For the first ten years of his life, through the wind, rain, snow and occasional sunbursts of Aberdeen, the young George Byron was ‘cudgelled to Church’ every Sunday to listen to what he recollected as a particularly virulent strain of Scotch Calvinism. Years later, on the desolately windy Yorkshire moors, Anne Brontë’s childhood would be overshadowed by the same pernicious Calvinist doctrines which consistently returned throughout her life to agonise her conscience.