Widmer End, Home

Widmer End – A Chiltern Hamlet in Buckinghamshire

The village of Widmer End has sat shoulder high among the Chiltern Hills since 1766. Safe from the ravages of the sea both by height and depth with the nearest coastal wave lying out of earshot from even the largest conch shell; this tiny rural hamlet perches some 600ft above sea level.
Widmer’s boastful height rather lends itself to some bitter winds that blow the cobwebs from the sleepy incumbents from all angles: a mere drop down the hill into the next village is said to find more clement weather of some two extra degrees, but Widmer’s residents fair better on a laundry day when there’s a wash load or three to dry.
That said, it would then appear strange to say that Widmer End offers shelter to some two thousand residents, but shelter us she does. Our nearest town lies only three miles to the South of us, a fact of which we remain blissfully unaware as all roads lead past Widmer and not through her.
We’re a friendly bunch of residents though, we nod and smile at each other as we make our way through the day, we choose not to gossip but know if someone is ailing and in need of a neighbourly chore or two. We’re on first name terms with our neighbouring village shop keepers and if we dare to miss a week on the [1]parade, our absence is duly noted and we simply must be ill or on our summer holiday, no other reason will do!
Why do the neighbouring village shops benefit from our patronage? Widmer has only one small grocery shop, a community hall, a church, a primary school and a pub – the pub dates back to circa 1854 and is sadly for sale more often than not – perhaps the roads that go past Widmer are not such good news for the landlords of our local inn.
Our vernacular is a mixture of new, old and downright charming chocolate box cottages steeped in history and character. Surrounded by farmland, Widmer proudly claims to harbour more farm animals than people and Widmer’s inhabitants are happy for it to remain that way. Cherry orchards, once a steady source of income for the Widmer farmers, still feature in the fields that surround the villages, the scent of cherry blossom in our gardens heralds the true start of spring for us.
Conversely the less welcome scent of manure in the fields signals the end of summer and the arrival of harvest as the farmers ‘muck-spread’ the fields before leaving them dormant for nearly two seasons.
The Red Kite is our special avian resident, once almost extinct from the United Kingdom, this most magnificent raptor was reintroduced to the Chiltern Hills in the late 1990’s, successful in their resurrection, the Kites now number in their hundreds and [2]wakes of around a dozen at a time swoop and dive gracefully across our rooftops searching for scraps and road kill. The “Red” of the kite is not often seen, indeed, for several years we wondered why they were so called until a chance hot air balloon flight over our area took us above their great altitude from whence we could spy upon their crimson wing tops!
Our countryside is beautiful and a great vantage point from which to observe the ever changing colours of nature’s unique palette. The Chiltern Way, is a vast network of paths that mesh back and forth through our village top and is immensely popular with ramblers and dog walkers from far and wide. There simply is nothing nicer than setting out on our favourite circuit route on a cooling summer’s eve to walk off the delights of dinner and to allow the breeze to whisk away the ravages of the day. Many a problem has been aired and resolved on that route and it begins less than twenty yards from our front door.
My husband Lee and I moved our family to Widmer End just five years ago with a view to perhaps staying for five years at most. In our tiny garden the other night, surrounded by our colourful summer planting we both surprised ourselves with the recollection of our self-imposed time limit. Moving hasn’t really crossed our minds since we unpacked the last box two days after moving in.

Janina Diggins
August 2010
[1] a somewhat strange name given to a row of shops but taken from the Victorian term to “parade up and down a thoroughfare”
[2] the collective noun for a group of Red Kites