Right To The Top:

Right To The Top: "Wrigglesworth Grupo Corrupto Proceder Com Cautela."

by Llewelyn Pritchard MA

Paperback

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Overview

Right To The Top

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781480050143
Publisher: CreateSpace Publishing
Publication date: 10/04/2012
Series: Port Hope Simpson Mysteries , #7
Pages: 116
Product dimensions: 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.24(d)

About the Author

Llewelyn ja trabalhou com o Honoravel Senadora Canadense William (Bill) Rompkey, em escrever a historia do Servico Voluntario Overseas (VSO), em Labrador. Isto e o que Bill escreveu em sua carta ao primeiro encontro dos mestres da VSO em Pateley Bridge, North Yorkshire Agosto 01-3 de 2003, "... Labrador chamado para voce e estamos chamando voce agora. Espero que voce faca o que puder durante estes poucos dias para preencher o registro de Labrador com suas lembrancas e reflexoes. Esta tambem sera uma importante contribuicao para a historia Labrador. Mas, principalmente, eu espero que voce aproveite seu tempo juntos. Llewelyn Pritchard tem feito um trabalho notavel em trazer-lhe juntos. Ele e tao esperto quanto Holmes e tao persistente quanto Poirot. Ele poderia ate mesmo ser um Canadense otimo! Nos lhe devemos mais do que podemos dizer. E o seu caso e eu sei que vai ser bem sucedido. Todos os bons desejos. 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:
"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

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