since she had last seen her had wrought a lot of changes. Gone was the quiet, studious young woman she had known, and in her place was a confident woman whose main concern was her children rather than the latest news and poetry. Her first meeting with her brother-in-law Patrick was a happy one. True, he was older than her sister, although a year younger than Elizabeth, but he was tolerably handsome. It was obvious too that he was a serious, pious man, and these were qualities that Elizabeth prized in a clergyman. Even though he was a solid Anglican rather than a Wesleyan, it was also reassuringly obvious that he was a different breed altogether than the minister her sister Jane had wed.
It had been agreed, in light of the arduous nature of the journey, that Elizabeth would stay with Maria and Patrick for a year, and in this time, they found her an invaluable help in the organisation of their new household and in helping to look after their two daughters. The baby Elizabeth in particular was doted upon by her aunt, as she looked forward with joyful expectation to the day that she would become her godmother.
The parsonage at Market Street, Thornton was very different to the homes Elizabeth had been used to in Penzance. There was no sea view here, of course, but its elevated position instead gave a view to moorland stretching into the distance. It was a sight that would become very familiar to her both in Thornton and later in Haworth, but it seemed achingly dull compared to the coastal vistas she had known. Upon opening the curtains in her room in the morning, Elizabeth was greeted not by the sight of St Michael’s Mount but by a strange angular building that, owing to its shape, had become known as the ‘coffin end’. Serving as an inn, it is said that the building sometimes organised wrestling matches between men and bears12.
The parsonage at Thornton has today been lovingly restored and sympathetically extended, but although it was only thirteen years old when the Brontës and Elizabeth moved in, Patrick
found it to be a ‘very ill-constructed13’ building, and he frequently had to pay for repairs to be undertaken. Although offering more room and comfort than Lousy Thorn Farm, it was also far from spacious, and this became even more apparent before Elizabeth’s departure in 1816, as there was another arrival in the family, and the presence of a new servant: a 13-year-old graduate of the Bradford School of Industry for Girls, named Nancy Garrs.
Elizabeth’s room was far less luxurious than she was used to; the local customs, not to mention the accents, confused her; the scenery oppressed her; and worse than all that was the Yorkshire weather, which was a far cry from the temperate climate she’d left behind; and yet she was very happy in Thornton. She was once more in the company of the sister she adored, she had two infants to care for, and she also found there was pleasant society to mix in, thanks to the Firth family of nearby Kipping House.
The Firths were the leading family of Thornton, and Kipping House itself, a short walk downhill from Thornton Parsonage, dated back to the seventeenth century. In May 1815, it was occupied by the widowed Dr John Firth and his 18-year-old daughter, Elizabeth, although in September of that year he married his second wife Anne. They were keen supporters of the Church of England, and so did all they could to make the Brontës, and their guest Elizabeth, welcome.
They soon became firm friends, as we can see from the journal kept by Elizabeth Firth, now housed in the Sheffield University archives, gifted to them by a grandson of Elizabeth Firth who became a Professor at the University. There are details of dinner parties, visits and shopping trips, and on 12 June 1815, we get the first mention of Elizabeth Branwell in the typically terse statement:
‘Mrs Brontë and Miss Branwell called14.’
The diary also reveals that the two sisters, Elizabeth and Maria, had an active social life at this time, as evidenced in this entry for 21 August 1815:
‘Mrs Brontë, Miss Branwell and I drank tea at Mr John Ibbotson’s15.’
Five days later an event of altogether greater significance is included in Miss Firth’s diary:
‘Mr Brontë’s daughter was christened Elizabeth by Mr Fennell. My Papa was Godfather, Miss Branwell and I were Godmothers16.’
This day, 26 August 1815, was one of pure joy for Elizabeth Branwell. She was far away from home in the church of St James, Thornton, but in her arms was a baby she had been entrusted to protect and care for. The vows she took were said with solemnity yet passion, and they were not words she would ever willingly forget or turn her back on. Surely this child, Elizabeth, waving her arms in the air towards her godmother, would grow into a happy and successful woman? It was a day of contagious smiles as Maria and Patrick beamed with joy, and nearby was Elizabeth’s Aunt Jane and her cousin of the same name, with her Uncle John having conducted the ceremony. This little corner of Yorkshire had, for a brief moment, become a part of West Penwith as the Branwell family welcomed another member to their fold. All the protagonists of the 1812 double wedding in Guiseley were here, but this time Elizabeth was the guest of honour among them.
The reason for the half-year gap between the birth of Elizabeth Brontë and her christening will have to remain a mystery, although the move from Hartshead to Thornton may have contributed to the delay. By the time Elizabeth was baptised by the font in her father’s church, her mother was already expecting her third baby.
Elizabeth Branwell was still in Thornton on 21 April 1816, when Maria’s third child was born, and she probably assisted in the delivery of it in the Thornton parsonage where they lived. Maria kept up the Branwell family tradition of having predominantly daughters, and it was decided to call this third one Charlotte after her aunt in Cornwall, a move Elizabeth wholeheartedly approved of. The choice was appreciated in Penzance too, for in the following year Charlotte and Joseph Branwell gave their newborn son Thomas the middle name of ‘Brontë’, surely as a mark of thanks for the name given by the Brontës to their daughter.
Elizabeth’s stay in Thornton was drawing to an end; the seas of Penzance were calling her home, but we know that it was with great regret that she left her sister and three nieces. Once again, we turn to Elizabeth Firth’s diary, as on 28 July 1816, in an unusually fulsome note, she records:
‘I took leave of Miss Branwell, she kissed me and was much affected. She left Thornton that evening17.
This sentence is very revealing of Elizabeth’s character and of her time in Thornton. She had clearly grown very fond of Elizabeth Firth, and was bereft at the thought of leaving her own family behind in Yorkshire. She had been in Thornton for fourteen months, but must now have assumed that she would never see her sister or nieces again. We also know how much Elizabeth had contributed to the Brontë family during this transitional time for them, and how much it was appreciated, thanks to a present that Patrick gave Elizabeth a few months prior to her departure. It was a copy of his own book of poems, The Rural Minstrel, but whilst the choice of gift may not have been ideal, the inscription within it was heartfelt:
‘Gift of the author to his beloved sister Miss Branwell as a small token of affection and esteem. Thornton nr Bradford. March 29 181618.’
It is likely that she called upon the Fennells, now in Bradford, before returning to Penzance, after which the only contact she had with Maria was once again by post. All too soon a letter arrived that would force Elizabeth to make a terrible choice: to turn her back on the place she loved, or on the sister she loved.
Chapter 8
Heart-rending Cries
‘Can there be any anguish equal to that occasioned by objects, dear as your own soul, famishing with cold and hunger? Is it not an evil to hear the heart-rending cries of your children craving for that which you have it not in your power to give them? And, as an aggravation of this distress, to know that some are surfeited by abundance at the same time that you and yours are perishing for want?’
Maria Brontë, The Advantages of Poverty in Religious Concerns
Elizabeth Branwell arrived back in Cornwall as the autumn of 1816 was dawning, but even so she found the temperature much warmer than she had known in the previous year, as even the Bradford summers were frequently cool and damp. Just as warm was the greeting she received from her sister Charlotte, especially when she gave her news of the niece in Yorkshire who now bore her name.
Elizabeth soon found that life went on in Penzance and Gulval much as it had before. She could once more sit in the family pew at the Wesleyan church her father had helped build, rather than attending Church of England services as she’d had to in Thornton. The sights, sounds, and above all, smells of the sea were to her like the embrace of an old friend. Once more she heard the familiar Cornish burr, discussing storms and catches, there were concerts to attend, and the series of lectures given every winter to occupy the dark nights, even the sound of revellers at the Union Hotel and Admiral Benbow seemed comforting, and yet something was missing. The fourteen months in Thornton had profoundly changed Elizabeth Branwell; the memories of the family living in the small, run-down parsonage in Thornton would not go away.
Letters, at least, continued to arrive from the West Riding, and they brought with them news of a succession of happy events. The opening of such a letter was a grand event, with Charlotte and her children sitting before Elizabeth as she shared their contents and revealed how the family in Yorkshire continued to grow. The epistle that arrived in the summer of 1817 must have seemed especially auspicious, as it announced the arrival of a fourth child for Maria and Patrick, and this time, God be praised, a son. Christened Patrick Branwell Brontë he would forever be known within his family by the middle name that heralded his Cornish roots. Here at last was a boy who would take his family name forward into the world; minister, soldier, engineer, who knew what he might grow into?
The following year brought news from Thornton of a fifth child, a daughter named Emily Jane. There were three Janes within the family who could have influenced the middle name: Aunt Jane Fennell; her daughter Jane who had been wed a
longside Maria; or Maria’s sister Jane who had married so disastrously. The choice of first name is a little more confusing, as Emily is the only Brontë child not to have been given the first name of a parent or relative; it has to be assumed that it was the name of a friend now unknown.
There was no child in 1819, although Maria’s letters did announce that she was pregnant again, along with news that Patrick had been nominated to the curacy of the parish of Haworth, 6 miles from Thornton, a position that brought more money, a larger parsonage building, and more prestige as the celebrated eighteenth century Wesleyan minister William Grimshaw had served as priest there for over twenty years.
Patrick was informed of this nomination in May 1819, via a letter from Reverend Henry Heap1. As Vicar of Bradford, the parish of Haworth was his to dispose of as he chose, or so he thought. Unfortunately, he had not taken account of a long-standing, and legally supported, tradition in Haworth that the parish council would nominate their own priest. By the following month the stand-off that developed was already being reported in the Leeds newspapers:
‘We hear that the Rev. P. Brontë, curate of Thornton, has been nominated by the vicar of Bradford, to the valuable perpetual curacy of Haworth, vacated by the death of the Rev. James Charnock; but that the inhabitants of the chapelry intend to resist the presentation, and have entered a caveat accordingly2.’
Aunt Branwell and the Brontë Legacy Page 8