Orton

Great Grandpa Christopher’s sweetheart, Alice Austin, was born in Strickland. Her parents, John Austin and Mary Atkinson, were born and married here in Orton. They were born in the 1820’s, and married in 1849, at Orton Church.

This is probably where Great-Great Grandma and Grandpa were married.

“In Memory Of
George Atkinson
Yeoman of Bridge End
In This Parish Who Died
Nov 15th 1889 Aged 77 Yrs
Also Of Isabel His Wife
Who Died July 11th 1878 Aged 62
And of Their Children
Robert Died Sep 17th 1845
Aged 3 Years
Jane Died Jan 1st 1855 Aged 6
Isabella Died Feb 15th 1880 Aged 21
William Died Nov 15th 1889 Aged 36
John Died Dec 29th 1901 Aged 57
At Rest”

Were these Atkinson’s part of Mary’s family, or relatives? I wish I knew! Did she and her daughter, Great-Grandma Alice Austin, stand by this grave in Nov 1889, three years before Alice came to America to become a Gelder? What happened on November 15th 1889, such that both George Atkinson and his 36-year-old son William passed away on the same day?

On Leaving the Home Of My Childhood

By Christopher Gelder

A little boy at Hilton dwelt,
Oft at his mother's knee he knelt:
Was taught his earthly home to love,
Was told about a Home above.
And while in youth that boy did roam,
He thought he scarce could leave his home.
So hard a task it seemed to be,
He thought, "Sweet home" -- I'll cling to thee.

But soon his parents had to die,
He hopes to meet them by and by,
But then he thought he had no friend,
He thought his joys were at an end.
But years have gone, and strange to say,
That boy is far, far away:
And says, "Sweet home", I scarce can see
What I shall gain by leaving thee.

I've walked in summer free from care,
In fields of roses, rich and rare;
My path would sometimes changing be,
By waters calm, or troubled sea.
I've found a clime where soil is good,
I've found a country rich in food,
Still, dearest home, I cannot see,
What I shall gain by leaving thee.

Did I just chance this way to stray,
Or is it God's appointed way:
Is this the path I must pursue,
Is here some work for one to do?
Whate'er it be, my heart shall rest,
And trust in Him, Who knoweth best;
Though through the mists I cannot see,
What I shall gain by leaving thee.

But when this little life is o'er,
And I have reached that blissful shore:
When from this lower world I rise,
And dwell with Jesus in the skies;
When all the mists have rolled away,
Then in the light of endless day; --
Then happy home, then shall I see
What I have gained by leaving thee.

Bongate

 

Our genealogy lists the birthplace of Christopher Gelder’s mother, Hannah Horn, as “of St Michael Bongate, Westmorland, England”.  This is St. Michael’s Church, in Bongate, very likely the place Great-Great-Grandma was christened.

 

 

 

 

“To the Memory of John Atkinson who died
May 10th 1817 Aged 80 (?)
also of John Atkinson his Grandson
the son of Hartley Atkinson
of Newcastle who died
Sept 30th 1816 Aged 19
Also Mary the Wife of John
Atkinson who died 27th of
February 18?? Aged
Also Ann Atkinson...”

Were these Atkinsons in our family tree? Probably not directly. Our Atkinsons lived in Orton. Atkinson is a very common name in this area, as I learned. I’m partial to this grave, though, because John Atkinson died on my birthday!

 

 

Memories Of Home

By Christopher Gelder

Often as I journey here,
Voices whisper in my ear,
Memories of Mother dear,
Memories of Home.
Though she left me long ago,
And I daily older grow,
In my heart those Memories glow;
Memories of Home.

She was always kind and good;
Gave my mind and body food;
Loved when none but Mother could;
Stood by me; alone,
She would rescue when I fell,
Kissed the bruise to make it well.
Naught on earth can ever quell
Memories of Home.

Softly comes a sweet refrain
Floating on the air again,
Through the open window-pane
Flows the mellow tone;
Then I softly turn away,
"Bless My Boys" I hear her pray.
Who would wish to drive away,
Memories of Home?

Echoes of my Mother's voice,
Urging me to make my choice,
Always make my heart rejoice,
Everywhere I roam.
Teaching me to Watch and Pray,
Pointing out the Narrow Way;
Still they linger day by day,
Memories of Home.

Over in the "Better Land"
Waiting on the "Golden Strand,"
I can see her beckoning hand
Asking me to come.
Wooing me from Earth away,
Calling me to come to stay
To recount through the "Endless Day"
Memories of Home.

 

 

Bongate is just around the corner from Appleby Castle. Bongate was the home of serfs (bondsmen) who served in the castle. The whole ward is not much more than this simple street.

 

 

Appleby

 

The Lights Of Home

By Christopher Gelder

While tonight the stars were twinkling
And the moon shed silvery rays.
I was resting here, and thinking
Of the unforgotten days
Far away across the ocean,
In the land where I was born;
Once again I set in motion
Memories of the lights of Home.

There I saw a young man sleeping,
Sleeping soundly on his bed:
Then his master came, and speaking --
Woke him up, and quickly said,
"There is sickness, there is danger,
You must go at once for aid;
On this road you are a stranger,
But you must not be afraid."

Soon a horse was racing madly
Over many a weary mile,
And his rider urged him gladly
Faster, faster all the while.
Dark the night, no lights were burning,
Neither saw the guiding post:
Horse and rider missed the turning,
Hurried on and soon were lost.

In the darkness blindly groping,
Every effort seemed to fail:
Stumbling forward ever hoping
Once again to find the trail.
No one knows the mental torment,
Nor the danger places crossed,
Losing many precious moments
Ere we found the guiding-post.

Swiftly on the highway speeding,
Soon we reached our journey's end --
Got the help that we were needing, --
Hurried back, "around the bend."
Rushing on, mid fear and sadness,
Through the dark, before the dawn,
Till my heart was filled with gladness
When I saw the "Lights of Home."

Ah! this life is full of byways;
We must shun at any cost;
We shall wander off the "Highway"
If we miss the "guiding-post."
But our hearts would keep on humming,
And our feet would never roam,
If, along life's pathway running
We could see the "Lights of Home."

Many loving links now bind us,
But the day is sure to come,
When we leave our friends behind us --
And must travel on, alone;
O'er a "pathway" dark and lonely --
Through a valley deep and wide --
Pressing forward, hoping only,
Soon to reach the other side.

Think how glad will be the meeting
Over on the "other shore,"
And the loving, hearty greeting
Of the loved ones, gone before:
But I think that all our sadness
As we travel on alone,
Will be overcome with gladness
When we see the "Lights of Home."

 

In the sketch Dad wrote of his grandparents, he mentioned this poem and indicated that he thought it may have been speaking of the approaching death of one or the other of Christopher’s parents, and probably his father, since “his master,” not his father, gave him instructions for riding for help.  Christopher’s mother passed away when Christopher was only 11, and his father passed away almost exactly a year later.

I don’t know for sure, but it would seem likely that the destination of Christopher’s frightening midnight ride was to the nearest city, where there was probably a doctor.

Appleby.

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

Hilton was part of St Lawrence’s Parish (at least in 1563), so it’s entirely possible that we have ancestors buried here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Unfortunately, Appleby Castle is closed now, and I wasn’t able to even get a glimpse of it. But here is the gate to the grounds: