The drive to Haworth is breathtaking, both in its beauty and in the sense of imminent disaster on the narrow roads. After a steep and winding climb to ascend the moors, we make an even steeper and more harrowing climb through the village of Haworth which clings precariously to the side of the hill, on a mean bit of ground that makes me wonder why anyone sited the village here.

Above the village on more level ground is the church, the graveyard, the school where Charlotte Bronte taught and Haworth Parsonage where she lived with her family. Beyond the parsonage the landscape opens on the wild and wuthering moors. Haworth is very pleasant on this sunny, summer day, with the moors covered in heather. One imagines it less so in winter.

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The surface and beneath the surface