Towering over the town of Haslingden, Cribden Hill imposes its presence in a grand demeanor.  And whilst it may look picturesque from spring right through to the autumn months, it can arguably be as intimidating as well as beautiful looking during the winter months, and it's during this period back on Sunday, 6th March, 1910 our next story takes place.

Young Isabella Walker, who was just 2½ years old, had spent the best part of the day outside playing with other children.  Although it had been a cold and mixed type of day, this hadn't stopped any of them from enjoying the rare opportunity of making the most of their free time together.

By mid-afternoon, many of the children had returned home, leaving Isabella pretty much alone.  It seems that she still had an abundance of energy still to burn off and so she went back to her home to spend time with her elder brother and sister, John and Hilda.  John was seven and Hilda, ten years of age.

Unbeknownst to her, both John and Hilda had already been sent out to a farm a short distance away to collect some milk and so, after finding only her mother and father at home and with her brother and sister nowhere to be seen, she left the house to go and look for them, or so it seems.

Time would soon pass, and despite John and Hilda returning home with the milk, it would be around 5.45pm when Isabella's parents, Frederick and Margaret would for the first time realise Isabella was missing.

The home of Frederick and Margaret Walker was situated on the slope of Cribden Hill in an area known as Cribden 'Side', with several farm buildings separated by dry stones walls and the odd hedgerow.

They had four children, with Isabella being the youngest at just 2½ years of age.  John and Hilda, as we have already mentioned, and also Isaac, who was five years old.

With Isabella now apparently missing, Frederick set out to scour the moors, frantically searching for his daughter.  But as a thick layer of mist soon began to fall and with darkness quickly descending, his search would turn to frustration, and with a gaslamp as his only source of light, visibility was extremely poor.

Shouting out into the thickness of the fog, the sound of his voice would be muffled out just as quickly as it left his mouth.

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