Old Ebbys reservoir is a superb (and rare) example of the how the hand of man can improve his environment by creating a beauty spot where once stood plain and open fields, I am sure that no-one who walks the banks of Ebbys could fail to be affected by the dignified solitude and peacefulness of the feature. I first knew the lake as a child, it was called Old Ebbys then, as it is now and as it always will be.

Fortunately for our area of Pennine border land, where East Lancashire rubs shoulders with the Craven district of West Yorkshire, we are placed exactly on a watershed. The 128 miles of the Leeds and Liverpool canal are fed from four reservoirs placed around the perimeter of the quiet village of Foulridge. These feeders are; The Foulridge Reservoir, raised in 1832, covering some 108 acres, 33 feet maximum depth and contains around 480,870,000 gallons. Our subject, the Slipper Hill Reservoir, covers around 12 acres, 28 feet maximum depth and holds around 48, 825,000 gallons. The White Moor Reservoir stands to the north-east of Slipper Hill, has a maximum depth of 31 feet and holds some 160,290,000 gallons. The fourth of our man-made lakes is known as The New Reservoir, this covers about 35 acres, has a greatest depth of 28 feet 6 inches and was flooded February 7th 1866.

In 1911 the Nelson Leader carried a story relating to a dispute between the people of Foulridge and the owners of Slipper Hill reservoir, the Leeds and Liverpool Canal Company. Originally, there had been no provision for public access to the newly created reservoir, the people maintained that there had always been a right of way through the land at what is now the centre of the reservoir, and therefore there should have been provision for a footpath from the reservoir to Foulridge. This is borne out by a map of 1582 which was drawn as evidence in a much earlier land dispute between Foulridge and Barnoldswick. A road, or trackway, ascended the hill from Wanless Water, to the west of Sand Hole, and carried on through the reservoir site towards Blacko Hillside. The 1582 map also shows a substantial house adjacent to this road, one field distant from the reservoir and on Sand Hole land. I can find no trace of this house now other than an amount of large, mason-carved stonework in the gateway to a field on the present track to Sand Hole. Eventually sense prevailed, the day was won and we have a footpath around the southern-half of the perimeter of the lake.

Within this story was the information on how the Slipper Hill reservoir came by its name of "Owd Ebbie's," :-

Once upon a time - many years ago it was - some small boys were playing at a game which required each of them to choose a name other than their usual momenclature. The scene lay in Foulridge, at Hey Fold, in the Parish of which there lived a man who was best known by the homely title of "Ebby, t' besom-maker" - he made brooms, hence the dialectarian nick-name. Now, one of these boys cried out "'Call me Ebby, t' besom-maker like him as lives up yonder." They did so throughout the game, and all through the much greater, and more important and serious game he took part in, and called the game of life, that name of "Ebby" never left him. Yet, although he has been dead a good number of years, there are many people who knew him do not to this day know what his proper name was. The boy was John Pollard who was very widely known in Colne and the county sides around it.

"Ebby," or "Owd Ebby," as he was termed in his later years, was born at Waller's Hill, in Foulridge, and died at Waller's Hill, at an advanced age - about 80. Between those two important events in his career many things transpired, one of which was his becoming a farmer, and tenanted what it will be best to describe as the Middle Slipper Hill Farm, seeing that there are three Slipper Hill farms in close proximity to each other, and situated like the old lady's ducks as she was driving them to market - a duck before two ducks, and a duck between two ducks, and a duck behind two ducks.

Very near to Middle Slipper Hill Farm, with its western side bordering upon Slipper Hill Lane, is a reservoir, on whose banks is one of the footpaths in dispute between a section of the Foulridge people and the owners of the reservoir. In olden times this reservoir was used by holiday-makers from Colne and other places hard by Foulridge, for the pleasant pastime of boating, and "Owd Ebby" was the water or reservoir bailiff. He took the money for the use of the boats, and was responsible for the good care of the banks and adjoining grounds, in addition to looking after the then 'fine' house in the field close to the reservoir, when its owner was away.

A rare photograph of
John Pollard (Old Ebby)

"Owd Ebby" became part and parcel of the pretty spot, and indeed many people knew not but what he was the rightful owner, with the result that it came to be called "Old Ebby's Reservoir," and only as such is it termed today. The strongest of all the besoms in the country will consequently never, as long as the reservoir is in existence, sweep "Owd Ebby's" memory away.

"Owd Ebby" was a quaint old chap in his later years, and had a wife as old as himself, within only two or three days. They were a homely couple and a complete representation of a "Darby and Joan" going hand-in-hand through life. People, old and young, rich and poor, loved them and dearly delighted to be in their company. "Owd Ebby" himself was a diamond in the rough; he knew not the meaning of pride, but was hail-fellow-well-met with anybody and everybody. He loved to crack a joke and tell a story, and his manner in doing so was inimitable.

As has been just stated, he had no pride, and if it had rested with him it is very, very doubtful whether one would have been able to reproduce his physical likeness here (see photograph at the head), and one which, thanks to the capable photographer, the late Mr. Lal Dixon, of Colne, is "Owd Ebby" every inch of him and very true to life. It was through the persuasion of the late Mr. George Carr, of Keighley Road, Colne, that "Owd Ebby" sat before Mr. Dixon's camera. Mr. Carr, struck with "Ebby's" peculiar character, and having a close acquaintanceship with him, impressed him to have his photo taken, and paid for the copies out of his own purse. The Misses Bleasdale, of Hobstones, are the only people, we understand, who have a photograph of "Old Ebby."

The 1881 census shows that John Pollard, and his wife, Elizabeth, were both born in 1812, John born Foulridge and Elizabeth born Barnoldswick. They had a grandson, born in 1872 at Marsden, who was named Ebby. In 1881 John, Elizabeth and grandson, Ebby, were living at Lower Slipper Hill Farm where John farmed 25 acres.

In 1585 John, son of Thomas Pollard of Burnley, was described as a yeoman and was listed as being one of the 28 or so purchasers of the Manor of Foulridge. This would appear to be the earliest reference to the Pollards at Foulridge and could very well show the family's initial venture into the area.

The 1861 census shows that a William Pollard, aged 50, farmed 30 acres at East Stone edge, Blacko. Also with him were his wife Nancy, daughters Susan and Sarah and sons John and Heaton.

In 1608 John Pollard, of Slipper Hill, made a will - 1676 Alice Pollard of Slipper Hill made a will as did John Pollard, of Slipper Hill, in 1675.

Baptisms at Colne Parish Church, for the inhabitants of Slipper Hill, were:

Henry Pollard Father Henry Mother Mary baptised 1760
William Pollard F John burial 1657
Henry Pollard F John burial 1680
George Pollard F John burial 1667
John Pollard F William burial 1674
John Pollard F Thomas burial 1682

The name of John Pollard, in the form of his epithet Old Ebby, has lived on for a century longer than the man himself. As the above article states, it will live on as long as the reservoir exists and there are people around to name it. It is difficult to think of a topographical, or created, feature that carries a specific name that would last so long. The builders of streets and houses have always named them after themselves or family members - in the fullness of time, however, it is rarely remembered who the people behind the names were, furthermore, few people are interested in finding out . Farms have often been named for a one-time occupant but a particular farm might have had a number of different names during its lifetime. Possibly the difference between the forgotten builders of our towns, and the erstwhile keeper of Slipper Hill Reservoir, is that people have actually wanted to remember the face behind the name of Old Ebby - this piece being an example.

The following is a memory of when I was taken fishing on Slipper Hil Reservoir, as a ten-year old, with the then water bailiff, Maurice Wellock, and my dad.

A red sun climbed Boulsworth Hill and the celestial switch was thrown; rays of dawn light spread their billowing flame across the valley. In a heartbeat the glassy water was painted with the shadows of both man and boy, small and unimportant they sat, quietly intent, quietly satisfied, quietly in awe of the slumbering entity on whose edge they waited. A third, and secret figure saw in that morning but no whisper of him was heard, no living shadow does the Dream Bailiff cast.

Long before they felt the spreading warmth a moderate pre-dawn light had filled the sharp Autumn air, light enough for the fisherman and his young companion to prepare for the hunt. As they cast their invitations into the still, dark waters the floating night-mists joined hands and danced in a twisting, woven layer, sheltering the lake from the searching bright invasion.

The distant sound of disturbed water drifted across to the quiet figures who saw another world emerging from its misty bed; weary swans had been overnight guests of the generous lake but were now anxious to search for new horizons, they bade farewell to their host and lifted as one, rising wraith-like out of the violet-grey blanket. They slipped free of the clinging mist but damp fingers clung to outstretched silken wings, only to recoil in the new light; the skyward forms now glittered as droplets of liquid sunlight danced down, again to join their dank lair.

Silent then, and silent still, majestic they climbed to override the yawning willows; higher now than the stretching oak the white drift graced the sky above a dew-laden meadow, whirling once more amid the farewell beat of mighty wings the ethereal group was gathered in a billowing flame. Straight and far into the redness of our new morning, ever smaller until the bright air took them.

The two remained silent as the lake settled beneath her grey-violet shield, the Dream Bailiff, watching unseen, knew that a memory was born. Long ago the fisherman took his own journey along that red, billowing lane - but the boy remembers; and in that Autumn memory of misty glass and flame they are together again, the fisherman and his lad. That day will never fade whilst the Dream Bailiff holds the dawn.