English Language Paper 1 Reading and Writing Name: 1. 2.

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Year 10

English Language Paper 1

Reading and Writing

Student workbook

Name:

How to use this booklet:

1. Complete pages 1-13, read the tips for each

question and then answer the question

(questions 1-5).

2. Complete the second part of the booklet.

Read the question, read the text,

complete the reading question and then

complete the writing task inspired by the fiction

text.

Language Paper 1: Explorations in Creative Reading and Writing

One question paper

One insert containing one

extract from a work of

literary fiction

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Focus Marks Timings AO

Reading the extract 15 minutes

Question 1 List 4 things… 4 marks 2/3 minutes AO1

Question 2 How does the writer use language…

8 marks 10 minutes AO2

Question 3 How has the writer structured…


Question 4 To what extent do you agree?


Question 5 Descriptive/narrative writing

40 marks 45 minutes AO5/6

The answers you give MUST come from the part

of the text mentioned here.

If you take information from a different part, you

will not get the marks.

This will change depending on the topic

of the text.

Make sure your answers are focused on

this topic otherwise you will not get the

marks.

Read again the…………………

List four things from this part of the text about…… [4 marks]

1. _______________________________________________________

2. _______________________________________________________

3. _______________________________________________________

4. _______________________________________________________

You just

need to list

the facts.

You can use

quotations

or your

own words.

There is no

need to

explain

your

answers.

1 mark per

answer as

long as they

are from the

correct

section and

about the

specified

topic

Write your answers here.

One thing/fact per number

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Over to you:

Great Expectations

We went into the house by a side door - the great front entrance had two chains across it

outside - and the first thing I noticed was, that the passages were all dark, and that she had

left a candle burning there. She took it up, and we went through more passages and up a

staircase, and still it was all dark, and only the candle lighted us.

This was very uncomfortable, and I was half afraid. However, the only thing to be done

being to knock at the door, I knocked, and a voice from within said to enter. I entered and

found myself in a pretty large room, well lighted with wax candles. No glimpse of daylight

was to be seen in it. It was a dressing-room, as I gathered from the furniture, though much

of it was old-fashioned. But prominent in it was a draped table with a gilded looking-glass,

and that I made out at first sight to be a fine lady's dressing-table.

List four details we are given about the house

1. _____________________________________________________________________

2. _____________________________________________________________________

3. _____________________________________________________________________

4. _____________________________________________________________________

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Over to you:

Mr. Hyde appeared to hesitate, and then, as if upon some sudden reflection, fronted about with an air of defiance; and the pair stared at each other pretty fixedly for a few seconds. “Now I shall know you again,” said Mr. Utterson.” It may be useful.” “Yes,” returned Mr. Hyde, “it is as well we have, met; and a propos, you should have my address.” And he gave a number of a street in Soho. “Good God!” thought Mr. Utterson,” can he, too, have been thinking of the will?” But he kept his feelings to himself and only grunted in acknowledgment of the address. “And now,” said the other, “how did you know me?” “By description,” was the reply. “Whose description?” “We have common friends, said Mr. Utterson. “Common friends?” echoed Mr. Hyde, a little hoarsely.” Who are they?” “Jekyll, for instance,” said the lawyer. “He never told you,” cried Mr. Hyde, with a flush of anger.” I did not think you would have lied.” “Come,” said Mr. Utterson, “that is not fitting language.” The other snarled aloud into a savage laugh; and the next moment, with extraordinary quickness, he had unlocked the door and disappeared into the house.

How does the writer use language to describe Mr Hyde?

You could include the writer’s choice of: • words and phrases • language features and techniques • sentence forms.

Question 2

This question will always focus on language. You will need to think about how the writer uses language to achieve effects and influence the reader.

These bullet points are there

to help focus your answer.

You need to ensure you use

technical terms to describe

the language

The extract will be given to you here –

use it!

Read the question first to identify the

focus of the question.

Use a highlighter to identify the

language used

Look in detail at lines …………of the source.

How does the writer use language to……….

You could include the writer’s choice of:

Words and phrases

Language features and techniques

Sentence forms [8 marks]

This question asks you

‘how’ the writer does

something so you will

need to think about

the methods they use

and the effect they

have.

Make sure you only look at this section.

They will give you the extract on this page so

there is no need to go back to the main extract.

The focus changes

depending on the

extract

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Feature Definition

Atmosphere The mood or tone of the extract created deliberately by the writer.

Climax The most intense point in the extract.

Closing paragraph

The final paragraph of the extract. Think about what the paragraph is about, whether it links to any previous paragraphs and whether it had been foreshadowed earlier in the extract.

Exposition The start where details are usually shared.

Flashback Past events are re-visited.

Foreshadowing A hint of what might happen in the future/events that are to come.

Motif A recurring idea in the extract – might be in the shape of a theme, object or character.

Opening paragraph

The start of the extract. Think about who is introduced, what we are told/not told, the perspective and focus.

Paragraph One section of the extract, which can vary in length. You must start a new paragraph for a new time, place, topic or person speaking. You might also want to change a paragraph in order to:

Sustain: more of the same

Develop: add elaboration and variety to first idea.

Contrast: adopt a completely different perspective or position to move the story forward.

Perspective Whose point of view is the extract from? What is there particular attitude towards what is happening?

Question 3 This question will always focus on structure. You will need to think about how the writer uses structure to achieve effects and influence the reader.

You need to think about the whole of the source.

This text is from the ending of the novel.

How has the writer structured the text to hold the reader’s attention?

You could write about:

What the writer focuses your attention on at the beginning

How and why the writer changes this focus as the extract develops

Any other structural features that interest you.

[8 marks]

This is the first question

that you have to look at

the whole source.

You will still need to

break it down and look at

specific paragraphs and

sentences.

The focus

changes

depending on

the extract

You need to think about

the structural techniques

that these writer has

used to produce a

desired effect.

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Setting Time and place where the events of the extract take place.

Shift A move or change in focus.

Tension A degree of emotional strain. Think about when the tension starts in the extract and how it is developed.

Narrative styles

Linear Events are told in chronological order.

Non-linear Events do not occur in chronological order.

Dual Told from multiple perspective.

Cyclical Ends the same way that it begins – same perspective or idea.

Types of narrator

Omniscient narrator (3rd person)

External narrator who has knowledge of the characters and their feelings/emotions. Not named or present within the narrative.

1st person Told from a specific character’s perspective (I)

2nd person Directed to the reader (You)

Unreliable narrator

The perspective that this narrator offers makes the reader question its credibility and reasoning.

Over to you:

This text is from the middle of a novel. She asked, “What makes you so nuts about rabbits?”

Lennie had to think carefully before he could come to a conclusion. He moved cautiously close to her, until he was right against her. “I like to pet nice things. Once at a fair I seen some of them long-hair rabbits. An’ they was nice, you bet. Sometimes I’ve even pet mice, but not when I couldn’t get nothing better.”

Curley’s wife moved away from him a little. “I think you’re nuts,” she said.

“No I ain’t,” Lennie explained earnestly. “George says I ain’t. I like to pet nice things with my fingers, sof’ things.”

She was a little bit reassured. “Well, who don’t?” she said. “Ever’body likes that. I like to feel silk an’ velvet. Do you like to feel velvet?”

Lennie chuckled with pleasure. “You bet, by God,” he cried happily. “An’ I had some, too. A lady give me some, an’ that lady was—my own Aunt Clara. She give it right to me—‘bout this big a piece. I wisht I had that velvet right now.” A frown came over his face. “I lost it,” he said. “I ain’t seen it for a long time.”

Curley’s wife laughed at him. “You’re nuts,” she said. “But you’re a kinda nice fella. Jus’ like a big baby. But a person can see kinda what you mean. When I’m doin’ my hair sometimes I jus’ set an’ stroke it ‘cause it’s so soft.” To show how she did it, she ran her fingers over top

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of her head. “Some people got kinda coarse hair,” she said complacently. “Take Curley. His hair is jus’ like wire. But mine is soft and fine. ‘Course I brush it a lot. That makes it fine. Here—feel right here.” She took Lennie’s hand and put it on her head. “Feel right aroun’ there an’ see how soft it is.”

Lennie’s big fingers fell to stroking her hair.

“Don’t you muss it up,” she said.

Lennie said, “Oh! That’s nice,” and he stroked harder. “Oh, that’s nice.”

“Look out, now, you’ll muss it.” And then she cried angrily, “You stop it now, you’ll mess it all up.” She jerked her head sideways, and Lennie’s fingers closed on her hair and hung on. “Let go,” she cried. “You let go!”

Lennie was in a panic. His face was contorted. She screamed then, and Lennie’s other hand closed over her mouth and nose. “Please don’t,” he begged. “Oh! Please don’t do that. George’ll be mad.”

She struggled violently under his hands. Her feet battered on the hay and she writhed to be free; and from under Lennie’s hand came a muffled screaming. Lennie began to cry with fright. “Oh! Please don’t do none of that,” he begged. “George gonna say I done a bad thing. He ain’t gonna let me tend no rabbits.” He moved his hand a little and her hoarse cry came out. Then Lennie grew angry. “Now don’t,” he said. “I don’t want you to yell. You gonna get me in trouble jus’ like George says you will. Now don’t you do that.” And she continued to struggle, and her eyes were wild with terror. He shook her then, and he was angry with her. “Don’t you go yellin’,” he said, and he shook her; and her body flopped like a fish. And then she was still, for Lennie had broken her neck.

He looked down at her, and carefully he removed his hand from over her mouth, and she lay still. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, “but George’ll be mad if you yell.” When she didn’t answer nor move he bent closely over her. He lifted her arm and let it drop. For a moment he seemed bewildered. And then he whispered in fright, “I done a bad thing. I done another bad thing.”

He pawed up the hay until it partly covered her. From outside the barn came a cry of men and the double clang of shoes on metal. For the first time Lennie became conscious of the outside.

How has the writer structured the text interest you as a reader? You could write about:

What the writer focuses your attention on at the beginning

How and why the writer changes this focus as the extract develops

Any other structural features that interest you.

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Over to you:

Using a time machine, an organisation called Time Safari transports clients into the past to take part in hunting expeditions. A group that includes Mr Eckels, together with their guide, Travis, is visiting a prehistoric jungle in order to shoot a Tyrannosaurus Rex. The jungle was high and the jungle was broad. Sounds like music and flying tents filled the sky, and those were pterodactyls soaring with huge grey wings.

‘I’ve hunted tiger, wild boar, buffalo, elephant, but now, this is it,’ said Eckels. ‘I’m shaking like a kid.’

‘Ah,’ said Travis.

Everyone stopped.

Travis raised his hand. ‘Ahead,’ he whispered, ‘in the mist. There he is. There’s his Royal Majesty now.’

The jungle was wide and full of twitterings, rustlings, murmurs, and sighs.

Suddenly it all ceased, as if someone had shut a door.

Silence.

A sound of thunder.

Question 4 Question 4 assesses your ability to evaluate texts critically and support this with appropriate textual references. This means that you will be asked to consider what the writer intended to achieve in the selected passage.

You can comment on the language,

structure and form of the extract.

Ensure the points you are making link back to the question.

You are agreeing, disagreeing or both with the statement

Your analysis should be more detailed in this question (focus on close analysis in places)

A student, reading this part of the text from: “A hundred yards offshore, the fish sensed a change in the sea’s rhythm” said:

‘Although you might think that the shark is the villain in the book, the writer shows you what an impressive and beautiful animal it is. You have to admire it.’

To what extent do you agree?

In your response you should:

• Write about your own impressions of the shark as described in the passage • Evaluate how the writer has created these impressions • Support your opinions with quotations from the text

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Out of the mist, one hundred yards away, came Tyrannosaurus Rex.

‘It,’ whispered Eckels, ‘it......’

‘Ssh!’

It came on great oiled, resilient, striding legs. It towered thirty feet above half of the trees, a great evil god, folding its delicate watchmaker’s claws close to its oily reptilian chest. Each lower leg was a piston, a thousand pounds of white bone, sunk in thick ropes of muscle, sheathed over in a gleam of pebbled skin like the armour of a terrible warrior. Each thigh was a ton of meat, ivory, and steel mesh. And from the great breathing cage of the upper body those two delicate arms dangled out front, arms with hands which might pick up and examine men like toys, while the snake neck coiled. And the head itself, a ton of sculptured stone, lifted easily upon the sky. Its mouth gaped, exposing a fence of teeth like daggers. Its eyes rolled, ostrich eggs, empty of all expression save hunger. It closed its mouth in a death grin. It ran, its pelvic bones crushing aside trees and bushes, its taloned feet clawing damp earth, leaving prints six inches deep wherever it settled its weight.

It ran with a gliding ballet step, far too poised and balanced for its ten tons. It moved into a sunlit area warily, its beautifully reptilian hands feeling the air.

‘Why, why...,’ Eckels twitched his mouth, ‘it could reach up and grab the moon.’

‘Ssh!’ Travis jerked angrily. ‘He hasn’t seen us yet.’

Using a time machine, an organisation called Time Safari transports clients into the past to take part in hunting expeditions. A group that includes Mr Eckels, together with their guide, Travis, is visiting a prehistoric jungle in order to shoot a Tyrannosaurus Rex.

‘It can’t be killed.’ Eckels pronounced this verdict quietly, as if there could be no argument. He had weighed the evidence and this was his considered opinion. The rifle in his hands seemed like a toy gun. ‘We were fools to come. This is impossible.’

‘Shut up!’ hissed Travis.

‘Nightmare.’

‘Turn around,’ commanded Travis. ‘Walk quietly to the Machine. We’ll remit half your fee.’

‘I didn’t realize it would be this big,’ said Eckels. ‘I miscalculated, that’s all. And now I want out.’

‘It sees us!’

‘There’s the red paint on its chest.’

The Tyrant Lizard raised itself. Its armoured flesh glittered like a thousand green coins. The coins, crusted with slime, steamed. In the slime, tiny insects wriggled, so that the entire body seemed to twitch and undulate, even while the monster itself did not move. It exhaled. The stink of raw flesh blew down the wilderness.

‘Get me out of here,’ said Eckels. ‘It was never like this before. I was always sure I’d come through alive. I had good guides, good safaris, and safety. This time, I figured wrong. I’ve met my match and admit it. This is too much for me to get hold of.’

‘Don’t run,’ said Lesperance. ‘Turn around. Hide in the Machine.’

‘Yes.’ Eckels seemed to be numb. He looked at his feet as if trying to make them move. He gave a grunt of helplessness.

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‘Eckels!’

He took a few steps, blinking, shuffling.

‘Not that way!’

The Monster, at the first motion, lunged forward with a terrible scream. It covered one hundred yards in six seconds. The rifles jerked up and blazed fire. A windstorm from the beast’s mouth engulfed them in the stench of slime and old blood. The Monster roared, teeth glittering with sun.

The rifles cracked again, but their sound was lost in shriek and lizard thunder. The great level of the reptile’s tail swung up, lashed sideways. Trees exploded in clouds of leaf and branch. The Monster twitched its jeweller’s hands down to fondle at the men, to twist them in half, to crush them like berries, to cram them into its teeth and its screaming throat. Its boulder-stone eyes levelled with the men. They saw themselves mirrored. They fired at the metallic eyelids and the blazing black iris.

Like a stone idol, like a mountain avalanche, Tyrannosaurus fell.

Focus this part of your answer on the second part of the source, from, “It can’t be killed” to the end. A student said, ‘This part of the story, where the men encounter the Tyrannosaurus Rex, shows Eckels is right to panic. The Monster is terrifying!’ To what extent do you agree? In your response, you could: • consider your own impressions of Eckels’ reaction to the Tyrannosaurus Rex • evaluate how the writer describes the Monster • support your response with references to the text.

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Question 5 This question is a creative writing task. You will need to produce an interesting, well-organised and accurately written piece.

You are going to enter a creative writing competition. You will be judged by a panel of your teachers. Either: Write a description suggested by this picture Or: Write the opening part of a short story about…

(24 marks content and organisation 16 marks for technical accuracy)

[40 marks]

The question will always give you a specific

purpose, audience and form.

You need to show that you have adapted your

writing style accordingly.

One of the

tasks might ask

you to respond

to a picture

prompt Only choose

ONE!

This is worth a half of

the whole paper so

you need to make

sure your answer is

long, detailed and

well-planned.

You are assessed on

what you write, how

you structure it and

how accurate it is so

make sure you proof

read your work!

PICTURE

You could be given the option of:

One narrative, one description

Two narratives

Two descriptions Make sure you read the questions carefully so that you are writing in the correct form.

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Write a description suggested by this picture Beach as a whole – people relaxing and playing in the sea. No mention of the clouds – build up at the end of each paragraph with a final paragraph focusing on it. Lonely bird. What is he looking for? Where are the other birds? Reaction to the cloud. Single person, completely unaware of what is going on. Describe what he is wearing, how he is lying.

Abandoned clothing and other items – description of them. Personification – how they feel about being left.

Children playing out at sea. Impending danger .v. fun and laughter. Parents calling from beach.

Waves breaking – getting increasingly violent. Link to children playing.

Rocks being beaten by the angry sea. Bits breaking off – becoming jagged and dangerous.

Looming clouds, getting darker and bigger. Swallowing beach whole. Change of atmosphere.

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How can we start the description? Calm. Serene. Peaceful. Golden sand dances in the gentle breeze, covering the toes of sleeping sunbathers

and abandoned towels. Laughter drifts from the sea, filling the air with a sense of joy. Children rush

towards the azure water as their worried parents shout instructions. No one notices the grey animal

looming above, getting closer and closer to its prey.

How can we start a story? Pitter, patter. Pitter, patter. Pitter, patter.

The monotonous drip of the rain played a repetitive rhythm on the car roof, as it stood as still as a soldier.

“Why aren’t we moving?” groaned Jane as she stretched her legs further up the dashboard.

Rumble, rumble, rumble.

“Jane, I am going to ask you for the hundredth time to put your feet down,” exclaimed her mother,

exasperated by her daughter’s lack of rule following and respect.

They had been sat in the same traffic jam for over an hour and both mother and daughter’s anger was

beginning to boil like the looming clouds ahead.

Over to you:

Write a description of a busy market, as suggested by this picture. Or: Write a short story about a time when you felt extremely happy.

Checklist - descriptive

Do your answers:

Create an image?

Use lots of adjectives and adverbs?

Use a range of ambitious vocabulary?

Use a range of descriptive techniques?

Zoom in on specific parts of the

description?

Have accurate paragraphs which link ideas?

Have accurate spelling, punctuation and

grammar?

Checklist - narrative

Do your answers:

Have a start, middle and end?

Create tension through rising action?

Interest the reader immediately?

Use lots of adjectives and adverbs?

Use a range of ambitious vocabulary?

Use a range of descriptive techniques?

Have accurate paragraphs which link ideas?

Have accurate spelling, punctuation and

grammar?

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You have now read through and completed questions 1-5. Continue with the rest of the booklet.

Lessons tasks:

Reading:

1. Read the question after the source, highlight the focus of the question. Remind yourself what you

need to do when answering that particular question.

2. Box off your extract, question 1, question 2, question 4. For question 3 it is usually a whole text

response about structure, so you need to place brackets around the outside of the text to show

beginning/middle/end.

3. Spend 15 minutes reading the text, remember what you are highlighting it for.

4. Answer the reading question below the text.

Writing:

1. Spend 5 minutes planning the writing task, decide what task you’re going to complete.

2. Spend 20 minutes writing

3. Spend 5 minutes proof reading your work

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Lesson 1: To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

Reading:

But by the end of August our repertoire was vapid from countless reproductions, and it was then that Dill

gave us the idea of making Boo Radley come out.

The Radley Place fascinated Dill. In spite of our warnings and explanations it drew him as the moon draws

water, but drew him no nearer than the light-pole on the corner, a safe distance from the Radley gate.

There he would stand, his arm around the fat pole, staring and wondering.

The Radley Place jutted into a sharp curve beyond our house. Walking south, one faced its porch; the

sidewalk turned and ran beside the lot. The house was low, was once white with a deep front porch and

green shutters, but had long ago darkened to the colour of the slate-grey yard around it. Rain-rotted

shingles drooped over the eaves of the verandah; oak trees kept the sun away. The remains of a picket

drunkenly guarded from the front yard – a ‘swept’ yard that was never swept – where Johnson grass and

rabbit-tobacco grew in abundance.

Inside the house lived a malevolent phantom. People said he existed, but Jem and I had never seen him.

People said he went out at night when the moon was down, and peeped in windows. When people’s

azaleas froze in a cold snap, it was because he had breathed on them. Any stealthy small crimes committed

in Maycomb were his work. Once the town was terrorized by a series of morbid nocturnal events: people’s

chickens and household pets were found mutilated; although the culprit was Crazy Addie, who eventually

drowned himself in Barker’s Eddy, people still looked at the Radley Place, unwilling to discard their initial

suspicions. A Negro would not pass the Radley Place at night, he would cut across to the sidewalk opposite

and whistle as he walked. The Maycomb school grounds adjoined the back of the Radley lot; from the

Radley chicken yard tall pecan trees shook their fruit into the schoolyard, but the nuts lay untouched by

the children: Radley pecans would kill you. A baseball hit into the Radley yard was a lost ball and no

questions asked.

The misery of that house began many years before Jem and I were born. The Radleys, welcome anywhere

in town, kept to themselves, a predilection unforgivable in Maycomb. They did not go to church,

Maycomb’s principal recreation, but worshipped at home; Mrs Radley seldom if ever crossed the street for

a mid-morning coffee break with her neighbours, and certainly never joined a missionary circle. Mr Radley

walked to town at eleven-thirty every morning and came back promptly at twelve, sometimes carrying a

brown paper bag that the neighbourhood assumed contained the family groceries. I never knew how old

Mr Radley made his living – Jem said he ‘bought cotton’, a polite term for doing nothing – but Mr Radley

and his wife had lived there with their two sons as long as anybody could remember.

The shutters and doors of the Radley house were closed on Sundays, another thing alien to Maycomb’s

ways: closed doors meant illness and cold weather only. Of all days Sunday was the day for formal

afternoon visiting: ladies wore corsets, men wore coats, children wore shoes. But to climb the Radley front

steps and call, “He-y”, of a Sunday afternoon was something their neighbours never did. The Radley house

had no screen doors. I once asked Atticus if it ever had any; Atticus said yes, but before I was born.

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Question 3: How has the writer structured the text to interest you as a reader?


• what the writer focuses your attention on at the beginning

• how and why the writer changes this focus as the Source develops

• any other structural features that interest you.

Writing: Write a description as suggested by this house

OR. describe an unusual person

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Lesson 2: Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, By Robert Louis Stevenson

Reading

Nearly a year later, in the month of October, 18—, London was startled by a crime of singular ferocity and rendered all the more notable by the high position of the victim. The details were few and startling. A maid servant living alone in a house not far from the river, had gone upstairs to bed about eleven. Although a fog rolled over the city in the small hours, the early part of the night was cloudless, and the lane, which the maid’s window overlooked, was brilliantly lit by the full moon. It seems she was romantically given, for she sat down upon her box, which stood immediately under the window, and fell into a dream of musing. Never (she used to say, with streaming tears, when she narrated that experience), never had she felt more at peace with all men or thought more kindly of the world. And as she so sat she became aware of an aged beautiful gentleman with white hair, drawing near along the lane; and advancing to meet him, another and very small gentleman, to whom at first she paid less attention. When they had come within speech (which was just under the maid’s eyes) the older man bowed and accosted the other with a very pretty manner of politeness. It did not seem as if the subject of his address were of great importance; indeed, from his pointing, it sometimes appeared as if he were only inquiring his way; but the moon shone on his face as he spoke, and the girl was pleased to watch it, it seemed to breathe such an innocent and old-world kindness of disposition, yet with something high too, as of a well-founded self-content. Presently her eye wandered to the other, and she was surprised to recognise in him a certain Mr. Hyde, who had once visited her master and for whom she had conceived a dislike. He had in his hand a heavy cane, with which he was trifling; but he answered never a word, and seemed to listen with an ill-contained impatience. And then all of a sudden he broke out in a great flame of anger, stamping with his foot, brandishing the cane, and carrying on (as the maid described it) like a madman. The old gentleman took a step back, with the air of one very much surprised and a trifle hurt; and at that Mr. Hyde broke out of all bounds and clubbed him to the earth. And next moment, with ape-like fury, he was trampling his victim under foot and hailing down a storm of blows, under which the bones were audibly shattered and the body jumped upon the roadway. At the horror of these sights and sounds, the maid fainted.

Question 2: How does the writer use language to portray the violence in this scene?

You could include the writer’s choice of: Words and phrases Language features and techniques Sentence forms

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Writing:

Write a description inspired by this image:

Or, Write a story set on a dark night that begins: ‘Trudging through the back alleys of London, I had an eerie

feeling that something was following me.’

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Lesson 3: Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck

Reading

He looked down at her, and carefully he removed his hand from over her mouth, and she lay still. ‘I don’t want ta hurt you,’ he said, ‘but George’ll be mad if you yell.’ When she didn’t answer nor move he bent closely over her. He lifted her arm and let it drop. For a moment he seemed bewildered. And then he whispered in fright, ‘I done a bad thing. I done another bad thing.’

He pawed up the hay until it partly covered her.

From outside the barn came a cry of men and the double clang of shoes on metal. For the first time Lennie became conscious of the outside. He crouched down in the hay and listened. ‘I done a real bad thing,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t of did that. George’ll be mad. An’... he said... an’ hide in the brush till he come. He’s gonna be mad. In the brush till he come. Tha’s what he said.’ Lennie went back and looked at the dead girl. The puppy lay close to her. Lennie picked it up. ‘I’ll throw him away,’ he said. ‘It’s bad enough like it is.’ He put the pup under his coat, and he crept to the barn wall and peered out between the cracks, toward the horseshoe game. And then he crept around the end of the last manger and disappeared.

The sun streaks were high on the wall by now, and the light was growing soft in the barn. Curley’s wife lay on her back, and she was half covered with hay.

It was very quiet in the barn, and the quiet of the afternoon was on the ranch. Even the clang of the pitched shoes, even the voices of the men in the game seemed to grow more quiet. The air in the barn was dusky in advance of the outside day. A pigeon flew in through the open hay door and circled and flew out again. Around the last stall came a shepherd bitch, lean and long, with heavy, hanging dugs. Halfway to the packing box where the puppies were she caught the dead scent of Curley’s wife, and the hair rose along her spine. She whimpered and cringed to the packing box, and jumped in among the puppies.

Curley’s wife lay with a half-covering of yellow hay. And the meanness and the plannings and the discontent and the ache for attention were all gone from her face. She was very pretty and simple, and her face was sweet and young. Now her rouged cheeks and her reddened lips made her seem alive and sleeping very lightly. The curls, tiny little sausages, were spread on the hay behind her head, and her lips were parted.

As happens sometimes, a moment settled and hovered and remained for much more than a moment. And sound stopped and movement stopped for much, much more than a moment.

Question 2: How does the writer use language to create mood and atmosphere?


20

Writing:

Write a description inspired by this picture:

OR, write a story with this opening line: ‘It was the worst journey ever.’

21

Lesson 4: Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins

Reading

Sixty seconds. That’s how long we’re required to stand on our metal circles before the sound of a gong

releases us. Step off before the minute is up, and land mines blow your legs off. Sixty seconds to take in the

ring of tributes all equidistant from the Cornucopia, a giant golden horn shaped like a cone with a curved

tail, the mouth of which is at least twenty feet high, spilling over with the things that will give us life here in

the arena. Food, containers of water, weapons, medicine, garments, fire starters. Strewn around the

Cornucopia are other supplies, their value decreasing the farther they are from the horn. For instance, only

a few steps from my feet lies a three-foot square of plastic. Certainly it could be of some use in a

downpour. But there in the mouth, I can see a tent pack that would protect from almost any sort of

weather. If I had the guts to go in and fight for it against the other twenty-three tributes. Which I have

been instructed not to do.

We’re on a flat, open stretch of ground. A plain of hard-packed dirt. Behind the tributes across from me, I can see nothing, indicating either a steep downward slope or even a cliff. To my right lies a lake. To my left and back, sparse piney woods. This is where Haymitch would want me to go. Immediately.

I hear his instructions in my head. “Just clear out, put as much distance as you can between yourselves and the others, and find a source of water.”

But it’s tempting, so tempting, when I see the bounty waiting there before me. And I know that if I don’t get it, someone else will. That the Career Tributes who survive the bloodbath will divide up most of these life-sustaining spoils. Something catches my eye. There, resting on a mound of blanket rolls, is a silver sheath of arrows and a bow, already strung, just waiting to be engaged. That’s mine, I think. It’s meant for me.

I’m fast. I can sprint faster than any of the girls in our school, although a couple can beat me in distance races. But this forty-yard length, this is what I am built for. I know I can get it, I know I can reach it first, but then the question is how quickly can I get out of there? By the time I’ve scrambled up the packs and grabbed the weapons, others will have reached the horn, and one or two I might be able to pick off, but say there’s a dozen, at that close range, they could take me down with the spears and the clubs. Or their own powerful fists. Still, I won’t be the only target. I’m betting many of the other tributes would pass up a smaller girl, even one who scored an eleven in training, to take out their more fierce adversaries.

Haymitch has never seen me run. Maybe if he had he’d tell me to go for it. Get the weapon. Since that’s the very weapon that might be my salvation. And I only see one bow in that whole pile. I know the minute must be almost up and will have to decide what my strategy will be and I find myself positioning my feet to run, not away into the surrounding forests but toward the pile, toward the bow. When suddenly I notice Peeta, he’s about five tributes to my right, quite a fair distance, still I can tell he’s looking at me and I think he might be shaking his head. But the sun’s in my eyes, and while I’m puzzling over it the gong rings out.

Question: How has the writer structured the text to interest the reader?


what the writer focuses your attention on at the beginning

how and why the writer changes this focus as the Source develops

any other structural features that interest you

22

Writing:

Write a description inspired by this picture.

OR, Write a story about a character waiting for something to happen.

23

Lesson 5: Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier

Reading Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again. It seemed to me I stood by the iron gate leading to the drive, and for a while I could not enter, for the way was barred to me. There was a padlock and a chain upon the gate. I called in my dream to the lodge-keeper, and had no answer, and peering closer through the rusted spokes of the gate I saw that the lodge was uninhabited. No smoke came from the chimney, and the little lattice windows gaped forlorn. Then, like all dreamers, I was possessed of a sudden with supernatural powers and passed like a spirit through the barrier before me. 

The drive wound away in front of me, twisting and turning as it had always done, but as I advanced I was aware that a change had come upon it; it was narrow and unkept, not the drive that we had known. At first I was puzzled and did not understand, and it was only when I bent my head to avoid the low swinging branch of a tree that I realized what had happened. Nature had come into her own again and, little by little, in her stealthy, insidious way had encroached upon the drive with long, tenacious fingers.

The woods, always a menace even in the past, had triumphed in the end. They crowded, dark and uncontrolled, to the borders of the drive. The beeches with white, naked limbs leant close to one another, their branches intermingled in a strange embrace, making a vault above my head like the archway of a church. And there were other trees as well, trees that I did not recognize, squat oaks and tortured elms that straggled cheek by jowl with the beeches, and had thrust themselves out of the quiet earth, along with monster shrubs and plants, none of which I remembered.

The drive was a ribbon now, a thread of its former self, with gravel surface gone, and choked with grass and moss. The trees had thrown out low branches, making an impediment to progress; the gnarled roots looked like skeleton claws. Scattered here and again amongst this jungle growth I would recognize shrubs that had been landmarks in our time, things of culture and grace, hydrangeas whose blue heads had been famous. 

No hand had checked their progress, and they had gone native now, rearing to monster height without a bloom, black and ugly as the nameless parasites that grew beside them. On and on, now east now west, wound the poor thread that once had been our drive. Sometimes I thought it lost, but it appeared again, beneath a fallen tree perhaps, or struggling on the other side of a muddied ditch created by the winter rains. I had not thought the way so long. Surely the miles had multiplied, even as the trees had done, and this path led but to a labyrinth, some choked wilderness, and not to the house at all. I came upon it suddenly; the approach masked by the unnatural growth of a vast shrub that spread in all directions, and I stood, my heart thumping in my breast, the strange prick of tears behind my eyes.

There was Manderley, our Manderley, secretive and silent as it had always been, the grey stone shining in the moonlight of my dream, the mullioned windows reflecting the green lawns and the terrace. Time could not wreck the perfect symmetry of those walls, nor the site itself, a jewel in the hollow of a hand. The terrace sloped to the lawns, and the lawns stretched to the sea, and turning I could see the sheet of silver placid under the moon, like a lake undisturbed by wind or storm. No waves would come to ruffle this dream water, and no bulk of cloud, wind-driven from the west, obscure the clarity of this pale sky. 

I turned again to the house, and though it stood, untouched, as though we ourselves had left but yesterday, I saw that the garden had obeyed the jungle law, even as the woods had done. Nettles were everywhere, the vanguard of the army.

24

Reading: Look in detail at this extract from the opening to Rebecca.

Question 2: How has the writer used language to here to describe nature taking over? You could include the writer’s choice of:

Words and phrases Language features and techniques Sentence forms

Writing:

Write a description as inspired by this picture

Or, write a story where you return to a place from your past

25

Lesson 6: Enduring Love from chapter 1 by Ian McEwan

Reading The narrator, Gadd and other men are trying to stop a hot air balloon from flying off. Inside the basket is a terrified boy. A mighty fist of wind socked the balloon in two rapid blows, one-two, the second more vicious than the first. It jerked Gadd right out of the basket on to the ground, and with Gadd's considerable weight removed from the equation, it lifted the balloon five feet or so, straight into the air. The rope ran through my grip, scorching my palms, but I managed to keep hold, with two feet of line spare. The others kept hold too. The basket was right above our heads now, and we stood with arms upraised like Sunday bell ringers. Into our amazed silence, before the shouting could resume, the second punch came and knocked the balloon up and westwards. Suddenly we were treading the air with all our weight in the grip of our fists. Almost simultaneous, with the desire to stay on the rope and save the boy, came other thoughts, thoughts of self-preservation and fear. We were rising, and the ground was dropping away as the balloon was pushed upwards. I knew I had to get my legs and feet locked round the rope. But the end of the line barely reached below my waist and my grip was slipping. My legs flailed in the empty air. Every fraction of a second that passed increased the drop, and the point must come when to let go would be impossible or fatal. Then, someone did let go. Immediately, the balloon and its hangers on lurched upwards another several feet. But letting go was in our nature too. The child was not my child, and I was not going to die for it. Then I glimpsed another body fall away and I felt the balloon lurch upwards. The matter was settled. Altruism had no place. Being good made no sense. I let go and fell, I reckon, about twelve feet. I landed heavily on my side, I got away with a bruised thigh. Around me - before or after, I'm not so sure - bodies were thumping to the ground. By the time I got to my feet the balloon was fifty yards away, and one man was still dangling by his rope, all his energies concentrated in his weakening grip. He was already a tiny figure and as the balloon and its basket lifted away and westwards, the smaller he became and the more terrible it was. Our silence was a kind of acceptance, a death warrant. Or it was horrified shame. He had been on the rope so long that I began to think he might stay there until the balloon drifted down. But even as I had that hope we saw him slip down right to the end of the rope. And still he hung there. For two seconds, three, four. And then he let ruthless gravity played its part. And from somewhere a thin squawk cut through and the stilled air. He fell as he had hung, a stiff little black stick. I've never seen such a terrible thing as that falling man.

Question 2:

Look in detail at paragraphs 2-3 of this extract from “Almost simultaneous” to “thumping to the ground. How does the writer use language here to describe the narrator’s predicament? You could include the writer’s choice of:

words and phrases

language features and techniques

sentence forms.

26

Writing:

Write a description inspired by this image:

Or, Write about a time you have tried to help someone who couldn’t be saved.

27

Lesson 7: Skellig by David Almond

Reading:

We climbed the final flight of stairs towards the final doorway. Gently, fearfully, we turned the handle and slowly pushed open the door. Moonlight came through the arched window. Skellig sat before its frame, bowed forward. We saw the black silhouette of his pale face, of his bowed shoulders, of his wings folded upon his shoulders. At the base of his wings was the silhouette of his shredded shirt. He must have heard us as we stepped through the door, as we crouched together against the wall, but he didn’t turn. We didn’t speak. We didn’t dare approach him. As we watched, an owl appeared, dropping on silent wings from the moonlit sky to the moonlit window. It perched on the frame. It bowed forward, opened its beak, laid something on the windowsill and flew out again. Skellig bent his head to where the bird had been. He pressed his lips to the windowsill. Then the owl, or the other owl, came again to the window, perched, opened its beak, flew off again, Skellig bent forward again. He chewed. They’re feeding him,” whispered Mina. And it was true. Each time the owls left, Skellig lifted what they had left him, he chewed and swallowed. At last he turned to us. We saw nothing of his eyes, his pale cheeks; just his black silhouette against the glistening night. Mina and I held hands. Still we didn’t dare go to him. “Come to me,” he whispered. We didn’t move. “Come to me.” Mina tugged me, led me to him. We met him in the middle of the room. He stood erect. He seemed stronger than he’d ever been. He took my hand and Mina’s hand, and we stood there, the three of his, linked in the moonlight on the old bare floorboards. He squeezed my hand as if to reassure me. When he smiled at me I caught the stench of his breath, the stench of the things the owls had given him to eat. I gagged. His breath was the breath of an animal that lives on the meat of other living things: a dog, a fox, a blackbird, an owl. He squeezed me again and smiled again. He stepped sideways and we turned together, kept slowly turning, as if we were carefully, nervously beginning to dance. The moonlight shone on out faces in turn. Each face spun from shadow to light, from shadow to light, and each time the faces of Mina and Skellig came into the light they were more silvery, more expressionless. Their eyes were darker, more empty, more penetrating. For a moment I wanted to pull away from them, to break the circle, but Skellig’s hand tightened on mine. “Don’t stop, Michael,” he whispered. His eyes and Mina’s eyes stared far into me. “No, Michael,” said Mina. “Don’t stop.” I didn’t stop. I found that I was smiling, that Skellig and Mina were smiling too. My heart raced and thundered and then it settled to a steady rolling rhythm. I felt Skellig’s and Mina’s hearts beating along with my own. I felt their breath in rhythm with mine. It was like we had moved into each other, as if we had become one thing. Our heads were dark, then were as huge and moonlit as the night. I couldn’t feel the bare floorboards against my feet. All I knew were the hands in mine, the faces turning through the light and the dark, and for a moment I saw ghostly wings at Mina’s back, I felt feathers and the delicate bones rising from my own shoulders, and I was lifted from the floor with Skellig and Mina. We turned circles together through the empty air of that empty room high in an old house in Crow Road. Then it was over. I found myself crumpled on the floorboards alongside Mina. Skellig crouched beside us. He touched our heads.

28

Question 2: How does Almond use language to create a mysterious and magical atmosphere in this extract?


Writing:

Write about a time a character has been made to believe in magic.

Or, Write a description inspired by this image

29

Lesson 8: Whispers in the Graveyard by Theresa Breslin

Reading:

I’m running. My chest is tight and sore. Breath rasping and whistling in my lungs. Branches whip against my face. Brambles tear at my legs and arms. There is a voice screaming. Out loud. The sound ripping through the trees, screaming and screaming. It’s my voice. ‘Amy! Amy!’ Now I’m back at the back stream and the solid wooden fencing has been torn aside. Blasted apart as if some careless giant had passed by and trodden on it. I stare at the wood, not splintered or broken, but melted. Dissolved and warped. Curled aside to make a small space. Space enough for a child to walk through. What could do that? What power is there that would leave that mark? I hesitate, feeling the first great lurch of fear for myself. ‘Amy?’ I cry out. Nothing. Beyond me the gaping dark of the cemetery. There is a soft shudder in my head. A strange flicker which fastens on my fear. Nothing calling for me this time. No whispers in my face tonight. Why? Because Amy is in there. With one child captive, there is no need for two. Desperate, I hurl myself at the open space and barbed wire comes up to meet me, scratching through my skin, dragging at my clothes to pull me back. The thick bristles are embedded in my jacket and I am caught fast, struggling on the ground. Frantically, I unzip the front of my jacket, and draw out my arms. I leave it there and Scramble forwards to the foot of the stream. Blood on my hands and fingernails, I scramble to the top. Then I leap over and sink down knee-deep on the other side, my legs heavy with clogged and slimy liquid. I raise one foot, looking down, expecting to see thick mud clinging there. Nothing. Then the next leg. Nothing. But I am sinking, the ground falling away beneath me. I am dropping down and it will close over my head and suffocate me.

Reading: Look in detail at this extract from the source:

Question 2: How does the writer use language here to describe the fence? You could include the writer’s choice of: • words and phrases • language features and techniques • sentence forms.

Now I’m back at the back stream and the solid wooden fencing has been torn aside. Blasted apart as if some careless giant had passed by and trodden on it. I stare at the wood, not splintered or broken, but melted. Dissolved and warped. Curled aside to make a small space. Space enough for a child to walk through. What could do that? What power is there that would leave that mark? I hesitate, feeling the first great lurch of fear for myself. ‘Amy?’ I cry out. Nothing. Beyond me the gaping dark of the cemetery.

30

Writing:

Describe a time when a character was chased

Or, Write a description inspired by this image.

31

Lesson 9: The Woman in Black by Susan Hill

Reading

However, toward the end of it, and on hearing some slight rustle behind me, I half-turned, discreetly, and

caught a glimpse of another mourner, a woman who must have slipped into the church after we of the

funeral party had taken our places and who stood several rows behind and quite alone, very erect and still,

and not holding a prayer book. She was dressed in deepest black, in the style of full mourning that had

gone out of fashion except, I imagined, in court circles on the most formal of occasions. Indeed, it had

clearly been dug out of some old trunk or wardrobe, for its blackness was a little rusty looking. A bonnet-

type hat covered her head and shaded her face, but, although I did not stare, even the swift glance I took

of the woman showed me enough to recognize that she was suffering from some terrible wasting disease,

for not only was she extremely pale, even more than a contrast with the blackness of her garments could

account for, but the skin and, it seemed, only the thinnest layer of flesh was tautly stretched and strained

across her bones, so that it gleamed with a curious, blue-white sheen, and her eyes seemed sunken back

into her head. Her hands that rested on the pew before her were in a similar state, as though she had been

a victim of starvation. Though not any medical expert, I had heard of certain conditions which caused such

terrible wasting, such ravages of the flesh, and knew that they were generally regarded as incurable, and it

seemed poignant that a woman, who was perhaps only a short time away from her own death, should drag

herself to the funeral of another.

Reading: Read the part of text below:

Question 2: How does the writer use language to describe the woman? You could include the writer’s choice of:

words and phrases

language features and techniques

sentence forms

A bonnet-type hat covered her head and shaded her face, but, although I did not stare, even the

swift glance I took of the woman showed me enough to recognize that she was suffering from

some terrible wasting disease, for not only was she extremely pale, even more than a contrast

with the blackness of her garments could account for, but the skin and, it seemed, only the

thinnest layer of flesh was tautly stretched and strained across her bones, so that it gleamed with

a curious, blue-white sheen, and her eyes seemed sunken back into her head. Her hands that

rested on the pew before her were in a similar state, as though she had been a victim of

starvation.

32

Writing: Write a description as suggested by this picture:

Or, write a story about a walk in the woods.

33

Lesson 10: Holes by Louis Sachar

Reading:

1

There is no lake at Camp Green Lake. There once was a very large lake here, the largest lake in Texas. That was over a hundred years ago. Now it is just a dry, flat wasteland.

There used to be a town of Green Lake as well. The town shriveled and dried up along with the lake, and the people who lived there.

During the summer the daytime temperature hovers around ninety-five degrees in the shade— if you can find any shade. There's not much shade in a big dry lake.

The only trees are two old oaks on the eastern edge of the "lake." A hammock is stretched between the two trees, and a log cabin stands behind that.

The campers are forbidden to lie in the hammock. It belongs to the Warden. The Warden owns the shade.

Out on the lake, rattlesnakes and scorpions find shade under rocks and in the holes dug by the campers.

Here's a good rule to remember about rattlesnakes and scorpions: If you don't bother them, they won't bother you.

Usually.

Being bitten by a scorpion or even a rattlesnake is not the worst thing that can happen to you. You won't die.

Usually.

Sometimes a camper will try to be bitten by a scorpion, or even a small rattlesnake. Then he will get to spend a day or two recovering in his tent, instead of having to dig a hole out on the lake.

But you don't want to be bitten by a yellow-spotted lizard. That's the worst thing that can happen to you. You will die a slow and painful death.

Always.

If you get bitten by a yellow-spotted lizard, you might as well go into the shade of the oak trees and lie in the hammock.

There is nothing anyone can do to you anymore.

2

The reader is probably asking: Why would anyone go to Camp Green Lake?

Most campers weren't given a choice. Camp Green Lake is a camp for bad boys.

If you take a bad boy and make him dig a hole every day in the hot sun, it will turn him into a good boy.

That was what some people thought.

Stanley Yelnats was given a choice. The judge said, "You may go to jail, or you may go to Camp Green Lake."

Stanley was from a poor family. He had never been to camp before.

3

Stanley Yelnats was the only passenger on the bus, not counting the driver or the guard. The guard sat next to the driver with his seat turned around facing Stanley. A rifle lay across his lap.

Stanley was sitting about ten rows back, handcuffed to his armrest. His backpack lay on the seat next to him It contained his toothbrush, toothpaste, and a box of stationery his mother had given him. He'd promised to write to her at least once a week.

34

He looked out the window, although there wasn't much to see— mostly fields of hay and cotton. He was on a long bus ride to nowhere The bus wasn't air-conditioned, and the hot, heavy air was almost as stifling as the handcuffs.

Question 2: How does the writer use language here to describe the desert?


Words and phrases


Sentence forms

Writing:

Write a description as inspired by this picture.

Or, write a story about being lost in the desert.

35

Lesson 11: The Adventure of the Speckled Band by Sherlock Holmes

Reading:

“…It is precisely for that reason that we are going to Stoke Moran this day. I want to see whether the objections are fatal, or if they may be explained away. But what in the name of the devil!”

The ejaculation had been drawn from my companion by the fact that our door had been suddenly dashed open, and that a huge man had framed himself in the aperture. His costume was a peculiar mixture of the professional and of the agricultural, having a black top-hat, a long frock-coat, and a pair of high gaiters, with a hunting-crop swinging in his hand. So tall was he that his hat actually brushed the cross bar of the doorway, and his breadth seemed to span it across from side to side. A large face, seared with a thousand wrinkles, burned yellow with the sun, and marked with every evil passion, was turned from one to the other of us, while his deep-set, bile-shot eyes, and his high, thin, fleshless nose, gave him somewhat the resemblance to a fierce old bird of prey.

“Which of you is Holmes?” asked this apparition.

“My name, sir; but you have the advantage of me,” said my companion quietly.

“I am Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke Moran.”

“Indeed, Doctor,” said Holmes blandly. “Pray take a seat.”

“I will do nothing of the kind. My stepdaughter has been here. I have traced her. What has she been saying to you?”

“It is a little cold for the time of the year,” said Holmes.

“What has she been saying to you?” screamed the old man furiously.

“But I have heard that the crocuses promise well,” continued my companion imperturbably.

“Ha! You put me off, do you?” said our new visitor, taking a step forward and shaking his hunting-crop. “I know you, you scoundrel! I have heard of you before. You are Holmes, the meddler.”

My friend smiled.

“Holmes, the busybody!”

His smile broadened.

“Holmes, the Scotland Yard Jack-in-office!”

Holmes chuckled heartily. “Your conversation is most entertaining,” said he. “When you go out close the door, for there is a decided draught.”

“I will go when I have had my say. Don’t you dare to meddle with my affairs. I know that Miss Stoner has been here. I traced her! I am a dangerous man to fall foul of! See here.” He stepped swiftly forward, seized the poker, and bent it into a curve with his huge brown hands.

“See that you keep yourself out of my grip,” he snarled, and hurling the twisted poker into the fireplace he strode out of the room.

“He seems a very amiable person,” said Holmes, laughing. “I am not quite so bulky, but if he had remained I might have shown him that my grip was not much more feeble than his own.” As he spoke he picked up the steel poker and, with a sudden effort, straightened it out again.

36

Question 2: How does the writer use language to describe the character at the door?


Words and phrases


Sentence forms Writing: Write a description as inspired by this picture:

Or, Describe a journey that begins with a mysterious entrance.

The ejaculation had been drawn from my companion by the fact that our door had been suddenly dashed open, and that a huge man had framed himself in the aperture. His costume was a peculiar mixture of the professional and of the agricultural, having a black top-hat, a long frock-coat, and a pair of high gaiters, with a hunting-crop swinging in his hand. So tall was he that his hat actually brushed the cross bar of the doorway, and his breadth seemed to span it across from side to side. A large face, seared with a thousand wrinkles, burned yellow with the sun, and marked with every evil passion, was turned from one to the other of us, while his deep-set, bile-shot eyes, and his high, thin, fleshless nose, gave him somewhat the resemblance to a fierce old bird of prey.

37

Lesson 12: The Great Gatsby by F Scott Fitzgerald

Reading: This extract is from a novel. In this section the narrator describes the extravagant parties held by his rich neighbour. There was music from my neighbor's house through the summer nights. In his blue gardens men and girls came and went like moths among the whisperings and the champagne and the stars. At high tide in the afternoon I watched his guests diving from the tower of his raft or taking the sun on the hot sand of his beach while his two motor-boats slit the waters of the Sound, drawing aquaplanes over cataracts of foam. On week-ends his Rolls-Royce became an omnibus, bearing parties to and from the city, between nine in the morning and long past midnight, while his station wagon* scampered like a brisk yellow bug to meet all trains. And on Mondays eight servants including an extra gardener toiled all day with mops and scrubbing-brushes and hammers and garden-shears, repairing the ravages of the night before.

Every Friday five crates of oranges and lemons arrived from a fruiterer in New York—every Monday these same oranges and lemons left his back door in a pyramid of pulpless halves. There was a machine in the kitchen which could extract the juice of two hundred oranges in half an hour, if a little button was pressed two hundred times by a butler’s thumb.

At least once a fortnight a corps of caterers came down with several hundred feet of canvas and enough colored lights to make a Christmas tree of Gatsby’s enormous garden. On buffet tables, garnished with glistening hors-d’oeuvre*, spiced baked hams crowded against salads of harlequin designs and pastry pigs and turkeys bewitched to a dark gold. In the main hall a bar with a real brass rail was set up, and stocked with gins and liquors and with cordials so long forgotten that most of his female guests were too young to know one from another.

By seven o’clock the orchestra has arrived—no thin five-piece affair but a whole pitful of oboes and trombones and saxophones and viols and cornets and piccolos and low and high drums. The last swimmers have come in from the beach now and are dressing upstairs; the cars from New York are parked five deep in the drive, and already the halls and salons and verandas are gaudy with primary colors and hair shorn in strange new ways and shawls beyond the dreams of Castile. The bar is in full swing and floating rounds of cocktails permeate the garden outside until the air is alive with chatter and laughter and casual innuendo and introductions forgotten on the spot and enthusiastic meetings between women who never knew each other’s names.

The lights grow brighter as the earth lurches away from the sun and now the orchestra is playing yellow cocktail music and the opera of voices pitches a key higher. Laughter is easier, minute by minute, spilled with prodigality*, tipped out at a cheerful word. The groups change more swiftly, swell with new arrivals, dissolve and form in the same breath—already there are wanderers, confident girls who weave here and there among the stouter and more stable, become for a sharp, joyous moment the center of a group and then excited with triumph glide on through the sea-change of faces and voices and color under the constantly changing light.

Suddenly one of these gypsies in trembling opal, seizes a cocktail out of the air, dumps it down for courage and moving her hands like Frisco dances out alone on the canvas platform. A momentary hush; the orchestra leader varies his rhythm obligingly for her and there is a burst of chatter as the erroneous news goes around that she is Gilda Gray's understudy from the "Follies." The party has begun.

*Glossary station wagon = an estate car hors-d’oeuvre = a small portion of food served as an appetizer before a main meal prodigality = wasteful luxury

38

Question 3: You now need to think about the whole of the Source. This extract comes at the beginning of a chapter. How has the writer structured the text to interest you as a reader? You could write about:




Writing:

Write a description suggested by this picture:

Or: Write a story opening for a genre of your choice. Set the scene vividly.

39

Reading

On a cold, fretful afternoon in early October, 1872, a hansom cab drew up outside the offices of Lockhart

and Selby, Shipping Agents in the financial heart of London, and a young girl got out and paid the

driver. She was a person of sixteen or so – alone, and uncommonly pretty. She was slender and pale, and

dressed in mourning, with a black bonnet under which she tucked back a straying twist of blonde hair that

the wind had teased loose. She had unusually dark brown eyes for one so fair. Her name was Sally

Lockhart; and within fifteen minutes, she was going to kill a man.

She stood looking up at the building for a moment, and climbed the three steps and entered. There

was a drab corridor facing her, with a porter’s office on the right, where an old man sat in front of a fire

reading a Penny Dreadful. She tapped on the glass, and he sat up guiltily, thrusting the magazine down

beside his chair.

“Beg pardon, miss,” he said. “Didn’t see yer come in.”

“I’ve come to see Mr Selby,” she said. “But he wasn’t expecting me.”

“Name, please, miss?”

“My name is Lockhart. My father was…Mr Lockhart.”

He became friendlier at once.

“Miss Sally, is it? You been here before, miss!”

“Have I? I’m sorry, I don’t remember…”

“Must’ve been ten year ago at least. You sat by my fire and had a ginger biscuit and told me all

about your pony. You forgotten already? Dear me… I was very sorry to hear about your father, miss. That

was a terrible thing, the ship going down like that. He was a real gentleman, miss.”

“Yes…Thank you. It was partly about my father that I came. Is Mr Selby in? Can I see him?”

“Well, I’m afraid he ain’t, miss. He’s in the West India Docks on business. But Mr Higgs is here –

the Company Secretary, miss. He’ll be glad to talk to you.”

“Thank you. I’d better see him, then.”

The porter rang a bell, and a small boy appeared, like a sudden solidification of all the grime in the

Cheapside air. His jacket was torn in three places, his collar had come adrift from the shirt, and his hair

looked as if it had been used for an experiment with the powers of electricity.

“What d’yer want?” said this apparition, whose name was Jim.

“Mind yer manners,” said the porter. “Take this young lady up to see Mr Higgs, and smartish. This

is Miss Lockhart.”

The boy’s sharp eyes took her in for a moment, and then flicked back suspiciously to the porter.

“You got my Union Jack,” he said. “I seen yer hide it when old Higgsy come in earlier.”

“I ain’t,” said the porter, without conviction. “Get on and do as yer told.”

“I’ll have it,” said the boy. “You wait. You ain’t stealing my property. Come on,” he added to Sally,

and withdrew.

40

“You’ll have to forgive him, Miss Lockhart,” said the porter. “He weren’t caught young enough to

tame, that one.”

“I don’t mind,” said Sally. “Thank you. I’ll look in and say goodbye before I go.”

The boy was waiting for her at the foot of the staircase.

“Was the boss your old man?” he said as they climbed.

“Yes,” she said, meaning to say more, but not finding the words.

“He was a good bloke.”

It was a gesture of sympathy, she thought, and felt grateful.

“Do you know anyone called Marchbanks?” she said. “Is there a Mr Marchbanks who works here?”

“No. Never heard the name before.”

“Or – have you ever heard…”

They were near the top of the stairs now, and she stopped to finish the question.

“Have you ever heard of The Seven Blessings?”

“Eh?”

“Please,” she said. “It’s important.”

“No, I ain’t,” he said. “Sounds like a pub or summat. What is it?”

“It’s just something I heard. It’s nothing. Forget it, please,” she said, and moved up to the top of

the stairs. “Where do I find Mr Higgs?”

“In ‘ere,” he said, knocking thunderously at a panelled door. Without waiting for an answer, he

opened it and called, “Lady to see Mr Higgs. Name of Miss Lockhart.”

She entered, and the door closed behind her. The room was full of a fug of cigar smoke, and an

atmosphere of polished leather, mahogany, silver inkwells, drawers with brass handles, and glass

paperweights. A portly man was trying to roll up a large wall-map on the other side of the room, and

gleaming with effort. His pate gleamed, his boots gleamed, the Masonic seal on the heavy gold watch-

chain over his paunch gleamed, and his face was shiny with heat, and red with years of wine and food.

Question 3 You now need to think about the whole of the Source. This extract comes at the beginning of a chapter. How has the writer structured the text to interest you as a reader? You could write about:




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Writing

EITHER write a story inspired by this picture

OR write a description of a criminal.

English Language Paper 1 Reading and Writing Name: 1. 2.

Documents

Transcript of English Language Paper 1 Reading and Writing Name: 1. 2.