Ebor Mills

My partner Tim's family once owned the Ebor Mill in Haworth, England. His mother was born in Longlands, one of the family homes and her father was born in Ebor House.

We saw the millstream that flows past the Ebor Mill and watched as ducks and swans played in the waters beside the old stone textile mill. We looked for scraps of anything that might have been from family times. We found something else instead. No one from the Merrall family had visited Haworth for many years. The last cousin, Molly Holmes, died last year.

People in the town of Haworth were more than welcoming. They were thrilled to meet Tim, the grandson of a prominent community member. We were invited to tea with strangers. Jencis, a retired police officer, had saved Longlands House and is the warden at St. Michael's Church. Tim's great grandfather had built this beautiful church. He dragged us all over town and showed us every nook and cranny of the church, including long hidden stained glass windows dedicated to the family members. He showed us the church tower and puled Tim up it's narrow staircase to look at many golden bells. Many of the bells were hand ringers. Great Grandfather moved the Bronte's graves to be contained and protected in the church.We found each relative's crypt and grave marker and tidied them as best we could.

Longlands has become a beautiful youth hostel. The co-ordinator invited us for tea and showed us everything in the house. We scoured the house from cellar to attic and looked at where the horse stables had been. Huge stained glass windows covered many of the walls in the house both inside and out. Pomegranites cascade down the 30 foot windows and are landed on by swallows.
The many fireplaces in the house were tiled in Roman, Greek and Norse myths. The entire foyer goes up 3 or 4 floors and is carved with scenes from a Midsummer Night's Dream with Pan frolicing in such a naughty way. The youth hostel coordinator is concious of and loving with the house.

We tucked into bed that night in the Old White Lion Inn which was also owned by one of our ancient mothers. They warned us of the ghost in room 7. She was the Lily Crow, who died in a parachute accident at a great uncle's birthday party. She was reputed to be his lover. Her presense was only comforting to us. Her spirit didn't come and we imagined she was only there to protect us.