He was born in 1825 and for most of his life lived in a cottage at Buckley Green, near Stanbury.

His loom was in the room upstairs, as it had more windows and he needed as much light as possible to see when weaving. It was also where he slept, and the bed end almost rested against the loom.

He bought his own warp, carried it home over his shoulder and set it up on the loom by tying each warp thread on to those on the previous one. Once a new warp had been ‘gated’, he would then prepare the weft. This was bought in hanks, and he wound it onto pirns to go in his shuttles.

One day a young man called Albert Kay, from Nelson in Lancashire, called at Timmy Feather’s cottage in Buckley Green. An account of his visit was subsequently reported in the Nelson Leader.

Timmy was then in his 80s and as he was the last handloom weaver in the district, had become something of a celebrity. People often called and regularly asked to see his handloom and watch him weave. Albert was no exception and Timmy invited him upstairs to look at the loom. However, it was Sunday and being the Sabbath he said “I wod ’ave woven yer a bit of it had it bin a wark day but I ne’er weave at Sunday.”

Returning downstairs Albert, no doubt disappointed, asked him if he remembered the Brontës. “Knew ’em all,” he replied. “I was baptised wi’ old Patrick. My mother used to tell me that when he splashed watter on my face I bawled like a cawf. Aye and I went to school in’t lane there beside churchyard and were taught wi’ Charlotte.”

Asked what he thought about her, he said: “Well she was a little bit of a thing, about size o’ six penneth o’ copper. A teeny, little woman wi’ least hands that I’ve ever seen. And when it was said the parson’s Charlotte had written a printed book nobody believed it a first until fine folk in carriages came up cobbles in village street.

“Aye and I knew Emily, but I never liked her. She were taller and darker than the others and she would pass yer in street and never look at yer, just as if you were a stone. I used to pass her on’t moor bottom when I was going to Haworth, but she never turned her head sideways. She always seemed to be thinking and muttering to hersel’.

“Lass I liked best wer Anne, she allus had a smile and a word for a child or dog. But like ’em all she faded away. Did I know Branwell, ye ask? Aye, I’ve supped ale with him and John Brown in’t Black Bull, aye mony a time. He finished up wild, but everybody liked him. Last time I saw him in’t street his hair were flying and he looked demented. Poor Branwell – his was a wasted life.

“Aye, I remember all to the last. I saw Charlotte that day when she came out to be wed in’t church, and she looked like a lily. I saw her carried out of t’old parsonage feet first not long after. And there weren’t many dry eyes in Haworth that day.

“Last of all, I used to see old Patrick, lonely and desolate standing up in’t pulpit, while down below, lay his wife and five childer. It was a pathetic sight.”

Old Timmy died at his cottage in 1910 and is buried in Haworth churchyard alongside the path that passes through it from the old school in Church Street. (Robin Longbottom)

   

Extensive repair works have been proposed for Oakwell Hall to remedy damage and ensure its longevity.

The Grade-I Listed Elizabethan manor house, located to the northwest of Birstall, dates back to 1583 and is set in period gardens within a 110-acre country park. The hall was visited by Charlotte Brontë in the 1830s and was the inspiration behind 'Fieldhead' in her 1849 novel 'Shirley'. It is now a museum furnished as a family home of the 1690s which is owned and run by Kirklees Council.

The local authority is seeking Listed Building Consent to carry out repairs to the fabric of the building to ensure it is fit to operate for years to come. The council has appointed AHR Building Consultancy to carry out the works that will “restore damaged and age-related issues” and ensure Oakwell Hall can remain open to the visiting public, according to a supporting statement.

Several issues need to be addressed, including those regarding structural movement, water ingress and backlog maintenance issues primarily affecting the external fabric of the building. Some internal areas will also be impacted where either movement has affected the structure due to plumbing leaks, or wear and tear.

As a result, works would include the removal of the existing roof to allow for the installation of a bat-friendly, modern breather membrane to shield the building from water ingress. The existing stone slate roof would then be re-laid, and gutters and down pipes replaced. Repairs would also be made to the external stone, existing lead glazing, and defective areas of the underground drainage system.

A new, accessible toilet would be installed at ground floor level to the rear of the property, with its walls positioned to limit the impact on the existing historical structure. The existing first floor male and female toilets, which were a later addition, would be fully removed as part of the development.

The supporting Design and Access Statement put together by AHR Building Consultancy says: “The proposals detailed in this statement have been developed to minimise the continuing deterioration of the building and to provide restorative repairs to ensure the upkeep of the building is retained.

“Our proposals have been developed with a core aim to protect the existing building in character and appearance and with the aim of restorative repairs to the roof and external walls whilst also improving the facilities for visitors through the provision of an accessible toilet at ground floor level.

“The works are confined to the building and will therefore have no impact on the wider building’s environment and external grounds.”

A target date for a decision to be made was set for Wednesday, (April 8), though this is yet to be made, according to Kirklees’ planning portal. (Abigail Marlow)

   

Do book-to-film adaptations need to remain entirely faithful to their original source? I’m an English literature major and a classical literature fan; I used to answer with a resounding yes. Now, I’m not entirely sure. [...]

It seems the newest adaptation of Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights by Emerald Fennell garnered similar reactions. Most notably, the decision to cast Jacob Elordi outraged as the role of Heathcliff outraged loyalists of the book, who is described in the novel as “dark-skinned.” Adding fuel to the fire were complaints regarding the removal of major plot sections and thematics, leaving behind only a vague memory of the original text.

I used to believe you could measure the quality of a book-to-film adaptation by judging how faithfully it stuck to the source material. I admit, there's something extremely gratifying as a fan of a novel to watch scenes on screen that seem practically pulled directly from your imagination. [...]

We need to make a distinction between movies aiming to present a faithful account of a novel, versus one merely inspired by a story: an adaptation versus a reimagining.

There are countless adaptations of Wuthering Heights, but Fennell makes clear that her addition is not meant to be a replica at all, but rather a transformation. She told W magazine the quotation marks surrounding her title are an effort “to communicate as early as possible that [the film] could only ever be an attempt to take a tiny piece of the book and make sense of it.” While her film is informed by Brontë's novel, Fennell only wanted to depict her personal reaction to it: “I could only take my experience of it and try to translate it.” Fennell felt that it was impossible to adapt such a dense book in full. “I can't say I'm making Wuthering Heights. It’s not possible. What I can say is I’m making a version of it,” she said in a January interview. Fennell is reimagining the story and decidedly not recreating it. What good is it to judge the film as though it were?

The film brings Fennell’s adolescent fantasies to life. She argues that “you can only ever make the movie that you sort of imagined yourself when you read it.” Art is influenced by a multitude of forces. Those include the author’s personal interests and experiences, as well as creations that came before it. Fennell explains that the film reflects her fantasies she had while reading the novel as a young girl. On the casting of Heathcliff, she recounts how she was “struck by how much [Jacob Elordi] looked like Heathcliff on the cover of my … cheap … paperback.” She created a world that didn’t cater to fans but to her younger self. Of course, then, the film felt void of anything except the romance between Cathy and Heathcliff. Clearly, Fennell was captivated by the portrayal of an erotic yet toxic love, and not so much by the nuances pertaining to class and culture.

This is not to say that the source material carries no weight in its being the “original.” However, to demand a film be faithful to the book would assume that novels require an objective reading. I counter this notion with reader-response theory, which argues that a work gains meaning from the reader’s analysis rather than from the author. A novel’s significance becomes determined by readers’ unique experiences and perceptions. Fennell’s interpretation of Wuthering Heights is an example of how creators take a story and reimagine it according to a person’s singular vision and influences. [...]

Fennell is transforming to even greater extremes, as she removes large chunks of the novel and condenses the narrative to focus solely on romance. However, these classics have remained so prominent because of their mutability; whether an adaptation or reimagining, a film cannot reflect one “correct” interpretation of a novel. As a fellow reader, Fennell has creative freedom to display the meaning she imposed on the novel.

While we can (and should) raise our eyebrows at how Fennell’s film overlooked such a defining aspect of a story as Heathcliff’s identity, we must also accept the movie for what it is: a blockbuster that uses one of the most famous literary romances as its base, but not as its example.

To only judge a movie on its closeness to the source material prevents us from truly analyzing films as creative and commercial entities. Yes, “Wuthering Heights” is a bodice-ripping blockbuster with two lead actors whom we’ve all grown tired of seeing. But that doesn’t mean it is void of creative and artistic vision.

Similarly to her last film Saltburn, “Wuthering Heights” places heavy emphasis on extravagant and provocative visuals. The film’s tactile elements evoked a “physical feeling” both disturbing and immersive, such as the fireplace made out of hands and the bedroom walls that look like Cathy’s (Margot Robbie’s) skin down to the freckles and veins. I found the Victorian hairwork title sequence particularly creepy and bizarre. In a promotional video, Fennell reveals that it actually incorporates “some of Margot’s and Jacob’s actual hair,” to make the sequence “feel completely human.” The literal physicality incorporated into the design evokes a visceral disgust toward humanity. That was the intention. Neither Cathy nor Heathcliff is morally good, and their moments of wickedness are only further emphasized by these disgustingly human visuals.

The costumes are likewise excessively extravagant. Designer Jacqueline Durran created pieces over-the-top and not adhering to any specific time period. Fennell told W the film’s “starting point is imagining you’re a young girl who doesn't really know what the Victorian or Georgian eras look like.” Her personal interpretation focuses on feeling above all. Emotion comes from visual indicators, rather than the story itself; depth of plot becomes secondary to the visual medium.

If a film is only critiqued in comparison to the novel, we risk underanalyzing the artistic and narrative elements that make it a unique work. Creative freedom allows for innovation. Although tempting, it is unproductive to criticize filmmakers who expand beyond the original source.

I was struck by how much “Wuthering Heights” diverged from Brontë’s novel. But it was clear that it had no intention of being a faithful adaptation. The movie was different from the book, but both are distinct works with different artistic intentions. There are still elements of “Wuthering Heights” and Frankenstein I do not like, but I’m expanding my view to see beyond the page. The films are not replacements for the novels. They only reflect our unique responses to them.

This doesn’t mean that us literature fanatics are doomed to be left unfulfilled by every classic adaptation that comes out. Instead, we can utilize our critical understanding of literature to analyze how filmmakers reimagine the texts. Engaging in nuanced discourse around classic stories keeps narratives alive. Stories morph and shift with each retelling, just like our interpretations do. Maybe the book is still better than the movie, but the movie doesn’t need to be the book. (Fiona Pulchny)