More from Scarborough

Scarborough is a small-ish seaside town in Yorkshire, I've always preferred its larger and older neighbour Whitby myself but Scarborough is pleasant enough. The major reason for our outing to Scarborough during the Gaskell Society Conference was to visit the grave of Anne Bronte. Anne died in Scarborough and her sister Charlotte, who was with her, arranged to have her buried there almost immediately. Charlotte said this was because Anne had loved Scarborough but I have always thought that it was probably just because Charlotte couldn't be bothered to make the arrangements to take Anne's body back to Haworth where she could have been buried with  the rest of the family.

 

Now as many of you know Anne Bronte is the only one of the family for whom I have much time and as such this was not my first visit to her grave. But here, for what it is worth is a picture of it.

 

 

 

 

The plaque is so legible because it was recently redone by The Bronte Society, who had several of the incorrect details on the original corrected at the same time. I am not sure whether  Charlotte gave the stonemasons the wrong details or whether she gave them the right ones and they got them wrong. The carnation was there when we got there, but I understand that 'we' left a bunch of lilies on the grave, as Gaskell was known as Lily to her family and friends.

 

The dilapidated state into which untended gravestones can fall on this part of the country is amply demonstrated by the one right next to Anne's.

 



Horrible, really.

 

I neglected to take photos at the beautiful hotel where we had a cream tea, but after that we went on to the church where William Wordsworth was married. It seems to me that we can't have a Gaskell Society Conference without reference to WW, which is a niggle because, as in the case of Charlotte Bronte, I am Not a Fan. On the other hand almost everyone who was anyone in Victorian England was, so I suppose it's not surprising that he does keep popping up.

 

Anyway the church and its setting really were an example of English landscape at its best so I took a not very good photo -

 

 

Inside it smelled very damp which was unfortunate given that they had some interesting textiles in there. They also had some rather nice modern stained glass windows.

 

Wordsworth married the best friend of his doting sister, but she - the sister - was famously unequal to the task of attending the wedding and stayed in a nearby house until it was all over and the happy couple came to greet her as husband and wife. This has always struck me as strange. There's something odd and uncontrolled about Dorothy's passion for her brother, but possibly that is a thought best left unpursued.