At home with Mr Rochester.
Feb. 19th, 2014 12:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
davywavyIn 1845, the Bronte sisters - Scary, Posh and Sporty - visited North Lees Hall in Hathersage. North Lees Hall was built in the 1590s and inhabited by Sir Richard Eyre - remember that name - when they visited. Anyway, whilst they were there Posh Bronte heard a story about a mad woman who had been imprisoned in the attic room of the hall and an oil-lamp went on over her head with a 'ding!' sound, possibly followed by her eyes spinning round and round to be replaced with pound signs and a noise like a cash register. In short order North Lees became Thorn (anagram of North, geddit) Field ("lee" is an old word for field), Sir Richard Eyre became a girl called Jane, the mad woman in the attic got a box of matches and literary history was made.
In the book the Thornfield is described thusly: "It was three storeys high, of proportions not vast, though considerable: a gentleman's manor-house, not a nobleman's seat: battlements round the top gave it a picturesque look", which matches the house in question pretty well:
and the nice thing is you can hire the place out and live in it, which is what I did the other weekend. Striding about the place in boots and breeches, slashing at flowers grown by the locals with my riding crop as a wasteful use of land which might be used for cabbages, exercising prime nocte with farm girls and generally getting into the swing of being a country squire before heading home, drinking a half-gallon of port wine, and snoring my head off in this:
The she-David was in a state of general Bronte-fangirlish glee at the whole thing*, but I'm sorry to report that the book is wildly inaccurate in one regard. There's no way you could keep a prisoner secret in there for any length of time. Indeed, I doubt you could spend above half an hour as a governess there without an attic-based loony leaving you in no doubt as to their presence. The She-David wasn't locked under the eaves for more than fifteen minutes before she set up a heck of a racket, and it became increasingly difficult to ignore after the first day or so.
Still, it's lovely place. Secluded and with a big log fire for those dark and extremely rainy and windy nights we've been having lately. Listening to the gale rattling the window whilst you sit inside all cosy with a bottle or two of something fortifying and the only light being the red glow of the flames. It was almost a shame to leave - but there's no wi-fi and a man has to live, you know.
So what have you been up to lately?
*"Do you think she used these stairs? Which room do you think was hers? I want to sleep in it. Do you think this was her coat hook? Do you think she used this shower? What about this fridge?"
In the book the Thornfield is described thusly: "It was three storeys high, of proportions not vast, though considerable: a gentleman's manor-house, not a nobleman's seat: battlements round the top gave it a picturesque look", which matches the house in question pretty well:
and the nice thing is you can hire the place out and live in it, which is what I did the other weekend. Striding about the place in boots and breeches, slashing at flowers grown by the locals with my riding crop as a wasteful use of land which might be used for cabbages, exercising prime nocte with farm girls and generally getting into the swing of being a country squire before heading home, drinking a half-gallon of port wine, and snoring my head off in this:
The she-David was in a state of general Bronte-fangirlish glee at the whole thing*, but I'm sorry to report that the book is wildly inaccurate in one regard. There's no way you could keep a prisoner secret in there for any length of time. Indeed, I doubt you could spend above half an hour as a governess there without an attic-based loony leaving you in no doubt as to their presence. The She-David wasn't locked under the eaves for more than fifteen minutes before she set up a heck of a racket, and it became increasingly difficult to ignore after the first day or so.
Still, it's lovely place. Secluded and with a big log fire for those dark and extremely rainy and windy nights we've been having lately. Listening to the gale rattling the window whilst you sit inside all cosy with a bottle or two of something fortifying and the only light being the red glow of the flames. It was almost a shame to leave - but there's no wi-fi and a man has to live, you know.
So what have you been up to lately?
*"Do you think she used these stairs? Which room do you think was hers? I want to sleep in it. Do you think this was her coat hook? Do you think she used this shower? What about this fridge?"
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