Old photographs of the part of the Yorkshire Dales where I live show the hillsides to be almost completely without trees. My guess is that demand for firewood and building materials creates the initial tree loss and then sheep prevent regeneration.

Trees survive in steep gills inaccessible to sheep and woodlands have regrown in some places that are too rocky for easy grazing, or that have been enclosed for rearing pheasants. Some local landowners have also been planting native trees for conservation, and there is a group of volunteers who go out on cold rainy days to help.

In anticipation of the new Wuthering Heights film coming out in a few weeks’ time I’ve been rereading the original version of the novel with its dense Yorkshire dialect from Joseph, the plain speaking, bible reading manservant of the house. A later edition toned down the broad Yorkshire, but I think its best read as Emily Bronte intended – almost unintelligible to anyone unfamiliar with the local language. I’m wondering if they’ve kept that in the film and I’m desperate to hear Margot Robbie’s Yorkshire accent. Anyone familiar with the Dales can place the nuance of dialect to within a few miles.

Tree planting on the denuded exposed fells also reminded me of the famous bit in the novel when Catherine is confiding with housekeeper Nellie about her feelings for Edgar Linton and Heathcliff, comparing her love for Edgar to be like deciduous woodland where-as for Heathcliff: “My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary.” Shivers down the spine stuff!

It’s a cracking read with something dramatic happening on every page. Unknown to Cathy it just so happens that Heathcliff is in the other room listening to her confession to Nellie, but he flounces out of the house when he hears about her feelings for Edgar and before she gets to the bit about him. I won’t spoil the plot if you haven’t read the book, or like me, haven’t read it for a while, but just to say that the Heathcliff flounce has a lot of unintended consequences.

Heathcliff isn’t the only one with a bit of a temper. There is a scene where Cathy cruelly pinches poor baby Hareton whilst flatly denying she’s done it, and as a way to end discussion she gives Edgar a hefty slap. To be honest, I’d like to say that Edgar should been more analytical about Cathy’s behaviour at this point and that might have saved him a lot of bother later.

All of that got me thinking about communication. Joseph’s incomprehensible dialect. Heathcliff flouncing off halfway through Cathy’s confession. Cathy preventing a discussion with Edgar by giving him a violent biff.

Do you have any experience of occasions when a simple failure of communication led to a series of disastrous events?

Rowan on the Moor

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