Winding hedgerow lanes, so narrow we had to stop to let cars by, brought us to Finchingfield, another picture postcard village clustered around a ford. Here, pretty pastel and tiled houses nestle higgledy-piggledy onto each other, their roof timbers curving into the lean. Many homes display pargeting, that charming patterned plasterwork finish that has been used to decorate homes since Tudor times.
Country fields are decked with barns painted black that look smart and stylish. Windmills are mainly white. In every little hamlet you can buy fat geese and ducks, free range eggs, pick your own strawberries, and tayberry jam: farm fresh, home-made, regional fare. Everywhere there are honesty boxes for goods available, that day, on display. It truly is a foodlover's paradise. No wonder Jamie Oliver is so used to walking out his back lane and picking up such fresh, crisp and regional produce. What is not to love about this fertile land?
Thaxted has a pretty almshouse sitting just below a windmill. Its old guildhall, tumbling over the main street in deep overhangs of toppling eaves, recalls the 1400s, when men of the Cutlers Guild built this gorgeous structure as a meeting place, as they set about their business turning Thaxted into the cutlery capital of England. Across a cobbled Stony Lane is a tumble of half timbered houses where Dick Turpin once lived. And whyver not? I could.
With their soaring church spires, marvelous produce, and legendary history, these Essex villages have it all: the perfect escape to the country, particularly beautiful in this soft summer sun that lingers here so much longer than in most other parts of England.
oooOOOooo
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| Thaxted spire |
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| Finchingfield above the pond |
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| Patterned pargetting on village homes |
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| Olde white windmill |
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| Tiered Thaxted guildhall |
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| Dick Turpin once lived here |
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