Llewelyn ha lavorato con L'Onorevole Senatore Canadese William (Bill) Rompkey, a scrivere la storia del Servizio Volontario Overseas (VSO) in Labrador.
Questo e quello che Bill ha scritto nella sua lettera al primo incontro degli insegnanti VSO a Pateley Bridge, Yorkshire del nord 1-3 Agosto 2003,
"... Labrador chiamato a voi e vi stiamo chiamando adesso. Spero che quello che si puo fare in questi pochi giorni per compilare il record di Labrador con i vostri ricordi e riflessioni. Anche questo sara un contributo importante alla storia del Labrador. Ma soprattutto spero che vi piace il vostro tempo insieme.
Llewelyn Pritchard ha fatto un lavoro straordinario nel portare voi insieme. E'prudenti come Holmes e persistente come Poirot. Potrebbe anche essere un grande Canadese! Dobbiamo a lui piu di quanto possiamo dire. E 'il suo caso e so che avra successo. Tutti gli auguri. 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
