Week 8 · English Practice Paper

Reading Passage

The following extract is set during the Blitz — a time in the Second World War when London was bombed every night by German aeroplanes. It describes what happened to Frank and Alice when they ignored the air raid warnings and crossed a bridge over a canal when the bombs were falling at night.

The Blast

We had almost reached the middle of the bridge when there was an enormous crack somewhere to our right. A heartbeat later the air seemed to solidify into a wall, struck us, lifted us clean off our feet, and slammed us against the railings of the walkway, pinning us there. Something in the same instant, reacting to the pressure building in my ears, remembering something I'd once been told, I jammed the fingers of my right hand between my own lips, and those of my left hand into Alice's mouth. Turning her head away, she tried to wrench my hand free. I kept hold of her, fingers hooked over her teeth, while the air bore down on us, pinned us flat, and squeezed the breath from our lungs. Then we were pelted with flecks of dust and debris, which stung our cheeks and forced their way beneath our shut eyelids; then the shockwave rolled past, and the air released us, so that we crumpled onto the walkway. On our hands and knees we crawled into the shelter of the stonework where it bent away from the tramline, forming a narrow ledge above the canal. And there we stayed. I was frightened. Not shaking with it, but buzzing with it — a prickling feeling under the skin, like running a fever. And though the night was bitter, with frost hanging in the air, I found myself sweating. Yet I remember thinking it through quite calmly; it was risky to stay put, but riskier still to keep moving.

Alice hauled herself up close against the stonework, and lay completely still, face tipped towards the sky. Neither of us spoke for a long while. We could make out plenty of noise: blasts, gunfire, and closer by, shrapnel spiralling down from above, making an odd sound like a gurgle mixed with a whistle. After a while she said, "You've hurt my mouth."

"If you don't keep it open, the blast bursts your eardrums, I think," I said.

"Oh, right," she said. "I remember now — something about biting on a cork. Thanks, anyway." Then, quite a while later, "Frank, why isn't it getting dark? I wish it were dark!"

Very carefully, I lifted myself up and peered over the edge of the stonework. I remember my own voice, saying very slowly and clearly, "Heaven above... look at that!"

She moved. She looked too. Below us the canal water was a sheet of amber and gold. The sky to the east, like some monstrous dawn, was a stretch of glowing golden light, as though the sky itself had become a wall of flame. Against it we could pick out the slender spire of the old clocktower, and the great dome of the cathedral. They weren't mere outlines; their corners, their columns, the curve of the dome had been traced in lines of reflected light, as though sketched with a pencil of fire. The city was ablaze. All of it, burning. The sheer scale of it swallowed my own fear in a wave of wonder; it felt like the end of the world.

Option 1: 'The Fire' — write a story with this as your title.

• Concentrate on describing a fire and its effects, and the thoughts and feelings of the people involved, so that it is convincing for your reader.

Option 2: Write a story about an occasion when you had to be responsible for someone else.

• This story could be imaginary or based on a true event, but make your writing vivid and convincing for your reader.