Free AQA GCSE English Language (8700) Exam Questions and Answers

A travel website is running a creative writing competition and will publish the winning entries. Either Write a description of an unusual place to stay, as suggested by this picture: or Write a story about a life-saving rescue.

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21st Century prose-fiction. The Life of Pi by Yann Martel. An extract from the middle of a novel written in 2001 This extract is from the middle of a novel. The narrator, a teenage boy called Pi, is in a large lifeboat in the Pacific Ocean. There are no people with him in the lifeboat but there are several animals, including an orang-utan, a zebra and a hyena. 1 It was the hyena that worried me. I had not forgotten Father’s words. Hyenas attack in packs whatever animal can be run down. They go for zebras, gnus and water buffaloes, and not only the old or the infirm in a herd but full-grown members too. They are hardy attackers, rising up from buttings and kickings immediately, 5 never giving up for simple lack of will. And they are clever; anything that can be distracted from its mother is good. I could hear the hyena whining. I clung to the hope that a zebra, a familiar prey, and an orang-utan, an unfamiliar one, would distract it from thoughts of me. I kept one eye on the horizon, one eye on the other end of the lifeboat. 10 I am not one to hold a prejudice against any animal, but it is a plain fact that the spotted hyena is not well served by its appearance. It is ugly beyond redemption. Its shaggy, coarse coat is a bungled mix of colours, with the spots having none of the classy ostentation of a leopard’s, they look rather like the symptoms of a skin disease. The head is broad and too massive, with a high forehead, like that of a 15 bear, but suffering from a receding hairline, and with ears that look ridiculously mouse-like, large and round, when they haven’t been torn off in battle. The mouth is forever open and panting. The nostrils are too big. The tail is scraggly and unwagging. All the parts put together look doglike, but like no dog anyone would want as a pet. 20 I was hoping the hyena would stay under the tarpaulin. I was disappointed. Nearly immediately it leapt over the zebra and onto the stern bench. There it turned on itself a few times, whimpering and hesitating. I wondered what it was going to do next. The answer came quickly: it brought its head low and ran around the zebra in a circle, transforming the stern bench, the side benches and the cross bench just 25 beyond the tarpaulin into a twenty-five-foot indoor track. It did one lap-two-three-four-five-and onwards, non-stop, till I lost count. And the whole time, lap after lap, it went yip yip yip yip yip in a high-pitched way. My reaction, once again, was very slow. I was seized by fear and could only watch. The beast was going at a good clip, and it was no small animal. The beating of its 30 legs against the benches made the whole boat shake, and its claws were loudly clicking on their surface. Each time it came from the stern I tensed. It was hair-raising enough to see the thing racing my way; worse still was the fear that it would keep going straight. After a number of laps it stopped short at the stern bench and crouched, directing 35 its gaze downwards, to the space below the tarpaulin. It lifted its eyes and rested them upon me. The look was nearly the typical look of a hyena – blank and frank, jaw hanging open, big ears sticking up rigidly, eyes bright and black. I prepared for my end. For nothing. It started running in circles again. When an animal decides to do something, it can do it for a very long time. All 40 morning the hyena ran in circles going yip yip yip yip yip. Every time the hyena paused at the stern bench, my heart jumped. And as much as I wanted to direct my attention to the horizon, to where my salvation lay, it kept straying back to this maniacal beast. Things ended in typical hyena fashion. It stopped at the stern and started 45 producing deep groans interrupted by fits of heavy panting. I pushed myself away on the oar till only the tips of my feet were holding on to the boat. The animal hacked and coughed. Abruptly it vomited. A gush landed behind the zebra. The hyena dropped into what it had just produced. It stayed there, shaking and whining and turning around on itself, exploring the furthest confines of animal anguish. It 50 did not move from the restricted space for the rest of the day. END OF SOURCE Read again the first part of the source, from lines 1 to 6. List four things about hyenas from this part of the source. 1 2 3 4

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21st Century prose-fiction. The Life of Pi by Yann Martel. An extract from the middle of a novel written in 2001 This extract is from the middle of a novel. The narrator, a teenage boy called Pi, is in a large lifeboat in the Pacific Ocean. There are no people with him in the lifeboat but there are several animals, including an orang-utan, a zebra and a hyena. 1 It was the hyena that worried me. I had not forgotten Father’s words. Hyenas attack in packs whatever animal can be run down. They go for zebras, gnus and water buffaloes, and not only the old or the infirm in a herd but full-grown members too. They are hardy attackers, rising up from buttings and kickings immediately, 5 never giving up for simple lack of will. And they are clever; anything that can be distracted from its mother is good. I could hear the hyena whining. I clung to the hope that a zebra, a familiar prey, and an orang-utan, an unfamiliar one, would distract it from thoughts of me. I kept one eye on the horizon, one eye on the other end of the lifeboat. 10 I am not one to hold a prejudice against any animal, but it is a plain fact that the spotted hyena is not well served by its appearance. It is ugly beyond redemption. Its shaggy, coarse coat is a bungled mix of colours, with the spots having none of the classy ostentation of a leopard’s, they look rather like the symptoms of a skin disease. The head is broad and too massive, with a high forehead, like that of a 15 bear, but suffering from a receding hairline, and with ears that look ridiculously mouse-like, large and round, when they haven’t been torn off in battle. The mouth is forever open and panting. The nostrils are too big. The tail is scraggly and unwagging. All the parts put together look doglike, but like no dog anyone would want as a pet. 20 I was hoping the hyena would stay under the tarpaulin. I was disappointed. Nearly immediately it leapt over the zebra and onto the stern bench. There it turned on itself a few times, whimpering and hesitating. I wondered what it was going to do next. The answer came quickly: it brought its head low and ran around the zebra in a circle, transforming the stern bench, the side benches and the cross bench just 25 beyond the tarpaulin into a twenty-five-foot indoor track. It did one lap-two-three-four-five-and onwards, non-stop, till I lost count. And the whole time, lap after lap, it went yip yip yip yip yip in a high-pitched way. My reaction, once again, was very slow. I was seized by fear and could only watch. The beast was going at a good clip, and it was no small animal. The beating of its 30 legs against the benches made the whole boat shake, and its claws were loudly clicking on their surface. Each time it came from the stern I tensed. It was hair-raising enough to see the thing racing my way; worse still was the fear that it would keep going straight. After a number of laps it stopped short at the stern bench and crouched, directing 35 its gaze downwards, to the space below the tarpaulin. It lifted its eyes and rested them upon me. The look was nearly the typical look of a hyena – blank and frank, jaw hanging open, big ears sticking up rigidly, eyes bright and black. I prepared for my end. For nothing. It started running in circles again. When an animal decides to do something, it can do it for a very long time. All 40 morning the hyena ran in circles going yip yip yip yip yip. Every time the hyena paused at the stern bench, my heart jumped. And as much as I wanted to direct my attention to the horizon, to where my salvation lay, it kept straying back to this maniacal beast. Things ended in typical hyena fashion. It stopped at the stern and started 45 producing deep groans interrupted by fits of heavy panting. I pushed myself away on the oar till only the tips of my feet were holding on to the boat. The animal hacked and coughed. Abruptly it vomited. A gush landed behind the zebra. The hyena dropped into what it had just produced. It stayed there, shaking and whining and turning around on itself, exploring the furthest confines of animal anguish. It 50 did not move from the restricted space for the rest of the day. END OF SOURCE Look in detail at this extract, from lines 10 to 19 of the source: I am not one to hold a prejudice against any animal, but it is a plain fact that the spotted hyena is not well served by its appearance. It is ugly beyond redemption. Its shaggy, coarse coat is a bungled mix of colours, with the spots having none of the classy ostentation of a leopard’s, they look rather like the symptoms of a skin disease. The head is broad and too massive, with a high forehead, like that of a bear, but suffering from a receding hairline, and with ears that look ridiculously mouse-like, large and round, when they haven’t been torn off in battle. The mouth is forever open and panting. The nostrils are too big. The tail is scraggly and unwagging. All the parts put together look doglike, but like no dog anyone would want as a pet. How does the writer use language here to describe the hyena’s appearance? You could include the writer’s choice of: • words and phrases • language features and techniques • sentence forms.

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21st Century prose-fiction. The Life of Pi by Yann Martel. An extract from the middle of a novel written in 2001 This extract is from the middle of a novel. The narrator, a teenage boy called Pi, is in a large lifeboat in the Pacific Ocean. There are no people with him in the lifeboat but there are several animals, including an orang-utan, a zebra and a hyena. 1 It was the hyena that worried me. I had not forgotten Father’s words. Hyenas attack in packs whatever animal can be run down. They go for zebras, gnus and water buffaloes, and not only the old or the infirm in a herd but full-grown members too. They are hardy attackers, rising up from buttings and kickings immediately, 5 never giving up for simple lack of will. And they are clever; anything that can be distracted from its mother is good. I could hear the hyena whining. I clung to the hope that a zebra, a familiar prey, and an orang-utan, an unfamiliar one, would distract it from thoughts of me. I kept one eye on the horizon, one eye on the other end of the lifeboat. 10 I am not one to hold a prejudice against any animal, but it is a plain fact that the spotted hyena is not well served by its appearance. It is ugly beyond redemption. Its shaggy, coarse coat is a bungled mix of colours, with the spots having none of the classy ostentation of a leopard’s, they look rather like the symptoms of a skin disease. The head is broad and too massive, with a high forehead, like that of a 15 bear, but suffering from a receding hairline, and with ears that look ridiculously mouse-like, large and round, when they haven’t been torn off in battle. The mouth is forever open and panting. The nostrils are too big. The tail is scraggly and unwagging. All the parts put together look doglike, but like no dog anyone would want as a pet. 20 I was hoping the hyena would stay under the tarpaulin. I was disappointed. Nearly immediately it leapt over the zebra and onto the stern bench. There it turned on itself a few times, whimpering and hesitating. I wondered what it was going to do next. The answer came quickly: it brought its head low and ran around the zebra in a circle, transforming the stern bench, the side benches and the cross bench just 25 beyond the tarpaulin into a twenty-five-foot indoor track. It did one lap-two-three-four-five-and onwards, non-stop, till I lost count. And the whole time, lap after lap, it went yip yip yip yip yip in a high-pitched way. My reaction, once again, was very slow. I was seized by fear and could only watch. The beast was going at a good clip, and it was no small animal. The beating of its 30 legs against the benches made the whole boat shake, and its claws were loudly clicking on their surface. Each time it came from the stern I tensed. It was hair-raising enough to see the thing racing my way; worse still was the fear that it would keep going straight. After a number of laps it stopped short at the stern bench and crouched, directing 35 its gaze downwards, to the space below the tarpaulin. It lifted its eyes and rested them upon me. The look was nearly the typical look of a hyena – blank and frank, jaw hanging open, big ears sticking up rigidly, eyes bright and black. I prepared for my end. For nothing. It started running in circles again. When an animal decides to do something, it can do it for a very long time. All 40 morning the hyena ran in circles going yip yip yip yip yip. Every time the hyena paused at the stern bench, my heart jumped. And as much as I wanted to direct my attention to the horizon, to where my salvation lay, it kept straying back to this maniacal beast. Things ended in typical hyena fashion. It stopped at the stern and started 45 producing deep groans interrupted by fits of heavy panting. I pushed myself away on the oar till only the tips of my feet were holding on to the boat. The animal hacked and coughed. Abruptly it vomited. A gush landed behind the zebra. The hyena dropped into what it had just produced. It stayed there, shaking and whining and turning around on itself, exploring the furthest confines of animal anguish. It 50 did not move from the restricted space for the rest of the day. END OF SOURCE You now need to think about the whole of the source. This text is from the middle of a novel. How has the writer structured the text to interest you as a reader? You could write about: • what the writer focuses your attention on at the beginning of the source • how and why the writer changes this focus as the source develops • any other structural features that interest you.

Type your answer, then reveal.

21st Century prose-fiction. The Life of Pi by Yann Martel. An extract from the middle of a novel written in 2001 This extract is from the middle of a novel. The narrator, a teenage boy called Pi, is in a large lifeboat in the Pacific Ocean. There are no people with him in the lifeboat but there are several animals, including an orang-utan, a zebra and a hyena. 1 It was the hyena that worried me. I had not forgotten Father’s words. Hyenas attack in packs whatever animal can be run down. They go for zebras, gnus and water buffaloes, and not only the old or the infirm in a herd but full-grown members too. They are hardy attackers, rising up from buttings and kickings immediately, 5 never giving up for simple lack of will. And they are clever; anything that can be distracted from its mother is good. I could hear the hyena whining. I clung to the hope that a zebra, a familiar prey, and an orang-utan, an unfamiliar one, would distract it from thoughts of me. I kept one eye on the horizon, one eye on the other end of the lifeboat. 10 I am not one to hold a prejudice against any animal, but it is a plain fact that the spotted hyena is not well served by its appearance. It is ugly beyond redemption. Its shaggy, coarse coat is a bungled mix of colours, with the spots having none of the classy ostentation of a leopard’s, they look rather like the symptoms of a skin disease. The head is broad and too massive, with a high forehead, like that of a 15 bear, but suffering from a receding hairline, and with ears that look ridiculously mouse-like, large and round, when they haven’t been torn off in battle. The mouth is forever open and panting. The nostrils are too big. The tail is scraggly and unwagging. All the parts put together look doglike, but like no dog anyone would want as a pet. 20 I was hoping the hyena would stay under the tarpaulin. I was disappointed. Nearly immediately it leapt over the zebra and onto the stern bench. There it turned on itself a few times, whimpering and hesitating. I wondered what it was going to do next. The answer came quickly: it brought its head low and ran around the zebra in a circle, transforming the stern bench, the side benches and the cross bench just 25 beyond the tarpaulin into a twenty-five-foot indoor track. It did one lap-two-three-four-five-and onwards, non-stop, till I lost count. And the whole time, lap after lap, it went yip yip yip yip yip in a high-pitched way. My reaction, once again, was very slow. I was seized by fear and could only watch. The beast was going at a good clip, and it was no small animal. The beating of its 30 legs against the benches made the whole boat shake, and its claws were loudly clicking on their surface. Each time it came from the stern I tensed. It was hair-raising enough to see the thing racing my way; worse still was the fear that it would keep going straight. After a number of laps it stopped short at the stern bench and crouched, directing 35 its gaze downwards, to the space below the tarpaulin. It lifted its eyes and rested them upon me. The look was nearly the typical look of a hyena – blank and frank, jaw hanging open, big ears sticking up rigidly, eyes bright and black. I prepared for my end. For nothing. It started running in circles again. When an animal decides to do something, it can do it for a very long time. All 40 morning the hyena ran in circles going yip yip yip yip yip. Every time the hyena paused at the stern bench, my heart jumped. And as much as I wanted to direct my attention to the horizon, to where my salvation lay, it kept straying back to this maniacal beast. Things ended in typical hyena fashion. It stopped at the stern and started 45 producing deep groans interrupted by fits of heavy panting. I pushed myself away on the oar till only the tips of my feet were holding on to the boat. The animal hacked and coughed. Abruptly it vomited. A gush landed behind the zebra. The hyena dropped into what it had just produced. It stayed there, shaking and whining and turning around on itself, exploring the furthest confines of animal anguish. It 50 did not move from the restricted space for the rest of the day. END OF SOURCE Focus this part of your answer on the second part of the source, from line 20 to the end. A student said, “This part of the story, where the hyena behaves wildly, is funny rather than frightening. The writer suggests that the hyena is actually no serious threat to Pi.” To what extent do you agree? In your response, you could: • consider your impressions of how the hyena behaves • evaluate how the writer presents the threat of the hyena to Pi • support your response with references to the text.

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20th Century prose fiction: The Grass is Singing by Doris Lessing. An extract from the middle of a novel published in 1950 This extract is taken from the middle of a novel, set in Southern Africa in the 1940s. Mary has recently moved from town to a farm after marrying Dick, a poor farmer. 1 And then, suddenly, the heat became intolerable. Outside in the bush the cicadas shrilled incessantly, and Mary’s head ached; her limbs were heavy and tense. She would get up and go into the bedroom, to examine her clothes, to see if there was anything she could do: any bit of embroidery, or an alteration. With nothing to do, 5 she would wander on to the verandah* until at last her head began to swim, and she had to go back to the house to get a glass of water. 7 As time passed, the heat became an obsession. Outside, there was a rough heap of giant boulders, and she would watch the heat-waves beat up out of the hot stone, where the heat lizards, vivid red and blue and emerald, darted over the rocks like 10 flames. Inside, she could not bear the sapping, undermining waves that beat down from the iron roof. Even the usually active dogs used to lie all day on the verandah. Mary could hear them panting softly, or whining with exasperation because of the flies. She would lock them out of the house, and in the middle of the morning she would tell a worker to carry a petrol tin full of lukewarm water into the bedroom, and, 15 having made sure he was out of the house, she stood in a basin on the brick floor, pouring it over her. The scattering drops fell on the porous brick, which hissed with 17 dryness. 18 ‘When is it going to rain?’ she asked Dick. ‘Oh, not for another month yet,’ he answered easily, but looking surprised at her 20 question. Surely she knew when the rains were likely to fall? She had been in the country longer than he had. But it seemed to her that in the town there had been no seasons, really, not as there were here. She had been out of the rhythm of cold and heat and rain. It had been hot, it had rained, the cold weather had come – yes, certainly; but it was something happening independently of her. Here, body and mind 25 were subservient to the slow movement of the seasons; she had never in her life watched the implacable sky for signs of rain, as she did now, standing on the verandah, and screwing up her eyes at the great massed white cloud, like blocks of glittering crystal quartz sailing through the blue. ‘The water is going very quickly,’ said Dick, one day, frowning. 30 It was fetched twice a week from the bottom of the hill where the well was. Mary would hear shouting and yelling, as if someone were in agonised pain, and going out in front of the house, she watched the water-cart come through the trees, drawn by two slow-moving beautiful oxen, straining their hindquarters up the slope. ‘What are you using it for?’ asked Dick. She told him. His face darkened, and he 35 looked at her in incredulous horror, as if she had committed a crime. ‘What, wasting it like that?’ ‘I am not wasting it,’ she said coldly. ‘I am so hot I can’t stand it. I want to cool myself.’ Dick swallowed, trying to keep calm. ‘Listen to me,’ he said angrily, in a voice he had 40 never before used to her. ‘Listen to me! Every time I order the water-cart to fetch water for the house, it means a driver, and two workers, and two oxen off other work for a whole morning. It costs money to fetch water. And then you go and throw it away! Why don’t you fill the bath with water and get into it, instead of wasting it and throwing it away each time?’ 45 She was furious. This seemed the last straw. Here she was, living here uncomplainingly, suffering these hardships; and then she could not use a couple of gallons of water! She opened her mouth to shout at him, but before she could, he had become suddenly sorry because of the way he had spoken to her; and there was another of those little scenes which comforted and soothed her: he apologising, 50 blaming himself, and she forgiving him. Glossary: * verandah – an open, roofed area along the outside of a house. Read again the first part of the source from lines 1 to 6. List four things about Mary from this part of the source. 1 2 3 4

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20th Century prose fiction: The Grass is Singing by Doris Lessing. An extract from the middle of a novel published in 1950 This extract is taken from the middle of a novel, set in Southern Africa in the 1940s. Mary has recently moved from town to a farm after marrying Dick, a poor farmer. 1 And then, suddenly, the heat became intolerable. Outside in the bush the cicadas shrilled incessantly, and Mary’s head ached; her limbs were heavy and tense. She would get up and go into the bedroom, to examine her clothes, to see if there was anything she could do: any bit of embroidery, or an alteration. With nothing to do, 5 she would wander on to the verandah* until at last her head began to swim, and she had to go back to the house to get a glass of water. 7 As time passed, the heat became an obsession. Outside, there was a rough heap of giant boulders, and she would watch the heat-waves beat up out of the hot stone, where the heat lizards, vivid red and blue and emerald, darted over the rocks like 10 flames. Inside, she could not bear the sapping, undermining waves that beat down from the iron roof. Even the usually active dogs used to lie all day on the verandah. Mary could hear them panting softly, or whining with exasperation because of the flies. She would lock them out of the house, and in the middle of the morning she would tell a worker to carry a petrol tin full of lukewarm water into the bedroom, and, 15 having made sure he was out of the house, she stood in a basin on the brick floor, pouring it over her. The scattering drops fell on the porous brick, which hissed with 17 dryness. 18 ‘When is it going to rain?’ she asked Dick. ‘Oh, not for another month yet,’ he answered easily, but looking surprised at her 20 question. Surely she knew when the rains were likely to fall? She had been in the country longer than he had. But it seemed to her that in the town there had been no seasons, really, not as there were here. She had been out of the rhythm of cold and heat and rain. It had been hot, it had rained, the cold weather had come – yes, certainly; but it was something happening independently of her. Here, body and mind 25 were subservient to the slow movement of the seasons; she had never in her life watched the implacable sky for signs of rain, as she did now, standing on the verandah, and screwing up her eyes at the great massed white cloud, like blocks of glittering crystal quartz sailing through the blue. ‘The water is going very quickly,’ said Dick, one day, frowning. 30 It was fetched twice a week from the bottom of the hill where the well was. Mary would hear shouting and yelling, as if someone were in agonised pain, and going out in front of the house, she watched the water-cart come through the trees, drawn by two slow-moving beautiful oxen, straining their hindquarters up the slope. ‘What are you using it for?’ asked Dick. She told him. His face darkened, and he 35 looked at her in incredulous horror, as if she had committed a crime. ‘What, wasting it like that?’ ‘I am not wasting it,’ she said coldly. ‘I am so hot I can’t stand it. I want to cool myself.’ Dick swallowed, trying to keep calm. ‘Listen to me,’ he said angrily, in a voice he had 40 never before used to her. ‘Listen to me! Every time I order the water-cart to fetch water for the house, it means a driver, and two workers, and two oxen off other work for a whole morning. It costs money to fetch water. And then you go and throw it away! Why don’t you fill the bath with water and get into it, instead of wasting it and throwing it away each time?’ 45 She was furious. This seemed the last straw. Here she was, living here uncomplainingly, suffering these hardships; and then she could not use a couple of gallons of water! She opened her mouth to shout at him, but before she could, he had become suddenly sorry because of the way he had spoken to her; and there was another of those little scenes which comforted and soothed her: he apologising, 50 blaming himself, and she forgiving him. Glossary: * verandah – an open, roofed area along the outside of a house. Look in detail at this extract, from lines 7 to 17 of the source: As time passed, the heat became an obsession. Outside, there was a rough heap of giant boulders, and she would watch the heat-waves beat up out of the hot stone, where the heat lizards, vivid red and blue and emerald, darted over the rocks like flames. Inside, she could not bear the sapping, undermining waves that beat down from the iron roof. Even the usually active dogs used to lie all day on the verandah. Mary could hear them panting softly, or whining with exasperation because of the flies. She would lock them out of the house, and in the middle of the morning she would tell a worker to carry a petrol tin full of lukewarm water into the bedroom, and, having made sure he was out of the house, she stood in a basin on the brick floor, pouring it over her. The scattering drops fell on the porous brick, which hissed with dryness. How does the writer use language here to describe the effects of the heat? You could include the writer’s choice of: • words and phrases • language features and techniques • sentence forms.

Type your answer, then reveal.

20th Century prose fiction: The Grass is Singing by Doris Lessing. An extract from the middle of a novel published in 1950 This extract is taken from the middle of a novel, set in Southern Africa in the 1940s. Mary has recently moved from town to a farm after marrying Dick, a poor farmer. 1 And then, suddenly, the heat became intolerable. Outside in the bush the cicadas shrilled incessantly, and Mary’s head ached; her limbs were heavy and tense. She would get up and go into the bedroom, to examine her clothes, to see if there was anything she could do: any bit of embroidery, or an alteration. With nothing to do, 5 she would wander on to the verandah* until at last her head began to swim, and she had to go back to the house to get a glass of water. 7 As time passed, the heat became an obsession. Outside, there was a rough heap of giant boulders, and she would watch the heat-waves beat up out of the hot stone, where the heat lizards, vivid red and blue and emerald, darted over the rocks like 10 flames. Inside, she could not bear the sapping, undermining waves that beat down from the iron roof. Even the usually active dogs used to lie all day on the verandah. Mary could hear them panting softly, or whining with exasperation because of the flies. She would lock them out of the house, and in the middle of the morning she would tell a worker to carry a petrol tin full of lukewarm water into the bedroom, and, 15 having made sure he was out of the house, she stood in a basin on the brick floor, pouring it over her. The scattering drops fell on the porous brick, which hissed with 17 dryness. 18 ‘When is it going to rain?’ she asked Dick. ‘Oh, not for another month yet,’ he answered easily, but looking surprised at her 20 question. Surely she knew when the rains were likely to fall? She had been in the country longer than he had. But it seemed to her that in the town there had been no seasons, really, not as there were here. She had been out of the rhythm of cold and heat and rain. It had been hot, it had rained, the cold weather had come – yes, certainly; but it was something happening independently of her. Here, body and mind 25 were subservient to the slow movement of the seasons; she had never in her life watched the implacable sky for signs of rain, as she did now, standing on the verandah, and screwing up her eyes at the great massed white cloud, like blocks of glittering crystal quartz sailing through the blue. ‘The water is going very quickly,’ said Dick, one day, frowning. 30 It was fetched twice a week from the bottom of the hill where the well was. Mary would hear shouting and yelling, as if someone were in agonised pain, and going out in front of the house, she watched the water-cart come through the trees, drawn by two slow-moving beautiful oxen, straining their hindquarters up the slope. ‘What are you using it for?’ asked Dick. She told him. His face darkened, and he 35 looked at her in incredulous horror, as if she had committed a crime. ‘What, wasting it like that?’ ‘I am not wasting it,’ she said coldly. ‘I am so hot I can’t stand it. I want to cool myself.’ Dick swallowed, trying to keep calm. ‘Listen to me,’ he said angrily, in a voice he had 40 never before used to her. ‘Listen to me! Every time I order the water-cart to fetch water for the house, it means a driver, and two workers, and two oxen off other work for a whole morning. It costs money to fetch water. And then you go and throw it away! Why don’t you fill the bath with water and get into it, instead of wasting it and throwing it away each time?’ 45 She was furious. This seemed the last straw. Here she was, living here uncomplainingly, suffering these hardships; and then she could not use a couple of gallons of water! She opened her mouth to shout at him, but before she could, he had become suddenly sorry because of the way he had spoken to her; and there was another of those little scenes which comforted and soothed her: he apologising, 50 blaming himself, and she forgiving him. Glossary: * verandah – an open, roofed area along the outside of a house. You now need to think about the whole of the source. This text is taken from the middle of a novel. How has the writer structured the text to interest you as a reader? You could write about: • what the writer focuses your attention on at the beginning of the source • how and why the writer changes this focus as the source develops • any other structural features that interest you.

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20th Century prose fiction: The Grass is Singing by Doris Lessing. An extract from the middle of a novel published in 1950 This extract is taken from the middle of a novel, set in Southern Africa in the 1940s. Mary has recently moved from town to a farm after marrying Dick, a poor farmer. 1 And then, suddenly, the heat became intolerable. Outside in the bush the cicadas shrilled incessantly, and Mary’s head ached; her limbs were heavy and tense. She would get up and go into the bedroom, to examine her clothes, to see if there was anything she could do: any bit of embroidery, or an alteration. With nothing to do, 5 she would wander on to the verandah* until at last her head began to swim, and she had to go back to the house to get a glass of water. 7 As time passed, the heat became an obsession. Outside, there was a rough heap of giant boulders, and she would watch the heat-waves beat up out of the hot stone, where the heat lizards, vivid red and blue and emerald, darted over the rocks like 10 flames. Inside, she could not bear the sapping, undermining waves that beat down from the iron roof. Even the usually active dogs used to lie all day on the verandah. Mary could hear them panting softly, or whining with exasperation because of the flies. She would lock them out of the house, and in the middle of the morning she would tell a worker to carry a petrol tin full of lukewarm water into the bedroom, and, 15 having made sure he was out of the house, she stood in a basin on the brick floor, pouring it over her. The scattering drops fell on the porous brick, which hissed with 17 dryness. 18 ‘When is it going to rain?’ she asked Dick. ‘Oh, not for another month yet,’ he answered easily, but looking surprised at her 20 question. Surely she knew when the rains were likely to fall? She had been in the country longer than he had. But it seemed to her that in the town there had been no seasons, really, not as there were here. She had been out of the rhythm of cold and heat and rain. It had been hot, it had rained, the cold weather had come – yes, certainly; but it was something happening independently of her. Here, body and mind 25 were subservient to the slow movement of the seasons; she had never in her life watched the implacable sky for signs of rain, as she did now, standing on the verandah, and screwing up her eyes at the great massed white cloud, like blocks of glittering crystal quartz sailing through the blue. ‘The water is going very quickly,’ said Dick, one day, frowning. 30 It was fetched twice a week from the bottom of the hill where the well was. Mary would hear shouting and yelling, as if someone were in agonised pain, and going out in front of the house, she watched the water-cart come through the trees, drawn by two slow-moving beautiful oxen, straining their hindquarters up the slope. ‘What are you using it for?’ asked Dick. She told him. His face darkened, and he 35 looked at her in incredulous horror, as if she had committed a crime. ‘What, wasting it like that?’ ‘I am not wasting it,’ she said coldly. ‘I am so hot I can’t stand it. I want to cool myself.’ Dick swallowed, trying to keep calm. ‘Listen to me,’ he said angrily, in a voice he had 40 never before used to her. ‘Listen to me! Every time I order the water-cart to fetch water for the house, it means a driver, and two workers, and two oxen off other work for a whole morning. It costs money to fetch water. And then you go and throw it away! Why don’t you fill the bath with water and get into it, instead of wasting it and throwing it away each time?’ 45 She was furious. This seemed the last straw. Here she was, living here uncomplainingly, suffering these hardships; and then she could not use a couple of gallons of water! She opened her mouth to shout at him, but before she could, he had become suddenly sorry because of the way he had spoken to her; and there was another of those little scenes which comforted and soothed her: he apologising, 50 blaming himself, and she forgiving him. Glossary: * verandah – an open, roofed area along the outside of a house. Focus this part of your answer on the second part of the source, from line 18 to the end. A student said, “Dick’s anger towards Mary is really unfair. The writer makes it clear that Mary is totally powerless in this relationship.” To what extent do you agree? In your response you could: • consider whether Dick’s anger is unfair • evaluate how the writer presents Mary and Dick’s relationship • support your response with references to the text.

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A magazine has asked for contributions for their creative writing section. Either Write a description of a very hot place as suggested by this picture: or Write a story about a disagreement. (24 marks for content and organisation, 16 marks for technical accuracy)

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