Tired legs. A little light rain. Wimbledon on the BBC.
Day three becomes a day of rest.
I’m finding something deep and reassuring in Haworth on this visit. As if the town is built on a well of feelings. And not just tragedies. Life bubbles up everywhere amid the tales of sickness, sadness and death.
I’ve been listening to some of that life. And recording.
So, this time, fewer words. And some listening along with the images.
First, standing beside the graveyard near the tower of the church where the entire Brontë family, apart from Anne, is buried. (Anne died and was buried in Scarborough.)
Our sun-baked walk on day two took us to the stream and the (rebuilt after a flood) bridge below the Brontë Falls. There we sat and listened to the stream. The birds chirrupping in the background, ahhh! Peace and tranquility.
On day three we ventured out of town (not very far) for a ride back in time …
Anyone who’s seen the film the Railway Children has seen a bit of this journey, though a different Tank Engine (and the station is not in my little video).
Here, filmed from the inside, some of the most comforting rhythms a boiler on wheels can make!
Out for supper to the pub. The White Lion needs a preservation order slapping on it. No prawn cocktails or black forest gateaux to be seen (the food is very good) but the interior is several steps back in time and actually rather … comforting.
Comforting. I think I’ve used that word before.
Reassuance, comfort, peace, tranquility… I found them here in Haworth.
The video didn’t work for this next lot.
I tried to record the background music, but all I got was clattering plates. So look at these stills and imagine Neil Diamond singing Cracklin’ Rosé 😉
And finally, back to the little house and the night life…
The birds which I thought were rooks are, I think, jackdaws. I saw one drinking from the gutter of the house opposite – and part of its head was grey.
I don’t have my bird book and refuse to consult the oracles of the ether. But, whatever they are, they like company.
As the sun wanes and the night waxes, I stand on our little terrace, watching. Listening to a sound that has no doubt been heard for many, many years by people who stood where I stand now.
The dark birds settle down for the night in the trees over the graveyard. And the bats begin their silent flights.
And when they are settled, the other winged ones sing.
Good night. I hope you enjoyed the listening.