SECTION A: READING
Read the following texts carefully and then answer Section A in the Question Paper.
Text 1:
First impressions – an Englishman in New York
In the passage, the writer describes his first experience of New York.
In May of 2011 I fulfilled one of my many travel
goals by travelling to New York for the first time.
With a place to stay (a friend’s apartment in
Manhattan, no less) I was looking forward to
seeing what the city was really like. Despite a
rather rough flight over and the first signs of
jetlag kicking in, my spirits were as high as the
skyscrapers poked through the clouds as we
descended.
The approach to JFK
The views when circling the city and coming in to land at JFK airport are spectacular;
having flown over Long Island I could clearly make out several of the most famous
buildings of central New York. As I was right at the back of the plane I decided not to
stress about getting out quickly. I took my time and was the last to disembark which was
a mistake as I was then at the back of the queue when we’d passed through the sweaty
tunnels on the way to the immigration hall.
The immigration process
I could see it was going to take time as the entire human content of our 747 was waiting
in line in front of me. There was little to do except wait. We were at least entertained by a
video selling the delights of New York on a continuous loop on one of several television
screens. The actual passport check procedure was quick and painless, although I did find
it unusual to be both photographed and finger-printed.
The view on the way from the airport
Terminal 7, which British Airways use at JFK, is a little run-down but small and
manageable. The first sight to greet me on exiting the baggage hall was of a Starbucks
and a McDonald’s. Years ago this would have seemed like a ‘Welcome to the USA’ in
itself but these days it could be practically anywhere in the world. With both signs and
announcements warning not to use dodgy taxis but to go to the taxi office, I took the hint
and found a classic yellow cab to take me into Manhattan. On the way I noticed how most
Americans drive the same kind of cars as we do in Europe, although there were a few
big Jeeps, a couple of stretch limousines and lots of those vans favoured by FBI agents
running surveillance. But the real ‘wow’ moment was when I saw that iconic Manhattan
skyline as we crossed the Queensboro Bridge with the sun setting. I had arrived…
The skyscrapers
I woke early the next day in my host’s
apartment. The view from the living room was
certainly not quite what I was used to, being 29
floors up as opposed to one. The Midtown
location was amazing, right round the corner
from the UN building and surrounded by even
taller buildings. I think this is the first and most
obvious sign of someone who has just arrived in
New York – that they keep looking up all the
time. Now it was time to check out the city in
daylight – and with the benefit of a few hours sleep.
The feeling of being on a film set
This is a classic cliché that most people who have been to New York talk about – but like
a lot of clichés it’s also true. The Big Apple is of course the backdrop to countless movies
and TV shows and you’ll find something that you recognise or which looks familiar round
most corners. You’ll see those yellow fire hydrants, newspaper vending machines and
‘Walk/Don’t Walk’ signs.
The sheer level of noise on the streets
When you walk along the busy streets of New York it’s like somebody turned the
volume up. It’s also (to my ears) amazing how people just do not care who hears their
conversations, whether in person or on the phone. You get a fascinating insight into the
private lives of New Yorkers in the form of ten second clips as you pass and they move
out of range.
The scale of the place
Finally, it’s only when you get up high that you fully appreciate how mind-blowing New
York architecture really is. Both the Empire State Building and the Rockefeller Center offer
fantastic views and both are recommended. Next time I’m planning to save my money
for a helicopter ride over the city; that would be the ultimate way to see New York. As my
plane left the tarmac for my return flight I was already thinking about coming back. New
York lived up to – and in fact exceeded my expectations – it should be on everyone’s list
of places to visit.
Text 2: Notes from a Small Island
In the passage, the writer describes the journey to Dover in England.
In the morning, I breakfasted early, settled my
bill and stepped out to another promising
day. Clutching an inadequate little map that
came with my ferry ticket, I set off in search of
the ferry terminal. On the map it looked to be
quite nearby, practically in the town centre,
but in reality it was a good 2 miles away at the
far end of a bewildering wasteland of oil
refineries, derelict factories, and acres of waste ground strewn with old girders and piles
of jagged concrete. I found myself squeezing through holes in chainlink fences and
picking my way between rusting railway carriages with broken windows. I don’t know
how other people get to the ferry at Calais, but I had the distinct feeling that no one had
ever done it this way before. And all the while I walked I was uncomfortably aware –
actually in a whimpering panic – that the departure time was drawing nigh and that the
ferry terminal, though always visible, never actually seemed to get any closer. Eventually,
after dodging across a dual carriageway and clambering up an embankment, I arrived
breathless and late and looking like someone who’d just survived a mining disaster, and
was hustled aboard a shuttle bus by an officious woman.
I boarded the ship perspiring freely and with a certain disquiet. I’m not a good sailor, I
freely admit. I get sick on a rowing boat. The boat was crammed with people, all of them
English. I spent the first quarter of an hour wandering around wondering how they had
got there without getting filthy, inserted myself briefly into the mayhem that was the
duty-free shop and as quickly found my way out again, strolled around the cafeteria
with a tray looking at the food, searched for a seat among hordes of dementedly lively
children, and finally found my way out onto the breezy deck where people with blue lips
and dancing hair were trying to convince themselves that because the sun was shining
they couldn’t possibly be cold.
Before long, the White Cliffs of Dover rose from the sea and began creeping towards us
and in no time at all, it seemed, we were sailing into Dover Harbour and clumsily nuzzling
up to the dock. I was eager to see Dover again after all these years. I strode into the
centre along Marine Parade and with a small cry of pleasure spied the shelter I’d slept
in those many years ago. It was covered in about eleven more layers of bile-green paint
but otherwise unchanged. The view out to sea was likewise unchanged, though the
water was bluer and more glittery than when I’d last seen it. But everything else looked
different. Where I recalled there being a row of elegant Georgian terraces there was now
a vast and unbecoming brick apartment block. Townwall Street, the main through road
to the west, was wider and more menacing with traffic than I remembered, and there was
now a subway to the town centre, which itself was unrecognizable.
The main shopping street had been pedestrianised and the Market Square had been
turned into a kind of piazza with show-off paving and the usual array of cast-iron
trimmings. The whole town centre seemed uncomfortably squeezed by busy, wide roads
of which I had no recollection and there was now a big tourist attraction called the White
Cliffs Experience, where, I presume from the name, you can discover what it feels like to be
800-million-year-old chalk. I didn’t recognize anything. The trouble with English towns is
that they are so indistinguishable one from another. They all have a Boots and W.H. Smith
and Marks & Spencer1
. You could be anywhere really.
I plodded distractedly through the streets, unhappy that a place so central to my
memories was so unfamiliar. Then, on my third grumbling pass through the town centre,
on a lane I would swear I had never walked before, I came across the cinema, still
recognizable despite refurbishment, and everything suddenly became clear. Now that I
had a fixed point of reference, I knew precisely where I was. I strode purposefully 500
yards north and then west – now I could almost have done it blindfolded – and found
myself square in front of Mrs Smith’s establishment. It was still a hotel and looked
substantially unchanged, as far as I could remember, except for the addition of a parking
area in the front garden and a plastic sign announcing colour TVs and en-suite
bathrooms. I thought about knocking at the door, but there didn’t seem much point. The
dragon-like Mrs Smith must be long since gone. She couldn’t possibly have coped with
the modern age of British guesthouses, with their en-suite bathrooms and coffee-making
facilities and people having pizzas delivered to their rooms.
Cheered by this thought, I strolled up the Folkestone Road to the station and bought a
ticket for the next train to London.
1
Typical British shops
Questions
SECTION A: Reading
Answer ALL questions in this section.
You should spend 1 hour on this section.
Read Text 1 in the Extracts Booklet, from First Impressions – an Englishman in New York, which is about a man’s first experience of New York.
1 In lines 16–20 the writer describes the immigration process.
Identify one point the writer makes about the experience.
(Total for Question 1 = 1 mark)
2 In lines 21–30, the writer leaves the airport and travels into the city.
State one thing the writer sees.
(Total for Question 2 = 1 mark)
3 Explain how the writer presents his impressions of New York.
You should support your answer with close reference to the passage, including
brief quotations.
(10)
Read Text 2 in the Extracts Booklet, from Notes from a Small Island, which is about a
journey the writer makes to Dover in England.
4 In lines 1–18, the writer describes his journey to the ferry terminal.
State one of the difficulties the writer experienced.
(Total for Question 4 = 1 mark)
5 In lines 19–27, the writer describes the ferry crossing.
Name two things the writer finds unpleasant.
1
2
(Total for Question 5 = 2 marks)
6 How does the writer describe his thoughts and feelings about his trip to Dover?
You should support your answer with close reference to the passage, including
brief quotations.
(10)
Refer to BOTH Text 1 AND Text 2 to answer the following question.
7 Compare how the writers of Text 1 and Text 2 convey their ideas and experiences.
Support your answer with examples from both texts.
(15)
SECTION B:
Reading and Writing
Answer the question in this section.
You should spend 1 hour on this section.
Use ideas from BOTH Text 1 and Text 2 in the Extracts Booklet to answer this question.
8 A friend of yours is going abroad for the first time.
Write a letter to your friend explaining what it might be like.
You should include:
• what might be seen or experienced
• what might be enjoyable
• what might be disappointing.
Think carefully about the purpose of your letter and the audience for whom
it is intended.
(30)
SECTION C:
Writing
Answer ONE question from this section.
You should spend 1 hour on your chosen question.
Begin your answer on page 23.
Do not re-tell events from Text One or Text Two in the Extracts Booklet.
Write approximately 400 words on one of the following:
EITHER
9 ‘To travel is better than to arrive.’ Discuss.
(Total for Question 9 = 30 marks)
OR
10 Write a story (true or imaginary) entitled ‘The Beginning’.
(Total for Question 10 = 30 marks)
OR
11 Describe a place that has made an impression on you.
(Total for Question 11 = 30 marks)
Showing posts with label iGCSE English Language B. Show all posts
Showing posts with label iGCSE English Language B. Show all posts
Wednesday, 15 April 2020
'I've been homeless - a drug addict. I needed to earn a living.
'I've been homeless – a drug addict. I needed to earn a living'
Michael, 48, on how he has no boss and can make up to £100 a week selling the Big Issue
Name: Michael
Age: 48
Occupation: Big Issue vendor, Bristol
Income: Up to £100 a week
Age: 48
Occupation: Big Issue vendor, Bristol
Income: Up to £100 a week
I’ve been homeless and addicted to drugs for most of my life. I started with pot and hallucinogenics and ended up mainly on heroin and crack. I wanted to try everything. I’d say “I won’t try that”, and then I did it anyway. I’ve done everything I said I wouldn’t.
In my 30s I was a functioning addict; I worked as a successful chef. But I lost my job when I was caught using drugs at work. I was in a relationship for about 12 years but when we split up I was back on the streets again, which caused me to relapse.
Being on the streets isn’t good when you’re trying to be clean. I’ve tried to be clean for a long time. I’m older and more mature now. I’ve been clean for about eight months.
The turning point was when an outreach worker found me sleeping in a car park in Clifton, Bristol, one morning. He offered me coffee, said that help was available if I wanted it, and that I could get a prescription for methadone.
Within 24 hours I had a prescription and he’d found me a place to sleep in an old council building that turns into emergency accommodation during the winter.
I’m now staying in a massive Salvation Army hostel, where I have my own room and bathroom. It costs me £25 a week, which includes bills and breakfast. There are a lot of people here. There are about 30 on my landing and there are four floors with a similar number. I keep myself to myself and spend a lot of time in my room.
There’s a shared kitchen at the end of my hallway but I’ve never seen anyone use it. A lot of places offer free food anyway. I have a fridge in my room. My food wouldn’t last five minutes if it was in a communal fridge.
I’ve been selling the Big Issue on and off for 15 years. I started again 11 months ago after a Big Issue worker saw me busking in the street and asked whether I’d like to become a vendor.
I’d split up with my partner and ended up homeless and wanted to make a living. It’s all right. I have a laugh. I meet people. I don’t have a boss. If I want to take the afternoon off to watch the football, I can. Or if I want to work 15 hours a day, I can.
I buy the magazine for £1.25 an issue and sell it for £2.50. Some people say “keep the change”. My pitch is on the harbour side in Bristol. I have a few regulars who buy it weekly. But a lot are holidaymakers and sightseers. I try and sell 10 to 15 magazines a day. I reckon I work about 50 hours a week and I’m lucky if I make £100 a week.
I do my grocery shopping daily as it depends on how many issues I’ve sold. I don’t do a weekly shop. If it’s a been a good day, I might buy steak and chips. If not, it’s a shit microwave meal. I spend £5 to £10 a day on food.
A lot of my money goes on tobacco. I buy two packets a week which costs about £25. Recently I saved up for about six weeks and bought myself a secondhand TV and PlayStation which cost about £50 each.
At the moment, I feel quite comfortable. I could sell more issues but money is a temptation for me anyway because of the drugs. I’ve been a successful chef in the past and am used to living on more, but it’s not that difficult on less; I don’t have huge overheads.
I would like my own place. I don’t care if it’s just a bedsit. I could return to catering. I was good at it but I didn’t enjoy it. It was a means to an end.
I really want to get into journalism. The Big Issue has lined up work experience for me at a local magazine. I’m hoping they’ll let me write an article. I’ve always wanted to get into journalism but I never got round to it. I’m hoping now’s my chance.
*Michael is not his real name. The Big Issue Group’s mission is to dismantle poverty by creating opportunity. As well as the Big Issue magazine, it has a social investment arm, Big Issue Invest and an online shop. The Big Issue Foundation is the charitable arm. www.bigissue.com
As told to Suzanne Bearne
Experience: I made bombs for al-Qaida
Experience: I made bombs for al-Qaida
In 1998, two US embassies were bombed, killing 200 Africans. I no longer wanted to be part of it
I grew up in Saudi Arabia, the youngest of six brothers. By the time I was 13, I had lost both my parents: my father in a traffic accident and my mother to a brain aneurysm.
Not long after they died, in 1992, the Bosnian war began. The evening news detailed atrocities perpetrated against defenceless Muslims, and the papers praised the bravery of the Saudi men who went to fight alongside them. My eldest brother had lectured us on the importance of fighting in defence of Islam, and when I learned that a childhood friend had decided to join the Bosnian mujahideen, I felt someone was paving the way for me.
I found the training empowering. A few weeks earlier I’d been a bookish nerd living in a conservative police state. Now I was in a training camp, high in the mountains, holding my first AK-47. It was intoxicating. I became a committed jihadist – when we were shot at, the adrenaline would take over and I’d retaliate. Always, I was willing to die. In the back of my mind, was the thought: this could be the day I cross into eternal bliss.
I met al-Qaida’s Khalid Sheikh Mohammed, who would go on to mastermind 9/11, at a wedding after the Bosnian war ended, where he spoke passionately about the need to rid the Muslim world of American influence. He persuaded me to begin training with them. Before the year was out I had met Osama bin Laden and sworn an oath of allegiance.
Still only 19, I was put to work training new recruits who often lacked even basic knowledge of Islamic theology and history. Many enrolled just to escape dire poverty in Yemen. Later, I made explosives and chemical and biological weapons. I was fascinated by the science, and pushed the potential consequences out of my mind. I thought these bombs were to be used on US military bases in the Middle East, and the possibility of civilian casualties never occurred to me.
When news of the bombing of two US embassies in east Africa reached us in 1998, it was a turning point – 200 innocent Africans killed just to get at 12 American diplomats. When I asked an al-Qaida leader how this had been justified, he mentioned a 700-year-old fatwa that excused the killing of civilians. I felt we were twisting our principles past breaking point. I no longer wanted to be part of it.
I used a planned health check-up as a pretext for travelling to Qatar. I had no intention of returning, and it was a relief when I was arrested on arrival for suspected terrorism offences. I confessed immediately to my al-Qaida involvement – as far as I was concerned, this was fate.
I was relocated to the UK for seven months of debriefings. During that time, many of my long-held beliefs were erased by the kindness I was shown. I had been trained to view westerners as animals, yet here I was having meals and lengthy discussions with decent people.
When I was asked to spy on behalf of MI5 and MI6, I agreed straight away. For the next eight years, I travelled regularly between London and Afghanistan: as far as al-Qaida were concerned, I was running money and equipment and helping them recruit in the UK. Instead, I would commit information to memory and smuggled back to MI6 the designs of a device to disperse deadly chemical agents.
I knew the risks, and had sleepless nights. But my time as a double agent didn’t end until 2006, when classified information about my work was leaked to journalists, and information that inadvertently blew my cover was published in Time magazine. I learned this while on holiday, when I got a text from an al-Qaida colleague saying, “There is a spy among us.” They hadn’t realised the spy was me.
Eventually, a fatwa was issued against me, and three years ago security services uncovered a plot to kidnap and murder me, hatched by a former al-Qaida ally. By that time I was married and my wife was five months’ pregnant. But I have no regrets about working for the west – I know planned attacks were foiled thanks to the intelligence I gathered, and many lives were saved.
I still live in the UK, and co-host a podcast using my experience to shine a light on the Middle East; I also work as a security consultant. I will never feel entirely safe, but I take what precautions I can.
• As told to Chris Broughton
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