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Jack Hill recalls some of his youthful days before the middle of the 20th century, spent with his uncle Bill who lived in a tied house at the old waterworks:
Problems would arise with algae blooms and with floating life, so a gang of men would be given the job of rowing all day around the reservoir towing bags of copper sulphate crystals. The boat was a flat-bottomed punt created by my Uncle.
At one stage the workforce was given the task of planting trees, mostly conifers, on the catchment land above the reservoir, and were issued with an old saloon car for getting them there more quickly than by rowing across. This car had the accelerator as the middle pedal.
The works were linked by telephone and this was a contraption consisting of a large black Bakelite box, with a speaking horn projecting from it, and an earpiece linked by a loop of cable to allow the listener to move away from the spot whilst listening. The earpiece was then hung upside down on the cradle to disconnect the system.
I recall a fierce thunderstorm one Sunday afternoon, when I had managed to wriggle out of going to the Chapel Anniversary as I had two boils on the back of my neck.
Each time the lightning flashed, the bells on the telephone rang crazily and then, when the thunder crashed in the space created by the valley walls and the dam, it sounded like the knell of doom. I was terrified, despite the calm presence of my Uncle Bill and his brother-in-law Sid Bowler, plus of course the two black Labrador dogs, which Bill liked to keep.
When not being walked or fussed over, the Labradors were attached to a steel wire slung between two apple trees in the orchard enabling them to get plenty of exercise.
At the end of the orchard was a fascinating building housing Uncle Bill's workshop. This was a haven of woodworking smells and here he made punts used on the reservoir, and repaired wheelbarrows and other equipment.
As resident manager, the responsibility was a 24 hour commitment and the only (unofficial) free time Bill allowed himself was a couple of hours on Sunday evenings when he walked up to the pub.
As a treat he would take one of the punts and go fishing for small perch. There would be perhaps thirty of these, which Aunt Ada would dress using only the slivers of white meat. When cooked and presented in a pile they would look very appetizing.
Being a countryman, Bill was very aware of nature and the arrival of swallows was greeted with pleasure. Always there would be several nests in the front porch and the mess they made on the floor was regarded as unimportant. They were able to obtain mud for their nests from the banks of the stream beyond the swinging gate.
The appearance of the grounds was very much a matter of pride, and so great efforts were made to keep them in good order. After his retirement, subsequent managers took a different attitude to the job, and later on the old house was demolished and a more modern house built in the field further up the valley slope.
My cousin Betty who had lived at the waterworks for the whole of her young life but left during the war to join the Land Army, get married, have children and live in other parts of England, always kept a memory of the gardens and the trees and her Dad's pride in it all.
In later life when her Auntie Sylvia, who lived in Bagworth, died it was decided that the family group attending the funeral should call at Thornton to see 'where I used to live'. The sight so distressed her that she swore never to return.
Another link with the past that has disappeared was the boat house which used to be the home of Fred Bartram and his wife and son young Fred. Fred senior was employed by a syndicate of Leicester business men as their full time ghillie to be available to take them on the reservoir and help with their fishing needs.
The house wall had many outlines of record catches painted on and included eels but I never saw such a creature. The entrance hall was lined with fishing rods and fish in glass cases. A room on the left was reserved for the syndicate; the rest was living space for the Bartrams.
The fishing rights were held exclusively by this group, but, being family, I was allowed to take the punt on the water.
The footpaths around the reservoir are now in 2001 fully accessible to the public, and boating is encouraged as well as casual fishing. The area is within the designated National Forest, which extends south to Desford Wood where the bluebells grew.
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