Chapter 2 Slips and spillages: reservoirs and the environment

Mastery over nature?

Reservoir disasters were not particularly common in nineteenth-century Britain, but when they did occur they sparked understandable fears. By the mid-1860s two prominent disasters had occurred in Britain: the aforementioned collapse of Dale Dyke in 1864 and the collapse of Bilberry dam, near Huddersfield, in 1852. Both incidents became associated with national tragedy; at Holmfirth eighty-one people lost their lives, while between two hundred and fifty and three hundred people drowned in Sheffield. There was large-scale destruction to property, with hundreds of homes destroyed and thousands flooded. Both reservoirs were earthen embankment dams, the predominant method of reservoir construction well into the twentieth century, despite fears around safety. Remarkably, no tests were carried out at Bilberry before the reservoir was constructed. It is no surprise, then, that fault lines in the area had not been discovered. The reservoir was also not designed to anticipate extremely heavy rainfall, making it susceptible to flooding.⁵

As for Dale Dyke, environmental factors discovered after the disaster took the blame. Post-disaster excavations had revealed a landslip that was thought to have taken place over a hundred years previously, an issue previously unknown to the engineers as the reservoir foundation had not dug down far enough to discover it. Even though remedial work had been carried out on the reservoir after leaks were found, it was not enough to contend with the unpredictability of nature. This is, as Shane Ewen has highlighted, a salient point regarding all rural engineering: that ‘the changeability of environmental conditions rendered it impossible to maintain complete control’.⁶ And yet complete control was what water authorities yearned for and engineers promised.

Ewen has highlighted that both of these disasters stemmed from an evolving engineering knowledge that privileged previous experience over experimentation. It is for this reason that earthen embankment reservoirs remained the main design template into the twentieth century, at which point the masonry dam took precedence.⁷ Nevertheless, the disasters at Bilberry and Dale Dyke remained in the collective memory and were invoked elsewhere. A case in point is Leeds’s Washburn Valley scheme. While the borough surveyor for Leeds, Edward Filliter, had confidence in the integrity of the Washburn landscape when he proposed the scheme in 1866, not all were convinced. C. L. Dresser, a notable local figure and prominent opponent of the Washburn scheme, wrote a letter that was published in both the Leeds Mercury and the Yorkshire Post.⁸ He wrote that he had examined the valley himself, using his experience as a surveyor to find that ‘two, if not three, of the reservoirs are so placed that it is impossible for them, as at present planned, to be constructed with safety’.⁹ He cited the prevalence of landslips that had taken place in the area and drew parallels with the dam disasters at Dale Dyke and Holmfirth, lambasting the council for taking the quicker and cheaper option of constructing reservoirs in the valley when other schemes were available, in particular a scheme to take water from the Lake District, which he favoured.¹⁰ His arguments, very much a lone voice, were not enough to dissuade the Leeds Corporation.

As Dresser predicted, problems were encountered with the landscape during the construction of the reservoirs, further emphasising Ewen’s argument that established engineering knowledge and precedent was privileged. A report presented to the waterworks committee by Filliter and Hawksley in 1873 outlined the difficulties that had been encountered at Lindley Wood and Swinsty. At Lindley Wood, the substrata on which the reservoir was being built had become ‘upheaved, broken and pushed in a very unusual manner and to a very unusual depth’.¹¹ In addition, at Swinsty a large crack in the substrata had been discovered that ‘descended to a great depth’.¹² Further issues were reported by the Leeds Mercury, including the weir at the foot of the River Washburn, where the Washburn meets the River Wharfe, which had been damaged by partial flooding, an incident that could have been avoided with ‘but a little care and observation’.¹³ The Yorkshire Post reported in 1874 that in addition to the issues with the substrata at Lindley Wood, labelling the judgement of the engineers as ‘unsound’, a landslip had occurred. In excavating the land for the reservoir by-wash, ‘an immense quantity of earth descended from the hill-side’.¹⁴ While the Yorkshire Post was mainly critical of the engineers from a fiscal point of view, it is clear that Dresser had forewarned of these issues.

Lessons were learnt during the construction of the Washburn reservoirs, again emphasising the evolving nature of engineering knowledge that Ewen highlighted.¹⁵ When questioned on the suitability of the land at the proposed site of Fewston reservoir, Hawksley and Filliter argued that they were satisfied with the location, but modifications to the plans were necessary ‘to suit the nature and the quality of the ground’.¹⁶ In addition to this, the committee hired Professor David Ansted, a reputable geologist from Kings College, London, to survey the land.¹⁷ Thus, the waterworks committee and the engineers were beginning to pay more attention to the intricacies of the landscape. This also shows that experience could and did help to develop engineering knowledge and practice. The issues with the Washburn landscape, though, would not finish with the completion of Fewston reservoir in 1879.

On 17 September 1880, less than a year after the opening of Fewston reservoir, an article published in the Yorkshire Post, reprinted from the Wharfedale and Airedale Observer, reported that an alarming subsidence of the land had taken place at Fewston village:

[I]n some places the ground has sunk no less than two feet and large cracks in the soil, from six inches to a foot in width, may be seen in several places. Most of the buildings are cracking and shifting to an alarming extent.¹⁸

They described the condition of a house belonging to Mr Moon, a corn miller, noting that ‘close observation shows that the movement is going on daily; in fact, the ground on which the house stands, and the garden in front, are gradually shifting toward the valley below’.¹⁹ The Leeds Mercury published a further article, again reprinted from the Observer, outlining the amount of damage that had been inflicted on the village. Responding to criticism that the original reports had exaggerated the damage, a visit to the village found that ‘the actual destruction to property is really greater than was originally represented’.²⁰ The report noted that cracks had appeared in land belonging to the diocese of Ripon, on which the vicar of Fewston lived, that were so large that cattle could not enter the field for fear of them falling and breaking their legs.²¹ This painted a somewhat apocalyptic image of a formerly bucolic part of the area.

Tales of the sinking village brought spectators from near and far, so much so that local pubs did not have enough food to meet demand.²² One local newspaper report estimated that up to five hundred people had visited the village, many of whom were reported to have been disappointed that the village was not in as bad a condition as they had expected.²³ One week later, it was reported that ‘the subsidence seems to be getting more satisfactory to visitors than it was a few weeks ago, as very little was heard on Sunday about exaggerated reports’.²⁴ All the while, conditions for residents and the village more generally continued to worsen. Moon, whom the Observer referred to as a man of ‘heroic fortitude, worthy of a British Admiral’ as he went down with his ship, had measured his house sinking at the rate of half an inch a week.²⁵

While the local press were quick to pick up and sensationalise the incident at Fewston, the Leeds waterworks committee moved more slowly. They had been alerted to the potential for subsidence as early as 10 September, a week before it was reported in the local newspapers. After pressure from Moon’s solicitors to take responsibility for the subsidence and pay compensation, the committee sought independent expertise to strengthen their defence against claims that water from the reservoirs had seeped into the shale foundation of the village, removing that shale when the water pressure receded.²⁶ They commissioned Professor Henry Green, a geologist from Yorkshire College, to determine the cause of the subsidence. Green found in favour of the corporation, arguing that the geological nature of the land was prone to subside – weakening more general arguments about the safety of the reservoirs in that particular area – and that it was the area’s geology, in addition to three exceptionally wet years that had been experienced, that explained why the subsidence occurred at that moment and on that scale.²⁷ This provided the corporation with the expert testimony needed to deny liability, leaving little recourse for the residents of Fewston.

Although Green’s testimony provided the corporation with the legal protection they desired, it is difficult to reconcile the severity of the subsidence with the presence of the reservoirs. The fact that subsidence occurred on a greater level than experienced previously less than one year after reservoir construction was completed cannot have been coincidence. As Green acknowledged, the area was prone to subside, so it stands to reason that adding a greater volume of water pressure onto that landscape, locked into the parameters of the reservoir, would increase the potential for subsidence. If nothing else, it validated the criticisms of Dresser, who warned that the area was not fully suitable for reservoir construction. While no major disaster occurred, many local people lost their homes and subsidence still affects the area today. As with Dale Dyke and Bilberry, this episode highlights that, despite the belief of engineers to tame the wilderness, nature was never easily controlled.

Concerns around the structural integrity of reservoirs were not solely resigned to hindsight. The somewhat remarkable thing about the Fewston subsidence was that, despite concerns about reservoir safety, word of this incident does not seem to have travelled beyond Leeds and its hinterlands. This does not mean, though, that concerns about reservoirs were settled: in some cases, councils and committees were more proactive. In the case of Liverpool’s Vyrnwy scheme, which had been beset with issues among the lead engineers, the water committee launched an investigation into the reliability of the masonry dam that would form the main bulwark against the river. There were several potential reasons for this sudden interest in safety: aside from the aforementioned disasters that were still within living memory, Vyrnwy was one of the first masonry dams to be constructed in the United Kingdom. This was a new technology that engineers did not have decades of experience in utilising. Perhaps related to that was the acrimonious episode between the corporation and Thomas Hawksley, who left the project in 1885. While there was no suggestion that Hawksley attempted to sabotage the project, it is telling that the water committee instigated their investigation shortly after he left, perhaps feeling a lack of confidence more than anything.

The committee first approached an engineer familiar with the city and its waterworks, J. F. Bateman, to conduct an investigation into the safety of the designs for the masonry embankment and into the materials being used to construct it. Despite his previous work for the city on identifying new sources of water, Bateman declined, citing a busy schedule and ‘much annoyance in the future, whichever way my report would be’, perhaps a nod to the corporation’s treatment of his learned colleague Hawksley.²⁸ After approaching several other engineers, the committee turned to Sir Andrew Clarke, a former colonial official turned consulting engineer, and Russel Aitken, a civil engineer. Neither of these figures were a part of the group of eminent water engineers that dominated the nineteenth century, perhaps evidence of the bridges burned while managing Hawksley.²⁹ Both were instructed to present independent reports and were able to request blocks of cement from the site to test structural integrity.³⁰

Of the two, Aitken was the more communicative with the water committee. He sent a letter to the committee highlighting what he suggested was ‘a disturbing element’ in the designs of the reservoir, pertaining to the ability of compensation water to exit the work and the calculations related to the gravity of the dam.³¹ He sent a further letter expressing concern about the implementation of the sluice valve, which appeared to have been designed to be removed but had been built into the body of the dam so could not be easily replaced. George Deacon replied that details regarding the valve had not been decided and was dismissive of concerns around gravity calculations. The water committee somewhat tersely resolved that ‘as the questions as to the outlet valves […] do not affect the stability of the embankment, this Committee are of the opinion that he [Aitken] should regard them as outside the scope of his inquiry’.³²

Ultimately, both Aitken and Clarke were satisfied with the structural integrity of the dam wall. Worries over the masonry dam, however, did not go away following their reports. In questions to the president of the Board of Trade in the House of Commons in 1889, Stanley Leighton, the MP for Oswestry, expressed concerns over the dangers posed by the dam wall to residents in the area. He asked Sir Michael Hicks Beach whether the government could allay these fears with an independent investigation of the works. Given the localised nature of water supply and reservoir construction, which was administered by local authorities or private companies, not Parliament, this would have been a remarkable change in policy, one that Hicks Beach was not willing to pursue.³³ He responded that the government had no statutory authority over inspecting the works at Vyrnwy; it was up to the Liverpool Corporation to authorise such an inspection. He also noted that Liverpool had employed Andrew Clarke to inspect the works, returning a positive report. Leighton responded that there were large sections of the embankment that Clarke had not inspected, to which Hicks Beach reaffirmed the government’s lack of statutory powers in this area.³⁴

This exchange was reported in an article by the Oswestry Advertiser, a paper with an obvious stake in the topic. The article continued with a number of correspondences gleaned from other sources. Citing a letter to The Times from Russel Aitken, the paper brought attention to concerns he had with the use of clay for a portion of the masonry dam, which would be more susceptible to leaking. If exposed, it would be ‘quite sufficient to cause considerable destruction in the upper part of the valley of the Vyrnwy’.³⁵ The Liverpool Echo responded to this letter by noting that Aitken had not previously expressed concern about the short clay section of the dam wall, and, as has been noted, that both he and Clarke had been satisfied with the quality of the work. A further correspondence from Thomas Hawksley was printed by the Oswestry Advertiser that attempted to ease concerns over the structural integrity of the masonry wall: ‘I introduced into my calculations every element of danger and of counteracting stability which are known to exist in structures of this kind’.³⁶

For Hawksley, the source of these fears was not the works at Vyrnwy itself, but a recent disaster that had taken place in America. Two weeks earlier, a severe storm over Johnstown, Pennsylvania resulted in between six and ten inches of rain falling in a twenty-four hour period, putting immense strain on the South Fork reservoir, which had dammed the Conemaugh River. Originally constructed to help facilitate the operation of Pennsylvania Canal during dry spells, ownership of the reservoir had passed to the South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club in 1879, who predominantly used the lake to fish.³⁷ The reservoir had not been properly maintained for some time, with straw and horse manure used to patch up weak sections of the structure, while the relief pipes used to help with overflows of water were sold as scrap metal. The lack of maintenance allied with the ferocity of the storm in May 1889 meant that once the dam broke, it took less than an hour for it to empty of water.³⁸ It was reported that 2,209 people lost their lives as the water rushed towards Johnstown, becoming the largest national disaster in the United States at the time.³⁹ While there were obvious differences between South Fork reservoir and Vyrnwy, particularly the lack of maintenance of the former, it is understandable that people would be concerned in the wake of another reservoir disaster. This was especially the case when worries over the integrity of the dam wall had been aired so publicly. It is also noteworthy that these concerns were becoming increasingly internationalised, led by a growth in the speed of transatlantic communication.⁴⁰

Accidents abroad highlighted fears which carried into the twentieth century. The reports of engineers were ultimately statements of confidence in their ability to tame the wilderness, something that continued in the face of compelling evidence to the contrary, as seen in the Washburn Valley.⁴¹ Despite fears around the integrity of the dam wall, it was accidents further down the supply line that demonstrated the lack of full control over nature. In February 1905, the Weekly Dispatch reported that the main water pipe carrying water from Vyrnwy to Liverpool had burst near Eaton Tarporley in Cheshire. The pipe burst with ‘almost no warning’, sending much of the 20 million gallons of water it was transporting across the Cheshire countryside and ‘causing enormous damage’, although fortunately there were no casualties.⁴² A year later, during the construction of a second mains pipe from Vyrnwy to Liverpool, a mains pipe exploded under the bed of the River Elfe, a tributary of the River Dee on the England–Wales border. The Wellington Journal described it in dramatic fashion:

Suddenly there was a loud explosion, and a huge column of water, as thick as a man’s body, rushed a hundred feet in the air, carrying on its crest heavy masses of masonry and pieces of rock, while tons of earth and shingle were torn down from the hill side and filled up the river bed.⁴³

Fortunately for the men working on the pipeline, the incident occurred at the weekend, so once again no one was injured or killed. Given the prominence of contemporaneous disasters that had caused deaths in other industries such as mining, incidents that did not result in death but nevertheless exhibited a lack of control over the wilderness are just as important to highlight.⁴⁴

Additionally, the spectre of previous incidents continued to haunt accidents such as these. Reporting on the burst main in Cheshire, the Weekly Dispatch concluded by listing other instances where reservoirs had burst and led to deaths, including Dale Dyke in 1864, the collapse of a dam in the Mill River valley, Northampton, Massachusetts in 1874 that led to 144 deaths; and a reservoir failure in the French town of Vosges in 1895 that led to two villages being swept away and 110 deaths.⁴⁵ A burst pipe is not the same as a collapsed reservoir; however, the recurrence of these incidents shows how strongly they remained in the public imagination, as does the placing of minor incidents such as this among more tragic events. While events in the United States and France were more recent, Dale Dyke clearly continued to hold cultural currency. It also shows that, despite the claims of engineers to the contrary, complete control over nature had not been secured in England, Wales or elsewhere.

Although no reservoir disasters occurred in Britain after 1864, it is clear that the spectre of Dale Dyke and Bilberry loomed large over future projects. In the case of Leeds, it was individuals like Dresser and Moon who highlighted issues with the Washburn landscape, which was not as suitable for construction as Filliter and Hawksley believed. As for Liverpool, their uneasy relationship with Hawksley, as well as events in America, led them to question the suitability of the relatively new masonry technology, and even after concerns had been settled about the dam wall, there were issues further down the supply chain. Both of these case studies highlight that, despite the best efforts of engineers to tame the wilderness to better provide for urban populations, the natural environment could not be so easily tamed: at one point or another, it pushed back.

Dam building in the twentieth century

Disasters were not the only way that reservoirs altered their local environments – their very construction created socionatural environments, hybrid landscapes that were simultaneously social and natural. The construction of reservoirs also allowed engineers and those invested in the civic project, particularly newspaper correspondents, the opportunity to propagate humanity’s ability to successfully tame nature. While this can be clearly seen in nineteenth-century waterworks touched on at the start of this chapter, the continuity of these narratives in the second half of the twentieth century is noteworthy.

The immediate post-Second World War period is also worth highlighting in this case because of another environmental factor: drought. Drought had affected Britain periodically across the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The droughts of the 1890s brought water politics to the fore in East London and Sheffield as consumers reacted to water restrictions, while the 1920s and 1930s were marked by three distinct periods of drought in 1921, 1929 and 1933–34.⁴⁶ Some cities suffered more than others from drought: Leeds and Manchester were badly affected by drought in 1929, while Leighton and Haweswater reservoirs were being constructed. The 1933–34 drought was linked to global meteorological patterns in the northern hemisphere that may have been caused by the Dust Bowl and contributed to drought as far as Asia.⁴⁷ However, the provision of new local water supplies meant that some English cities coped more comfortably in this period than others, as with Leeds. Similarly, Birmingham’s great chain of waterworks in the Elan Valley drought-proofed the city for much of the interwar period.

Issues became apparent with Birmingham’s water supply, though, in 1937. A lack of rain across Wales in that year prompted concerns about the resilience of the city’s supply. Not only was drought affecting the availability of water, but water usage in the city had doubled between the opening of the Elan Valley works in 1904 and 1937, placing ever greater strain on the system.⁴⁸ Here we can see that drought was not just caused by meteorological conditions but was a sociotechnical event, shaped by ever increasing piped supply and water usage as well as a lack of rain.⁴⁹ Members of the Birmingham Corporation decided that it was time to enact the second part of James Mansergh’s original plan: to build three reservoirs on the River Claerwen to link with those on the Elan. Due to engineering advancements, though, they were able to modify the plan: instead of three reservoirs, one enormous reservoir would be constructed instead.⁵⁰

As with Leeds and Manchester twenty years earlier, war interrupted progress on Claerwen reservoir. Although royal assent was received in 1940, work on the scheme did not begin until 1946, and even then, construction was only allowed to begin because it was assigned as a high priority project by the government in the context of post-war austerity. The high priority status of Claerwen was undoubtedly approved because of the continuing water supply issues Birmingham faced during the 1940s. The water committee was clear that, given the corporation was intent on extensive housing development in the city after the war, the construction of Claerwen had to begin so that future water restrictions could be avoided, while the Birmingham Daily Gazette framed the reservoir as the remedy to ‘drought fears’.⁵¹

From the start of construction in 1947, Claerwen reservoir was conceptualised within a nascent environmental framework, although not the same narratives that would later be associated with Cow Green and Kielder Water. The Birmingham Daily Gazette proclaimed that Birmingham was making a new, unofficial ‘national park’ in the Claerwen Valley that belonged ‘exclusively to Birmingham’.⁵² National parks were, of course, on the political agenda in the late 1940s; however, the rationale behind the national parks was, in theory if not in practice, about opening up and managing rural areas for all, not just for the residents of one city.⁵³ The Daily Gazette, then, was using contemporary vernacular to further strengthen the civic link between the city and its waterworks. Writing of the Elan Valley, the Daily Gazette went on to remark that ‘great lakes were blasted out of the earth to become reservoirs of vital importance, but they were constructed with an eye on harmony, and the dams and control towers were built of rock which blended naturally with the existing surface. Indeed the valley is a beauty spot’.⁵⁴ Claerwen reservoir, and the wider Elan Valley, were conceptualised as improving the landscape. While there is an apparent contradiction between blasting the earth and structures blending naturally into the landscape, it seems that through the skill of the engineer, harmony with the environment had won out. The cultural aspects of this will be explored more fully in Chapter 4; however, these depictions play into progressive narratives of environmental change. As William Cronon has highlighted in the American context, some changes to the environment were seen in wholly positive terms, having little or no regard for what was lost or natural systems that were damaged by infrastructural development.⁵⁵ Humankind could conquer nature to provide for towns and cities, and Claerwen was just the latest example of that power.

Part of this illustration of humanity’s ability to tame nature was depicting the scale of the project. A special correspondent of the Daily Gazette returned to Claerwen in 1948 to provide an update on the works. The normally peaceful and quiet valley was juxtaposed with the noise and chaos of a construction site: ‘Tall Wellsian towers of steel reach towards the heavens. Across the river-bed is a network of cables along which giant steel cradles speed at 1,000 feet a minute’.⁵⁶ In contrast to reservoir construction in the nineteenth century, reports like this helped to convey a sense of urgency and grandeur – technology was helping engineers to build bigger and better. Among all this hustle and bustle were the workers themselves: ‘tiny figures of men can be seen, ant-like, cutting jagged holes in the rocky banks and controlling the machine which crushes the rock’.⁵⁷ Again, a contrast was drawn between the magnitude of the project and those working on it to emphasise the ability to successfully tame nature. The workers, in both a literal and metaphorical sense, were dwarfed by the scale of the project, but they were succeeding in bending nature to their will, emphasising the Promethean scale of their work.⁵⁸

It only took a further four years to successfully tame the Claerwen Valley, despite worries about faults found in parts of the rock foundation. On inspecting the state of the new works in 1951, a special correspondent for the Birmingham Daily Post noted the difficulties that had been encountered during construction: a severe winter in 1946 and heavy rains at the start of 1951, which suggests that nature was not letting engineers have it all their own way. Indeed, overcoming such obstacles made the feat even more impressive. The article also noted some of the technological advancements being used on the site, such as low-heat cement, which would stop the concrete heating and, therefore, prevent stress and cracks in the masonry. Technology, then, was at the heart of man’s battle with nature, from the use of explosives and cable lifts to new cement mixtures.⁵⁹ This was a part of how reservoirs fitted into the discourse of rural modernity: the use of technology to remake the landscape into a new vision, one that could serve modern society into the future.⁶⁰

Claerwen reservoir may have been one of the biggest waterworks projects of the post-war years, but it was not the only project. Several reservoirs were constructed during the 1950s and 1960s as towns and cities continued to struggle with periods of drought and increased demand from populations and industries. Leeds was one such city. As in Birmingham, the need for a new source of water became apparent quickly after the war. Despite issues with water supply in the early 1950s, the city did not take positive steps to remedy its shortage until the end of the decade. The city council decided to return to the Washburn Valley to complete the project that had been started almost one hundred years previously. The reservoir built at Thruscross in the 1960s, though, was very different to the one planned during the 1870s. Due to the aforementioned advances in technology, as well as greater engineering expertise, the new Thruscross was to be much larger than originally envisioned, holding a capacity of 1.7 billion gallons of water. This increased size meant that the original site of the reservoir had to be altered. The largest consequence of this was the subsequent flooding of West End village, one of a number of villages to be flooded in the name of urban water supply in the twentieth century.

A tender from Holland, Hannen and Cubitts Ltd. for £1,104,750 was accepted by the Leeds Corporation’s waterworks committee in March 1961, the lowest of sixteen bids received according to The Yorkshire Post.⁶¹ An article in Water and Water Engineer provided some detail as to how construction would progress, with the engineers proposing to install a ten tonne cableway and a two cubic yard concrete mixing plant that had been used in the construction of Clatworthy reservoir, West Somerset.⁶² The experience of constructing Clatworthy, ‘the largest concrete dam in the West Country’, may have been a factor in the waterworks committee’s decision, with ‘key experienced personnel’ from that project being brought to work on Thruscross – once more the privileging of existing expertise – with the remaining workforce locally sourced.⁶³ A dam face 123 feet high composed of over 200,000 cubic yards of mixed concrete resulted in a vastly different reservoir to those built lower down the valley in the 1870s.⁶⁴ As such, its impact on the landscape was more visible. Figure 2.1 highlights both the size and aesthetic of the dam face, making Thruscross a more striking feature on the landscape than the other three reservoirs, which have a more natural aesthetic.

Reports from the Yorkshire Evening Post written by Malcolm Barker provide an insight into how the construction affected the landscape, with striking similarities to the reporting of the Birmingham press on Claerwen fifteen years earlier. The first report from 1962 contrasts the usually quiet nature of the Washburn Valley with the nightmarish noises of construction. Once more this can be read within a framework of rural modernity. At the site of the dam wall, much of the rock was removed with ‘scientifically placed blasts’, suggesting a faith in the scientific proficiency of the engineers and navvies that was sometimes lacking in the nineteenth century. However, Barker’s reporting also reflected the continued importance given to the need to tame the wilderness: ‘down there in the great gash is one of the few places where rock meets man on equal terms, the man armed only with pick and shovel and the rock with the thickness and stability of tens of thousands of centuries’.⁶⁵ Because the rock basin formed the foundation for the dam wall, it could not be removed with explosives as these may have destabilised the foundation. The construction of Thruscross reservoir, like Claerwen, was framed as a battle between nature and humankind, with humans seemingly outmatched by the obstinance of nature. This battle, termed ‘the elemental struggle of the navvy’, highlights the long-standing environmental attitude of the local press, that nature was there to be conquered by humankind. This struggle is encapsulated in Figures 2.2 and 2.3, which show a contrast between the size of the works and those struggling to conquer nature. This narrative was in the same vein as that expressed by Hawksley in 1869, that nature had to be conquered, and once again echoes the progressive narratives that Cronon has described.⁶⁶ A case in point is Barker’s depiction of the navvies, armed with only a pick and a shovel against a rock formation that had stood for thousands of years. Figure 2.3 builds on this image, with the presence of everyday building equipment like ladders further emphasising the size of the task being undertaken. Barker’s reporting paints changes to the landscape in a positive light, highlighting that nature must be conquered in order to gain a fresh supply of water, paying little attention to the negative effects of changing the landscape, such as ecological damage. Barker’s reporting serves to highlight the wider environmental attitudes of the Evening Post, as well as the continued prevalence of urban attitudes to the countryside that saw rural areas as wilderness to be tamed to better serve towns and cities.

A further report from 1964, entitled the ‘half-term report’, provided readers with an update on the progress that had been made at the construction site. Barker again remarked that it ‘still resembles a raw gash in the valley […] But it is a gash that is gradually being filled in and healed as the smooth white walls rise from the foundations’.⁶⁷ This gash and the subsequent white walls are evident in Figure 2.2, which again matches the literary flourish of Barker’s writing. Once more, the building of the reservoir was framed as a narrative of improvement, with the navvy winning the elemental battle over nature and healing the landscape with technology. This is, perhaps, indicative of wider positive social attitudes to scientific experts and technology, epitomised by Harold Wilson’s belief in the ‘white heat’ of scientific revolution that focused on civil rather than military research and development.⁶⁸ Importantly, the growth of technology during the Labour governments of the 1960s was linked to modernity.⁶⁹ As with Claerwen, technology was playing a key role in helping to tame nature, thereby linking environmental changes to narratives of modernity. While the engineers may have had a better understanding of the landscape, setbacks did occur, including a large rockfall and bad weather that halted work for three months in 1963.⁷⁰ Barker also referred to the vast amount of concrete being used in the construction of the dam wall, the purpose of which was to stop the River Washburn ‘in its ancient track’ and force it back up the valley, again emphasising that the building of Thruscross reservoir was an exercise in overcoming nature.⁷¹ Figure 2.2 presents an image of this ‘gash’ on the landscape. While the surrounding land that would be submerged was yet to be affected, the trough created by the navvies is evident, as is the beginning of the dam wall that was starting to bridge the two sides of the valley.

The more visible intrusion of construction on the landscape as reservoirs became more technologically advanced highlights another environmental issue: their architecture. The nineteenth century saw a proliferation of earthen embankment reservoirs, which looked like natural lakes due to their sunken nature in the landscape. However, these building techniques also limited the size of the structures. It was not until masonry work and, later, cement was used in construction that reservoirs could be larger. In becoming larger, though, they became less hidden in the landscape. This is exemplified in the images above, particularly Figures 2.2 and 2.3, showing how visible the dam wall at Thruscross would become. This architectural style was indicative of rural modernism that Katrina Navikas and others have highlighted, embodied in reservoirs like Thruscross and Claerwen as well as power stations and electricity pylons.⁷² These modern structures were not always subjected to criticism as progressives foresaw a role for this type of architecture in the countryside. The failures of sites of rural modernism to unite opinion in a progressive way was often due to the inability of authorities to cut through issues of class and regionalism.⁷³ Additionally, the increased size of these structures that new construction technologies enabled was driven by the demands of post-war life: greater living standards and the facilitation of a consumer culture.⁷⁴ Not only did this mean that more environmental resources were being extracted in a general sense, but the methods of doing so resulted in more obvious intrusions on the natural landscape. As some utilities were becoming increasingly hidden, water infrastructure in the countryside was becoming more visible.

The construction of Thruscross reservoir was completed in 1966. Barker once again returned to witness the damming of the River Washburn in order to begin filling the reservoir, commenting that the valley was to be transformed ‘into a large and shimmering lake’.⁷⁵ Barker’s reporting of the construction of Thruscross reservoir highlights a largely progressive narrative: humankind had won the battle with nature. While nature was seen as an obstacle to overcome, its agency was still felt by the engineers and workers at Thruscross reservoir. They could not use explosives to blast all the way down to what became the foundation of the dam wall, emphasising a greater understanding of what pressures the land could tolerate than in the 1870s. Although Barker portrayed the construction of Thruscross reservoir as a victory for humanity over nature, it was still constrained by natural limits, despite the implementation of a more sophisticated method than that used during construction in the 1870s.

Conclusion

It seems obvious to suggest that reservoir construction had an environmental impact. However, this chapter has highlighted the multifaceted and sometimes unintended environmental consequences of construction as well as the narratives that underpinned the quest for urban water. While looked at in isolation, the two themes are linked – the belief in the engineers’ ability to tame the wilderness that continued well into the twentieth century made events like the subsidence of Fewston and accidents along the Vyrnwy supply line, as well as more prominent national and international cases, more notable. The narratives of the post-war period are important to stress as this was the period that environmental and ecological concerns around dam building were coming to the fore, as well as the growth of the wider environmental movement from the 1960s onwards.⁷⁶ While ecological concern was growing by the time Thruscross was constructed, it did not present much of a barrier to constructing the reservoir. This is perhaps due to the relatively unknown nature of the Washburn Valley, strengthening Katrina Navickas’s argument about focusing on areas of ‘non-outstanding natural beauty’.⁷⁷ This suggests that the unfettered belief in the engineer should have been tempered, however, as reporting from the construction of Claerwen and Thruscross in particular shows that belief remained as strong in the 1960s as it was in the 1860s.

As this chapter has shown, though, nature was never fully tamed. While concerns around reservoir safety diminished as accidents like those at Dale Dyke, Bilberry and Johnstown faded from living memory, signs of natural agency continued to be in evidence. The rocky relationship between authority and engineer led to Liverpool questioning the structural integrity of their own waterworks project. In the end, it was the supply line that would cause issues for the corporation. For Leeds, the unanticipated rate of subsidence caused by the construction of reservoirs left local residents without habitable homes. Subsidence continues to this day in the Washburn Valley, albeit on a smaller scale than that experienced in 1880. As projects became larger due to new technology and ever greater demand, their impact on the landscape became more visible; while the belief of the engineer to tame the wildness had not diminished, the handiwork was much more visible. All of these separate examples point to a unified approach to water supply and the environment during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, bound up not just in a belief in technology but also in civic identity; by working on behalf of municipal authorities, engineers brought their skills and knowledge to bear on behalf of the city. It spoke well to the prestige of municipal governments that they could tap the bounty of the landscape by taming the wilderness. The incident in the Washburn Valley in the 1880s and along the Vyrnwy supply line in the 1900s, as well as more contemporary episodes like at Whaley Bridge in 2019, underline the importance of constant vigilance when it comes to reservoir safety, a reminder that despite the best efforts of engineers across the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, nature could never be fully tamed.

Notes

1. 1.  Shane Ewen, ‘Sheffield’s Great Flood of 1864: Engineering Failure and the Municipalisation of Water’, Environment and History 20, no. 2 (2014), 178, https://doi.org/10.3197/096734014X13941952680954.

2. 2.  Caroline Lowbridge, ‘Whaley Bridge Reservoir Collapse: Lack of Maintenance ‘Exacerbated’ Problem’, BBC News, 16 March 2020, https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-derbyshire-51912677.

3. 3.  Maria Kaika, ‘Dams as Symbols of Modernization: The Urbanization of Nature Between Geographical Imagination and Materiality’, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 96, no. 2 (2006), 276, https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1467-8306.2006.00478.x.

4. 4.  For key works see William Cronon, Nature’s Metropolis: Chicago and the Great West (Norton, 1991); Tim Soens et al., eds., Urbanising Nature: Actors and Agency (Dis)Connecting Cities and Natures Since 1500 (Routledge, 2019); Erik Swyngedouw, ‘Modernity and Hybridity: Nature, Regeneracionismo, and the Production of the Spanish Waterscape, 1890–1930’, Annals of the Association of American Geographers 89, no. 3 (1999), 443–65.

5. 5.  Shane Ewen, ‘Socio-Technological Disasters and Engineering Expertise in Victorian Britain: The Holmfirth and Sheffield Floods of 1852 and 1864’, Journal of Historical Geography 46 (2014): 15–20, https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jhg.2014.05.021.

6. 6.  Ewen, ‘Socio-Technological Disasters’, 20.

7. 7.  Ewen, ‘Socio-Technological Disasters’, 24.

8. 8.  Dresser was a member of prominent civic institutions in Leeds, such as the Leeds Philosophical and Literary Society and the Leeds Mechanics’ Institute. He also gave research papers to the Leeds Philosophical and Literary Society, such as his presentation in 1850 on ‘The Electric Light, with Experiments’. William White, Directory of Leeds, Bradford, Huddersfield […] Woolen and Worsted Manufactures (William White, 1866), 62; ‘Mechanics’ Institution’, Leeds Intelligencer, 2 April 1842, 4; ‘Leeds Philosophical and Literary Society: Conversazione Last Evening’, Leeds Intelligencer, 30 November 1850, 5; ‘The Leeds Waterworks Reservoir at Eccup’, Leeds Times, 26 October 1878, 2.

9. 9.  C. L. Dresser, ‘Leeds Water Scheme’, Yorkshire Post, 4 May 1867, 7 [also printed in Leeds Mercury on same date].

10. 10.  Dresser, ‘Leeds Water Scheme’.

11. 11.  Leeds Corporation, ‘Leeds Waterworks Committee Minutes, volume 3: 1870–1878’, West Yorkshire Archive Service (WYAS), LLC22/1/3, 132–36.

12. 12.  Leeds Corporation, ‘Waterworks Committee Minutes, volume 3’.

13. 13.  ‘Leeds Water Supply’, Leeds Mercury, 31 May 1873, 11.

14. 14.  ‘The Washburn Reservoirs’, Yorkshire Post, 2 July 1874, 6.

15. 15.  Ewen, ‘Socio-Technological Disasters’, 15–20.

16. 16.  Leeds Corporation, ‘Waterworks Committee Minutes, volume 3’, 214.

17. 17.  Leeds Corporation, ‘Waterworks Committee Minutes, volume 3’.

18. 18.  ‘Subsidence of Land at Fewston’ [report from Wharfedale and Airedale Observer], Yorkshire Post, 17 September 1880, 2.

19. 19.  ‘Subsidence of Land at Fewston’, Yorkshire Post.

20. 20.  ‘Subsidence of Land at Fewston’ [report from Wharfedale and Airedale Observer], Leeds Mercury, 24 September 1880, 3.

21. 21.  ‘Subsidence of Land at Fewston: Threatened Destruction of the Village’, Yorkshire Post, 24 September 1880, 5.

22. 22.  ‘Fewston’, Wharfedale and Airedale Observer, 8 October 1880, 3.

23. 23.  ‘Fewston’, Wharfedale and Airedale Observer, 1 October 1880, 3.

24. 24.  ‘Fewston’, Wharfedale and Airedale Observer, 8 October 1880, 3.

25. 25.  ‘Fewston’, Wharfedale and Airedale Observer, 17 December 1880, 5; ‘Fewston’, Wharfedale and Airedale Observer, 19 November 1880, 4.

26. 26.  Expert witnesses were increasingly utilised in legal matters from the nineteenth century onwards. While presenting the air of objectivity, many witnesses tended to argue for their employer rather than scientific reason. See Roy MacLeod, ‘Introduction’, in Government and Expertise: Specialists, Administrators and Professionals, 1860–1919, ed. Roy MacLeod (Cambridge University Press, 1988), 3. ‘Subsidence of Land at Fewston’, Leeds Mercury, 24 September 1880, 3.

27. 27.  Leeds Corporation, ‘Leeds Waterworks Committee Minutes, volume 4: 1878–1885’, WYAS, LLC22/1/4, 138–41.

28. 28.  Liverpool Corporation, ‘Liverpool Water Committee Minutes, 1885’, Liverpool Record Office (LRO), 352 MIN/WTR 1/21, 417.

29. 29.  G. M. Binnie, Early Victorian Water Engineers (Thomas Telford, 1981).

30. 30.  Binnie, Early Victorian Water Engineers, 435.

31. 31.  Liverpool Corporation, ‘Liverpool Water Committee Minutes, 1886’, LRO, 352 MIN/WTR 1/22, 17.

32. 32.  Liverpool Corporation, ‘Water Committee Minutes, 1886’, 40.

33. 33.  John Hassan, A History of Water in Modern England and Wales (Manchester University Press, 1998).

34. 34.  ‘The Oswestry and Vyrnwy Embankments: Questions and Replies in the House of Commons Last Night’, Oswestry Advertiser, 19 June 1889, 5.

35. 35.  ‘Oswestry and Vyrnwy Embankments’, Oswestry Advertiser.

36. 36.  ‘Oswestry and Vyrnwy Embankments’, Oswestry Advertiser.

37. 37.  Patty Wharton-Michael, ‘The Johnstown Flood of 1889: The Johnstown Tribune’s Commonsense Coverage vs. Common-Practice Sensationalism’, Journalism History 38, no. 1 (2012): 23, https://doi.org/10.1080/00947679.2012.12062869.

38. 38.  Emily Godbey, ‘Disaster Tourism and the Melodrama of Authenticity: Revisiting the 1889 Johnstown Flood’, Pennsylvania History 73, no. 3 (2006), 275.

39. 39.  Wharton-Michael, ‘Johnstown Flood of 1889’, 23.

40. 40.  Bob Nicholson, ‘Transatlantic Connections’, in The Routledge Handbook to Nineteenth-Century British Periodicals and Newspapers, ed. Andrew King et al. (Routledge, 2016), 167.

41. 41.  Ewen, ‘Socio-Technological Disasters’, 14.

42. 42.  ‘Main Bursts: Cheshire Swept by 20,000,000 Gallons of Water’, Weekly Dispatch, 5 February 1905, 1.

43. 43.  ‘The Vyrnwy Main Bursts’, Wellington Journal, 1 September 1906, 7.

44. 44.  See Ann-Marie Foster, ‘The Barry Urban District Council, Disaster Relief Funds and Civic Society, 1913–1934’, Urban History, 48, no. 4 (2021): 685–700, https://doi.org/10.1017/S0963926820000577.

45. 45.  ‘Main Bursts’, Weekly Dispatch.

46. 46.  Vanessa Taylor et al., ‘Drought Is Normal: The Socio-Technical Evolution of Drought and Water Demand in England and Wales, 1893–2006’, Journal of Historical Geography 35, no. 3 (2009): 568–91, https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jhg.2008.09.004.

47. 47.  Gerald A. Meehl et al., ‘How the Great Plains Dust Bowl Drought Spread Heat Extremes Around the Northern Hemisphere’, Scientific Reports 12, article 17380 (2022), https://doi.org/10.1038/s41598-022-22262-5.

48. 48.  Birmingham Corporation, City of Birmingham Waterworks (James Upton Ltd, 1967), 15.

49. 49.  Taylor et al., ‘Drought Is Normal’.

50. 50.  Birmingham Corporation, City of Birmingham Waterworks, 15.

51. 51.  ‘Plans to Remove Drought Fears: Birmingham’s Proposed New £1,700,000 Dam in Wales’, Birmingham Daily Gazette, 1 February 1946, 3.

52. 52.  ‘Vast New Dam Seen in the Making: Birmingham’s Own “National Park”’, Birmingham Daily Gazette, 21 July 1947, 3.

53. 53.  David Evans, A History of Nature Conservation in Britain, 2nd ed. (Routledge, 1997).

54. 54.  ‘Vast New Dam’, Birmingham Daily Gazette.

55. 55.  William Cronon, ‘A Place for Stories: Nature, History, and Narrative’, The Journal of American History 78, no. 4 (1992): 1356, https://doi.org/10.2307/2079346.

56. 56.  Special correspondent, ‘Rapid Progress Made on Great New Dam Project’, Birmingham Daily Gazette, 27 August 1948, 1.

57. 57.  Special correspondent, ‘Rapid Progress Made’.

58. 58.  Kaika, ‘Dams as Symbols of Modernization’, 276.

59. 59.  Special correspondent, ‘Birmingham’s New Dam’, Birmingham Daily Post, 1 May 1951, 2.

60. 60.  Linda M. Ross, et al., ‘Introduction’, in New Lives, New Landscapes Revisited: Rural Modernity in Britain, ed. Linda M. Ross et al. (British Academy, Oxford University Press, 2023), 8.

61. 61.  Leeds municipal correspondent, ‘£1m Contract for Reservoir: Work on Biggest Leeds Project May Start Soon’, Yorkshire Post, 24 March 1961, 15.

62. 62.  ‘Leeds Corporation’s Thruscross Reservoir’, Water and Water Engineer, May 1961, extract from ‘Leeds CB Thruscross Reservoir’, National Archives, HLG 127/29.

63. 63.  ‘Leeds Corporation’s Thruscross Reservoir’, Water and Water Engineer; Ewen, ‘Socio-Technological Disasters’.

64. 64.  Leeds municipal correspondent, ‘Work on New Dam Starts in Spring’, Yorkshire Post, 9 December 1960, 13.

65. 65.  Malcolm Barker, ‘The Birth of a Reservoir … A Nightmare of Sound in the Quiet Valley’, Yorkshire Evening Post, 24 August 1962, 10.

66. 66.  Cronon, ‘A Place for Stories’, 1356.

67. 67.  Malcolm Barker, ‘Thruscross Half-Term Report’, Yorkshire Evening Post, 15 September 1964, 6.

68. 68.  David Edgerton, ‘The “White Heat” Revisited: The British Government and Technology in the 1960s’, Modern British History 7, no. 1 (1996): 58, https://doi.org/10.1093/tcbh/7.1.53.

69. 69.  Peter Jones, ‘Posting the Future: British Stamp Design and the “White Heat” of a Technological Revolution’, Journal of Design History 17, no. 2 (2004): 163–176, https://doi.org/10.1093/jdh/17.2.163.

70. 70.  Barker, ‘Thruscross Half-Term Report’, 6.

71. 71.  Barker, ‘Thruscross Half-Term Report’.

72. 72.  Katrina Navickas, ‘Building Amenity in Areas of Non-Outstanding Natural Beauty in the Southern Pennines’, in New Lives, New Landscapes Revisited: Rural Modernity in Britain, ed. Linda M. Ross et al. (British Academy, Oxford University Press, 2023), 96.

73. 73.  Katrina Navickas, ‘Conflicts of Power, Landscape and Amenity in Debates over the British Super Grid in the 1950s’, Rural History 30, no. 1 (2019): 100, https://doi.org/10.1017/S0956793319000013.

74. 74.  Matthew Kelly, ‘The Politics of the British Environment Since 1945’, The Political Quarterly 94, no. 2 (2023): 210, https://doi.org/10.1111/1467-923X.13275.

75. 75.  Malcolm Barker, ‘First Cup from the New Reservoir’, Yorkshire Evening Post, 5 January 1966, 10.

76. 76.  Christine S. McCulloch, ‘Political Ecology of Dams in Teesdale’, in Long-Term Benefits and Performance of Dams, ed. Henry Hewlett (Thomas Telford, 2004), 49–58; John McNeil, Something New Under the Sun: An Environmental History of the Twentieth Century (Penguin, 2001), 339.

77. 77.  Navickas, ‘Building Amenity’, 96.