Why was it thought a good idea to flood the Tattingstone Valley? When you look at it now, even with my restricted vision, I can sense how it appears. A wonderfully beautiful vista has been created, but that wasn’t the reason.

I believe it would be marvellous if we spent millions on improving how things look, a type of cosmetic surgery for the countryside. In the 1950s the powers that be realised that, with projected population growth, Ipswich might not sustain a sufficient water supply. So, the hunt was on.

Roving engineers searched for a suitable valley to flood and create a reservoir, preferably with a river or stream already feeding it. They were out of luck. In the main, East Anglia is relatively level.

The search took them to the aforementioned valley, but there was no sign of a water supply. It was not ideal. Can you imagine the frosty reception the scouts received upon their return?

“Well, it’s like this,” said the head scout. “We’ve found the ideal spot. If we build a wee dam, we can create a water storage facility with a depth of sixty feet.”

In the modern era I don’t doubt there would have been fist bumps and high fives, whilst the secretary would have been sent out to purchase bottles of the best bubbly money could buy.

Then the air would have been sucked out of the room as the head scout continued. “Except it doesn’t have a river or a stream, not even a babbling brook.”

“I beg your pardon!” said the Chairman of the Board. I bet in those days they were always men, before he whipped the petty cash out of the secretary’s hand, probably an unmarried woman back then.

That wasn’t the end of it, though. Those engineers weren’t worth their salt if they weren’t cunning, and these old boys had the guile to outwit any fox. A small village west of Ipswich had plenty of water, as the River Gipping ran through it. They wouldn’t miss a little bit. And the plans for Alton Water were drawn up.

The vale was easy to dam, as it was dry as a bone with no river to divert. I’m not sure “dam” is the correct civil engineering term; a retaining wall might be more apt. On the other hand, they still needed to keep the water in the newly created lake.

Compulsory purchase orders were issued and, along with Tattingstone Hall and Alton Hall, seventy‑five other residents lost their homes just to give a few Ipswichians something to drink and the occasional bath. I find it quite sad.

When I looked up the number of homes lost, it was listed as between twenty and thirty‑six. No‑one seems sure. Doesn’t that demonstrate how unimportant the ordinary person was? Nobody could be bothered to write down how many houses were demolished for this twentieth‑century progress.

No record can be found of how much compensation was paid, except that homeowners were promised full market value. Yeah, right oh! Tough on tenants; they were out on their ears. Different times.

The nearly 600‑metre dam was constructed using locally sourced London clay. There is no public record of how much clay was excavated from the pit later flooded when the water was introduced.

I’m going to guess a quantity. Let’s assume dimensions of 600m long x 22m high x 6m thick, giving 79,200 cubic metres. Given that there are 1,000 litres to a cubic metre, the abstraction of clay facilitated another 79,200,000 litres.

It sounds a lot but pales next to the total volume of this manmade lake: 11,350,000,000 litres. All of this is contained in an area of 162 hectares.
As construction started on the dam, a 1200mm pipe was buried to bring water to the reservoir. The pipe runs under the Suffolk countryside for about four miles as the crow flies. Or should that be as the mole drills?

The provision of water to Ipswich meant the two halves of Tattingstone became cut off from one another. Lemons Hill Bridge came into being so friends could visit those stranded on the opposite side of the lake and, more importantly, one could walk to the pub without needing a taxi home.

One downside of its low construction is that yachts, dinghies and the like cannot get under without stepping their masts, which simply means taking them down for the landlubbers among you. One hour out on a dinghy and I have become a sailing expert. Better get the violins out.

One aside—actually quite a big one—is the fate of Alton Mill. It was painstakingly dismantled and re‑sited, in its entirety, at the Museum of East Anglian Life, now rebranded as The Food Museum in Stowmarket. Don’t get me started on the renaming; what was wrong with the old one? At least everyone knew where it was.

I could go on forever about this reservoir, as I have an unhealthy interest in this type of civil engineering project. For any of you who have visited my website, you will know that I owe my very existence to a reservoir. Never mind; it is time I gave some attention to the parkrun event itself.

THE COOS, THE COURSE & THE HEAT

We arrived in Tattingstone last Saturday, ready to complete their very scenic Alton Water Parkrun by the reservoir.

I had read much about the course and many reports on the event. I was looking forward to meeting the Highland Coos (must be a Suffolk breed, unless I misheard!!) that reside in a field near the start. Life isn’t fair sometimes; they weren’t there.

Thanks to the heat they had been moved to a field over yonder, well out of my eyesight, so it wasn’t to be.

This time I was escorted by a Colchester‑based VI Guide, one I have used before, Val Haynes. After addressing the other runners about what they might expect from us, and us from them, we found ourselves caught at the back of the field.

We soon started to stretch out, picking off a good few participants as we wended our way through the pack.

It started off pretty well, a sort of gravelly hard‑packed surface. We were soon feeling the heat and decided early on that we would take it easy.
I have no idea why, but even though the headline temperature was lower than last week in York, it felt much warmer. Clever ones among you will probably point to the humidity. I daresay you are right.

Maybe it is the differential of the humidity hidden under one of the cow’s tails times the average temperature at the lake’s surface. As you can tell, I don’t have the faintest idea. It is most strange to me.

Generally, the course is pretty good, although at one point the person on the left—remember, we are tethered together—has to run along a rut carved out by millions of feet over the years.

Val, running on our right, was able to take a position on a grassy bank, seemingly making her appear taller than me. There were a few low‑hanging leaves, nothing serious, so there was no real chance of being scalped. Perhaps the tiniest scratch was the worst outcome. No damage done.

One of the core team had kindly advised us of a couple of hazardous spots. As usual, I said I have done West Stow parkrun and survived; nothing can be that challenging. I was right.

A short line of exposed roots, in glorious shade, was followed by an area of rabbit holes. I certainly didn’t want to end up going down one of those. I spend my week doing that when researching these blogs.

A trifling bit of looking something up invariably ends with me getting lost somewhere in the internet’s outer reaches. They erect signs inviting you to open the next door and I can’t resist.

I have no idea how, but when I was learning about Lemons Hill Bridge, I ended up exploring the Danyang–Kunshan Grand Bridge, the longest in the world at nearly 165km. I don’t know how it happens; it just happens. Go look it up.

To me—and what do I know—it is not a bridge but a series of bridges.

It is a two-lap course, so the above was repeated all over again, getting warmer all the time. Do you know what, the cows couldn’t even be bothered to leave their shady spots to moo us across the finish line.

We repaired to the Alton Water Café for a well-earned coffee at the end. What a relief to discover a fine air-cooling system had been installed. Note I don’t use the expression air-conditioning. The reason being, even if air is warmed, it is being conditioned. Long live pedantry!

I was moved by the many people who approached Val, Jane and myself expressing an interest in becoming a VI Guide. This is what we want. My taking part in parkrun is just as much about making others aware of the needs of the visually impaired community as well as PBs. I have started correspondence with one or two as well. In conclusion, I have to say that this was a very successful parkrun from my point of view.

We will be visiting the National Trust property at Fountains Abbey in Yorkshire for next week’s episode.

Find Out More

Alton Water parkrun
Parkrun
Alton Water Park

Car Park: good; small charge - (3)
Welcome and Briefing: very good; couldn’t have done more - (4)
Atmosphere: very good - (4)
Course: good; mixed terrain – (3)
Marshalling: very good; concise - (4)

*These ratings are how the event suits this particular blind person and are my opinion only; they are not scientific. Whatever happens no-one must be put off by me. The best way to learn about something is try it for yourself.