An introduction to Wordwrights of Titchfield 


Wordwrights is a friendly and welcoming creative writing group based in the Hampshire village of Titchfield. Members range from beginners through to published writers working in all genres including short stories, articles, poetry, play writing and novels.

We occasionally invite speakers to give advice and specialist information to help us with our writing.  

With the exception of August when there are no meetings, we meet on the 1st and 3rd Thursday of the month from 1.30 p.m to 3.30 p.m in the Community Centre, Titchfield

For further information contact Eileen Everitt on 01329 849708. or e-mail At this time we have two places

available for prospective members.

Eileen Everitt (Secretary)
01329 849708

A tribute to a much valued Honorary Member Sylvie Whitaker,  who is no longer with us.

by Trish  Ward

I once knew a person, a fierce, sabre tooth tiger sort of person who did not suffer fools gladly - or at all.An exceptional person that I was privileged to know. She had a high opinion of herself that annoyed a great many of her acquaintances but that was justifiable as she had many talents. 

She only came into my life as she was approaching the end of hers. First impressions, for me, were not the greatest She had an irritatingly high opinion of herself and could be extremely critical. That was all fine by me, because I didn't have that much to do with her and, in any case, I was quite capable of ignoring her when I did come across her. But then I heard that she played bridge.

I am an avid and dedicated bridge player. Not in the league of Omar Sharif or anywhere close but - and maybe because I have played since I was nine years old, quite competent (if I say so myself). We needed a fourth for a friendly, afternoon bridge game once a week and against my better judgement I invited her to play. She was surprisingly reticent, saying that she hadn't played for years but in the end I persuaded her to come and try and to our mutual surprise she enjoyed herself. It became a regular event and I gradually came to know and appreciate her.

She lived alone and sometimes went days without seeing or speaking to anyone. She said, with great self awareness, that she felt this was her own fault as she antagonized people with her know-it-all attitude and outspoken comments. But at our afternoon bridge games she was different. She had obviously been a good player. She told us that when she lived in Ireland she was often asked to make up the numbers in big competitions. Now, however, her memory would let her down and she occasionally found it hard to recall what cards had been played.  The standard of her bridge improved and though at times she found it hard to concentrate, she very much enjoyed our sessions.

Whenever she came to my house to play bridge she was always well dressed, inevitably in clothes that she had made herself; she was a skillful seamstress, who even constructed tailored jackets. She was also an accomplished artist>She went to university to study art while in her seventies. Her output was prolific and her oil paintings were particularly impressive. When invited to her house to see them, she insisted we choose two for ourselves as a gift from her. In the latter part of her time as the "fourth" bridge player, there were many more gifts which were hard to refuse as she took such pleasure in the gifting. One of the lasr gifts she gave us was a pot with four cuttings from one of he roses that I had admired in her garden.

She wrote numerous short stories and had also written a book. A talented lady indeed, but she saved the best and most eloquent of her writings for the last. She wrote a letter to her friends. She told us why she had made the decision to end her life. She wrote beautifully and descriptively and told us at the end of her letter, not  to "feel sorry for my loss of time unused."

I am trying to do as she says, but I feel sorry and regret that I did not spend more time with her. When we speak of her and recall the things she did - the

things she said - the person she was I will not be guilty of saying "I forget" I will rather say "I remember".