Childhood Remembrances of Grandmother

written by: Anna Mary Kessler Gawthrop



Grandmother's handwritten original was found at the farm by her daughters, with the first pages missing. At this point she's describing the little circus that came to Cowen each year.


…by an elephant years later, yet I'd have given anything for a piece of tobacco to try it out – but no one in our family used tobacco and I was stumped as to who to go to for it so never got to feed an elephant tobacco. We loved the little parade the small circus would give on our one main street, and for two weeks after the circus had gone I was always putting on circuses and we'd parade with any dog or cat we could find to pen in a wood box with a piece of screen over the opening. Then we would end up in our lane and put on our circus. Part or most of the show would culminate in our barn loft where two or three boys did high wire acts by walking across the rafters – and the flying trapeze was a skinning the cat act in a suit of long underwear.

We had one act that almost didn't come off as we ran into trouble finding an actress in our group that would stand for the knife throwing, but luckily my little sister, too young to realize the danger, was persuaded since we had a paper crown to enhance her looks. We stood her against the barn door and with her little legs far apart and fingers spread a half a dozen of us were lined up; dying to get our turn throwing the butcher knife at her. Two or three entirely missed the door but alas one good thrower in the bunch landed the knife between her fingers but taking a small chunk out of her finger. Right here I'm wondering whether any of us were all there.

I was one of those kids that was always organizing clubs – and since the Odd Fellows hall was right across the street, and a secret order, I'd spend lots of my evenings on lodge night hiding behind our garden fence trying to see what was going on up in that second floor that I could use in my lodge or club – of course there had to be an initiation; but I always ended up having to use my own ideas.

One stunt I well remember was suggested by a minister with a great sense of humor – yet after his suggestion I always doubted whether he should be in the pulpit. His suggestion was – get a chamber pot, leave it in sight with some coffee water in it til the candidate couldn't miss seeing it, then blindfold her (our clubs only included girls) – then three or four in the group go through all the motions of really using the pot, then ask her to wash her hands in the magic water to bind her to secrecy.

There was always a soft biscuit roll dropped in the water and when she dipped her hand in the water she'd realize at once the wash basin was the pot and the feel of that soaked biscuit would throw her into shock enough to get her blindfold off in a rage. Then until we could convince her that it was only a biscuit in coffee water, she would be ready to fight the whole bunch. That stunt had to be abandoned in a hurry as our members were all about annihilated by one husky candidate that wasn't a bit ladylike, but as I said before, I was a mean little kid.

Our pasture field was probably more than a half a mile away and I always thought if I could ride the cows to and from – going and coming for them – would make the trip easy. So one evening I asked my chum to drive the cows through the gate while I stood on top of the gate posts to drop on a cow as she passed thru – Well, she drove the cows both under me but for the life of me I couldn't get either foot to go first so I had to give that idea up and walk as before.

When I was a child every summer there would be an Assyrian Peddler, and how we loved seeing all the pretty materials – beads, tablecloths, pins, needles and notions and just about everything one could think of was in those large telescope containers. The tables and bed would be covered with his wares and Mother never failed to buy some of it.

Then once a year a man would walk in by the railroad track with a pet bear or two, of course muzzled, but when we kids saw the bears, we'd run all over town yelling, "Come to the Depot and see the bears." The bear man would have the bears do some tricks – then end by climbing a telephone pole. He would pass a hat and the men would put in a little change – poor way to make a living, I'd say, for the towns weren't close together. But oh, how we loved it.

Our parents were always interested in us having a good time playing at home. We were allowed to have lots of kids in to play at our house. Daddy bought a small mining truck and had a wood track built for it to run on for several summers that was great fun. At that time everything was shipped in wood boxes and we'd salvage large pine boxes out behind the company store before they'd burn them, which we'd use for houses along the track. We always had homemade merry go-rounds, seesaws and swings.

Our daily paper was the Cincinnati Post. Of course we got it late for it had to come by mail.

Daddy and Uncle Joe built a Hospital, the first one in our part of the State; so the patients came from several counties around. The operating room was on the first floor, and often many men watched the operations, thronging the windows from the front porch. I so well remember the x-ray machines; there was no electricity so the machine had to be powered by turning a big crank very fast – We children would get a sharp shock by touching the patient sitting on the chair placed on a glass short legged table. There were usually three trained nurses on duty, and my Uncle Joe lived in one end of the hospital and his wife was also a trained nurse.

As I grew older, my tastes changed for fun and relaxation – I loved horseback riding and my father usually had at least two good riding horses in the barn and he didn't mind my riding fast as long as I didn’t overdo it. Old Daisy, my father's main riding horse, was safe yet fast, and Clyde had a horse, "Baron Bell", that I loved riding. Baron Bell was part racehorse and he could really travel but he was a bit skittish too, and one must always be on the alert, for sometimes a paper moving in the wind would cause Baron Bell to jump sideways across the road. At home we were allowed to ride stride, but Mother always rode side saddle, and if Ada and I were going to visit Grandfather and Grandmother Hill, we rode the side saddles, for our grandmother had an idea that any girl regardless of age (who rode stride) was nothing short of a "hussy" – her word.

One time I went with Mother and Aunt Minta to Grandmother's to spend a weekend. It was 20 miles across 3 big mountains and it took us about all day to make the trip.

Late the same evening after supper Grandfather motioned to me to go with him, he wanted me to help him take the horses to the creek for watering our three horses and his two – I jumped on one stride and he on another, each of us leading another horse, Grandfather's nearest neighbor was at least ½ mile away and at that time in evening no one ever passed. But on our way back to the barn, Grandmother saw me riding stride and in all my life I have never been so ridiculed – she called me a dirty hussy and everything else she dared, for she was enraged to the point of insanity.

Mamma and Aunt Minta were stunned at her performance and decided to return home as soon as morning dawned. So instead of making a visit we left early next morning. Grandfather was very embarrassed but thought too, she needed a lesson.

Grandmother had a lot of funny notions – a girl must never cross her legs, and to whistle or laugh loud was out. Yet Grandmother had some dirty words that to this day, and I'm past 73, I've never said and wouldn't think of.

Ada and I came to Grandfather's almost every summer to help in the hayfield – I hauled hay shocks and Ada carried drinking water to hay harvest hands.

At 14 I met Frank here on Muddlety (1910). His father had a sawmill up the creek two miles. We had gone up to the schoolhouse to Sunday School with our grandfather – and Frank sat on the seat behind Ada and me – he had seen us down in the meadow driving in grandmother's turkey hens with their chicks – and he asked me if he could walk home with me and help bring in the turkeys – I said yes, so that was the beginning of a friendship that hung on for six years before we were married.

I saw Frank once a year after we met and he and Ford came to Cowen for the 4th of July. Our first year's correspondence was 2 or 3 picture postcards – second and third years I'd get letters, maybe once a weekend once or twice a year I'd see him as they were then living in Fayette Co. and it was quite a long drive in a buggy.

The next two years I heard from him by letter at least 3 times a week, he was in Huntington then, the last year a letter a day from Cincinnati where he was studying telegraphy and bookkeeping.

Our real love affair started after we were married. I'd been taught never to let a boy pet, and it really took, for I was scared even of a hand on me, let alone a kiss. Frank respected me and behaved well. Actually we didn’t know each other too well since he never came more than twice a year.

My father was so interested in all young people getting an education that he worked very hard at getting a High School for Cowen, our little town – and for some time he worked alone for it seemed everyone was against it, thinking taxes would be too high, but one by one he won influential men over and Cowen got her H. School around 1908. Daddy's practice reached far out in the county all directions and when he'd visit a home – with a boy or girl H.S. age, he'd invite them to come stay with us and go to school – so our table was always full and extra beds set up – Mother had only 3 or 4 paying boarders in all those years.

How she washed all those beds on the washboard and cooked for that crowd, I'll never understand. We always had lots of hogs to kill and beef in the smokehouse, and from our garden Mother would can hundreds of cans of green beans and corn. Dad's office was down in the corner of our big yard and anyone who wanted a free meal would drop in the office at mealtime – our family never ate alone.

There were two women that came every Thursday on the 11 o'clock train – really to shop at the company store, but they'd always come to our house pretending a headache or to get medicine for one of their family, any excuse to get a good hot dinner before the afternoon train that took them home at 2:30. Anyway, they came week after week. Then one day one of them called my father to see one of their family who was really sick. Well, it was 5 mi. down there and Daddy was at the sick bed right at mealtime and he could smell the cooking but he wasn't asked to eat, so rode the five miles back on horseback before he could eat. Well I've a mean streak, so talked Mother into changing our lunch hour to eleven instead of twelve – Mother agreed and next week when the two old hens came, we were sitting out on the porch; dinner all over. The women came, sat on the porch a while then got so curious to learn how near dinner was ready that they had to have a drink. Well ever after that Mother's dinner hour was eleven and it really got rid of the spongers, and Daddy was spared furnishing free medicine too.

In my young years, typhoid fever was a real threat to life all through the summer months. My father was very successful with it but he was worked very hard as there would always be so many cases – sometimes one in a family, sometimes the whole family.

One family I remember especially, all down except one little boy – and Daddy sent me to do for them every morning – I wasn't allowed to take a drink from their well and every time after bathing their faces and hands or touching them in any way I had to wash in carbolic acid water. They all pulled through.

Mother had Typhoid once when Kent was a baby and Aunt Minta came and took him to her house a mile away. We children were so scared that Mother would die and so jealous of our cousins for having our baby. Kent was just learning to stand and we missed having him home.

Mother was subject to sick headaches and they came about once a month and how well I remember the white band tied very tight around her head – on those days I spent lots of time praying that she wouldn't die; and how relieved I'd be when that white band was removed, for I knew then that she was safe again.

If I could write a book consisting of my memoirs, I'd call it "Ain't we got Fun." Of course, not every day was perfect, but it's the imperfections that make the sunny days so much happier.

It's funny now when I look back on our first years on the farm, I had the idea that nothing must go to waste. If I ended a season without a hundred quarts of canned half runner beans or fifty quarts of blackberries (which we hardly ever ate) and fifty bushels of potatoes, apple sauce, tomatoes, sweet potatoes and lots of other things, I thought that we'd starve, and really Frank always worked at the lumber business either for himself or managing for someone else, but that didn't solve my worries. Even now I have the greatest feeling of security when my winter coal is in.

For years we butchered our hogs and I loved sugar curing my hams and sometimes shoulders. All other parts of our hogs went into mason jars – pork chops – backbone and spare ribs – and then all those jars of good sausage, and of course all the fat was ground and rendered for lard. Usually there'd be a big shelf filled with delicious meats and canned chickens.

Until recent years, although it seems so long ago – chickens weren't bought dressed. When one had chicken, it came from the roost, and I've cut the head off so many chickens. I scalded and pulled the feathers off. For some reason, those chickens were so much better than the ones I buy today all cut up and packaged so that the choice pieces are on top.

Now you'll say mother is getting old, living in the good old days, but that isn't so – I love the carefree present days too. I love the days when I'm real busy. Being tired doesn't bother me; I know the cure – two aspirin tablets do wonders for me, and it's good to go to bed knowing I've done a big day's work.

Kessler origins

Submitted by Nancy Norman Hopkins
The History of Nicholas County, West Virginia
By William Griffee Brown, 1954
KESSLER, KESTLER, KETTLERS, (Kettle-makers) German.
The Kesslers came from Hesse-Darmstadt, Germany. There were also soldiers of than name in the Hessian Army who were given grants of land, and settled in Maryland. In the early history of the county Jacob Kessler, and brother Frederick, settled in what is now Mountain Cove District in Fayette County. Frederick purchased 250 acres of land from Joseph Malcolm in 1827. In 1850 his widow and heirs conveyed to John R. McCutcheon, who had married Sally Kessler, the tract since know as the John R. McCutcheon farm.
Fred Kessler, Junior, married Mary Groves and located in Kentucky District. In 1853 he and John R. Vaughan established a store at the intersection of two county roads passing the John Hamilton farm. The post office located there was named Kesslers Cross Lanes. Descendants of these pioneers settled in Nicholas and Fayette counties.
In 1795 Christopher Kessler came to Philadelphia from Germany and eventually located in Botetourt County, Virginia. He had two children, Archie and Elizabeth. Archie married Catherine Peck in 1853, and as he was opposed to slavery he was compelled to leave there in 1860. He and his wife and two children, after many hardships, reached the "Promised Land" in Kentucky District and resided there until after the end of the Civil War, when he moved to Greenbrier County and spent the remainder of his life there. He had a family of twelve children, of whom four were doctors. Dr. Dan, Dr. Kent and Dr. Mart Kessler were born in Nicholas County; Dr. Joe was born in Greenbrier County, and are credited with performing the first major surgical operation in this county by removing a large tumor from a man named Spencer at his home where Richwood is now located.
James Kessler, a brother of the doctors, maintained a jeweler's shop in Richwood for many years. His son, Joseph Kessler, is prominent in the business life of Richwood, and another son, Herschel S. Kessler who lives in Elkins is a teacher. Many of our older citizens remember Archie Kessler when he lived in Nicholas County.
© 2002 Rhonda Smith

Hay Making at the Farm

Having four pretty daughters was a real asset whenever it came to hay making time. Every young male in the neighborhood came asking for a job in the hayfield that first year (1939). Of course, then, it all had to be done with horses, but we had help and more help. In a few short weeks the hay went up in a hurry but all this help also had its disadvantages. The table had to have all its leaves to get the help seated. Then the boys all went off to war and getting help was something else. I get tired yet when I think of all the miles I walked hunting help. Frank would be away from Sunday evening until the next Friday and of course we had no transportation for he had to take the car. We depended a lot on the Wright brothers, Twisty and Ray-neither one too smart, but both excellent workers if there was a girl in the field. (Now, years later, both are in insane institutions and have been for twenty years). Ray was in ways very talented-he could do anything –from half-soling shoes, to black smithing to carpentry. Once we had to replace a door for a window on the front of the house. Ray would only consent to do the work if Joanne would stay up there with him. She would sit inside and talk to him while he worked. Joanne was never an idle sitter, so while she entertained Ray, we all got the best shoe shines ever. Ray made the change (not the neatest in the world) but it works fine yet.
Twisty imagined himself a preacher, and loved to sing hymns. He could never carry a tune, and had no ear whatsoever for music. Joanne would play “chop sticks,” her only accomplishment on the piano, and Twisty would sing “Life is Like a Mountain Railroad,” “Jesus Lover of my Soul” or “The Old Rugged Cross,” all to the tune of Chop sticks- and how he could quiver his voice! Twisty thought Jo a real virtuoso and he would turn the pages in the hymn book and found her able to play all of them.
Coming back to hay making, one year we had so little help and two neighbor boys, Every and Jerry, brothers, both very light for heavy work, but their willingness to help outweighed their pounds. Sometimes we would all get so tired we’d get “giggly.” We could count on Emery to turn hay pitching into showmanship. He had committed every kid’s Christmas recitation to memory and even each kid’s delivery. One that we got such a laugh from was a little girl’s part. The child couldn’t talk plain and Em could lisp her part exactly like her. We would all laugh ‘till we’d forget how tired we were.
One day we were trying to outrun a storm that we could see brewing. Getting our hay wet when it was dry enough to be stacked was a catastrophe. We would work doubly hard to get all the sixty socks to the stack before the rain caught us. Well, it was one of those days that we had finished and was running toward the house so as not to get wet. Margie and I were together and when we got to the foot of the little slope the house stands on, II looked at the hill and it looked like the “Matterhorn.” I felt I couldn’t lift a foot to climb it and both Margie and I stood there crying. The rain soaked us as we went to the house.
Frank would spend his weekends running all over Nicholas and Braxton counties hunting men, both for farm and mill work. Many of the men didn’t enjoy working “petticoat rule” and they would take advantage of me, thinking I didn’t know they were “goofing off.” When we’d get an able bodied man that couldn’t build a hay sock as fast as I, or would lie down behind a far out sock, thinking I wouldn’t miss him, it didn’t take me long to tell him I didn’t need him. Poor Frank would then spend another week end hunting men for me. Now, one would think all that hay lifting far too much for a mere woman, but you know I never once thought I was having it too hard. We had always lived in towns where we had electricity and when we came to the farm, even thought we had our own gas well, and plenty of good gas lights, we had no way of using our electric washing machine. I did my wash on the wash board and carried my water from the creek, as our well furnished only enough water for cooking and drinking. We had an outside toilet and our bath came from a plain old wash pan, yet we were clean, or at least as clean as others, for no one on the creek had a bathroom. Our old outside toilet was the WPA vintage, pretty neat for a privy and not too far out. We sheet-rocked it with some leftover’s and equipped it with magazines (Saturday Evening Post, Reader’s Digest, Country Gentlemen and Ladies Home Journal). The magazine rack was built against the wall. There was always a Sears Roebuck catalog there in case we ran out of toilet tissue. The toilet sometimes had to be moved a few feet to a new pit. One time when we were in the process of moving it, Junior had tipped it over on its back while threw dirt from the new pit he was digging into the partially filled old pit. Mike was about two years old and when he saw the toilet laying on the ground he came in very excited saying “Mamma, big potty broke!”
An outside toilet has its compensations. Always at dish washing time the girls had a great need to go. Sometimes I think about the extent of their reading came at those times. We had built a little brick walk from the end of the porch to the toilet with the old brick we’d taken out of the big chimney that supported the grate and when a stranger asked where to go, we’d say “follow the little brick road.”
One time we had visitors, a friend with two little boys. One of them had a toilet call early one morning and when he came downstairs he decided rather than go outside he would use the grate covering the furnace. It no sooner happened than the scent of the hot urine permeated the entire house. That was one morning I had no trouble getting everyone downstairs! Speaking of getting everyone up in the morning reminds me, I used to call to them, “everyone up, there’s thousand things to do today!” I’m sure all the members of the family will remember that the rest of their lives.
Now, we weren’t early rising farmers, ever. Eight o’clock was about our time to get up, unless school was in session. I guess those who knew how late we slept thought we were a lazy bunch.
We used to feed cattle for other people, before we bought a herd of our won. Every fall a Mr. Ball from Clay County would drive 50 head of two year olds here to be fed through the winter. We had around fifty hat stacks, which was plenty for that many cattle. Mr. Ball and Mr. Boggs brought their cattle together. Cousin Arch Hill fed the Boggs cattle. Well, Mr. Boggs was telling me he liked his cattle fed at six in the morning and four in the afternoon. I turned to Mr. Ball and said, “Mr. Ball, if you want your cows fed at 6 A.M., you can drive them elsewhere, for I don’t feed my family at that hour and I’m sure not going to live my life to suit a cow.” Mr. Ball assured me that any time we fed would be all right with him. We fed the Ball cattle every year until we bought our own herd. I think it was 1943 when we bought our first Herefords, possibly fifteen cows, all young. Now, finding names for that many wasn’t easy, for we wanted the name to match the cow’s looks or disposition. Don’t think for a minute cows don’t have personalities. They’re as different as people. We had some especially pretty ones and they were named Poise, Bouquet, Fashion Fortune, Friendly and a lot of them I’ve forgotten. One of them, old Nuisance, we all well remember and her name suited her to a T. Her mother was one of my father’s cows that he had at his boy’s camp. The camp was in session in the summer only, and we took care of his Jersey through the winter months. Anyway, Nuisance seemed a fairly normal calf until her mother had to go back to camp and we put her with another cow for milk, twice a day. Now, to teach a calf to like a foster mother is like teaching a child to like a step-other. It ain’t easy! That calf would fly from one cow to another to find milk equal to her own mother’s rich Jersey milk. Believe it or not, she chose my good butter cow. I wasn’t about to let her have that cow, so each morning when I opened the gate to let her with the cows, I’d rush back to my cow, spread my legs far apart, and shoo her to another cow. Well, one morning Nuisance decided she’d go through the barricade and before I knew it, she ran between my legs and there I was sitting on her back, facing her tail end. Well, riding bare back was one of the feats I never learned in my circus days and had a calf gone any further, I’d have been dumped. After riding horseback all my life, I still had no idea how to dismount a calf. Instead of leaning forward and getting off, I leaned backward, raised my leg and tumbled off in the dirt. I looked up and down the road to be sure no one saw me, then I cried, then laughed and cried some more. I picked up my milk bucket and went to the house and told my family the awful experience. In doing so I called her that awful nuisance, so the name stayed with her to the end. She was never dehorned and a cow with horns can freeze then. When Nuisance had her first calf, she decided at once she wouldn’t have the little old we thing, so it had to forego the first love bath. Then, there was the feeding that we had to force her into. We had to tie the hind legs together and someone had to hold the calf to her until we milked a little into the calf’s mouth, then being real hungry, as all new born animals are, we got it to fasten on to a faucet and eat. It took several days and at least two people, twice a day to teach old Nuisance that we were her boss. Once she got the idea, she wasn’t a bad mot her. We kept her until she died but she really never go over her belligerent disposition I suppose, had we had her psychoanalyzed the Analyst would have explained it all as having to live with a foster mother and being used as a beast of burden at such a tender age. Nuisance’s horns came in handy and made her popular, on one way, with the rest of the herd, for despite her bossy attitude, she could lay down a fence with those horns, or lift a wire off the gates and open then with ease. Wherefore, she could give all the cows a treat to the tender fresh corn, or the meadow grass we were saving for future hay. Nuisance gave good rich milk too, or I’m sure she would have gone to market and never have been allowed to rule so long. Nuisance’s calves, being part Jersey, didn’t command the biggest prices, but being started on rich milk, their weight compensated. Most cows love their calves and one cow usually babysits with several calves, feeding close by while the rest of the herd wanders off. While I’m on the subject of cows, they are also great tattlers. If one cow finds a way to greener pastures and the rest of the herd can’ find the way out, the whole herd starts bawling. It always pays to investigate when one hears cows bawling for there’s always a reason.
Our Friendly was a very smart cow, she did all but talk. One very cold zero night when I turned the TV off and was getting ready for bed, I kept hearing a cow at the barn bawling. Again I’d hear her down in the meadow across from Jr.’s bawling. I knew there was something wrong and that I’d never go to sleep, hearing that cow bawl. Since it was so cold and the snow deep, I put on the clothes Frank had taken off, heavy trousers, wool socks, and flannel shirt and then I put on his boots over mine. I didn’t even wake him as he wasn’t feeling well, then I took my flash light and went to the barn. Friendly met me at the gate and mooed low as she would to a calf. As soon as I went through the gate, she turned and started to the creek. I followed her and she went to a bank and kept mooing. I saw a big tear in the ice and felt sure she was showing me where the calf went under. I went back to the barn and looked for the calf in the hay, but Friendly kept going back to the creek. The next spring we found the calf in the water at the lower end of the meadow. Friendly had tried so hard to tell Jr. and me. Junior had cut a hole in the ice for the cows to get water and the baby calf had followed her mother to the creek, went out on the ice and fell through and drowned.
Often at calving time a cow would wander into the woods to have her calf. As soon as we would miss her, I’d drop anything to go hunt for her, since sometimes a cow has trouble delivering her calf. Both she and the calf would die. As I think of it now, I know I’ve walked a hundred miles looking for a missing cow. I’d never think of glancing down to look for snakes but would always be looking for the cow. Some cows would go to the same place every year and I always thought of those areas as maternity wards. When one cow is missing, you think nothing of the rest of the herd. That one cow looms so important. I’m always reminded of the ninety and nine, such rejoicing when the one cow and her beautiful calf are found.
It’s the dead of winter now and there are few days that I can get out, especially this winter for we’ve had a few extremely cold days. Well, I’ll correct that and say we’ve had extremely slick walking for really my thermometer never went below zero, but in the coldest weather the water in my gas line froze up and shut off the gas. The house was chilly but there is always a way. I hurried to get my coal stove ashes shaken down and fresh coal on, then I went upstairs and got my one long suit of insulated under pants. I put on a pair of Frank’s summer pants to keep the underpants clean, then my slip, heavy dress and a sweater, and still wasn’t warm enough so put on the outer lining of a rain coat. I pinned draperies over the opening to the living room and kitchen and stayed in the warm room. I carried two tons of lump coal in buckets in my cellar in the fall for such cold days. It was surely a good feeling not to have to venture out to the coal house.
With all my magazines and Reader’s Digest books, my telephone so I could talk to others, I felt so snug. For two days, only my face, hands and feet got a bath. It was much too chilly to undress. One night, I slept on the couch fully dressed, then I got out my electric blanket and now my bed is warm as summer time with the heat on the lowest setting, such luxury!
Junior wasn’t working those cold days and he found where the gas line was frozen and thawed the line for me. What a welcome sound when I hear that gas pressure! I sure wouldn’t want company on days like these. Almost anyone else would consider this a real hardship, but I think of it more like camping. It’s not nearly as bad as some would look at it. Sure, I have to carry water in from the well to use for everything, but it sure beats sitting in an outside toilet, or going out to empty the potty. I’m no better than my grandparents. They didn’t have it nearly so good.

written by: Anna Mary Gawthrop