When we moved to Essex it was to give easy access to London. My husband needed to get into Liverpool Street to walk to the city every morning. We finally settled on what was a village but unlike any of the others I've mentioned in that it was definitely suburban and loosely attached to a town. Writtle had its own village Green complete with a duck pond and grand Georgian houses clustered around it. We lived up a lane which linked us to the agricultural college and also a lovely path by the river , through the park to take us into Chelmsford, so we were back into bike riding territory.
We did not know everyone in the village but we did know those who drank in the village pub and also those who were connected to the Writtle society . I still get letters from the last group and Christmas cards from the first.
It was an historic village with many claims to fame, and down our lane there had been a gibbet!
The young farmers in situ at the college never minded my walking the daft Springer over its grounds providing he was under control. It was far cry from walking up a mountain every day but we did follow the path of the river most days into a lane called "Cow Watering Lane" It was a good description! There were low bridges through which king fishers flew, plenty of fish in the river and lovely spindle trees, bright with fruit all through the winter. It was very different from the last village but we stayed there longer than anywhere else....for 25 years and we grew to love it.
I divided my church time between three other villages mindful of the time when I knew the church would get me...if it was going to get me ,it needed to be when I retired.
Village life was not the same as it was in smaller more compact villages. We missed the close relationships and the goodness of people willing to help in times of trouble but when my husband died everyone in fact did come to my assistance when ever I showed the need of it. People are good where ever you are, thank God.