Crookwise Caravan Park, Skipton, North Yorkshire

Strange to say, we discovered the extra caravan on site to be unoccupied and in a rather rundown state, which begs the question as to why it has been left on this boggy field. This evening as I commence this posting, matters are unchanged, but we do have additional neighbours, folk who have been here before and understand the drainage state of the land and the possible limitations of the electric connections. Steve has assured us he knows how to reset any fault created by overload, however we are already in cautionary mode; I have dragged out the kettle to use on the gas for the heating of water. 

We have spent another full day exploring the region’s attractions, this time heading south to Haworth just south west of Keighley. Our Tomtom had us leave the A629 at Glusburn and head across very narrow winding roads on the western edge of Keighley Moor, through the quaintest villages of Laycock, Goose Eye and Holme House, perched on the side of steep hills with appropriately steep access routes. We emerged on the edge of Haworth, then missed the sign to the museum, having to drive up the cobbled High Street of the home of the Brontes. At the top of the hill, beside a Pay and Display car park is the Bronte Parsonage Museum, a place I had been wanting to visit since we drove past the sign two years ago, then crossing these moors in heavy mist. 

The Bronte Society, formed in 1893, opened a small museum in Haworth two years later, always hoping that they might acquire the Parsonage where the Patrick Bronte had brought his wife and six children in about 1820, and remained until he died in 1861, having survived the entire family. The Parsonage served as home to several other families during the intervening years before it was bought by a local businessman, Sir James Roberts, who presented it to the Bronte Society in 1928. This was to be the first of such forward thinking philanthropists we were to “meet” today. Today the Society continues to care for the home, and to carry out its founding aim; to collect, preserve, publish and exhibit material relating to the Brontes’ lives and works, and make them known to a wider audience. 

This house, as well as being the base of inspiration to the Patrick’s offspring,  was also the scene of great tragedy; within eighteen months of their arrival at Haworth, Mrs Maria Bronte died of uterine cancer. In 1825 the two oldest Bronte children, Maria and Elizabeth, died of contracting tuberculosis whilst away at school. Then there was a fairly settled period of life, overseen by Maria’s sister who came to live with the family. But then Branwell expired in 1848 at the age of thirty one, his physical and mental health ruined by drug and alcohol abuse, followed by his sister, Emily before Christmas of the same year and Anne the following April. Charlotte enjoyed just over a year of married bliss with her father’s sidekick, before dying in the early months of pregnancy. Arthur Bell Nichols turned out to be quite a champion, hanging about taking care of business including his father-in-law until he passed on. If the blurb on the back of his biography is to be believed, he was so much more than that.  

I had hoped I might leave fired up to revisit all seven of the novels written by the three Bronte sisters, and indeed I did although without the expected passion. There were still unanswered questions and gaps after exploring the exhibition, but then perhaps that is the very reason to do one’s own research.  

As we travelled across to our next destination, Bingley, on the northern edge of Bradford, we were surprised how big Haworth was, and even more, how heavily populated this part of the country. 

The Five Rise Locks lie on the same Leeds & Liverpool Canal we walked along yesterday, and are listed on Tomtom’s “Tourist Attraction” directory, but not in the right place. Cursing this fact, we headed into Bingley and happened upon a sign that stated we should follow the little boat pictures; we found the first and second of these and then they disappeared. We stopped a local who turned out to be a bit of an oddball, however he did give better directions than we had had so far. We carried on down along the road as directed and thankfully arrived at the viewpoint above the lock system. 

Bingley’s Five Rise Locks are the steepest staircase locks on the longest canal in the country, if the sign is to be believed although subsequent checking has suggested that the Grand Union Canal is longer. This engineering feat raises the canal eighteen metres (or sixty feet); this and the nearby Three Rise Locks opened in 1774, were designed by John Longbothan of Halifax who was the Leeds & Liverpool Canal’s first engineer. 

We watched a very long narrow-boat come through the top lock, then walked to the bottom of the hill for an alternative aspect, then went back to the car without further exploration; this had been an add-on to our original schedule and we still had somewhere else to go. 

As it turned out, we could have spent more time here, or gone for a wander along the River Aire, because East Riddleston Hall did not hold our attention as long as most National Trust properties do.
There has been a dwelling here at East Riddleston since the 7^th century, and subsequent versions through the centuries, but it is the rebuild and occupancy of the 17^th century that is celebrated in the current presentation. 

Wealthy Halifax cloth merchant, James Murgatroyd, bought the manor and 2,000 acre estate in 1638 and re-built this 17^th century manor house in the mid-1650s, although he died before the work was completed. However his oldest son, John, did enjoy the house until 1662 when he suffered a fatal heart attack, probably brought on by stress caused by the poor state of his finances. The staging of the house today is set in this Murgatroyd era.   

For the following three hundred years, the house was lived in by a number of families, mostly tenants for whom there were few changes made. As the surrounding urban areas expanded, there was pressure for this to be developed into housing, and when the 20^th century arrived, was in dire danger of being demolished.  In 1905, as an act of desperation, the roof of one wing was removed to stop the collapse of the house, but there is little left, despite the relief.

In 1913 William Brigg, the mayor of Keighley, and his twin brother, recognised the importance of the property and bought back fittings that had been sold off earlier to finance desperately needed repairs. There had been speculation at the time that the Hall would be taken down stone by stone, sold and reconstructed in America. The Briggs brothers attempted to raise money to buy the property for the city, but were unsuccessful, and the estate including land, canal wharves and cottages were sold to another bidder. The fate of the hall came up for discussion yet again in 1924 for public acquisition, but again it passed to private hands. However in 1933, they managed to purchase the hall and twelve acres of land for several thousand pounds, then in 1934 handed over the deeds to the National Trust with the understanding that it would be looked after for ever and that the land surrounding it would be used for recreation by the local communities.

Exploring the house, you feel little has been done since it was built. The upstairs floors sag and creak authentically, and the interior is devoid of any of the glitz and glamour one often finds in these grand old homes. Outside we wandered about the modest gardens, saddened to see so many apples, pears and figs calling to be picked and eaten. We were momentarily tempted to do the riverside walk, then decided the path would be too wet and muddy as so much of the countryside is at the moment.

It was still only mid-afternoon when we headed back, detouring at the superstore for a few bits and pieces, still arriving before the first few spits of rain.