Description

---

En samling av 49 historiska fotografier med originaltexter om batliv, fiske och jakt i Newfoundland och Labrador, Kanada 1965-1966 inklusive grafiska bilder av en saljakt. ] Tagen av John Penny en 18 ar gammal Voluntary Service Overseas (VSO) larare fran Storbritannien som bodde och arbetade i det lokala samhallet skola 1965-66. Fotografierna ar ett viktigt bidrag till den kulturella, utbildningsmassiga och naturhistoria av perioden och vackert skildra den rika palett av livet i och runt Nain pa tiden. Varje fotoalbum fokuserar pa olika aspekter av samhallets satt att leva. Notera: en del lasare kan hitta nagra av fotografierna storande. Omslagsfoto: lagning nat pa Wharfe, fotografier artighet John Penny] Svenska Upplagan]

About the Author

---

Llewelyn har arbetat med parlamentsledamoten Kanadensiska Senatorn William (Bill) Rompkey, pa att skriva historien om volontartjanst Overseas (VSO) i Labrador. Detta ar vad Bill skrev i sitt brev till den forsta traffen av VSO larare vid Pateley Bridge, North Yorkshire 1-03 Augusti 2003 ..". Labrador ringde till dig och vi ringer dig nu. Jag hoppas att ni kommer att gora vad du kan under dessa fa dagar att fylla i Labrador rekordet med dina minnen och reflektioner. Aven detta kommer att bli ett viktigt bidrag till Labrador historia. men framfor allt hoppas jag att du njuta av din tid tillsammans. Llewelyn Pritchard har gjort ett fantastiskt jobb i att fora dig samman. Han ar sa klok som Holmes och sa ihallande som Poirot. Han kunde till och med vara en stor kanadensisk! Vi ar skyldiga honom mer an vi kan saga. Det ar hans handelse och jag vet att det kommer att lyckas. Alla lyckonskningar. 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