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Halls-Priscador

Halls-Priscador

Posted: 25 Feb 2004 2:14PM GMT
Classification: Query
Edited: 29 Apr 2010 12:11PM GMT
Surnames: Halls, Priscador
Looking for any info on William Halls b.1827 in Bidford, North Devon England m. Sophia Priscador 1833. No other information. They are my Dads grandparents(Gould)

Re: Halls-Priscador

Posted: 28 Apr 2010 7:04PM GMT
Classification: Query
Hi there, Sophia Preszcator (Priscador/Piscator) is my great great grandfathers sister.

You can email me, barbpepp@cabletv.on.ca

Re: Halls-Priscador

Posted: 17 Sep 2010 7:25PM GMT
Classification: Query
Surnames: Halls, Priscador
Hi,

I think this was written by the William Halls who married Sophia Priscador. I received it as part of a package of documents that came from a Halls Family Reunion that took place in Ontario in the early 1980's. The paper indicates the poem came from John W. Halls, grandson of William.

William Halls
Born: 1827, Bideford, Devon, England
Died: Jan 27, 1920, North Dakota, USA
(written while residing in Napinka, Manitoba.)
IN MEMORY OF MY EARLY DAYS
In Bideford where I was born,
In England so fair -
Often times I have thought upon
The time when I was There.

My parents died when I was young
And nothing left for me
But to go away with strangers
And hardships for to see.

From Plymouth when we sailed
Away Across the sea so bold
And left the land I love so well
When I was Twelve years old.

When we arrived at Quebec
The place to us did shine
We landed in America
In the year of thirty-nine.

Then up the lakes we went
No railroads then were running
Till we arrived at Hamilton
The place was small but growing.

With teams to London then we drove
Which made us look about
To see the Streets full of pine stumps
And soldiers digging them out.

We settled then in Stephen
All on the Huron tract
With wild woods all around us
To us it looked so black.

With black flies and mosquitoes
Tormented night and day
With veils upon our faces
To keep the flies away.

With howling wolves around us
With black bears and wild cats
They killed our pigs and cattle
And were often on our tracks.

Indians, with painted faces
So savage and so bold
With their hair stuck full of feathers
They were frightful to behold.

When I am dead and in my grave
And all my bones are rotten
When this you see, remember me
When I am quite forgotten.
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