Right To The Top es la segunda de las dos novelas de ficción histórica basada en la experiencia única de primera mano en Port Hope Simpson, Labrador, Terranova, Canadá. Cuenta la historia continua de las aventuras de Richard Ap Meurig. Únete a él en sus aventuras mientras trata de los derechos de los errores del pasado . [Disclaimer: Este libro es una obra de ficción histórica y no debe ser tomada literalmente. Si el lector ve similitudes entre personajes de esta obra de ficción y la gente en la vida real, deben ser considerados como una simple coincidencia.]

Formato	Tapa suave
Número de Páginas	118
Lenguaje	Español
Editorial	Createspace Independent Publishing Platform
Fecha de Publicación	2012-10-04
Dimensiones	9.02" x 5.98" x 0.25" pulgadas
Serie	Port Hope Simpson Mysteries
Letra Grande	No
Con Ilustraciones	No

Llewelyn ha trabajado con el Honorable Senador canadiense William (Bill) Rompkey, en la escritura de la historia de la Voluntary Service Overseas (VSO ) en Labrador. Esto es lo que Bill escribió en su carta a la primera tertulia de los profesores de VSO en Pateley Bridge, North Yorkshire 1 hasta 3 agosto 2003, " ... Labrador llamado a ti y te estamos llamando ahora. Espero que va a hacer lo que pueda durante estos pocos días para completar el registro de Labrador con sus recuerdos y reflexiones. Esto también será una importante contribución a Labrador historia. Pero sobre todo espero que disfrute de su tiempo juntos. Llewelyn Pritchard ha hecho un trabajo notable en traerle juntos. él es tan sagaz como Holmes y tan persistente como Poirot . incluso podría ser una gran canadiense! le debemos más de lo que podemos decir. Es su evento y sé que será un éxito. Todos los buenos deseos. 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