The Road to Nab End: A Lancashire Childhood
Papír, Puha kötés
KÉSZLETEN VAN, AZONNAL SZÁLLÍTHATÓ
Házhozszállítás: Lehetőségeink szerint a 17 óráig leadott rendelést a következő munkanapon, a vasárnap 17 óráig leadottakat hétfőn adjuk át a futárnak.
A csomag várható kiszállítása a feladás után 1-2 munkanap.
Szállítás Pick Pack Pontra: Lehetőségeink szerint a 17 óráig leadott rendelést a következő munkanapon, a vasárnap 17 óráig leadottakat hétfőn adjuk át a futárnak.
A csomag várható megérkezése a kiválasztott pontra a feladás után 2-3 munkanap.
William Woodruff - The Road to Nab End: A Lancashire Childhood
'Extraordinarily well written and vividly told, his book is rich in characters, facts, atmosphere, and indomitable spirit.' Eric Hobsbawm, GUARDIAN 'The book is a masterpiece' INDEPENDENT 'Impossible to put down' Alan Bullock, TLS 'A wonderful evocation of a vanished age.' MAIL ON SUNDAY
William Woodruff was born on the floor of the carding room in a Blackburn cotton mill. It was 1916 and he was to live amidst the crushing poverty of the weaving community for most of his childhood. It was a poverty that his family found difficult to endure, having come down in the world since their return from better times in America. Home was an over-crowded two-up, two-down, and life was a daily grind of hard work for little money, interspersed with trips to pawn prized possessions at the local 'pop' shop. Even food was a luxury, to be gorged on when available and dreamt about when scarce. But Billy proved himself adept at acquiring handouts and Sundays were spent touring the various religious institutions of the town - hymns and sermons were a small price to pay for a free fruit bun and steaming mug of tea. It was this penury that Billy eventually ran away from and in London he discovered that education could provide him with the key to the door to a better future. On the evidence of this book William Woodruff is possessed of a towering talent for depicting the minutiae of family life. Here is a man who, by his own confession, slept his way through the entire length of his schooldays, and yet he writes as if he were born with a pen in his hand. Aided by a pin-sharp memory and an eye for the absurd, he brings his idiosyncratic family history to life, a family with its own brand of secrets, values, duties, sorrows and joys. As a social history commentary this is invaluable, as a memoir it is fascinating and as a story of human triumph it is a marvellous read. (Kirkus UK)