There’s something really appealing – to me anyway – about autumn in a graveyard. A towering shadowy church, Gothic tombstones, the reds, browns and yellows, crunching leaves beneath my feet and shafts of weakened sunlight highlighting the unusual. Perhaps being brought up on Hammer House of Horror movies has left a mark on me. I was creeping around the graveyard at Haworth church this week – nothing to do with any Boris Karloff fantasy I might have, but for an article on how the Brontes spent Christmas (to appear in our December issue) – and took this photo. It shows firstly what an overcrowded cemetery it is and also something of the atmosphere which exists there, especially on a crisp autumnal day. It probably wasn’t much different when the famous family lived in the next-door parsonage – no wonder their imaginations ran riot.

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