Rediscovering My Englishness in Barrington Village.

Rediscovering My Englishness in Barrington Village, Cambridgeshire.

May 2019.

I knew I was going to like Barrington Village the moment I started reading about it in China. I’d been dreaming about regaining a sense of lost Englishness. Of treating myself to a quintessential corner of Blighty where people walk their dogs and the air is fresh and punctuated with birdsong. Where there is a church, an olde-worlde pub, a village hall and perhaps a red telephone box.

Happily, the village of Barrington in Cambridgeshire ticked all these boxes and more, In fact, I’d say it is a living embodiment of that cult Kinks song Village Green Preservation Society.

Situated eight miles southwest of the city of Cambridge, Barrington is home to around 830 people. One of these Barringtonians is my old buddy Irish Mike, who I met many moons ago during those innocent Bratislava days chronicled in my short story series The Slovak Files.

I hadn’t seen Mike in over six years, so I came to Barrington to catch up and experience what he calls his “one-horse village.” That first evening, while Mike and his wife were getting the little one ready for bed, I decided to head out and explore Barrington’s village green — one of the longest in England, don’t you know.

Barrington Village, Cambridgeshire.

Barrington’s pretty All Saints Church is worth popping your head into. As I strolled inside, I was half expecting to bump into Dawn French. Instead, I found myself greeted by Sylvia Scott, the church warden. She was in the process of locking up for the day, but was happy to hang about for five minutes while I had a nose around.

Sylvia was kind enough to point me towards the church’s hall of fame, which lists all the vicars who’ve served here. There are some amazing names to enjoy, including the likes of Edgar J. Button and Edward Conybeare. Elsewhere, John Langley was the church’s original vicar, serving from 1347 to 1375.

Nearby, I found myself drawn to the village’s characterful Victorian-era drinking fountain. If you’re thinking it looks more like a trough, you wouldn’t be mistaken. You see, its original use was most likely for horses and dogs. The spout at the top was for humans. The inscription, which reads For All God’s Creatures, is attributed to a chap called Henry Snell.

While Snell doesn’t have a definitive online biography, it seems he was a benefactor of a charity called the Metropolitan Drinking Fountain and Cattle Trough Association, a body that installed thousands of fountains like this across Britain. No, I’m not making this up.

Barrington Village.

Just across the road from All Saints Church you’ll find Barrington Hall. It’s a grand country house wedding venue set among dotted woodland and immaculate lawns. The entrance gate was open and there weren’t any security signs. Thus I headed in to get an exterior shot. Unfortunately, the owner was a bit snooty, giving me the old private property line. So I made my apologies and scarpered to the soundtrack of her even less friendly dog.

From there I made my way through the village’s main street, admiring a dozen or so fairytale-like thatched cottages. Many of them date back to the 17th and 18th centuries, featuring timber-framed construction under long-straw thatch roof.  

Materials are chosen for their weather resistance and traditional aesthetic. Local thatchers still use Eastern Cambridgeshire thatching techniques, complete with decorative ridge patterns such as straw animal motifs. See that little birdy on the roof of this gorgeous cottage?

I suspect The Kinks would approve of Barrington’s cottages as much as I did. I think they fit right in with “Desperate Dan, Vaudeville and Strawberry Jam”. Cute, but not the kind of property one can casually acquire, as most of these babies are valued at over a million pounds.

Barrington has a village shop run by an Indian family. Open seven days a week, they do locally sourced meat, fruit and veg, while the place also doubles up as a post office. I ducked inside to treat myself to a chocolate bar, something I hadn’t been able to get hold of in China. The winners? A Cadbury’s Creme Egg and a Ripple. So, so good.

The Shop.

At the heart of the village lies Barrington Cricket Club, dating back to 1889. The modest but delightfully quaint George Miller Pavilion was added in 1957.

Try as I might, I couldn’t track down George Miller online, though I suspect local historians will know who he was. A star cricketer? Former club president? Local benefactor?

The Cricket Club was… ahem… a hive of activity that day. First, I witnessed a father and son practicing just across from the pavilion. Both of whom gave me a wave and a nod as I passed.

I also saw a groundsman giving the grass a trim. It was all so overwhelming I decided to drop down on one of the wooden benches and catch my breath. This is exactly what I was dreaming of back in Rui’an, the chaotic Chinese city I’d been living in for two years.

Had there not been a home cooked dinner to return to, I would’ve almost certainly popped into Barrington’s lone pub, The Royal Oak. Dating back to the 16th century, this is another thatched roof delight with a Tudor design.

Barrington Village.

A great spot for a bite and a drink, although not the best football watching pub, according to a few off-the-record sources. As a result, Mike and I drove out to the nearby village of Haslingfield that evening to watch Tottenham’s epic Champions league comeback against Ajax.

On my way back to Mike’s, I finally got the red telephone box I’d been hoping for. Even better, the locals have converted it into Barrington’s unofficial library. In fact, they’ve stuffed it with books of all kinds, including thrillers, cheesy romance novels, kids pop-up adventures and biographies. A wonderful local resource!

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