Description

---

Una colleccio de 49 fotografies historiques amb t tols originals sobre el canotatge, la pesca i la caca a Terranova i Labrador, Canada 1965-1966 Incloent imatges grafiques d'una caca de foques] Feta per John Penny un jove de 18 anys d'edat, professor Voluntary Service Overseas (VSO) des del Regne Unit, que va viure i va treballar a l'escola de la comunitat local de 1965-1966. Les fotografies fan una important contribucio a la historia cultural, educatiu i natural del periode i bellament representen el ric tap's de la vida en i al voltant de Nain en el moment. Cada album de fotos es centra en diferents aspectes de la forma en que la comunitat de vida. Si us plau noti: alguns lectors poden trobar algunes de les fotografies inquietants. Fotografia de la portada: apedacant xarxes a la Wharfe, fotografies cortesia John Penny] Catala Edici ]

About the Author

---

Llewelyn ha treballat amb l'Honorable Senador Canadenc William (Bill) Rompkey, en l'escriptura de la historia de la Voluntary Service Overseas (VSO) a Labrador. Aixo es el que Bill va escriure en la seva carta a la primera trobada dels mestres VSO en Pateley Bridge, North Yorkshire 1 fins 3 Agosto 2003, ..". Labrador cridat a voste, i estem trucant ara. Espero que faci el que pugui durant aquests pocs dies per completar el registre de pages amb els seus records i reflexions. Aixo tambe sera una important contribucio a la historia del pages. Pero sobretot espero que gaudeixi del seu temps junts. Llewelyn Pritchard ha fet un treball notable en portar junts. Ell es tan sagac com Holmes i tan persistent com Poirot. Fins i tot podria ser un gran Canadenc! Li devem mes del que podem dir. Es el seu cas i se que serA un exit. Tots els bons desitjos. Bill Rompkey" Interview with Llewelyn Pritchard: Where did you grow up, and how did this influence your writing? I grew up on the Black Mountain north of Swansea, South Wales. I haven't really got a clue how this influenced my writing except I suppose it instilled in me a great love of nature, adventure and the outdoors. I am the son of an elite collier and I would much rather take this opportunity to dedicate this great poem to his memory: In Memory of my Dad "My father was a miner, He worked deep underground; The rush of drams and clanking chains. They were his daily sounds. He worked so far below the ground. Where coal was hewed by pick, The work so hard and wages small He didn't dare go sick. He crawled upon his belly. In drifts so low and narrow, The wind it whistled down the shaft. It chilled him to the marrow. He ate his food from a Tommy box, Shaped like a slice of bread, While squatting down upon the ground, Where spit and crumbs were shed. His water, it was in a Jack, to wet down clouds of dust, That gathered daily in his throat and lungs. Where it formed a deadly crust. We would listen for his footsteps, He then came into sight: This man, our Dad, as black as black, just like the darkest night; Right down his back white rivers ran amongst the dirt and grime, But you cannot wash away blue scars. That you get down the mine. Years now have passed. My father gone, But I am proud to say, My Father was a miner, until his dying day." by William Holden