My Journey to the Middle of Nowhere

My journey began many years ago in the late 1970’s.  At that time I began to ask questions about our family in a serious way.  Apparently, I had always had an interest in family history as my mother said that I was “always” asking questions about the family.  At that time, my mother did not know anything more about her family other than her mother’s, father’s, and brothers’ names and that she had been placed in foster care from birth.  The foster family wanted to adopt her, but was not allowed to by her natural mother.  Consequently, her mother had to visit her every month.

My father’s family was a different story.  My father knew his parents and his grandmother and his stepmother.  He also knew two of his uncles and his first cousins and knew about the other uncle and his sister.  He knew that the family had moved to Toronto from Liverpool, England.  I also think that he may have known about some of the relatives who still lived in Liverpool as his grandmother made trips back to England to visit family.

When I was finally given the initial information about the family, all that I was told was that there was a connection with the Armstrongs.  No one could tell me where or when or who.  We didn’t even know that the Armstrongs were one of the Reiver Clans.  I was also told that my great-grandmother’s maiden name was Pedersen, spelt P E D E R S E N and that her first name was Elizabeth.  One other fact was that we came from a long line of sailors and that we were Heinz 57, meaning what was known for sure was that we had English, Irish, Welsh, Scottish, Swedish plus, plus, plus.

The last bit of information that I was able to get out of the family was that my great-grandfather’s name was Richard Fielder and that he was the family skeleton in the closet.  Richard is another story altogether, one that I haven’t finished researching yet.

My great-grandmother’s name was Elizabeth Gill Peterson and she was born in 1868 in Liverpool.  Her parents names were William Peterson, born in either Kent or Liverpool (I haven’t been able to find documentation on his birth), and Susannah Gill, born in 1841 in Liverpool.  Susannah’s maiden name was confirmed on the marriage registration.  William Peterson was a master mariner and Susannah probably met him in her father’s shop.  Her father, John Gill, was a vitualler or ship’s chandler.  He sold his product to provision the ships that sailed into the port and his shop was on Frederick Street, which was near the docks.  John Gill often had mariners in his home as boarders.  For years, I knew that his wife’s name was Susannah, however, I did not know what her maiden name was.  Those were the pre-internet days.

About 20 years ago, I discovered that the National Archives had the British 1861 census online.  I found John Gill and his family.  It was at this point that I discovered that John Gill was born in Workington, Cumberland.  From the 1861 census, I learned Susannah was born in Bewcastle, Cumberland.  I still could not find John and Susannah’s marriage information in Liverpool.  I thought that I would try looking for their marriage information in Workington.  Bingo!!  They had been married in Workington.

I discovered Susannah’s maiden name.  Believe it or not, it was Armstrong.  The marriage record said Susan Armstrong, but I have been through the records for Bewcastle and I have not been able to find any record of a Susan Armstrong.  I checked the IGI and found her christening record as well as her 11 siblings’.  I found out what her parents names were.  I ordered in the microfilm and found that the christening records for all of the children included the wording “son or daughter of Joseph Armstrong of Bank End and his wife Mary formerly Scott.”  What a treasure trove.  However, I failed to make a copy of the records and discovered this week that I have no backup, source or citation.  I have already ordered the microfilm as the records have not yet been digitized.

In September 2010, I retired from the military.  I felt strongly impressed to take a trip to England for 3 weeks.  Due to circumstances beyond our control, I did the trip to England alone I spent time in London to see what I could find there and then travelled to Carlisle, with a stop in Nottingham to do the Robin Hood thing.

 

Once I was in Carlisle, one of the things that I did was to visit St. Michael’s church in Workington as the family had some significant events happen there, such as marriages.  I was looking for my fourth great-grandparents’ deaths and burials.  I did not find Joseph Armstrong’s death or burial.  However, I did find Joseph’s wife, Mary Scott’s, headstone.  This was a miracle.  Some of the cemeteries in England had fallen into such disrepair that the government set up cemetery boards to look after them.  In Workington, a lot of the headstones had been damaged through neglect and vandalism.  The least damaged ones were placed around the cemeteries, against the walls.  A lot of the damaged ones were used in building roads and buildings.  I was fortunate.  I found Mary’s headstone at St. John’s Church, just up the road from St. Michael’s, and on it was Mary’s information as well as 3 sons and 1 grandson.

I also drove to Bewcastle Church.  It wasn’t hard to find as there were sign posts directing me there.  I spent about an hour visiting the church where my fourth-great-grandparents were married and my third-great-grandmother and her siblings were christened.  What a feeling.

 

I then consulted with a couple of maps along with a couple of strangers that I could rope into helping me to find Bank End Farm.  One of the strangers was like me and not from the area.  It was an interesting conversation.  We decided on a route and then parted company with well wishes on both sides.

Have you every tried to find anything in a place where there are no road names or numbers and all you have is a map that covers the county and another map that shows where the farms are but not the roads?  If I had known the way, it should have only taken about 15 – 20 minutes, but an hour and a half later, I still hadn’t found it.  I almost gave up. 

Then, for some reason, I took note of the name of a farm.  I now know why I did, but about 10 minutes later, I realized that I knew that name and that it was close to the farm that I was looking for.  I looked for a safe place to pull over and found it about 10 minutes down the road.  I consulted my small map that had the farm names.  This farm was right across the road from the farm that I was looking for.  I turned around and found the farm again only on my left this time.  I pulled over as best I could, and looked to the right.  No farm.  I looked at the map again.  There was a road off to the right.  I looked to the right again.  No road.  I looked more to the north and saw the road.  Still no farm.  I looked at the map again.  The farm was situated a short distance up that road.  I looked at the road and followed it.  There were some trees, and, guess what, a house!  I drove up the road and parked my car.  I got out and walked to the sign for the farm.  “Bank End”.

  

I found what I was looking for.  I tried to take some pictures through the gate.  The owners of the time had a dog that let them know that I was there.  The man came to the gate and we talked.  I was so excited that I was almost crying.  I had found my ancestors’ home.

  

I was allowed on the property to take pictures and was taken in to see a couple of rooms.  They did not want me to take any pictures inside as they had started renovations and explained that they wanted to take the house to as close to the original as possible.

Joseph Armstrong’s initials were still in the wall of the house where he put them in 1773.

I knew that Joseph had sold the farm in 1818 but I did not know why until about a couple of weeks before I went back to England in July.  The financial situation between 1812 and 1818 forced the sale of the house.

I have done more research on the family in the past few years and have found several distant relatives, three of who I met in the summer of 2011, and a fourth cousin in Wales, who I have also met at the same as well as many potential relatives with the Armstrong Clan Association.  I am still looking for when and where Joseph Armstrong died and was buried.