Working with tenuously-linked relatives (i.e. 20th cousin twice-removed), I have managed to make some headway with my mother's maternal grandmother and her side of the family line. Whereas the Gordons enjoyed silly adventures and fell from a position of monied idleness in Scotland (I wonder if Alexander ever regretted running away with the maidservant), the Gauls were just one long line of Fail.
Robert Gaul was born around 1800, possibly in Lincoln, before deciding to set off on his merry way and go and see Liverpool. There, he fell in with Esther Connor, an Irish immigrant and they had an amazing life together.
If by Amazing Life, we mean thrown into the Walton workhouse, along with their children. Esther died there at 47 years of age; Robert once again disappears from history.
All their children made their way out of the workhouse eventually, although one son, Thomas (and a direct ancestor of mine) seemed to really, really like that place. For what does he do but get slung back in there when he's 50? His wife Ann either scarpered or died, which really was probably the most sensible option. What a joyless lot! They could have at least called one of their sons Asterix.
Anyway, so I Googled Walton workhouse. Pssh! Good thing nobody ends up there these days. And it was this:
At which point, I was all OMGWTF! Because, during a particularly depressing and awful, awful stint working at Aintree hospital, I had to go to the grey, ugly, despairing Walton hospital site to work. I honestly thought my working life could not get any worse. And the view from my window in that hellish place was... this clock tower. Yes, Walton Workhouse became Walton Hospital. The Gaul Fail continues for another generation. D: