The WIG-WIGS
The Villages of England have a little tale to tell;
Through boom or slump they work their pump, their inns do fairly
well.
The ploughmen plough, the delvers dig, their rectors wax and
wane;
The Great Wig-Wig and Little Wig-Wig they are a noble twain.
They lie remote from traffic, the railway knows them not;
The lengthy coach does not encroach on either spot;
Arterial motors little twig they could have a sight
Of Little Wig-Wig or Great Wig-Wig by switching left or
right.
Yet to the high strung poet in love with lovely words;
Such names as these have powers to please beyond the song of
birds.
A thrush can set the heart a-jig when sunrise wakes the vale
But Little Wig-Wig and Great Wig-Wig knockout the
Nightingale.
When I am growing ancient I will desert the town,
And in that goodly neighbourhood settle in quiet down.
And there with poultry and a pig my evening shall be passed,
Till Little Wig-Wig and Great Wig-Wig inter my bones at
last.
From an Article in Punch May 1934
St Stephens Church, Great Wigborough a 14th century church on an
eminence overlooking the salt marshes.
If anybody would like to expand on this series please do so.
Could you please let sadexploration know first so he can keep track
of the Church numbers and names to avoid duplication.