Author: insearchofannebronte@hotmail.com

On this Remembrance Sunday we think of those who have lost lives, those who have lost loved ones, in conflicts around the globe past and present. As children, the Brontë siblings loved to read stories of war, and after the purchase of twelve toy soldiers by their father Patrick they progressed to writing youthful stories of war and adventure. This was a catalyst for the creative genius that led to novels we all know and love, but the Brontë family itself was not immune to the costs of war in a very real sense.

In previous years we’ve looked at the story of Captain Arthur Branwell. His father had once travelled from Penzance to Haworth to propose to his cousin – Charlotte Brontë. The proposal was rejected by Charlotte, but it’s incredible to think that the son of a cousin of the Brontës was in the frontline of World War One.

After a successful career in the army, Captain Branwell was a reservist who was called out of retirement when war was declared in 1914. Initially involved in training troops who would be going to France, he eventually made the journey himself. This photograph shows Captain Branwell seated at the centre of four fellow officers. All the other officers were killed in action, this first cousin once removed of the Brontë sisters was the only one who made it back to Britain alive.

In today’s post, however, we’re going to go two generations further back from Captain Branwell – to a first cousin of Maria Branwell, mother of the Brontës. Here we find a man who was lost in action whilst serving his country on the seas, and it may have been a particular blow to somebody who was very close to Charlotte, Emily and Anne.

Elizabeth Branwell was elder sister to Maria, and as Aunt Branwell she became a second mother to the Brontës after the death of Maria. She was devoted to her nephew and nieces, but never married. One of her special treasures was a monogrammed box – the kind of box which might be gifted by a lover.

As we saw with the proposal Charlotte received, it was not uncommon for cousins to fall in love and marry at the time – indeed Charlotte Brontë herself was named after another aunt, Charlotte Branwell the youngest sister of Elizabeth and Maria. Charlotte Branwell kept her surname on her wedding day as she married her cousin Joseph Branwell. Perhaps it was another cousin who had caught Elizabeth’s eye? It has been suggested that she may have been in love with a dashing young cousin named Thomas, an officer in the Royal Navy.

Thomas Branwell, the third son of Richard Branwell and his wife Honour (although Richard also had an illegitimate son from an earlier relationship with  a woman named Catherine Veale), had become the pride and joy of the extended Branwell family after building a successful naval career. By 1811, the 33 year old had risen to the rank of First Lieutenant, but on Christmas Eve of that year he died in the cold winter winters off the Danish coast as his shop HMS St. George sank in a gale at Nazen near Ringkøbing. 731 of the 738 man crew perished, and the bodies that were carried ashore were buried underneath the sand dunes of Thorsminde, now called ‘Dead Men’s Dunes’. Over 500 souls were lost on board the HMS Defence that sank in the same storm. Lieutenant Branwell was remembered in the Navy Chronicle of 1812, although his name was recorded incorrectly:

 ‘The St. George, Defence, and Cressey, kept the North Sea five days, in a dreadful gale from the W.N.W. west and south; but, at length, had to combat with a terrible tempest from the N.W. until they were lost. The following is a list of the principal officers who were on board the St. George and Defence when those vessels were wrecked – In the St. George Admiral Reynolds, Captain Guion, Lieutenants Napier, Place, Thompson, Brannel, Dance, Tristram, Riches, and Rogers.’

This was a terrible blow to his father Richard, and may have hastened the illness that claimed his life three months later in March 1812. It could also, of course, have been a crushing moment for Elizabeth if it was indeed Thomas who had gifted her the monogrammed dressing box she treasured. If this was the death of a true love it could help to explain why a woman who would seemingly have been a highly eligible choice of wife for many in Penzance instead remained single for the rest of her days.

Let us too remember Elizabeth Gaskell, genius author and friend and biographer of Charlotte Brontë who died on this day in 1865. We know exactly how she did thanks to a letter that her daughter Meta Gaskell sent to Ellen Nussey – the woman who has been Charlotte Brontë’s best friend and who had been a principal help to Elizabeth Gaskell during the writing of her groundbreaking biography.

 

Let us remember Elizabeth Gaskell; let us remember Captain Arthur Branwell and his colleagues; let us remember Lieutenant Thomas Branwell and the 731 men who perished terribly in the icy, unforgiving seas. We will remember them.

On this night fireworks will be fired into the night sky, excited young voices will squeal and (where the weather permits) bonfires will be lit across the country. The occasion of course on this November 5th is Bonfire Night, or Guy Fawkes night – not, as some see, a celebration of what could have been the greatest terrorist loss of life in this nation’s history but a commemoration of it. It was something I was talking about on TV this week, and something that the Brontës would also have remember, remembered on this day.

We can be sure of this because, until it was finally repealed in 1859, every parish in England was beholden to comply with the Observation of 5th November 1605 Act (the header image shows a Victorian bonfire) This act was made law in the immediate aftermath of the foiling of the gunpowder plot, and it made the lighting of bonfires compulsory to commemorate the failure of the plot, and act as a reminder to people of how close the plot had come to succeed. The country was bitterly divided along religious times at the beginning of the seventeenth century, and the message behind the mandated bonfires was clear – be alert for people who are enemies of the state, and if you are one of the enemies, watch out lest you too end up on an earthly fire or in an eternal one.

The day to day violence on religious lines had long since ended by the nineteenth century, although anti-Catholic sentiment, and anti-Irish sentiment, still ran deep and this may be one of the factors behind Patrick changing the family name to Brontë from the more Irish sounding Brunty or Prunty. As his church and parsonage were at the high point of the village it would have made sense for the parish bonfire to be held nearby, and at the very least Patrick would have been expected to make an appearance at the event.

It leaves us wondering what the Brontës would have felt of bonfire night, and of Guy Fawkes? As the author of a book on Guy I’m often asked about him at this time of year, and it’s fair to say that perceptions of him have changed greatly since he was captured in the early hours of the 5th of November 1605, just hours before he lit the fuse which would have blown parliament, and the whole Westminster area, to smithereens, changing the course of history in the process.

He rapidly became the face of evil personified, with the Bishop of Rochester famously denouncing Guy from his pulpit as ‘the devil from the crypt’, and the word Guy quickly became synonymous with a wicked person, as in ‘he’s a complete guy!’. Over the centuries it has lost its pejorative meaning, but the use of guy as a generic term for man or person originates in the infamy attached to Guy Fawkes. Today, many see Guy as a hero and his face is among the most instantly recognisable in the world thanks to its use in the ‘V For Vendetta’ cartoons and film, and its adoption as a mask that can be found in protests across the globe.

As today, by the nineteenth century fireworks too had become synonymous with bonfire night, and we can imagine the young Brontës looking up as they exploded into the sky above Haworth’s moors. The most popular fireworks at the time were squibs and a piece known as the ‘firing pistol’, presumably because it made a cracking sound. They weren’t as spectacular as today’s fireworks but they were far more dangerous, and newspapers across the country in early November would be filled with tragic tales of adults and children maimed, or worse.

On 15th November 1838, for example, we can read of James Taylor, aged 17. He had been attending a bonfire at Mold Green near Huddersfield, and, the Bradford Observer reported, his pockets were filled with four dozen squibs and two ounces of gunpowder. A spark from the bonfire found its way into a trouser pocket, with predictably dire results.

Contemporary reports also reveal that bonfires could be a tinder box in more than one way. By the first half of the nineteenth century many people were already seeing Guy Fawkes as an example of righteous rebellion, and rallying to his cause, meaning that bonfires could be riotous affairs. Mindful of this, authorities in Wakefield, a city in the West Riding of Yorkshire, attempted to ban the bonfire of 5th November 1849. As this report in the Leeds Intelligencer reveals, a riot erupted in which police were attacked, prisoners freed, a bystander accused of being a police spy was nearly murdered, oh and the Mayor of Wakefield had his hat knocked off:

We know that Patrick Brontë was terrified of fire, and for that reason wouldn’t allow curtains in the parsonage. He probably wasn’t too enthused about riots either, so it could be that his children were left to watch the bonfire and fireworks through the safety of a parsonage window. Nevertheless, we know that the Brontës must have been interested in, or at least aware of, the story of Guy Fawkes as Charlotte Brontë refers to him in ‘Jane Eyre‘, as the young Jane recovers from her red room ordeal:

‘Bessie invited him to walk into the breakfast-room, and led the way out. In the interview which followed between him and Mrs. Reed, I presume, from after-occurrences, that the apothecary ventured to recommend my being sent to school; and the recommendation was no doubt readily enough adopted; for as Abbot said, in discussing the subject with Bessie when both sat sewing in the nursery one night, after I was in bed, and, as they thought, asleep, “Missis was, she dared say, glad enough to get rid of such a tiresome, ill-conditioned child, who always looked as if she were watching everybody, and scheming plots underhand.” Abbot, I think, gave me credit for being a sort of infantine Guy Fawkes.’

Whatever you do this bonfire night, have fun and stay safe (and of course keep your pets indoors, safe and sound). If you want to know more about the gunpowder plot (modesty forbids me promoting my own book The Real Guy Fawkes) then you can watch ‘The Gunpowder Plot: Countdown To Treason’ on My5 and repeated on Channel 5 next week. It was a pleasure to take part in this show with Tracy Borman and Xand van Tulleken, but of course next Sunday I’ll be focusing once more on all things Brontë with a new Brontë blog post – I do hope you can join me then.

Exactly 181 years ago today an event happened which rocked Haworth Parsonage and changed the lives of the Brontë family forever, as well as changing the course of literary history forever too. On 29^th October 1842, Elizabeth Branwell died. Known as Aunt Branwell to the Brontë siblings, she had become in reality a second mother to them after the tragic early death of their mother Maria, Elizabeth’s younger sister.

In 1821 Elizabeth had left behind a comfortable lifestyle and the warm climate of Penzance, Cornwall to travel 400 miles north to nurse her sister during her final illness; after Maria’s death she could have returned to the life and people she knew, but she remained in Haworth to help bring up her sister’s children and was to stay there for over 20 years until her own passing. The display cabinet at the top of this post shows some of Elizabeth’s belongings during her years in Haworth.

Elizabeth’s death was a drawn out painful one, seemingly caused by a strangulation of the bowel, and by her side throughout her final struggles was her nephew Branwell Brontë. He gave a moving account of her end, which shines a different light on perceptions of both those people. Branwell was a troubled adult, beset by mental health challenges and addictions to alcohol and opiates, but he clearly loved his family and certainly his aunt; Aunt Branwell, in turn, is often thought of as cold and austere by those who have heard no better, and yet Branwell Brontë painted a very different picture of her in two letters to his friend Francis Grundy, written before and after Elizabeth’s passing and which I have amalgamated into the following quote:

‘I have had a long attendance at the deathbed of the Rev. William Weightman, one of my dearest friends, and now I am attending at the deathbed of my aunt, who has been for twenty years as my mother. I expect her to die in a few hours… excuse this scrawl, my eyes are too dim with sorrow to see well… I am incoherent, I fear, but I have been waking two nights witnessing such agonising suffering as I would not wish my worst enemy to endure; and I have now lost the guide and director of all the happy days connected with my childhood.’

Perhaps Elizabeth Branwell’s guiding hand also helped Branwell cope with the demons which plagued him, for it was after her death that his behaviour declined.

There is another tribute to Elizabeth Branwell which came to light in this week in 1849. This week marks the anniversary of the publication of Shirley by Charlotte Brontë. I think it is a brilliant, yet all too often overlooked, novel. It’s composition was a traumatic one for Charlotte as she lost her sisters Emily and Anne (and her brother Branwell) during her writing of the novel. She has immortalised Emily as the titular Shirley and Anne as the real heroine of the novel Caroline.

We know from the account of Ellen Nussey that Anne Brontë was the favourite of Aunt Branwell – perhaps because she was a helpless one year old baby when her mother died. Anne subsequently shared a room with Elizabeth Branwell, and the aunt became a mother in all but title.

It is fitting then (spoiler alert if you haven’t yet read Shirley) that Caroline discovers that Mrs Pryor is in fact her real mother. Mrs Pryor is Charlotte’s tribute to Elizabeth Branwell, and one paragraph in particular is striking:

‘”Mamma, I am determined you shall not wear that old gown any more. Its fashion is not becoming; it is too strait in the skirt. You shall put on your black silk every afternoon. In that you look nice; it suits you. And you shall have a black satin dress for Sundays – a real satin, not a satinet or any of the shams. And, mamma, when you get the new one, mind you must wear it.”

“My dear, I thought of the black silk serving me as a best dress for many years yet, and I wished to buy you several things.”

“Nonsense, mamma. My uncle gives me cash to get what I want. You know he is generous enough; and I have set my heart on seeing you in a black satin. Get it soon, and let it be made by a dressmaker of my recommending. Let me choose the pattern. You always want to disguise yourself like a grandmother. You would persuade one that you are old and ugly. Not at all! On the contrary, when well dressed and cheerful you are very comely indeed; your smile is so pleasant, your teeth are so white, your hair is still such a pretty light colour. And then you speak like a young lady, with such a clear, fine tone, and you sing better than any young lady I ever heard. Why do you wear such dresses and bonnets, mamma, such as nobody else ever wears?”

“Does it annoy you, Caroline?”

“Very much; it vexes me even. People say you are miserly; and yet you are not, for you give liberally to the poor and to religious societies – though your gifts are conveyed so secretly and quietly that they are known to few except the receivers.”’

Here Caroline reveals Mrs Pryor’s habitual wearing of black clothing, and her secretive habit of helping those around us. Brontë friend Mary Taylor had criticised Elizabeth Branwell for always wearing old fashioned black clothing, and yet I feel she was doing that for the reason given above. She was spending her money not on herself, but on the Brontës and charitable causes. She it was who helped clear Patrick Brontë’s death after the death of his wife Maria, she it was who insisted on paying rent while she was in Haworth, she it was who paid for Charlotte and Emily to attend school in Brussels, and it was Aunt Branwell’s will which gave Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë the money to pay for the publication of their first book Poems by Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell.

On this day let us remember Elizabeth Branwell. She was a kind woman who placed family above any considerations of her own, and without her emotional and financial support it is quite probable that there would be no Brontë books today.

I hope to see you next week for another new Brontë blog post, and watch out for ghosts, ghouls and things that go bump in the night on Tuesday!