"In the crowded, busy city, people do not have time to concern themselves with what another does or does not. Conversation on public transport is kept to a minimum, bank robberies in progress go ignored and those unfortunates who collapse on the main street with a heart attack are just as likely to be stepped over by talking mobiles glued to one's ear than have an ambulance phoned on their behalf.
But in the wide open spaces of the countryside which borders the village of Haworth, life's slower pace will always lag behind the nosiness of its residents. In this land of Bronte, life never goes unobserved; your neighbours and the church cat keep watch on you more than you realise. They miss not one newly trodden blade of grass on their windswept moors and green fields where lovers roam in search of pleasure on soft ground.
So beware ye lovers of the glade, ye wanderers whom stray from thy marriage vows in search of new and overdue excitement, for I see thee from behind yon tree. No long grass can conceal the presence of thy sexual peccadilloes and the harm thou wreaks upon an already broken home in Haworth. No secret is safe from Nature's watch when the eyes of the Haworth Hawk are upon thee. So get thee back home to thy marriage partner forthwith before they realise thou hast strayed again and while there still remains time to repent and mend thy wicked ways. Walk no more the long grass of thy summer pleasure when there are better things a married man and father to fourteen children should be about." William Forde: March 7th, 2016.