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Cambridge International ExaminationsCambridge Ordinary Level

*7705354376*

LITERATURE IN ENGLISH 2010/12

Paper 1 Poetry and Prose May/June 2016

1 hour 30 minutes

No Additional Materials are required.

READ THESE INSTRUCTIONS FIRST

An answer booklet is provided inside this question paper. You should follow the instructions on the front cover of the answer booklet. If you need additional answer paper ask the invigilator for a continuation booklet.

Answer two questions. Your answers must be on two different set texts.

All questions in this paper carry equal marks.

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CONTENTS

Section A: Poetry

text question numbers page[s]

Thomas Hardy: from Selected Poems 1, 2 pages 4–5from Jo Phillips ed: Poems Deep & Dangerous 3, 4 pages 6–7Songs of Ourselves Volume 2 : from Part 1 5, 6 pages 8–10

Section B: Prose


Chinua Achebe: No Longer at Ease 7, 8 pages 12–13Jane Austen: Northanger Abbey 9, 10 pages 14–15George Eliot: Silas Marner 11, 12 pages 16–17Michael Frayn: Spies 13, 14 pages 18–19Susan Hill: I’m the King of the Castle 15, 16 pages 20–21R. K. Narayan: The English Teacher 17, 18 pages 22–23Robert Louis Stevenson: The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde 19, 20 pages 24–25from Stories of Ourselves 21, 22 pages 26–27

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SECTION A: POETRY

THOMAS HARDY: from SelectedPoems

Remember to support your ideas with details from the writing.

Either 1 Read this poem, and then answer the question that follows it:

The Darkling Thrush

I leant upon a coppice gate When Frost was spectre-gray,And Winter’s dregs made desolate The weakening eye of day.The tangled bine-stems scored the sky Like strings of broken lyres,And all mankind that haunted nigh Had sought their household fires.

The land’s sharp features seemed to be The Century’s corpse outleant,His crypt the cloudy canopy, The wind his death-lament.The ancient pulse of germ and birth Was shrunken hard and dry,And every spirit upon earth Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among The bleak twigs overheadIn a full-hearted evensong Of joy illimited;An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small, In blast-beruffled plume,Had chosen thus to fling his soul Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings Of such ecstatic soundWas written on terrestrial things Afar or nigh around,That I could think there trembled through His happy good-night airSome blessed Hope, whereof he knew And I was unaware.

How does Hardy vividly depict the harshness of winter in The Darkling Thrush?

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Or 2 Explore the ways in which Hardy movingly conveys the feelings of the speaker in At the Word ‘Farewell’.

At the Word ‘Farewell’

She looked like a bird from a cloud On the clammy lawn,Moving alone, bare-browed In the dim of dawn.The candles alight in the room For my parting mealMade all things withoutdoors loom Strange, ghostly, unreal.

The hour itself was a ghost, And it seemed to me thenAs of chances the chance furthermost I should see her again.I beheld not where all was so fleet That a Plan of the pastWhich had ruled us from birthtime to meet Was in working at last:

No prelude did I there perceive To a drama at all,Or foreshadow what fortune might weave From beginnings so small;But I rose as if quicked by a spur I was bound to obey,And stepped through the casement to her Still alone in the gray.

‘I am leaving you … Farewell!’ I said As I followed her onBy an alley bare boughs overspread; ‘I soon must be gone!’Even then the scale might have been turned Against love by a feather,– But crimson one cheek of hers burned When we came in together.

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from JO PHILLIPSed:PoemsDeep&Dangerous



Football after School(to Kerry)

You’ll be one of them in a few years,warpaint slicked over your face –your common language jeers,dribbling the sun about the placewith the premature swaggerof manhood, butting it with your head:your school tie a stiff striped dagger.

Yes, soon you’ll be picking scabsof kisses off your skin as each kickmakes you dwarf a tree, and staba flower; the unset homeworkbetween margins of this makeshift pitchteaching you more than a textbookhow to survive any monster’s switch.

Yet as I look at your porcelain skin,their granite jowls, I wonder if you’ll everknow how to dodge bruises on your shinsfrom studded boots, be cleverenough to tackle fouls with somethingmore than inkstained fists and feet. Perhapsyou’ll be too vulnerable for living –

not hooligan enough to trampleinto the sod your shadow that growstwice as fast as yourself, to samplepunches below the belt from one you knowwithout flinching. I can’t preventcrossbones on your kneesturn bullies into cement –

or confiscate the sunthey’ll puncture and put out.In their robust world I’m no Amazon.I can only scream inside without a shoutfor you not to inherit my fragility:never to love too much or be agedas I was by youth’s anxiety.

(Patricia McCarthy)

How does McCarthy movingly depict the mother’s feelings for her son in Football after School?

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Or 4 Explore the ways in which Shakespeare makes the sonnet The Marriage of True Minds such a powerful expression of what love means.

The Marriage of True Minds

Let me not to the marriage of true mindsAdmit impediments. Love is not loveWhich alters when it alteration finds,Or bends with the remover to remove:O, no! it is an ever-fixèd mark,That looks on tempests and is never shaken;It is the star to every wandering bark,Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeksWithin his bending sickle’s compass come;Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,But bears it out even to the edge of doom.If this be error, and upon me prov’d,I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.

(William Shakespeare)

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SONGSOFOURSELVESVOLUME2: from Part 1


Either 5 How do the poets write memorably about love in The Clod and the Pebble (by William Blake) and Song (by Lady Mary Wroth)?

The Clod and the Pebble

‘Love seeketh not itself to please,Nor for itself hath any care,But for another gives its ease,And builds a Heaven in Hell’s despair.’

So sung a little Clod of ClayTrodden with the cattle’s feet,But a Pebble of the brookWarbled out these metres meet:

‘Love seeketh only self to please,To bind another to its delight,Joys in another’s loss of ease,And builds a Hell in Heaven’s despite.’

(William Blake)

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Song

Love a child is ever crying; Please him, and he straight is flying; Give him he the more is craving, Never satisfied with having.

His desires have no measure; Endless folly is his treasure; What he promiseth he breaketh. Trust not one word that he speaketh.

He vows nothing but false matter, And to cozen you he’ll flatter. Let him gain the hand, he’ll leave you, And still glory to deceive you.

He will triumph in your wailing, And yet cause be of your failing. These his virtues are, and slighter Are his gifts, his favours lighter.

Feathers are as firm in staying, Wolves no fiercer in their preying. As a child then leave him crying, Nor seek him so given to flying.

(Lady Mary Wroth)

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Or 6 Read this poem, and then answer the question that follows it:

Tiger in the Menagerie

No one could say how the tiger got into the menagerie.

when the tiger came inside to wait.

(Emma Jones)

Explore the ways in which Jones creates a sense of mystery in Tiger in the Menagerie.

Content removed due to copyright restrictions.

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Turn to page 12 for SECTION B.

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SECTION B: PROSE

CHINUA ACHEBE: NoLongeratEase


Either 7 Read this extract, and then answer the question that follows it:

Some years later as Obi, newly returned from England, stood beside his car at night in one of the less formidable of Lagos slum areas waiting for Clara to take yards of material to her seamstress, his mind went over his earlier impressions of the city. He had not thought places like this stood side by side with the cars, electric lights and brightly dressed girls.

His car was parked close to a wide-open storm drain from which came a very strong smell of rotting flesh. It was the remains of a dog which had no doubt been run over by a taxi. Obi used to wonder why so many dogs were killed by cars in Lagos, until one day the driver he had engaged to teach him driving went out of his way to run over one. In shocked amazement Obi asked why he had done it. ‘Na good luck,’ said the man. ‘Dog bring good luck for new car. But duck be different. If you kill duck you go get accident or kill man.’

Beyond the storm drain there was a meat-stall. It was quite empty of meat or meat-sellers. But a man was working a little machine on one of the tables. It looked like a sewing-machine except that it ground maize. A woman stood by watching the man turn the machine to grind her maize.

On the other side of the road a little boy wrapped in a cloth was selling bean cakes or akara under a lamp-post. His bowl of akara was lying in the dust and he seemed half asleep. But he really wasn’t, for as soon as the night-soilman passed swinging his broom and hurricane lamp and trailing clouds of putrefaction the boy quickly sprang to his feet and began calling him names. The man made for him with his broom but the boy was already in flight, his bowl of akara on his head. The man grinding maize burst into laughter, and the woman joined in. The night-soilman smiled and went his way, having said something very rude about the boy’s mother.

Here was Lagos, thought Obi, the real Lagos he hadn’t imagined existed until now. During his first winter in England he had written a callow, nostalgic poem about Nigeria. It wasn’t about Lagos in particular, but Lagos was part of the Nigeria he had in mind.

‘How sweet it is to lie beneath a treeAt eventime and share the ecstasyOf jocund birds and flimsy butterflies;How sweet to leave our earthbound body in its mud,And rise towards the music of the spheres,Descending softly with the wind,And the tender glow of the fading sun.’

He recalled this poem, and then turned and looked at the rotting dog in the storm drain and smiled. ‘I have tasted putrid flesh in the spoon,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘Far more apt.’ At last Clara emerged from the side street and they drove away.

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They drove for a while in silence through narrow overcrowded streets. ‘I can’t understand why you should choose your dressmaker from the slums.’ Clara did not reply. Instead she started humming ‘Che sarà sarà.’

The streets were now quite noisy and crowded, which was to be expected on a Saturday night at nine o’clock.

Every few yards one met bands of dancers often wearing identical dress or ‘aso ebi ’. Gay temporary sheds were erected in front of derelict houses and lit with brilliant fluorescent tubes for the celebration of an engagement or marriage or birth or promotion or success in business or the death of an old relative.

Obi slowed down as he approached three drummers and a large group of young women in damask and velvet swivelling their waists as effortlessly as oiled ball-bearings. A taxi driver hooted impatiently and overtook him, leaning out at the same time to shout: ‘Ori oda, your head no correct!’ ‘Ori oda – bloody fool!’ replied Obi. Almost immediately a cyclist crossed the road without looking back or giving any signal. Obi jammed on his brakes and his tyres screamed on the tarmac. Clara let out a little scream and gripped his left arm. The cyclist looked back once and rode away, his ambition written for all to see on his black bicycle-bag – FUTURE MINISTER.

[from Chapter 2]

Explore the ways in which Achebe creates vivid impressions of life in Lagos here.

Or 8 How does Achebe make Obi’s meetings with Mr Mark and his sister so significant?

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JANE AUSTEN: NorthangerAbbey



My mother’s room is very commodious, is it not? Large and cheerful-looking, and the dressing closets so well disposed! It always strikes me as the most comfortable apartment in the house, and I rather wonder that Eleanor should not take it for her own. She sent you to look at it, I suppose?’

‘No.’‘It has been your own doing entirely?’—Catherine said nothing—After

a short silence, during which he had closely observed her, he added, ‘As there is nothing in the room in itself to raise curiosity, this must have proceeded from a sentiment of respect for my mother’s character, as described by Eleanor, which does honour to her memory. The world, I believe, never saw a better woman. But it is not often that virtue can boast an interest such as this. The domestic, unpretending merits of a person never known, do not often create that kind of fervent, venerating tenderness which would prompt a visit like yours. Eleanor, I suppose, has talked of her a great deal?’

‘Yes, a great deal. That is—no, not much, but what she did say, was very interesting. Her dying so suddenly,’ (slowly, and with hesitation it was spoken,) ‘and you—none of you being at home—and your father, I thought—perhaps had not been very fond of her.’

‘And from these circumstances,’ he replied, (his quick eye fixed on her’s,) ‘you infer perhaps the probability of some negligence—some—(involuntarily she shook her head)—or it may be—of something still less pardonable.’ She raised her eyes towards him more fully than she had ever done before. ‘My mother’s illness,’ he continued, ‘the seizure which ended in her death was sudden. The malady itself, one from which she had often suffered, a bilious fever—its cause therefore constitutional. On the third day, in short as soon as she could be prevailed on, a physician attended her, a very respectable man, and one in whom she had always placed great confidence. Upon his opinion of her danger, two others were called in the next day, and remained in almost constant attendance for four-and-twenty hours. On the fifth day she died. During the progress of her disorder, Frederick and I (we were both at home) saw her repeatedly; and from our own observation can bear witness to her having received every possible attention which could spring from the affection of those about her, or which her situation in life could command. Poor Eleanor was absent, and at such a distance as to return only to see her mother in her coffin.’

‘But your father,’ said Catherine, ‘was he afflicted?’‘For a time, greatly so. You have erred in supposing him not attached

to her. He loved her, I am persuaded, as well as it was possible for him to—We have not all, you know, the same tenderness of disposition—and I will not pretend to say that while she lived, she might not often have had much to bear, but though his temper injured her, his judgment never did. His value of her was sincere; and, if not permanently, he was truly afflicted by her death.’

‘I am very glad of it,’ said Catherine, ‘it would have been very shocking!’——

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‘If I understand you rightly, you had formed a surmise of such horror as I have hardly words to——Dear Miss Morland, consider the dreadful nature of the suspicions you have entertained. What have you been judging from? Remember the country and the age in which we live. Remember that we are English, that we are Christians. Consult your own understanding, your own sense of the probable, your own observation of what is passing around you—Does our education prepare us for such atrocities? Do our laws connive at them? Could they be perpetrated without being known, in a country like this, where social and literary intercourse is on such a footing; where every man is surrounded by a neighbourhood of voluntary spies, and where roads and newspapers lay every thing open? Dearest Miss Morland, what ideas have you been admitting?’

They had reached the end of the gallery; and with tears of shame she ran off to her own room.

[from Chapter 24]

How does Austen make this such a dramatic moment in the novel?

Or 10 How does Austen vividly portray a character behaving foolishly on two occasions in the novel? It could be the same character or two different ones.

Do not use the extract printed in Question 9 when answering this question.

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GEORGE ELIOT: SilasMarner



‘What do you think o’ these gowns, aunt Osgood?’ said Priscilla, while Nancy helped her to unrobe.

‘Very handsome indeed, niece,’ said Mrs Osgood, with a slight increase of formality. She always thought niece Priscilla too rough.

‘I’m obliged to have the same as Nancy, you know, for all I’m five years older, and it makes me look yallow; for she never will have anything without I have mine just like it, because she wants us to look like sisters. And I tell her, folks ’ull think it’s my weakness makes me fancy as I shall look pretty in what she looks pretty in. For I am ugly – there’s no denying that: I feature my father’s family. But, law! I don’t mind, do you?’ Priscilla here turned to the Miss Gunns, rattling on in too much preoccupation with the delight of talking, to notice that her candour was not appreciated. ‘The pretty uns do for flycatchers – they keep the men off us. I’ve no opinion o’ the men, Miss Gunn – I don’t know what you have. And as for fretting and stewing about what they’ll think of you from morning till night, and making your life uneasy about what they’re doing when they’re out o’ your sight – as I tell Nancy, it’s a folly no woman need be guilty of, if she’s got a good father and a good home: let her leave it to them as have got no fortin, and can’t help themselves. As I say, Mr Have-your-own-way is the best husband, and the only one I’d ever promise to obey. I know it isn’t pleasant, when you’ve been used to living in a big way, and managing hogsheads and all that, to go and put your nose in by somebody else’s fireside, or to sit down by yourself to a scrag or a knuckle; but, thank God! my father’s a sober man and likely to live; and if you’ve got a man by the chimney-corner, it doesn’t matter if he’s childish – the business needn’t be broke up.’

The delicate process of getting her narrow gown over her head without injury to her smooth curls, obliged Miss Priscilla to pause in this rapid survey of life, and Mrs Osgood seized the opportunity of rising and saying –

‘Well, niece, you’ll follow us. The Miss Gunns will like to go down.’‘Sister,’ said Nancy, when they were alone, ‘you’ve offended the Miss

Gunns, I’m sure.’‘What have I done, child?’ said Priscilla, in some alarm.‘Why, you asked them if they minded about being ugly – you’re so very

blunt.’‘Law, did I? Well, it popped out: it’s a mercy I said no more, for I’m a bad

un to live with folks when they don’t like the truth. But as for being ugly, look at me, child, in this silver-coloured silk – I told you how it ’ud be – I look as yallow as a daffadil. Anybody ’ud say you wanted to make a mawkin of me.’

‘No, Priscy, don’t say so. I begged and prayed of you not to let us have this silk if you’d like another better. I was willing to have your choice, you know I was,’ said Nancy, in anxious self-vindication.

‘Nonsense, child! you know you’d set your heart on this; and reason good, for you’re the colour o’ cream. It ’ud be fine doings for you to dress yourself to suit my skin. What I find fault with, is that notion o’ yours as I must dress myself just like you. But you do as you like with me – you always did, from when first you begun to walk. If you wanted to go the

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field’s length, the field’s length you’d go; and there was no whipping you, for you looked as prim and innicent as a daisy all the while.’

‘Priscy,’ said Nancy, gently, as she fastened a coral necklace, exactly like her own, round Priscilla’s neck, which was very far from being like her own, ‘I’m sure I’m willing to give way as far as is right, but who shouldn’t dress alike if it isn’t sisters? Would you have us go about looking as if we were no kin to one another – us that have got no mother and not another sister in the world? I’d do what was right, if I dressed in a gown dyed with cheese-colouring; and I’d rather you’d choose, and let me wear what pleases you.’

‘There you go again! You’d come round to the same thing if one talked to you from Saturday night till Saturday morning. It’ll be fine fun to see how you’ll master your husband and never raise your voice above the singing o’ the kettle all the while. I like to see the men mastered!’

‘Don’t talk so, Priscy,’ said Nancy, blushing. ‘You know I don’t mean ever to be married.’

‘Oh, you never mean a fiddlestick’s end!’ said Priscilla, as she arranged her discarded dress, and closed her bandbox. ‘Who shall I have to work for when father’s gone, if you are to go and take notions in your head and be an old maid, because some folks are no better than they should be? I haven’t a bit o’ patience with you – sitting on an addled egg for ever, as if there was never a fresh un in the world. One old maid’s enough out o’ two sisters; and I shall do credit to a single life, for God A’mighty meant me for it. Come, we can go down now. I’m as ready as a mawkin can be – there’s nothing awanting to frighten the crows, now I’ve got my ear-droppers in.’

[from Chapter 11]

How does Eliot’s writing make Priscilla such an entertaining character at this moment in the novel?

Or 12 Explore the ways in which Eliot creates such a striking contrast between Godfrey and Dunstan Cass.

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MICHAEL FRAYN: Spies



She’s not carrying a basket, though; she’s holding a plate.


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Simple words like ‘yes’ and ‘no’ seem to be superimposed upon my tongue so that they cancel each other out.

[from Chapter 5]

How does Frayn vividly convey Stephen’s feelings at this moment in the novel?

Or 14 Stephen describes his family as ‘unsatisfactory’. To what extent does Frayn make you agree with Stephen?


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SUSAN HILL: I’mtheKingoftheCastle



Kingshaw stood about in the hall. Hooper did not come. Perhaps it was all right, and he had forgotten or changed his mind, perhaps he would not come. Kingshaw turned away.

‘I’ve got the key now,’ Hooper said, coming up behind him.It was very dark inside the Red Room. Beyond the windows, the sky was

steely grey, the rain teemed down. The branches of the yew trees were bent against them.

Kingshaw went only a little way into the room, and then stopped. He had known that it would be like this, that he would not like it. There was a dead smell and his shoes screeched faintly on the polished wood floor. Hooper stayed beside the doors, the keys in his hand.

‘Go on then,’ he said in a soft voice, ‘you’ve got to look now. You should just think yourself lucky I’ve brought you. Go on.’

Kingshaw stiffened and moved slowly towards the first of the glass cases. He drew in his breath sharply.

‘Moths.’‘Yes, every sort of moth in the world.’‘Who … where did they come from?’‘My grandfather. Haven’t you ever heard of him? You’re thick, aren’t you?

My grandfather was the most famous collector in the whole world. He wrote all sorts of books about moths.’

Kingshaw did not know which were worse, moths alive, with their whirring, pattering wings, or these moths, flattened and pinned and dead. You could see the way their eyes stuck out, and the thin veins along their wings. The skin prickled across the back of his neck. Since he was very young, he had been terrified of moths. They used to come into his bedroom at night, when they lived in their own house and his father had always made him have a window open, and he had lain in bed, in the darkness, hearing the soft flap of wings against the walls and the furniture, and then silence, waiting, dreading that they were coming near him and would land on his face. Moths.

Hooper came up behind him. ‘Open one of the cases, then,’ he said. ‘I’ll let you.’ He held out a small key.

‘No.’‘Why not?’‘I – I can see them all right, can’t I?’‘Yes, but you can’t touch them, can you. You’ve got to touch them.’‘No.’‘Why not? Scaredy-baby, scared of a moth!’Kingshaw was silent. Hooper moved forward, inserted the key and

pushed the heavy lid up.‘Pick one up.’Kingshaw backed away. He could not have touched one for anything,

and he did not want to watch Hooper do it.‘What’s the matter, baby?’‘Nothing. I don’t want to touch one, that’s all.’‘They won’t hurt you.’‘No.’

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‘They’re dead, aren’t they? They’ve been dead for years and years.’‘Yes.’‘What are you scared of? Are you scared of dead things?’‘No.’Kingshaw went on moving backwards. He only wanted to get out of the

room. If Hooper tried to grab him and force his hand down on to one of the moths, he would fight, he didn’t care how much he fought.

‘Come here and look, Kingshaw.’‘I don’t want to.’‘Well I dare touch it, I’ll pick one up and hold it. I dare do anything.’‘You’d better not.’‘Why?’ Hooper was peering curiously into his face. ‘Why?’‘You might damage it. If they’re valuable you’ll get into trouble, won’t

you?’He imagined the furry body of the moth against the pads of Hooper’s

fingers. He was ashamed of being so afraid, and could not help it, he only wanted to get out, to stop having to see the terrible moths. Hooper watched him.

There was a moment when they both stood, quite still, waiting. Then, Hooper whipped around and pushed past Kingshaw without warning, he was out of the door, turning the key sharply in the lock. After a moment, his footsteps went away down the hall. A door closed somewhere.

[from Chapter 3]

How does Hill’s writing convey Kingshaw’s increasing sense of unease here?

Or 16 How does Hill make Fielding such a memorable character?

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R. K. NARAYAN: TheEnglishTeacher



It was nearing six. I looked over the wall of our next house, and saw my child playing with half a dozen children. I asked: “Come on, child, are you coming out with us for a walk.” She hesitated. Her friend suggested: “Let us play here. Let father go out and return.” She accepted the advice and said: “I am not coming, father, you may go.”

I and the headmaster walked down to the river bank, sat on the sand, and watched the sunset. He told me: “Some twenty years ago when I passed my B.A. at the university, they wanted me to take law; and then wanted to rush me into an office chair, but I resisted. I loved children and wanted to start the school. How can anyone prevent me from doing what I want? I had been hustled into a marriage which did not interest me, and I was not going to be hustled into a profession I did not care for.

“I was the only son of my father, but he said such bitter things that I left home. We had a fine house in Lawley Extension, you wouldn’t believe it. I was brought up there, it is the memory of those days which is rankling in my wife’s heart and has made her so bad and mad. I walked out over the question of employment; and went back home only on the day he died. And then my wife thought I would occupy that house after his death, but not I. I don’t know what he has done with it. He had married a second time after my mother died and I think she and her children or his brothers must be fighting for it. I don’t want that house, I have no use for it, I don’t want any of his money either. But my wife expects me to be fighting for these rights. I can’t enjoy these rights even if I get them, and I think it is waste of one’s precious hours of living to be engaged in a contest.”

“But your wife and children could be in better circumstances… .”“You think so? No chance of it, my friend. She will create just those

surroundings for herself even in a palace.”“But you have not put her in a very happy locality… .”“Perhaps not. But I chose it deliberately. It is where God resides. It is

where we should live. And if we have any worth in us the place will change through our presence. But my wife does not believe in anything like it. She thinks my school a fool’s idea; won’t send the children there. I did my best. But it is no use. She has a right to send them where she likes. I think she sends them to the gutter and pig-sty: you saw what they are like. She is an impossible type. But my only hope is that there may be a miraculous transformation some day and that she may change. We should not despair for even the worst on earth.”

“Till then don’t you think you should concede to her wishes and move to a better place?”

“No. First because it is a duty for me, and secondly because she will carry the same surroundings wherever she goes. You see, the trouble is not external.”

The river flowed on against the night. I listened to him; he appeared to me a man who had strayed into a wrong world.

“How did you get this idea of a school for children?” I asked.“The memory of my own young days. Most of us forget that grand

period. But with me it has always been there. A time at which the colours of things are different, their depths greater, their magnitude greater, a most

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balanced and joyous condition of life; there was a natural state of joy over nothing in particular. And then our own schooling which put blinkers on to us; which persistently ruined this vision of things and made us into adults. It has always seemed to me that our teachers helped us to take a wrong turn. And I have always felt that for the future of mankind we should retain the original vision, and I’m trying a system of children’s education. Just leave them alone and they will be all right. The Leave Alone System, which will make them wholesome human beings, and also help us, those who work along with them, to work off the curse of adulthood.” He was seized with a fit of coughing. He recovered from it, paused, and said: “I will tell you a secret now. I strictly want to live according to my own plan of living and not subordinate it for anybody’s sake, because the time at my disposal is very short. I know exactly when I am going to die. An astrologer, who has noted down every minute detail of my life, has fixed that for me. I know the exact hour when I shall be … that lady will have the surprise of her life,” he said and chuckled. “That’s why I’m so patient with her.”

We walked back home. I invited him in: “No, no, not fair. But be assured I shall make myself completely at home whenever I like. I hope you won’t mind.”

“Not at all, I replied. “Treat this as your own home.”“Good Lord! No. Let it always be your home,” he said with a smile and

bade me good night.

[from Chapter 6]

How does Narayan’s writing make this conversation between Krishna and the Headmaster so revealing?

Or 18 How does Narayan make Susila’s illness and death so moving?

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ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON: TheStrangeCaseofDrJekyllandMrHyde



Where Utterson was liked, he was liked well. Hosts loved to detain the dry lawyer, when the light-hearted and the loose-tongued had already their foot on the threshold; they liked to sit awhile in his unobtrusive company, practising for solitude, sobering their minds in the man’s rich silence, after the expense and strain of gaiety. To this rule Dr Jekyll was no exception; and as he now sat on the opposite side of the fire – a large, well-made, smooth-faced man of fifty, with something of a slyish cast perhaps, but every mark of capacity and kindness – you could see by his looks that he cherished for Mr Utterson a sincere and warm affection.

‘I have been wanting to speak to you, Jekyll,’ began the latter. ‘You know that will of yours?’

A close observer might have gathered that the topic was distasteful; but the doctor carried it off gaily. ‘My poor Utterson,’ said he, ‘you are unfortunate in such a client. I never saw a man so distressed as you were by my will; unless it were that hide-bound pedant, Lanyon, at what he called my scientific heresies. O, I know he’s a good fellow – you needn’t frown – an excellent fellow, and I always mean to see more of him; but a hide-bound pedant for all that; an ignorant, blatant pedant. I was never more disappointed in any man than Lanyon.’

‘You know I never approved of it,’ pursued Utterson, ruthlessly disregarding the fresh topic.

‘My will? Yes, certainly, I know that,’ said the doctor, a trifle sharply. ‘You have told me so.’

‘Well, I tell you so again,’ continued the lawyer. ‘I have been learning something of young Hyde.’

The large handsome face of Dr Jekyll grew pale to the very lips, and there came a blackness about his eyes. ‘I do not care to hear more,’ said he. ‘This is a matter I thought we had agreed to drop.’

‘What I heard was abominable,’ said Utterson.‘It can make no change. You do not understand my position,’ returned

the doctor, with a certain incoherency of manner. ‘I am painfully situated, Utterson; my position is a very strange – a very strange one. It is one of those affairs that cannot be mended by talking.’

‘Jekyll,’ said Utterson, ‘you know me: I am a man to be trusted. Make a clean breast of this in confidence, and I make no doubt I can get you out of it.’

‘My good Utterson,’ said the doctor, ‘this is very good of you, this is downright good of you, and I cannot find words to thank you in. I believe you fully; I would trust you before any man alive, ay, before myself, if I could make the choice; but indeed it isn’t what you fancy; it is not so bad as that; and just to put your good heart at rest, I will tell you one thing: the moment I choose, I can be rid of Mr Hyde. I give you my hand upon that; and I thank you again and again; and I will just add one little word, Utterson, that I’m sure you’ll take in good part: this is a private matter, and I beg of you to let it sleep.’

Utterson reflected a little, looking in the fire.‘I have no doubt you are perfectly right,’ he said at last, getting to his feet.‘Well, but since we have touched upon this business, and for the last

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time, I hope,’ continued the doctor, ‘there is one point I should like you to understand. I have really a very great interest in poor Hyde. I know you have seen him; he told me so; and I fear he was rude. But I do sincerely take a great, a very great interest in that young man; and if I am taken away, Utterson, I wish you to promise me that you will bear with him and get his rights for him. I think you would, if you knew all; and it would be a weight off my mind if you would promise.’

‘I can’t pretend that I shall ever like him,’ said the lawyer.‘I don’t ask that,’ pleaded Jekyll, laying his hand upon the other’s arm; ‘I

only ask for justice; I only ask you to help him for my sake, when I am no longer here.’

Utterson heaved an irrepressible sigh. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘I promise.’

[from Chapter 3, ‘Dr Jekyll was Quite at Ease’]

How does Stevenson make this conversation between Dr Jekyll and Mr Utterson so intriguing?

Or 20 What does Stevenson’s writing make you feel towards Dr Jekyll at the end of the novel?

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from StoriesofOurselves


Either 21 Read this extract from To Da-duh, in Memoriam (by Paule Marshall), and then answer the question that follows it:

All the fight went out of her at that. The hand poised to strike me fell limp to her side, and as she stared at me, seeing not me but the building that was taller than the highest hill she knew, the small stubborn light in her eyes (it was the same amber as the flame in the kerosene lamp she lit at dusk) began to fail. Finally, with a vague gesture that even in the midst of her defeat still tried to dismiss me and my world, she turned and started back through the gully, walking slowly, her steps groping and uncertain, as if she were suddenly no longer sure of the way, while I followed triumphant yet strangely saddened behind.

The next morning I found her dressed for our morning walk but stretched out on the Berbice chair in the tiny drawing room where she sometimes napped during the afternoon heat, her face turned to the window beside her. She appeared thinner and suddenly indescribably old.

‘My Da-duh,’ I said.‘Yes, nuh,’ she said. Her voice was listless and the face she slowly turned

my way was, now that I think back on it, like a Benin mask, the features drawn and almost distorted by an ancient abstract sorrow.

‘Don’t you feel well?’ I asked.‘Girl, I don’t know.’‘My Da-duh, I goin’ boil you some bush tea,’ my aunt, Da-duh’s youngest

child, who lived with her, called from the shed roof kitchen.‘Who tell you I need bush tea?’ she cried, her voice assuming for a

moment its old authority. ‘You can’t even rest nowadays without some malicious person looking for you to be dead. Come girl,’ she motioned me to a place beside her on the old-fashioned lounge chair, ‘give us a tune.’

I sang for her until breakfast at eleven, all my brash irreverent Tin Pan Alley songs, and then just before noon we went out into the ground. But it was a short, dispirited walk. Da-duh didn’t even notice that the mangoes were beginning to ripen and would have to be picked before the village boys got to them. And when she paused occasionally and looked out across the canes or up at her trees it wasn’t as if she were seeing them but something else. Some huge, monolithic shape had imposed itself, it seemed, between her and the land, obstructing her vision. Returning to the house she slept the entire afternoon on the Berbice chair.

She remained like this until we left, languishing away the mornings on the chair at the window gazing out at the land as if it were already doomed; then, at noon, taking the brief stroll with me through the ground during which she seldom spoke, and afterwards returning home to sleep till almost dusk sometimes.

On the day of our departure she put on the austere, ankle length white dress, the black shoes and brown felt hat (her town clothes she called them), but she did not go with us to town. She saw us off on the road outside her house and in the midst of my mother’s tearful protracted farewell, she leaned down and whispered in my ear, ‘Girl, you’re not to forget now to send me the picture of that building, you hear.’

By the time I mailed her the large colored picture postcard of the Empire State Building she was dead. She died during the famous ’37 strike which

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began shortly after we left. On the day of her death England sent planes flying low over the island in a show of force – so low, according to my aunt’s letter, that the downdraft from them shook the ripened mangoes from the trees in Da-duh’s orchard. Frightened, everyone in the village fled into the canes. Except Da-duh. She remained in the house at the window so my aunt said, watching as the planes came swooping and screaming like monstrous birds down over the village, over her house, rattling her trees and flattening the young canes in her field. It must have seemed to her lying there that they did not intend pulling out of their dive, but like the hard-back beetles which hurled themselves with suicidal force against the walls of the house at night, those menacing silver shapes would hurl themselves in an ecstasy of self-immolation onto the land, destroying it utterly.

When the planes finally left and the villagers returned they found her dead on the Berbice chair at the window.

She died and I lived, but always, to this day even, within the shadow of her death. For a brief period after I was grown I went to live alone, like one doing penance, in a loft above a noisy factory in downtown New York and there painted seas of sugar cane and huge swirling Van Gogh suns and palm trees striding like brightly plumed Tutsi warriors across a tropical landscape, while the thunderous tread of the machines downstairs jarred the floor beneath my easel, mocking my efforts.

How does Marshall make this such a moving ending to the story?

Or 22 How does Saki make Sredni Vashtar both amusing and serious at the same time?

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*9855946378*

LITERATURE IN ENGLISH 2010/13

Paper 1 Poetry and Prose May/June 2016

1 hour 30 minutes



An answer booklet is provided inside this question paper. You should follow the instructions on the front cover of the answer booklet. If you need additional paper ask the invigilator for a continuation booklet.

Answer two questions. Your answers must be on two different set texts.


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CONTENTS

Section A: Poetry


Thomas Hardy: from Selected Poems 1, 2 pages 4–6from Jo Phillips ed: Poems Deep & Dangerous 3, 4 pages 8–9Songs of Ourselves Volume 2: from Part 1 5, 6 pages 10–11

Section B: Prose


Chinua Achebe: No Longer at Ease 7, 8 pages 12–13Jane Austen: Northanger Abbey 9, 10 pages 14–15George Eliot: Silas Marner 11, 12 pages 16–17Michael Frayn: Spies 13, 14 pages 18–19Susan Hill: I’m the King of the Castle 15, 16 pages 20–21R. K. Narayan: The English Teacher 17, 18 pages 22–23Robert Louis Stevenson: The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde 19, 20 pages 24–25from Stories of Ourselves 21, 22 pages 26–27

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SECTION A: POETRy

THOMAS HARDy: SelectedPoems



The Convergence of the Twain(Lines on the loss of the ‘Titanic’)

I In a solitude of the sea Deep from human vanity,And the Pride of Life that planned her, stilly couches she.

II Steel chambers, late the pyres Of her salamandrine fires,Cold currents thrid, and turn to rhythmic tidal lyres.

III Over the mirrors meant To glass the opulentThe sea-worm crawls – grotesque, slimed, dumb, indifferent.

IV Jewels in joy designed To ravish the sensuous mindLie lightless, all their sparkles bleared and black and blind.

V Dim moon-eyed fishes near Gaze at the gilded gearAnd query: ‘What does this vaingloriousness down here?’ …

VI Well: while was fashioning This creature of cleaving wing,The Immanent Will that stirs and urges everything

VII Prepared a sinister mate For her – so gaily great –A Shape of Ice, for the time far and dissociate.

VIII And as the smart ship grew In stature, grace, and hue,In shadowy silent distance grew the Iceberg too.

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IX Alien they seemed to be: No mortal eye could seeThe intimate welding of their later history,

X Or sign that they were bent By paths coincidentOn being anon twin halves of one august event,

XI Till the Spinner of the Years Said ‘Now!’ And each one hears,And consummation comes, and jars two hemispheres.

How does Hardy powerfully depict the loss of the Titanic in The Convergence of the Twain?

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Or 2 How does Hardy make you feel sympathy for the speakers in ‘I Look Into My Glass’ and Nobody Comes?

‘I Look Into My Glass’

I look into my glass,And view my wasting skin,And say, ‘Would God it came to passMy heart had shrunk as thin!’

For then, I, undistrestBy hearts grown cold to me,Could lonely wait my endless restWith equanimity.

But Time, to make me grieve,Part steals, lets part abide;And shakes this fragile frame at eveWith throbbings of noontide.

Nobody Comes

Tree-leaves labour up and down, And through them the fainting light Succumbs to the crawl of night. Outside in the road the telegraph wire To the town from the darkening landIntones to travellers like a spectral lyre Swept by a spectral hand.

A car comes up, with lamps full-glare, That flash upon a tree: It has nothing to do with me, And whangs along in a world of its own, Leaving a blacker air;And mute by the gate I stand again alone, And nobody pulls up there.

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Turn to page 8 for Question 3.

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from JO PHILLIPSed: PoemsDeep&Dangerous



In Our Tenth Year

This book, this page, this harebell laid to rest

Here, take it from my hand. Now, let it go.

(Simon Armitage)

How does Armitage strikingly portray the speaker’s relationship with his wife in In Our Tenth Year ?


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Or 4 How does Heaney make Follower such a moving poem?

Follower

My father worked with a horse-plough,

Behind me, and will not go away.

(Seamus Heaney )


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SONGSOFOURSELVESVOLUME2:fromPart 1



lion heart

You came out of the sea,skin dappled scales of sunlight;Riding crests, waves of fish in your fists.Washed up, your gills snapped shut.Water whipped the first breath of your lungs,Your lips’ bud teased by morning mists.

You conquered the shore, its ivory coast.Your legs still rocked with the memory of waves.Sinews of sand ran across your back–Rising runes of your oceanic origins.Your heart thumped– an animal skin drumheralding the coming of a prince.

In the jungle, amid rasping branches,trees loosened their shadows to shroud you.The prince beheld you then, a golden sheen.Your eyes, two flickers; emerald blazeYou settled back on fluent haunches;The squall of a beast, your roar, your call.

In crackling boats, seeds arrived, wind-blown,You summoned their colours to the palmof your hand, folded them snugly into loam,watched saplings swaddled in green,as they sunk roots, spawned shade,and embraced the land that embraced them.

Centuries, by the sea’s pulmonary,a vein throbbing humming bumboats–your trees rise as skyscrapers.Their ankles lost in swilling water,as they heave themselves higherabove the mirrored surface.

Remember your self: your raw lion heart,Each beat a stony echo that washesthrough ribbed vaults of buildings.

Remember your keris, iron lightningripping through tentacles of waves,double-edged, curved to a point–

flung high and caught unsheathed, scatteringfive stars in the red tapestry of your sky.

(Amanda Chong)

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Explore some of the ways in which Chong creates a sense of admiration in this poem.

Or 6 How does Wroth strikingly convey her attitude to love in this poem?

Song

Love a child is ever crying; Please him, and he straight is flying; Give him he the more is craving, Never satisfied with having.

His desires have no measure; Endless folly is his treasure; What he promiseth he breaketh. Trust not one word that he speaketh.

He vows nothing but false matter, And to cozen you he’ll flatter. Let him gain the hand, he’ll leave you, And still glory to deceive you.

He will triumph in your wailing, And yet cause be of your failing. These his virtues are, and slighter Are his gifts, his favours lighter.

Feathers are as firm in staying, Wolves no fiercer in their preying. As a child then leave him crying, Nor seek him so given to flying.

(Lady Mary Wroth)

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SECTION B: PROSE

CHINUA ACHEBE: NoLongeratEase



The telephone rang and Miss Tomlinson answered it.‘Mr Okonkwo? Right. Hold on for him. For you, Mr Okonkwo.’Obi’s telephone was in parallel with hers. He thought it was Clara, but it

was only the receptionist downstairs.‘A gentleman? Send him up, please. He want speak to me there? All

right, I de come down. Now now.’The gentleman was in a three-piece suit and carried a rolled umbrella.

Obviously a new arrival from England.‘Good morning. My name is Okonkwo.’‘Mark is mine. How do you do?’They shook hands.‘I’ve come to consult you about something – semi-official and semi-

private.’‘Let’s go up to my office, shall we?’‘Thank you very much.’Obi led the way.‘You have just come back to Nigeria?’ he asked as they mounted the

stairs.‘I’ve been back now six months.’‘I see.’ He opened the door. ‘After you.’Mr Mark stepped in, and then pulled up suddenly as if he had seen

a snake across his path. But he recovered quickly enough and walked in.

‘Good morning,’ he said to Miss Tomlinson, all smiles. Obi dragged another chair to his table and Mr Mark sat down.

‘And what can I do for you?’To his amazement Mr Mark replied in Ibo:‘If you don’t mind, shall we talk in Ibo? I didn’t know you had a European

here.’‘Just as you like. Actually I didn’t think you were Ibo. What is your

problem?’ He tried to sound casual.‘Well, it is like this. I have a sister who has just passed her School

Certificate in Grade One. She wants to apply for a Federal Scholarship to study in England.’

Although he spoke in Ibo, there were some words that he had to say in English. Words like ‘School Certificate’ and ‘scholarship’. He lowered his voice to a whisper when he came to them.

‘You want application forms?’ asked Obi.‘No, no, no. I have got those. But it is like this. I was told that you are the

secretary of the Scholarship Commission and I thought that I should see you. We are both Ibos and I cannot hide anything from you. It is all very well sending in forms, but you know what our country is. Unless you see people … ’

‘In this case it is not necessary to see anybody. The only … ’

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‘I was actually thinking of coming round to your house, but the man who told me about you did not know where you lived.’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Mark, but I really don’t understand what you are driving at.’ He said this in English, much to Mr Mark’s consternation. Miss Tomlinson pricked up her ears like a dog that is not quite sure whether someone has mentioned bones.

‘I’m sorry – er – Mr Okonkwo. But don’t get me wrong. I know this is the wrong place to – er …’

‘I don’t think there is any point in continuing this discussion,’ Obi said again in English. ‘If you don’t mind, I’m rather busy.’ He rose to his feet. Mr Mark also rose, muttered a few apologies and made for the door.

‘He’s forgotten his umbrella,’ remarked Miss Tomlinson as Obi returned to his seat.

‘Oh dear!’ He took the umbrella and rushed out.Miss Tomlinson was eagerly waiting to hear what he would say when he

came back, but he simply sat down as if nothing had happened and opened a file. He knew she was watching him, and he wrinkled his forehead in pretended concentration.

‘That was short and sweet,’ she said.‘Oh yes. He is a nuisance.’ He did not look up and the conversation

lapsed.

[from Chapter 9]

Explore the ways in which Achebe makes this moment dramatic and revealing.

Or 8 How does Achebe vividly convey Obi’s changing feelings towards Nigeria in the novel?

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JANE AUSTEN: NorthangerAbbey



The next morning brought the following very unexpected letter from Isabella:—

Bath, April——My dearest Catherine,

I received your two kind letters with the greatest delight, and have a thousand apologies to make for not answering them sooner. I really am quite ashamed of my idleness; but in this horrid place one can find time for nothing. I have had my pen in my hand to begin a letter to you almost every day since you left Bath, but have always been prevented by some silly trifler or other. Pray write to me soon, and direct to my own home. Thank God! we leave this vile place to-morrow. Since you went away, I have had no pleasure in it—the dust is beyond any thing; and every body one cares for is gone. I believe if I could see you I should not mind the rest, for you are dearer to me than any body can conceive. I am quite uneasy about your dear brother, not having heard from him since he went to Oxford; and am fearful of some misunderstanding. Your kind offices will set all right:—he is the only man I ever did or could love, and I trust you will convince him of it. The spring fashions are partly down; and the hats the most frightful you can imagine. I hope you spend your time pleasantly, but am afraid you never think of me. I will not say all that I could of the family you are with, because I would not be ungenerous, or set you against those you esteem; but it is very difficult to know whom to trust, and young men never know their minds two days together. I rejoice to say, that the young man whom, of all others, I particularly abhor, has left Bath. You will know, from this description, I must mean Captain Tilney, who, as you may remember, was amazingly disposed to follow and tease me, before you went away. Afterwards he got worse, and became quite my shadow. Many girls might have been taken in, for never were such attentions; but I knew the fickle sex too well. He went away to his regiment two days ago, and I trust I shall never be plagued with him again. He is the greatest coxcomb I ever saw, and amazingly disagreeable. The last two days he was always by the side of Charlotte Davis: I pitied his taste, but took no notice of him. The last time we met was in Bath-street, and I turned directly into a shop that he might not speak to me;—I would not even look at him. He went into the Pump-room afterwards; but I would not have followed him for all the world. Such a contrast between him and your brother!—pray send me some news of the latter—I am quite unhappy about him, he seemed so uncomfortable when he went away, with a cold, or something that affected his spirits. I would write to him myself, but have mislaid his direction; and, as I hinted above, am afraid he took something in my conduct amiss. Pray explain every thing to his satisfaction; or, if he still harbours any doubt, a line from himself to me, or a call at Putney when next in town, might set all to rights. I have not been to the Rooms this age, nor to the Play, except going in last night with the Hodges’s, for a frolic, at half-price: they teased me into it; and I was determined they should not say I shut myself up because Tilney was gone. We happened to sit by the Mitchells, and they pretended to be quite surprized to see me out. I knew their spite:—at one time they could not be

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civil to me, but now they are all friendship; but I am not such a fool as to be taken in by them. You know I have a pretty good spirit of my own. Anne Mitchell had tried to put on a turban like mine, as I wore it the week before at the Concert, but made wretched work of it—it happened to become my odd face I believe, at least Tilney told me so at the time, and said every eye was upon me; but he is the last man whose word I would take. I wear nothing but purple now: I know I look hideous in it, but no matter—it is your dear brother’s favourite colour. Lose no time, my dearest, sweetest Catherine, in writing to him and to me.

Who ever am, &c.

Such a strain of shallow artifice could not impose even upon Catherine. Its inconsistencies, contradictions, and falsehood, struck her from the very first. She was ashamed of Isabella, and ashamed of having ever loved her. Her professions of attachment were now as disgusting as her excuses were empty, and her demands impudent. ‘Write to James on her behalf!—No, James should never hear Isabella’s name mentioned by her again.’

[from Chapter 22]

How does Austen’s writing make you agree with Catherine’s opinion of Isabella at this moment in the novel?

Or 10 How does Austen make the goodness of the Morland family vivid for you?

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GEORGE ELIOT: SilasMarner



She looked at Silas pityingly as she went on. ‘But you didn’t hear the church-bells this morning, Master Marner? I doubt you didn’t know it was Sunday. Living so lone here, you lose your count, I daresay; and then, when your loom makes a noise, you can’t hear the bells, more partic’lar now the frost kills the sound.’

‘Yes, I did; I heard ’em,’ said Silas, to whom Sunday bells were a mere accident of the day, and not part of its sacredness. There had been no bells in Lantern Yard.

‘Dear heart!’ said Dolly, pausing before she spoke again. ‘But what a pity it is you should work of a Sunday, and not clean yourself – if you didn’t go to church; for if you’d a roasting bit, it might be as you couldn’t leave it, being a lone man. But there’s the bakehus, if you could make up your mind to spend a twopence on the oven now and then, – not every week, in course – I shouldn’t like to do that myself, – you might carry your bit o’ dinner there, for it’s nothing but right to have a bit o’ summat hot of a Sunday, and not to make it as you can’t know your dinner from Saturday. But now, upo’ Christmas-day, this blessed Christmas as is ever coming, if you was to take your dinner to the bakehus, and go to church, and see the holly and the yew, and hear the anthim, and then take the sacramen’, you’d be a deal the better, and you’d know which end you stood on, and you could put your trust i’ Them as knows better nor we do, seein’ you’d ha’ done what it lies on us all to do.’

Dolly’s exhortation, which was an unusually long effort of speech for her, was uttered in the soothing persuasive tone with which she would have tried to prevail on a sick man to take his medicine, or a basin of gruel for which he had no appetite. Silas had never before been closely urged on the point of his absence from church, which had only been thought of as a part of his general queerness; and he was too direct and simple to evade Dolly’s appeal.

‘Nay, nay,’ he said, ‘I know nothing o’ church. I’ve never been to church.’‘No!’ said Dolly, in a low tone of wonderment. Then bethinking herself

of Silas’s advent from an unknown country, she said, ‘Could it ha’ been as they’d no church where you was born?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Silas, meditatively, sitting in his usual posture of leaning on his knees, and supporting his head. ‘There was churches – a many – it was a big town. But I knew nothing of ’em – I went to chapel.’

Dolly was much puzzled at this new word, but she was rather afraid of inquiring further, lest ‘chapel’ might mean some haunt of wickedness. After a little thought, she said –

‘Well, Master Marner, it’s niver too late to turn over a new leaf, and if you’ve niver had no church, there’s no telling the good it’ll do you. For I feel so set up and comfortable as niver was, when I’ve been and heard the prayers, and the singing to the praise and glory o’ God, as Mr Macey gives out – and Mr Crackenthorp saying good words, and more partic’lar on Sacramen’ Day; and if a bit o’ trouble comes, I feel as I can put up wi’ it, for I’ve looked for help i’ the right quarter, and gev myself up to Them as we must all give ourselves up to at the last; and if we ’n done our part, it isn’t to

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be believed as Them as are above us ’ull be worse nor we are, and come short o’ Their’n.’

Poor Dolly’s exposition of her simple Raveloe theology fell rather unmeaningly on Silas’s ears, for there was no word in it that could rouse a memory of what he had known as religion, and his comprehension was quite baffled by the plural pronoun, which was no heresy of Dolly’s, but only her way of avoiding a presumptuous familiarity. He remained silent, not feeling inclined to assent to the part of Dolly’s speech which he fully understood – her recommendation that he should go to church. Indeed, Silas was so unaccustomed to talk beyond the brief questions and answers necessary for the transaction of his simple business, that words did not easily come to him without the urgency of a distinct purpose.

But now, little Aaron, having become used to the weaver’s awful presence, had advanced to his mother’s side, and Silas, seeming to notice him for the first time, tried to return Dolly’s signs of goodwill by offering the lad a bit of lard-cake. Aaron shrank back a little, and rubbed his head against his mother’s shoulder, but still thought the piece of cake worth the risk of putting his hand out for it.

‘Oh, for shame, Aaron,’ said his mother, taking him on her lap, however; ‘why, you don’t want cake again yet awhile. He’s wonderful hearty,’ she went on, with a little sigh – ‘that he is, God knows. He’s my youngest, and we spoil him sadly, for either me or the father must allays hev him in our sight – that we must.’

[from Chapter 10 ]

How does Eliot make this such a moving portrayal of Dolly?

Or 12 Explore the ways in which Eliot makes William Dane’s betrayal of Silas such a powerful and significant part of the novel.

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MICHAEL FRAyN: Spies



I’m still looking for the two-colour pencil, though, when I hear the reassuringly familiar sounds of Keith crawling in along the passageway. My heart leaps gratefully. Now things will be all right.

It’s not Keith, though.‘I knew you were playing on your own,’ says Barbara Berrill. ‘I’ve got a

secret way of seeing you in here.’I’m so taken aback by the outrage she’s committing that I can’t speak.

She sits on the ground with her arms round her knees, smiling her big mocking smile, making herself entirely at home. She’s wearing her school frock with the puffy sleeves, and her school purse slung across her chest. The purse is made of bobbly blue leather, and closed with a shiny blue popper. There’s something girlishly self-satisfied about the bobbliness of the leather and the shininess of the popper that offends me almost as much as her intrusion.

‘No one’s allowed in here!’ I manage to cry at last. ‘Only me and Keith!’She goes on sitting and smiling. ‘You didn’t see me watching you, did

you?’‘Yes, I did.’‘No, you didn’t.’‘Look, strangers can’t come in here. This is private.’‘No, it isn’t. It’s Miss Durrant’s garden, and she’s dead. Anyone can come

in here.’‘Can’t you read?’ I point to the warning she’s just crawled past.She turns round to look. ‘What – “privet”?’‘ “Private”.’‘It says “privet”.’I cringe with shame on Keith’s behalf. ‘It says “private”,’ I insist lumpishly.‘No, it doesn’t. And it’s stupid to go putting up a sign saying it’s privet,

when anyone can see it’s privet.’‘You’re being stupid, saying things that don’t mean anything.’‘What – “privet”?’ she says. She rests her chin on her knees, and gazes

at me. She’s just realised that my ignorance goes deeper than a matter of spelling. At once I’m on my guard. ‘Privet’ does mean something, I realise.

‘You mean you don’t know what privet is?’ she says softly.‘Of course I do,’ I say scornfully. And I do, just from the way she asked

me. Or at any rate I know that it must be one of those things like bosoms and sheenies that ambush you when you least expect it, so that you suddenly find yourself surrounded by jeering enemies who know what they are when you don’t. Privet, yes … At the back of my mind now I have a dim, shameful recollection of something half-heard and half-understood.

‘You don’t know!’ she taunts.‘Yes, I do.’‘What is it, then?’‘I’m not telling you.’I’m not telling her because my faint recollection has hardened into

certainty. I know perfectly well what privets are. They’re the secret little sheds they have behind the Cottages in the Lanes – lavatories of some

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sort, and of some particularly disgusting sort that’s full of germs, and that I’m not going to get involved in talking about.

She giggles. ‘Your face has gone all squidgy,’ she says.I say nothing. ‘Squidgy’ is a girl’s word that I shouldn’t condescend to

respond to.‘It’s because you’re telling fibs,’ she teases. ‘You don’t know.’‘Look, just go away, will you?’I glance in the direction of Keith’s house. At any moment he’s going to

come down the garden path … cross over the road … come crawling along the tunnel … and find our private place full of Barbara Berrill in her school purse, with her school skirt tucked primly over her hunched-up knees, and her knickers on display beneath. He won’t blame her, of course, or even speak to her, any more than his father ever blames me or speaks to me. He’ll hold me responsible for her, just as his father holds him responsible for me. He’ll catch my eye and smile that little mocking smile of his. I think of the sharpened bayonet, locked away inside the trunk beside me, waiting for Keith to draw it across my throat to punish any breach of my oath of secrecy.

[from Chapter 5 ]

How does Frayn make this conversation between Stephen and Barbara such an amusing moment in the novel?

Or 14 Explore two moments in the novel which Frayn makes particularly shocking for you.

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SUSAN HILL: I’mtheKingoftheCastle



So he was proud of himself, now, that he had reached the edge of Hang Wood, and everything had gone right, proud of the way he had thought things out, proud of the neatly packed satchel, and of what was inside it.

Everything was all right, then.But, when he was tying the satchel up again, he noticed a wart on the

back of his middle finger. It hadn’t been there before. His stomach turned over in fear. It had happened, it was true. They had told him it would.

Broughton-Smith had had the warts, dozens of them, on his knees. They were so bad, he was being sent to the doctor.

Casey said, ‘They inject you.’‘They stick a hot needle into the middle of every one. That’s what they

do.’‘It hurts like hell.’Broughton-Smith had stared down miserably at his warty knees. He had

been the one who cried all night, after he’d had a tooth out. Fenwick had laughed at him. In the end, Gough had gone to fetch his brother. ‘You won’t have to have the doctor,’ he said, ‘because my brother knows about black magic, there’s something he can do with warts, and then they go away.’

Gough’s brother had taken Broughton-Smith into the Fifth form labs, on corridor two, one evening before supper. The rest of them had waited outside on the landing, in the dark. Nobody said anything, nor even dared to look through the glass door of the lab. Kingshaw remembered the smell of them all as they stood close together. He had been afraid. Anything might happen.

In the end, Broughton-Smith had come out, smiling a secret smile.‘What did he do?’‘What happened?’‘Is it a spell?’‘You’re not allowed to do black magic, it’s a terrible sin.’‘You’ll probably die, now.’‘Yes, he’s poisoned you, I bet, you’ll die in the night.’‘Let’s have a look.’But Broughton-Smith had slipped out of their circle, in the darkness, and

run away down the stone stairs. The Prep bell had rung.The next morning, all his warts had turned a brownish-black colour.

Broughton-Smith had kept moving his knee out from under the desk, to stare at them. He looked afraid. Two days afterwards, they were all gone. He’d showed them his leg, stretching it out on the bed in dorm, and letting everyone peer at the puckered, wartless skin of his knees. When the lights were out, they’d talked about it.

It was Clarke who had said, ‘They go on to someone else. It’s part of the spell. To get them away, you have to wish them on to somebody else.’

‘Who?’‘Anybody?’‘No, you do it to somebody you don’t like.’Kingshaw lay and thought, they will come on to me. It was inevitable.

Broughton-Smith had never liked him. He told himself he didn’t believe in any of it, but he had to, because Broughton-Smith’s warts were gone, and

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because the next morning, Kingshaw saw him, looking and looking at him. That was the way things happened.

Now, he stared down at his wart for a long time. He wondered if he could make it turn black and go off to somebody else. On to Hooper. Or whether he ought to try. But he was afraid, he didn’t like having it on his own hand.

By the time he had found the gap, right down at the far end of the wood, the sun had come right out, the sky was clear. There was a space in the hedge, and here, the trees were different, a separate group of them, inside the main wood. Kingshaw thought they were larches. The sun was shining directly into them, so that he could see for a long way inside. There was bracken, and curled foliage on the ground, and the light coming out between the branches was a queer coppery green, like the light under the sea. It looked all right, he thought. Safe.

He straddled the ditch for a moment, feeling the sun on his back, though the air ahead of him was very cold. There was a lot of dew, his jeans were very wet, now.

Then, he jumped forward across the ditch, and took a dozen paces quickly forward, eyes closed. When he opened them, he was inside Hang Wood.

[from Chapter 5 ]

How does Hill’s writing vividly convey Kingshaw’s thoughts and feelings at this point in the novel?

Or 16 Who does Hill’s writing suggest is most to blame for Kingshaw’s death at the end of the novel?

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R. K. NARAyAN: TheEnglishTeacher



On the following Friday, I was pacing the little Malgudi railway station in great agitation. I had never known such suspense before. She was certain to arrive with a lot of luggage, and the little child. How was all this to be transferred from the train to the platform? and the child must not be hurt. I made a mental note, ‘Must shout as soon as the train stops: “Be careful with the baby”.’ This seemed to my fevered imagination the all-important thing to say on arrival, as otherwise I fancied the child’s head was sure to be banged against the doorway. … And how many infants were damaged and destroyed by careless mothers in the process of coming out of trains! Why couldn’t they make these railway carriages of safer dimensions? It ought to be done in the interests of baby welfare in India. ‘Mind the baby and the door’. And then the luggage! Susila was sure to bring with her a huge amount of luggage. She required four trunks for her sarees alone! Women never understood the importance of travelling light. Why should they? As long as there were men to bear all the anxieties and bother and see them through their travails! It would teach them a lesson to be left to shift for themselves. Then they would know the value of economy in these matters. I wrung my hands in despair. How was she going to get out with the child and all that luggage! The train stopped for just seven minutes. I would help her down first and then throw the things out, and if there were any boxes left over they would have to be lost with the train, that was all. No one could help it. I turned to the gnarled blue-uniformed man behind me. He was known as Number Five and I had known him for several years now. Whatever had to be done on the railway platform was done with his help. I had offered him three times his usual wages to help me today. I turned to him and asked: ‘Can you manage even if there is too much luggage?’

‘Yes, master, no difficulty. The train stops for seven minutes.’ He seemed to have a grand notion of seven minutes; a miserable flash it seemed to me. ‘We unload whole waggons within that time.’

‘I will tell the pointsman to stop it at the outer signal, if necessary,’ he added. It was a very strength-giving statement to me. I felt relieved. But I think I lost my head once again. I believe, in this needless anxiety, I became slightly demented. Otherwise I would not have rushed at the stationmaster the moment I set eyes on him. I saw him come out of his room and move down the platform to gaze on a far off signal post. I ran behind him, panting: ‘Good morning stationmaster!’ He bestowed an official smile and moved off to the end of the platform and looked up. I felt I had a lot of doubts to clear on railway matters and asked inanely: ‘Looking at the signals?’

‘Yes,’ he replied, and took his eyes down, and turned to go back to his room. I asked: ‘Can’t they arrange to stop this train a little longer here?’ ‘What for? Isn’t there enough trouble as it is?’ I laughed sympathetically and said: ‘I said so because it may not be possible for passengers to unload all their trunks.’

‘I should like to see a passenger who carries luggage that will take more than six minutes. I have been here thirty years.’

I said: ‘My wife is arriving today with the infant. I thought she would require a lot of time in order to get down carefully. And then she is bound to have numerous boxes. These women, you know,’ I said laughing artificially,

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seeking his indulgence. He was a good man and laughed with me. ‘Well, sometimes it has happened that the train was held up for the convenience of a second-class passenger. Are your people travelling second?’ ‘I can’t say,’ I said. I knew well she wouldn’t travel second, although I implored her in every letter to do so. She wrote rather diplomatically: ‘Yes, don’t be anxious, I and the baby will travel down quite safely.’ I even wrote to my father-in-law, but that gentleman preserved a discreet silence on the matter. I knew by temperament he disliked the extravagance of travelling second, although he could afford it and in other ways had proved himself no miser. I felt furious at the thought of him and told the stationmaster. ‘Some people are born niggards … would put up with any trouble rather than …’ But before I could finish my sentence a bell rang inside the station office and the stationmaster ran in, leaving me to face my travail and anguish alone. I turned and saw my porter standing away from me, borrowing a piece of tobacco from someone. ‘Here, Number Five, don’t get lost.’ A small crowd was gathering unobtrusively on the platform. I feared he might get lost at the critical moment. A bell sounded. People moved about. We heard the distant puffing and whistling. The engine appeared around the bend.

[from Chapter 2]

How does Narayan vividly convey Krishna’s state of mind at this moment in the novel?

Or 18 How far does Narayan make you sympathise with the Headmaster’s wife in the novel?

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ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON: TheStrangeCaseofDrJekyllandMrHyde



Poole felt in his pocket and handed out a crumpled note, which the lawyer, bending nearer to the candle, carefully examined. Its contents ran thus: ‘Dr Jekyll presents his compliments to Messrs. Maw. He assures them that their last sample is impure and quite useless for his present purpose. In the year 18—, Dr J. purchased a somewhat large quantity from Messrs. M. He now begs them to search with the most sedulous care, and should any of the same quality be left, to forward it to him at once. Expense is no consideration. The importance of this to Dr J. can hardly be exaggerated.’ So far the letter had run composedly enough; but here, with a sudden splutter of the pen, the writer’s emotion had broken loose. ‘For God’s sake,’ he had added, ‘find me some of the old.’

‘This is a strange note,’ said Mr Utterson; and then sharply, ‘How do you come to have it open?’

‘The man at Maw’s was main angry, sir, and he threw it back to me like so much dirt,’ returned Poole.

‘This is unquestionably the doctor’s hand, do you know?’ resumed the lawyer.

‘I thought it looked like it,’ said the servant, rather sulkily; and then, with another voice, ‘But what matters hand of write?’ he said. ‘I’ve seen him!’

‘Seen him?’ repeated Mr Utterson. ‘Well?’‘That’s it!’ said Poole. ‘It was this way. I came suddenly into the theatre

from the garden. It seems he had slipped out to look for this drug, or whatever it is; for the cabinet door was open, and there he was at the far end of the room, digging among the crates. He looked up when I came in, gave a kind of cry, and whipped upstairs into the cabinet. It was but for one minute that I saw him, but the hair stood upon my head like quills. Sir, if that was my master, why had he a mask upon his face? If it was my master, why did he cry out like a rat and run from me? I have served him long enough. And then …’ the man paused, and passed his hand over his face.

‘These are all very strange circumstances,’ said Mr Utterson, ‘but I think I begin to see daylight. Your master, Poole, is plainly seized with one of those maladies that both torture and deform the sufferer; hence, for aught I know, the alteration of his voice; hence the mask and his avoidance of his friends; hence his eagerness to find this drug, by means of which the poor soul retains some hope of ultimate recovery – God grant that he be not deceived! There is my explanation; it is sad enough, Poole, ay, and appalling to consider; but it is plain and natural, hangs well together, and delivers us from all exorbitant alarms.’

‘Sir,’ said the butler, turning to a sort of mottled pallor, ‘that thing was not my master, and there’s the truth. My master’ – here he looked round him, and began to whisper – ‘is a tall fine build of a man, and this was more of a dwarf.’ Utterson attempted to protest. ‘O, sir,’ cried Poole, ‘do you think I do not know my master after twenty years? do you think I do not know where his head comes to in the cabinet door, where I saw him every morning of my life? No, sir, that thing in the mask was never Dr Jekyll – God knows what it was, but it was never Dr Jekyll; and it is the belief of my heart that there was murder done.’

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‘Poole,’ replied the lawyer, ‘if you say that, it will become my duty to make certain. Much as I desire to spare your master’s feelings, much as I am puzzled about this note, which seems to prove him to be still alive, I shall consider it my duty to break in that door.’

‘Ah, Mr Utterson, that’s talking!’ cried the butler.‘And now comes the second question,’ resumed Utterson: ‘Who is going

to do it?’‘Why, you and me, sir,’ was the undaunted reply.‘That is very well said,’ returned the lawyer; ‘and whatever comes of it, I

shall make it my business to see you are no loser.’‘There is an axe in the theatre,’ continued Poole; ‘and you might take the

kitchen poker for yourself.’The lawyer took that rude but weighty instrument into his hand, and

balanced it. ‘Do you know, Poole,’ he said, looking up, ‘that you and I are about to place ourselves in a position of some peril?’

‘You may say so, sir, indeed,’ returned the butler.‘It is well, then, that we should be frank,’ said the other. ‘We both think

more than we have said; let us make a clean breast. This masked figure that you saw, did you recognise it?’

‘Well, sir, it went so quick, and the creature was so doubled up, that I could hardly swear to that,’ was the answer. ‘But if you mean, was it Mr Hyde? – why, yes, I think it was! You see, it was much of the same bigness; and it had the same quick light way with it; and then who else could have got in by the laboratory door? You have not forgot, sir, that at the time of the murder he had still the key with him? But that’s not all. I don’t know, Mr Utterson, if ever you met this Mr Hyde?’

‘Yes,’ said the lawyer, ‘I once spoke with him.’‘Then you must know, as well as the rest of us, that there was something

queer about that gentleman – something that gave a man a turn – I don’t know rightly how to say it, sir beyond this: that you felt it in your marrow – kind of cold and thin.’

[from Chapter 8, ‘Dr Lanyon’s Narrative’]

How does Stevenson make this such a dramatic and significant moment in the novel?

Or 20 Explore the ways in which Stevenson hints that Jekyll and Hyde are the same person as the novel progresses.

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from StoriesofOurselves


Either 21 Read this extract from The People Before (by Maurice Shadbolt), and then answer the question that follows it:

‘We’ve come a long way,’ Tom said. ‘Nearly a hundred miles, from up the coast. That’s where we live now.’

‘All this way. Just so—’‘Yes,’ Tom said. ‘That’s right.’‘Well,’ said my father. ‘What do you know? What do you know about

that?’ Baffled, he looked at me, at my mother, and even finally at Jim. None of us had anything to say.

‘I hope we’re not troubling you,’ Tom said politely. ‘We don’t want to be any trouble. We just want to go across your land, if that’s all right. We got our own tucker and everything.’

We saw this was true. The two old women had large flax kits of food.‘No liquor?’ my father said suspiciously. ‘I don’t want any drinking round

my place.’‘No,’ Tom replied. His face was still patient. ‘No liquor. We don’t plan on

any drinking.’The other young men shyly agreed in the background. It was not, they

seemed to say, an occasion for drinking.‘Well,’ said my father stiffly, ‘I suppose it’s all right. Where are you going

to take him?’ He nodded towards the old sleeping man.‘Just across your land. And up to the old pa.’‘I didn’t know there used to be any pa round here.’‘Well,’ said Tom. ‘It used to be up there.’ He pointed out the largest hill

behind our farm, one that stood well apart and above the others. We called it Craggy Hill, because of limestone outcrops. Its flanks and summit were patchy with tall scrub. We seldom went near it, except perhaps when out shooting; then we circled its steep slopes rather than climbed it. ‘You’d see the terraces,’ Tom said, ‘if it wasn’t for the scrub. It’s all hidden now.’

Now my father looked strangely at Tom. ‘Hey,’ he said, ‘You sure you aren’t having me on? How come you know that hill straight off? You ever been here before?’

‘No,’ Tom said. His face shone as he sweated with the effort of trying to explain everything. ‘I never been here before. I never been in this part of the country before.’

‘Then how do you know that’s the hill, eh?’‘Because,’ Tom said simply, ‘the old men told me. They described it so

well I could find the place blindfold. All the stories of our tribe are connected with that hill. That’s where we lived, up there, for hundreds of years.’

‘Well, I’ll be damned. What do you know about that?’ My father blinked, and looked up at the hill again. ‘Just up there, eh? And for hundreds of years.’

‘That’s right.’‘And I never knew. Well, I’ll be damned.’‘There’s lots of stories about that hill,’ Tom said. ‘And a lot of battles

fought round here. Over your place.’‘Right over my land?’‘That’s right. Up and down here, along the river.’My father was so astonished he forgot to be aloof. He was trying to fit

everything into his mind at once – the hill where they’d lived hundreds of

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years, the battles fought across his land – and it was too much.‘The war canoes would come up here,’ Tom went on. ‘I reckon they’d

drag them up somewhere here’ – he indicated the grassy bank on which we were standing – ‘in the night, and go on up to attack the pa before sunrise. That’s if we hadn’t sprung a trap for them down here. There’d be a lot of blood soaked into this soil.’ He kicked at the earth beneath our feet. ‘We had to fight a long while to keep this land here, a lot of battles. Until there was a day when it was no use fighting any more. That was when we left.’

We knew, without him having to say it, what he meant. He meant the day when the European took the land. So we all stood quietly for a moment. Then my mother spoke.

‘You’d better come up to the house,’ she said. ‘I’ll make you all a cup of tea.’

A cup of tea was her solution to most problems.We went up to the house slowly. The young men followed behind,

carrying the litter. They put the old man in the shade of a tree, outside the house. Since it seemed the best thing to do, we all sat around him; there wouldn’t have been room for everyone in our small kitchen anyway. We waited for my mother to bring out the tea.

How does Shadbolt make this conversation between the narrator’s father and Tom so revealing and significant?

Or 22 How does Townsend Warner create such a memorable portrait of an animal in The Phoenix ?

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BLANK PAGE

Permission to reproduce items where third-party owned material protected by copyright is included has been sought and cleared where possible. Every reasonable effort has been made by the publisher (UCLES) to trace copyright holders, but if any items requiring clearance have unwittingly been included, the publisher will be pleased to make amends at the earliest possible opportunity.

To avoid the issue of disclosure of answer-related information to candidates, all copyright acknowledgements are reproduced online in the Cambridge International Examinations Copyright Acknowledgements Booklet. This is produced for each series of examinations and is freely available to download at www.cie.org.uk after the live examination series.

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2010/22LITERATURE IN ENGLISH

May/June 2016Paper 2 Drama

1 hour 30 minutes



An answer booklet is provided inside this question paper. You should follow the instructions on the front coverof the answer booklet. If you need additional answer paper ask the invigilator for a continuation booklet.

Answer two questions.Your questions may be on the same play, or on two different plays.


This document consists of 11 printed pages and 1 blank page.

[Turn over06_2010_22_2016_1.3© UCLES 2016

*0508831470*

ARTHUR MILLER: All My Sons


Read this passage, and then answer the question that follows it:1

[ANN enters from house. They say nothing, waiting for her to speak.]

06_2010_22_2016_1.3© UCLES 2016

2

I told you a hundred times, why wouldn’t you believe me!

[from Act 3]

How does Miller make this such a powerful moment in the play?

In what ways does Miller make you sympathise with Chris Keller during the play?2

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3

J. B. PRIESTLEY: An Inspector Calls



[bursting out]: What’s the use of talking about behaving sensibly?Eric:

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4

But how do you know it’s the same girl?Gerald:

[from Act 3]

How does Priestley vividly convey the characters’ responses here, following the Inspector’sdeparture?

Explore two moments in the play where Priestley vividly creates suspense for the audience.4

[Turn over06_2010_22_2016_1.3© UCLES 2016

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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE: The Merchant of Venice



Enter SALERIO and SOLANIO

Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail;With him is Gratiano gone along;And in their ship I am sure Lorenzo is not.

Salerio:

The villain Jew with outcries rais’d the Duke,Who went with him to search Bassanio’s ship.

Solanio:

He came too late, the ship was under sail;But there the Duke was given to understandThat in a gondola were seen togetherLorenzo and his amorous Jessica;Besides, Antonio certified the DukeThey were not with Bassanio in his ship.

Salerio:

I never heard a passion so confus’d,So strange, outrageous, and so variable,As the dog Jew did utter in the streets.‘My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter!Fled with a Christian! O my Christian ducats!Justice! the law! My ducats and my daughter!A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducats,Of double ducats, stol’n from me by my daughter!And jewels – two stones, two rich and precious stones,Stol’n by my daughter! Justice! Find the girl;She hath the stones upon her and the ducats.’

Solanio:

Why all the boys in Venice follow him,Crying, his stones, his daughter, and his ducats.

Salerio:

Let good Antonio look he keep his day,Or he shall pay for this.

Solanio:

Marry, well rememb’red;I reason’d with a Frenchman yesterday,Who told me, in the narrow seas that partThe French and English, there miscarriedA vessel of our country richly fraught.I thought upon Antonio when he told me,And wish’d in silence that it were not his.

Salerio:

You were best to tell Antonio what you hear;Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.

Solanio:

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A kinder gentleman treads not the earth.I saw Bassanio and Antonio part.Bassanio told him he would make some speedOf his return. He answered ‘Do not so;Slubber not business for my sake, Bassanio,But stay the very riping of the time;And for the Jew’s bond which he hath of me,Let it not enter in your mind of love;Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughtsTo courtship, and such fair ostents of loveAs shall conveniently become you there’.And even there, his eye being big with tears,Turning his face, he put his hand behind him,And with affection wondrous sensibleHe wrung Bassanio’s hand; and so they parted.

Salerio:

I think he only loves the world for him.I pray thee, let us go and find him out,And quicken his embraced heavinessWith some delight or other.

Solanio:

Do we so.Salerio:

[from Act 2 Scene 8]

How does Shakespeare make this such a dramatic moment in the play?

In what striking ways does Shakespeare make revenge so significant in the play?6

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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE: Henry V



Enter PISTOL, HOSTESS, NYM, BARDOLPH, and BOY.

Prithee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring thee to Staines.Hostess:

No; for my manly heart doth earn.Bardolph, be blithe; Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins;Boy, bristle thy courage up. For Falstaff he is dead,And we must earn therefore.

Pistol:

Would I were with him, wheresome’er he is, either in heaven or in hell!Bardolph:

Nay, sure, he’s not in hell: he’s in Arthur’s bosom, if ever man went to Arthur’sbosom. ’A made a finer end, and went away an it had been any christom child;

Hostess:

’a parted ev’n just between twelve and one, ev’n at the turning o’ th’ tide; for afterI saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile upon hisfingers’ end, I knew there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as a pen,and ’a babbl’d of green fields. ‘How now, Sir John!’ quoth I ‘What, man, be o’goodcheer.’ So ’a cried out ‘God, God, God!’ three or four times. Now I, to comforthim, bid him ’a should not think of God; I hop’d there was no need to troublehimself with any such thoughts yet. So ’a bade me lay more clothes on his feet;I put my hand into the bed and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone;then I felt to his knees, and so upward and upward, and all was as cold as anystone.

They say he cried out of sack.Nym:

Ay, that’a did.Hostess:

And of women.Bardolph:

Nay, that ’a did not.Hostess:

Yes, that ’a did, and said they were devils incarnate.Boy:

’A could never abide carnation; ’twas a colour he never lik’d.Hostess:

’A said once the devil would have him about women.Boy:

’A did in some sort, indeed, handle women; but then he was rheumatic, and talk’dof the Whore of Babylon.

Hostess:

Do you not remember ’a saw a flea stick upon Bardolph’s nose, and ’a said itwas a black soul burning in hell?

Boy:

Well, the fuel is gone that maintain’d that fire: that’s all the riches I got in hisservice.

Bardolph:

Shall we shog? The King will be gone from Southampton.Nym:

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35Come, let’s away. My love, give me thy lips.Look to my chattels and my moveables;Let senses rule. The word is ‘Pitch and Pay’.Trust none;For oaths are straws, men’s faiths are wafer-cakes,And Holdfast is the only dog, my duck.Therefore, Caveto be thy counsellor.Go, clear thy crystals. Yoke-fellows in arms,Let us to France, like horse-leeches, my boys,To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck.

Pistol:

And that’s but unwholesome food, they say.Boy:

Touch her soft mouth and march.Pistol:

Farewell, hostess. [Kissing her.]Bardolph:

I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it; but, adieu.Nym:

Let housewifery appear; keep close, I thee command.Pistol:

Farewell; adieu.Hostess:


How does Shakespeare make this moment in the play both moving and amusing?

What do you find particularly memorable about Shakespeare’s portrayal of the French in the play?8

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J. LAWRENCE & R.E. LEE: Inherit The Wind



[In a shrill, screeching voice.]: Buy a Bible! Your guidebook to eternal life![E.K. HORNBECK wanders on, carrying a suitcase. He is a newspaperman

Elijah

in his middle thirties, who sneers politely at everything, including himself. Hisclothes – those of a sophisticated city-dweller – contrast sharply with theattire of the townspeople. He uses his “boater” straw-hat throughout as kindof an impertinent prop. Still unnoticed by most of the townspeople,HORNBECK looks around with wonderful contempt.]

[To HORNBECK.]: Want a fan? Compliments of Maley’s Funeral Home –thirty-five cents!

Mrs McLain

I’d die first.Hornbeck:

[Unctuously, to HORNBECK.]: You’re a stranger, aren’t you, mister? Wanta nice clean place to stay?

Mrs Krebs

I had a nice clean place to stay, madame. And I left it to come here.Hornbeck:

[Undaunted.]: You’re gonna need a room.Mrs Krebs

I have a reservation at the Mansion House.Hornbeck:

Oh? [She sniffs.] That’s all right, I suppose, for them as likes having a privypractically in the bedroom. [She turns away from him. He tips his straw hatto her.]

Mrs Krebs:

The unplumbed and plumbing-less depths. Ahhh, Hillsboro, HeavenlyHillsboro, the buckle on the Bible belt. [The HOT DOG MAN and ELIJAHconverge on HORNBECK from opposite sides.]

Hornbeck:

Hot dog?Hot Dog Man:

Buy a Bible?Elijah:

[Up ends his suitcase and sits on it.]: Now that poses a pretty problem. Whichis hungrier – my stomach or my soul? [Buys hot dog.] My stomach. [HOTDOG MAN accepts money from HORNBECK and moves off.]

Hornbeck

[Miffed.]: What are you? An evolutionist? An infidel? A sinner?Elijah

[Munching on hot dog.]: The worst kind. I write for a newspaper. [HORNBECKoffers his hand.] I’m E.K. Hornbeck, Baltimore Herald. I don’t believe I caughtyour name.

Hornbeck

[Impressively, not taking his hand.]: They call me . . . Elijah.Elijah

[Pleased.]: Elijah. Yes. Why, I had no idea you were still around. I’ve readsome of your stuff.

Hornbeck

[Haughtily.]: I neither read nor write.Elijah

Oh. Excuse me. I must be thinking of another Elijah. [An organ grinder enters,with a live monkey on a string. HORNBECK spies the monkey gleefully; he

Hornbeck:

greets the monk with arms outstretched.] Grandpa! [Crosses to the monkey,bends down and shakes the monkey’s hand.] Welcome to Hillsboro, sir! Haveyou come to testify for the defense? Or for the prosecution? [The monkey,oddly enough, doesn’t answer.] No comment? That’s fairly safe. But I warn

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you, sir. You can’t compete with all these monkeyshines. [MELINDA handsthe monkey a penny.]

Look! He took my penny!Melinda:

How could you ask for better proof than that? There’s the father of the humanrace!

Hornbeck:

[Running on breathlessly.]: Train’s coming! I seen the smoke ’way up thetrack!

Timmy

All the members of the Bible League, get ready. Let us show Mr. Brady thespirit with which we welcome him to Hillsboro! [The crowd lets out a mighty

Brown:

cheer. MRS. BLAIR blows a note on her pitch-pipe and sings the first line of“Marching to Zion.”]

[Singing.]: “We’re marching to Zion”Mrs Blair

[Taking up the song.]:— Beautiful, beautiful Zion.[MRS. BLAIR waves the crowd to follow her. The crowd marches off singing.]We’re marching upwards to Zion,The beautiful city of God.[HORNBECK turns to watch the last of the crowd disappear. Even the organgrinder leaves his monkey tied to the hurdy-gurdy and joins the departingcrowd.]

All

Amen! [To the monkey.] Shield your eyes, monk, you are about to meet themightiest of your descendants. A man who wears a cathedral for a cloak and

Hornbeck:

a church spire for a hat. Whose tread has the thunder of the legions of thelion hearted.


How do the writers make this such a striking introduction to Hornbeck?

Explore how the writers vividly portray the ways in which Rachel changes during the play.10

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Permission to reproduce items where third-party owned material protected by copyright is included has been sought and cleared where possible. Every reasonableeffort has been made by the publisher (UCLES) to trace copyright holders, but if any items requiring clearance have unwittingly been included, the publisher willbe pleased to make amends at the earliest possible opportunity.

To avoid the issue of disclosure of answer-related information to candidates, all copyright acknowledgements are reproduced online in the Cambridge InternationalExaminations Copyright Acknowledgements Booklet. This is produced for each series of examinations and is freely available to download at www.cie.org.uk afterthe live examination series.

Cambridge International Examinations is part of the Cambridge Assessment Group. Cambridge Assessment is the brand name of University of Cambridge LocalExaminations Syndicate (UCLES), which is itself a department of the University of Cambridge.

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2010/23LITERATURE IN ENGLISH

May/June 2016Paper 2 Drama

1 hour 30 minutes



An answer booklet is provided inside this question paper. You should follow the instructions on the front coverof the answer booklet. If you need additional answer paper ask the invigilator for a continuation booklet.

Answer two questions.Your questions may be on the same play, or on two different plays.


This document consists of 11 printed pages and 1 blank page.

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*1932360517*

ARTHUR MILLER: All My Sons


1

Read this passage, and then answer the question that follows it:

[angering]: We rushed into it.Mother

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In my worst moments, I think of her waiting, and I know again that I’m right.

[from Act 1]

How does Miller strikingly convey the thoughts and feelings of the characters in this scene?

2

In what ways does Miller make self-deception so significant in the play?

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[INSPECTOR holds up a hand. We hear the front door. They wait, lookingtowards door. ERIC enters, looking extremely pale and distressed. He meetstheir inquiring stares. Curtain falls quickly.]

END OF ACT TWO

[from Act 2]

How does Priestley make this such a striking ending to Act 2?

4

How does Priestley memorably depict the relationship between Gerald and Sheila?

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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE: The Merchant of Venice


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Signior Antonio, many a time and oftIn the Rialto you have rated meAbout my moneys and my usances;Still have I borne it with a patient shrug,For suff'rance is the badge of all our tribe;You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog,And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine,And all for use of that which is mine own.Well then, it now appears you need my help;Go to, then; you come to me, and you say‘Shylock, we would have moneys’. You say so –You that did void your rheum upon my beardAnd foot me as you spurn a stranger curOver your threshold; moneys is your suit.What should I say to you? Should I not say‘Hath a dog money? Is it possibleA cur can lend three thousand ducats?’ OrShall I bend low and, in a bondman’s key,With bated breath, and whisp’ring humbleness,Say this:‘Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last,You spurn'd me such a day; another timeYou call’d me dog; and for these courtesiesI’ll lend you thus much moneys’?

Shylock:

I am as like to call thee so again,To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too.If thou wilt lend this money, lend it notAs to thy friends – for when did friendship takeA breed for barren metal of his friend? –But lend it rather to thine enemy,Who if he break thou mayst with better faceExact the penalty.

Antonio:

Why, look you, how you storm!I would be friends with you, and have your love,Forget the shames that you have stain’d me with,Supply your present wants, and take no doitOf usance for my moneys, and you’ll not hear me.This is kind I offer.

Shylock:

This were kindness.Bassanio:

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40This kindness will I show.Go with me to a notary, seal me thereYour single bond, and, in a merry sport,If you repay me not on such a day,In such a place, such sum or sums as areExpress’d in the condition, let the forfeitBe nominated for an equal poundOf your fair flesh, to be cut off and takenIn what part of your body pleaseth me.

Shylock:


What does Shakespeare’s writing make you feel about Shylock at this moment in the play?

6

To what extent does Shakespeare persuade you that Portia and Bassanio will have a happymarriage?

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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE: Henry V


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Enter the KING OF FRANCE, the DAUPHIN, DUKE OF BRITAINE, theCONSTABLE OF FRANCE, and Others.

'Tis certain he hath pass’d the river Somme.King of France:

And if he be not fought withal, my lord,Let us not live in France; let us quit all,And give our vineyards to a barbarous people.

Constable:

O Dieu vivant! Shall a few sprays of us,The emptying of our fathers’ luxury,Our scions, put in wild and savage stock,Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds,And overlook their grafters?

Dauphin:

Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards!Mort Dieu, ma vie! if they march alongUnfought withal, but I will sell my dukedomTo buy a slobb’ry and a dirty farmIn that nook-shotten isle of Albion.

Britaine:

Dieu de batailles! where have they this mettle?Is not their climate foggy, raw, and dull;On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale,Killing their fruit with frowns? Can sodden water,A drench for sur-rein'd jades, their barley-broth,Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat?And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine,Seem frosty? O, for honour of our land,Let us not hang like roping iciclesUpon our houses’ thatch, whiles a more frosty peopleSweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields –Poor we call them in their native lords!

Constable:

By faith and honour,Our madams mock at us, and plainly sayOur mettle is bred out, and they will giveTheir bodies to the lust of English youthTo new-store France with bastard warriors.

Dauphin:

They bid us to the English dancing-schoolsAnd teach lavoltas high and swift corantos,Saying our grace is only in our heelsAnd that we are most lofty runaways.

Britaine:

Where is Montjoy the herald? Speed him hence;Let him greet England with our sharp defiance.Up, Princes, and, with spirit of honour edgedMore sharper than your swords, hie to the field...


King of France:

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In what ways does Shakespeare make this a strikingly dramatic moment in the play?

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What do you think Shakespeare's portrayal of Pistol contributes to the play?

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J. LAWRENCE & R.E. LEE: Inherit The Wind


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[As he crosses to MEEKER over the above.]: I don’t think I have a correct copyof the indictment. [RACHEL moves to CATES.]

Drummond

Lemme see. [DRUMMOND hands MEEKER indictment.] Oh, you have the oldone.

Meeker:

Well, let me have a new one.Drummond:

Here. [He gives DRUMMOND a new indictment. Suddenly, RACHEL darts toDRUMMOND at JUDGE’S bench. CATES opens his mouth to stop her, butshe speaks rapidly, with pent-up tension.]

Meeker:

Mr. Drummond. You’ve got to call the whole thing off. It’s not too late. Bertknows he did wrong. He didn’t mean to. And he’s sorry. Now why can’t he just

Rachel:

stand up and say to everybody: ‘I did wrong. I broke the law. I admit it. I won’tdo it again.’ Then they’d stop all this fuss, and – everything would be like it was.[DRUMMOND looks at RACHEL, not unkindly.]

Who are you?Drummond:

[Backing down to BRADY’S table.]: I’m – a friend of Bert’s.Rachel

How about it, boy? Getting cold feet?Drummond:

I never thought it would be like this. Like Barnum and Bailey coming to town.Cates:

[Easily.]: We can call it off. You want to quit?Drummond

Yes!Rachel:

People look at me as if I was a murderer. Worse than a murderer! That fellafrom Minnesota who killed his wife – remember, Rache? – half the town turned

Cates:

out to watch ’em put him on the train. They just stared at him as if he was acuriosity – not like they hated him! Not like he’d done anything really wrong!Just different!

There’s nothing very original about murdering your wife.Drummond:

People I thought were my friends look at me now as if I had horns growing outof my head.

Cates:

You murder a wife, it isn’t nearly as bad as murdering an old wives’ tale. Killone of their fairy-tale notions, and they call down the wrath of God, Brady, andthe state legislature.

Drummond:

You make a joke out of everything. You seem to think it’s all so funny!Rachel:

Lady, when you lose your power to laugh, you lose your power to think straight.Drummond:

Mr Drummond, I can’t laugh. I’m scared.Cates:

Good. You’d be a damned fool if you weren’t.Drummond:

[Bitterly.]: You’re supposed to be helping Bert, and every time you swear youmake it worse for him. [She moves to BERT. He comforts her.]

Rachel

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[Honestly.]: I’m sorry if I offend you. But I don’t swear just for the hell of it. Yousee, I figure that language is a poor enough means of communication as it is.

Drummond

So we ought to use all the words we’ve got. Besides, there are damned fewwords that everybody understands.

You don’t care anything about Bert! You just want a chance to make speechesagainst the Bible!

Rachel:

I care a great deal about Bert. I care a great deal about what Bert thinks.Drummond:

Well, I care about what the people in this town think of him.Rachel:

[Quietly.]: Can you buy back his respectability by making him a coward? [Hespades his hands in his hip pockets.] I understand what Bert’s going through.

Drummond

It’s the loneliest feeling in the world – to find yourself standing up wheneverybody else is sitting down. To have everybody look at you and say, ‘What’sthe matter with him?’ I know. I know what it feels like. Walking down an emptystreet, listening to the sound of your own footsteps. Shutters closed, blindsdrawn, doors locked against you. And you aren’t sure whether you’re walkingtowards something – or just walking away. . . [He takes a deep breath, thenturns abruptly.] Cates, I’ll change your plea and we’ll call off the whole business– on one condition. If you honestly believe that you committed a criminal actagainst the citizens of this state and the minds of their children. If you honestlybelieve that you’re wrong and the law’s right. Then the hell with it. I’ll pack mygrip and go back to Chicago, where it’s a cool hundred in the shade.


Explore how the writers make this moment in the play so tense.

10

How do the writers make the trial of Bert Cates both serious and entertaining?

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Permission to reproduce items where third-party owned material protected by copyright is included has been sought and cleared where possible. Every reasonableeffort has been made by the publisher (UCLES) to trace copyright holders, but if any items requiring clearance have unwittingly been included, the publisher willbe pleased to make amends at the earliest possible opportunity.

To avoid the issue of disclosure of answer-related information to candidates, all copyright acknowledgements are reproduced online in the Cambridge InternationalExaminations Copyright Acknowledgements Booklet. This is produced for each series of examinations and is freely available to download at www.cie.org.uk afterthe live examination series.

Cambridge International Examinations is part of the Cambridge Assessment Group. Cambridge Assessment is the brand name of University of Cambridge LocalExaminations Syndicate (UCLES), which is itself a department of the University of Cambridge.

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