What a charming place.
I meant to come here last summer, after the Brontë course at Merton, when I still remembered all the ins and outs of the novels and the family history, but I got sick and went home early.
So I decided to try again this year, and do it before the program starts next week. It was easy to plan—I booked the same hotels I'd reserved last year, adding a couple of extra nights so I could go slow on my bad knee. And since I'm coming back to Oxford afterwards, unlike last year when I planned to go to London from Yorkshire and then home, I don't have to carry a month's worth of luggage with me. I left my big suitcase in a luggage storage place in Oxford, and crammed a couple changes of clothes and some clean underwear into my backpack.
I had to take three trains and a taxi to get here from Oxford, and delays caused by a strike meant that I had to hobble as fast as I could to platforms on the other side of every train station and I still missed both of my connections, but at least I wasn't dragging a suitcase.
The train I finally caught for the last leg, from Leeds to Keighley, was extremely local. We stopped every five minutes at places with names like Bingley and Woodlesford and Wakefield Kirkgate. (After having gone through Derbyshire on the first leg and blowing a mental kiss to Lizzie Bennet, I was amused to see another Pride and Prejudice name pop up. Why, hello Mr Bingley!)
But I made it, and after basically being held hostage in my apartment for the past couple of months with a knee that refused to navigate my four flights of stairs, it's reassuring to find that I'm still able to do this. Go places. See things.
I'm staying at an inn at the top of Haworth's steep, cobbled main street, and I can actually see the moors at the bottom of the hill from my window. The other picture is a footpath behind the Brontë Parsonage. The cobblestones and uneven ground are challenging, and I'm not going to be doing any hikes on the moors, but that's okay. I'm here.
I meant to come here last summer, after the Brontë course at Merton, when I still remembered all the ins and outs of the novels and the family history, but I got sick and went home early.
So I decided to try again this year, and do it before the program starts next week. It was easy to plan—I booked the same hotels I'd reserved last year, adding a couple of extra nights so I could go slow on my bad knee. And since I'm coming back to Oxford afterwards, unlike last year when I planned to go to London from Yorkshire and then home, I don't have to carry a month's worth of luggage with me. I left my big suitcase in a luggage storage place in Oxford, and crammed a couple changes of clothes and some clean underwear into my backpack.
I had to take three trains and a taxi to get here from Oxford, and delays caused by a strike meant that I had to hobble as fast as I could to platforms on the other side of every train station and I still missed both of my connections, but at least I wasn't dragging a suitcase.
The train I finally caught for the last leg, from Leeds to Keighley, was extremely local. We stopped every five minutes at places with names like Bingley and Woodlesford and Wakefield Kirkgate. (After having gone through Derbyshire on the first leg and blowing a mental kiss to Lizzie Bennet, I was amused to see another Pride and Prejudice name pop up. Why, hello Mr Bingley!)
But I made it, and after basically being held hostage in my apartment for the past couple of months with a knee that refused to navigate my four flights of stairs, it's reassuring to find that I'm still able to do this. Go places. See things.
I'm staying at an inn at the top of Haworth's steep, cobbled main street, and I can actually see the moors at the bottom of the hill from my window. The other picture is a footpath behind the Brontë Parsonage. The cobblestones and uneven ground are challenging, and I'm not going to be doing any hikes on the moors, but that's okay. I'm here.
1 comment:
❤️
Post a Comment