Writtle

I visited the church at Writtle today.

Writtle is a lovely village just west of Chelmsford.  It has managed to remain a separate entity, unlike other villages such a Broomfield and Springfield which have now been gobbled up, as there's a very thin strip of (hopefully) protected land as a boundary.

There's been some sort of settlement at Writtle since the Stone age and in the Doomsday book it was a large place of over 1000 while Chelmsford boasted only 20.  How things change.

There are a number of timber frames homes, mainly close to or around the large, triangular shaped green,  These houses and the others round the green are extremely sought after and rarely remain on the market for more than a few days.  There was a for sale sign outside one today.  I bet next time I pass, it will be gone.

In recent times, Writtle’s claim to fame is that Marconi started the first regular radio broadcasts from a small hut in Writtle in 1922, with the call sign 2MT (two-emma-toc).

Anyway - today I visited the church but I also took a few photos of the green and here they are.

In one corner of the green there's a very well maintained pond with ducks, etc, that the children love to visit.

Up tails all!

This reminded me very much of that lovely little poem in 'The Wind in the Willows' which I will reproduce at the end.


One of the loveliest houses on the green is an old timber framed home called Aubyns which is a grade 1 listed home on the corner of the lane that runs from the green to the church.  It was built around 1500

 From the front.

 From the green to the church

 A blocked up side door

 A cute little window that just caught my eye.

The old brick pathway that leads to the front door through a small and rather overgrown Elizabethan knot garden.

And finally - from the church to the green.

I must spend another hour or so wandering round the oldest parts of Writtle because there is more to see.
(I'll do the church in another post after I've sorted out all the photos.)



From 'The WInd in the Willows' by Kenneth Grahame

The Rat was sitting on the river bank, singing a little song. He had just composed it himself, so he was very taken up with it, and would not pay proper attention to Mole or anything else. Since early morning he had been swimming in the river, in company with his friends the ducks. And when the ducks stood on their heads suddenly, as ducks will, he would dive down and tickle their necks, just under where their chins would be if ducks had chins, till they were forced to come to the surface again in a hurry, spluttering and angry and shaking their feathers at him, for it is impossible to say quite ALL you feel when your head is under water. At last they implored him to go away and attend to his own affairs and leave them to mind theirs. So the Rat went away, and sat on the river bank in the sun, and made up a song about them, which he called

`DUCKS' DITTY.'
All along the backwater,
Through the rushes tall,
Ducks are a-dabbling,
Up tails all!

Ducks' tails, drakes' tails,
Yellow feet a-quiver,
Yellow bills all out of sight
Busy in the river!

Slushy green undergrowth
Where the roach swim--
Here we keep our larder,
Cool and full and dim.

Everyone for what he likes!
WE like to be
Heads down, tails up,
Dabbling free!

High in the blue above
Swifts whirl and call--
WE are down a-dabbling
Up tails all!