English Language Paper 2Reading Nonfiction

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Contents

Teenagers

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Source A ………………………………………………………………………………………… page 4-5

Source B ………………………………………………………………………………………… page 6-7

Mobile phone

Source A ………………………………………………………………………………………… page 8-9

Source B ………………………………………………………………………………………… page 10-11

Girls

Source A ………………………………………………………………………………………… page 12-13

Source B ………………………………………………………………………………………… page 14

Musicians

Source A ………………………………………………………………………………………… page 15-16

Source B ………………………………………………………………………………………… page 17-18

Hot air balloons

Source A ………………………………………………………………………………………… page 19-20

Source B ………………………………………………………………………………………… page 21-22

Women in prison

Source A ………………………………………………………………………………………… page 23-24

Source B ………………………………………………………………………………………… page 25-26

Nursing

Source A ………………………………………………………………………………………… page 27-28

Source B ………………………………………………………………………………………… page 29-30

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Youth offenders

Source A ………………………………………………………………………………………… page 31-32

Source B ………………………………………………………………………………………… page 33-34

Fighting Talk

Source A: Excerpt from Goodbye to All That by Robert Graves, 1929 …. page 35

Source B: “A Statement of Defiance” by Siegfried Sassoon, 1917 ….. page 36

Fight for Freedom

Source A: The Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass by Frederick Douglass, 1845 … page 37-38

Source B: An excerpt from Barack Obama’s speech on Nelson Mandela’s death, 2013 … page 39-40

Fight for LifeSource A: The Story of My Four Weeks in Holloway Gaol by Sylvia Pankhurst, 1913 ….. page 41-42

Source B: “Shooting an Elephant” by George Orwell, 1936 …. page 43-44

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20TH CENTURY SOURCE: TEENAGERS

Source A: Kevin the Teenager When my son Harry Enfield was appearing on TV as

his comic character ‘Kevin the Teenager’, practically every taxi driver in the land seemed to have a Kevin of his own at home whom he wished to tell me about in great detail. I think we can assume that drivers of taxis have not got fundamentally different lives from the rest of humanity, so it seems logical to conclude that ‘Kevins’ are a widespread phenomenon.

Scientists in California have ‘discovered’ that the surly moods of teenagers are caused by a temporary increase in nerve activity in the brain which makes it difficult for adolescents to ‘process information and read social situations’. This piece of research has no doubt taken a lot of time, effort and money and, as far as I can see, is entirely useless because it doesn’t lead anywhere. If grumpy teenagers have too much activity in their juvenile brains, what are we to do about it? Damp down their brains with chemicals? Give them a spoonful of ‘Teen-o-calm’? That seems unlikely.

To establish my credentials as an expert on this subject I wish to say that I’ve been through the teenage years five times in all, once on my own account and four times as the father of four children – three daughters and the creator of Kevin the Teenager himself.

For years I used to return from a hard day at the office to find the peace of the countryside shattered by the noise of filthy pop music pouring out of the bedroom windows of the supposedly quiet cottage where we lived. The grunts, the sighs, the sulks – how they all come back to me!

There was a Kevin sketch in which he was somehow persuaded to wash the family car, which he did with very bad grace and extreme incompetence. If we approach this in a scientific spirit, then the information to be “processed” was: that the car was dirty; and the “social situation” to be read was that the father wanted it washed. I am confident that any teenager, however much afflicted with nerve activity in the brain, would be able to process and read all that without difficulty.

The problem with teenagers is just that they don’t want to. Stepping into dangerous territory, I would say that the female teenager

is less frightful than the male. I do not think that our daughters used to pocket their dinner money, lunch on coffee and cigarettes at the local cinema, and swear blind that they had had a proper meal at school. I am certain that our son Harry – a Kevin – used to do exactly that.

Likewise I do not think that any of my daughters smoked. If they had they would have done it in a more intelligent manner than their brother. He, of course, denied that he smoked at all, then blew the fumes out of his

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bedroom window and stubbed the butts out on the bottom of the windowsill outside. He seemed to believe they would stay there undetected forever, but naturally they eventually dropped off, and when I came to weed the flowerbed I found it deep in cigarette ends.

Nothing happened to the girls’ voices, but in mid-teens my son took to dropping half the syllables from his speech and slurring the rest. ‘Gonna gup ve yoofclub’ he would say and leave the house. From this we gathered he had gone to the youth club, though why ‘up’ we did not know, as it was not on a hill.

This was part of his double life. He would take with him a polythene bag which contained, unknown to us, his punk gear. Setting off in his usual scruffy state, he would transform himself on route and arrive at the ‘yoof club’ dressed as a fully- fledged punk. He transformed himself back on the way home, and mercifully we never knew about it until after it was over.

The females did nothing so extraordinary. Their speciality was to choose a moment when we had visitors, dump themselves down in a grumpy manner and give the shortest and most disagreeable answers they could to any remarks addressed to them. In justice to the male, he was always pretty chatty in such circumstances.

But now, towards the end of a long life, what hope can I offer to those suffering from teenagers? I can only say that, in my experience, there are three times in life when life itself improves. The first is when you leave school and the last is when you leave work. The one in between is when your youngest child leaves home. At this great moment you suddenly find you have a second youth, and your children have miraculously reverted to being human beings.

Hang on in there, as they say. Your time will come.

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20th CENTURY SOURCE: TEENAGERS

Source B: Who’s the real Kevin?Harry Enfield’s Kevin is the ‘typical’ teenager: grumpy, moody,

awkward and sulky. But in our house he is definitely more like my mother than me.

One of her specialities is that most stereotypical of teenage habits – rolling her eyes and sighing. She won’t tell us why of course – we wouldn’t understand. Instead she disappears to her study and starts thumping away at her word processor. She’s also just as likely to slam doors, answer back or make biting, sarcastic comments.

Another thing that teenagers are always told off for is hypocrisy. The words ‘double standards’ are constantly ringing in my ears. My Mum tells us that we shouldn’t drink alcohol/eat chocolate/spend too much money because she knows that is how she should behave. However, her nagging would be more effective if she wasn’t telling us this in our new, ridiculously expensive kitchen, while drinking white wine and munching chocolate.

Mum has far worse moods than I do. She’ll suddenly get obsessed about stupid stuff, such as us leaving towels on the bathroom floor and not cleaning the bath. She behaves as if it’s the end of the world. At other times she’ll get annoyed when I start doing my homework late on Sunday nights – as if she’s the one to get detention if I don’t finish it on time. It’s ridiculous to trust me to be responsible enough to ride on public transport on my own, and not think I can organise my own schoolwork. I understand that she worries about me but she can be irritable for a whole day – about not being able to work the video, about her work not going well, about the sausages burning, or that nothing in her wardrobe fits her.

My Dad is just as guilty. We are told off daily for watching too much cable TV, as are most of my friends. And yet my Dad is having a giant plasma screen installed (with satellite box of course) so he can spend hours on Sunday watching his football team lose. Again.

My parents are very typical when it comes to money. I’m nagged about spending too much money on magazines, and yet Mum spends more than double my allowance on flowers, wine and silk pyjamas – she has five pairs. Untidiness, however, must be the worst sin. My room is, usually, untidy. I don’t deny it and neither do most teenagers I know. Yet my parents can’t see that their bedroom is untidy too. Almost every item of my Dad’s clothing is piled on to a chair in the corner of their room.

In my view, teenagers get a very unfair representation in the papers and on TV. My parents can be just as bad as me. In fact, I should ring Harry Enfield. I have loads of material for two new characters.

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SOURCE A: Should mobile phones be banned in schools?A head teacher claims pupil behaviour is better and bullying is down since he barredmobile phones in his school. So should others follow suit? Patrick Barkham says not.

"You'll have someone's eye out with that" used to be the chant of teachers in my day. Inmischievous hands a pencil, a rubber, even a piece of paper could become a lethal weaponin class, and that's before we got on to compasses and Bunsen burners.A mobile is the same: a potentially powerful tool for learning but strangely feared in a schoolpupil's hand, where it is assumed to wreak havoc with concentration, unleash cyber bullying.

But isn't it also madness when schools that cannot afford modern IT facilities ignore thepowerful computers in every pupils' pocket?

I was amazed when I visited my old school recently: having remarked how sorry I felt for teachers in the mobile era, several teachers immediately declared how useful they were in class. There's even an acronym for it: BYOD, or Bring Your Own Device. As one teacher hasargued in the Guardian, this is the future: students using their trusted devices rather than amachine they leave in school at the end of each day.

  Jo Debens, a geography teacher at Priory School, Portsmouth, a comprehensive with amixed intake, was dashing out to take 30 pupils orienteering when we spoke: her studentswere testing whether it was easier to use an OS map or a mobile phone's mapping services.Earlier this year, the school drew up a "mobile device policy" in consultation withstudents. Mobile phones are allowed in school and used in class at the teacher's discretion,with a clear system of sanctions applied for misuse. Since the policy was introduced, only1.4% of negative behavioural incidents have been connected with mobiles.

Pupils record homework tasks on their phone's calendar (why do they forget homeworkdiaries but never their textbooks?) and in Debens's geography classes they use the camerafunction to record things and report back to class. They also use mobile internet for independent research. "We're always being told as teachers that we should give pupilsdifferentiated learning and personalise it. Now they can," says Debens of using mobiles.

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"Like anything, it's only useful in the hands of the user. They are not the be-all and end-all.We would have death by Wikipedia if all people were doing was cutting and pasting fromthem."

"I was very anti phones," admits Nasim Jahangir, a business and economics teacher atWyggeston and Queen Elizabeth I College, Leicester. Several years ago, however, she incorporated smartphones into lessons as she "learned to teach in a different way" – with anemphasis on independent study. "The whole atmosphere in the class has changed," shesays.

What about pupils who cannot afford a smartphone? And what about children running up bigbills doing school work on their phones? Jahangir ensures her tweeting and mobile phone work is accessible to all on the school's intranet.

Debens says her school provides Wi-Fi and portable dongles with Wi-Fi so pupils are notpaying for their own study. "We have people who come to school without a coat or withouthaving had any breakfast," she says, "but they always have a phone."

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SOURCE B: taken from ‘The Daily Mail’ online

Youngsters 'addicted to mobile phones'

The addiction of children to their mobile phonescould threaten the very fabric of society, a studysuggests. Many teenagers are fanatical aboutbeing always available and are extremely uneasy ifunable to contact their friends countless timeseach day. If the trend continues, young people willsoon be incapable of forming and maintainingrelationships without the help of a mobile, thestudy by a leading sociologist concludes.

One British child in four between the ages of five and 16 now has a mobile phone. As well asmaking calls, youngsters are using their handsets to send millions of text messages to friends each day. The study's author, Dr Hisao Ishii, said: 'Teenagers can be seen taking advantage of every spare minute to touch base with their friends. It is not the content of the communication but the act of staying in touch that matters.' And he warned: 'Genuine conversation will be driven out by superficial communication, in which the act of contacting one another is all that matters, leading to a deterioration in the quality of relationships. Indeed, the very fabric of society may be threatened.'

Although Dr Ishii's research was based on children in Japan, British experts confirmed that the same trends apply in the UK. Child psychologist Dr David Lewis said: 'The mobile phone, like the Furby or the Rubik's Cube before it, has developed into a playground craze in this country. Children hate to feel as if they are not in the "in group", and think that without a mobile phone they will be left out.’

Dr Lewis endorsed the warning that, alongside home computers and video games, the mobile is having a damaging effect on children's social skills. 'The mobile now often substitutes for physical play,' he explained. 'To develop proper friendships you have to invest time with people, doing things together. Speaking on the phone and sending lots of text messages will give children many more acquaintances but fewer friends. They are replacing quality with quantity.'

Sociologists have also warned that the popularity of e-mailing, text messaging and playing games on mobile phones is affecting other important activities such as recreational reading and studying.

A third of those aged between 16 and 20 prefer text messaging to all other means of writtencommunication, according to a survey last year by Mori for Vodafone.

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Handset manufacturers claim, however, that they are not out to market to the under-16s. A Government report last year highlighted the increased risk to children under 16 using mobilehandsets and a circular sent to schools suggests that children below this age should be allowed to make calls only in emergencies.

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Source A: By Ross Anderson BBC News, 10 April 2012

A child's experience of her mother going to prison

Every year thousands of children experience the trauma of separation froma mother who is sent to prison.

When Cheyenne was 13, her mum was caught trying to smuggle drugs into prisonand earned herself a four-year sentence. As a result she has been moved arounda lot, living with different relatives across south Wales. She is one of the growing

5number of children living apart from a mother locked up in prison. Cheyenne struggledto cope. "I was angry and disappointed.” Cheyenne ended up living with her granddadShe didn't have a room of her own so slept in her aunt's bed or on the sofa. Herbelongings were mostly strewn over the house or kept in carrier bags.

She had relatively few possessions, but those she prized most were letters and10

photos from her mother, kept in a box with an inscription on the side warningsnoopers to "Stay Out". For Cheyenne, as for many people with a loved one inprison, they were treasured keepsakes.

"I normally get quite emotional when I get letters from my mum. I recognise theenvelopes. Mum decorates the envelopes and I know her handwriting. Every year

15she always sends a Valentine's Day card - she always writes Mummy at the end.Never Mum. Always Mummy. "I really miss her. Some days I have my depressingdays and I really break down."

Diana Ruthven, from the charity Action for Prisoners' Families, says it's particularlydifficult for children of Cheyenne's age. "Being a teenager is a very transitional

20time, during which it's particularly difficult to be without your mother," she says. "Insome ways, it's more difficult for teenage children to be without a parent than it isfor younger children."

'Upsetting'Cheyenne was entitled to an hour-long prison visit once a fortnight. But the prisonwas in Gloucestershire - over 50 miles from her new home in south Wales - so she25only managed to visit five times in two years. Ahead of her latest visit Cheyenneexperienced mixed emotions. "I am excited, nervous, scared. At least we're able tohug and kiss at this prison. At other prisons we weren't even allowed to hold handsbut I did anyway and I made sure they saw it. Because at the end of the day, that’smy mum." 30

With only an hour to catch up. There is always a lot to squeeze in. As well aschatting about hair and nails, Cheyenne has to confess that she's had problems at

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school. Being locked up doesn't stop mum Yasmin giving her a ticking off:"Cheyenne you've got to learn to be humble. Do as I say not as I do."

Before she knows it, the time is gone and it is time for Cheyenne to leave. "The35

time goes so quickly,” says Cheyenne. “Leaving is the worst part. It's upsettingleaving them there, knowing you can walk out those gates but they're stuckinside."

Cheyenne's mother welcomed visits from her daughter, but according to Ruthven,mothers often don't want to be visited by their family. "Women sometimes don't

40want their children to see them in jail, so they don't have their families visit as oftenas men do," she said. For children missing one or both parents in prison, littlesupport is available, she argued. "The government will only try to keep track of achild if they're at risk," she said.

'Better relationship'Her mother’s release is an event Cheyenne eagerly anticipates. "I am going to have

45a wicked life when my mum gets out. I'll be a happier person. It is hard being withoutyour mum. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.

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Charles Dickens - A Visit to Newgate Prison (1836)

Turning to the right, we came to a door composed of thick bars, through whichwere discernible, passing to and fro in a narrow yard, some twenty women: themajority of whom, however, as soon as they were aware of the presence ofstrangers, retreated to their wards.

One side of this yard is railed off and formed into a kind of iron cage, from which5

the friends of the female prisoners communicate with them. In one corner of thisden, was a yellow, haggard, decrepit old woman, in a tattered gown and theremains of an old straw bonnet, in deep conversation with a young girl - a prisoner,of course - of about two-and-twenty. It is impossible to imagine a more poverty-stricken object, or a creature so borne down in soul and body, by excess of misery

10and destitution1, as the old woman. She was talking in that low, muffled tone ofvoice which tells so forcibly of mental anguish2; and every now and then burst intoan irrepressible3 sharp, abrupt cry of grief, the most distressing sound that earscan hear. The girl was perfectly unmoved. Hardened beyond all hope ofredemption4, she listened doggedly to her mother's entreaties, whatever they

15were: and, beyond inquiring after "Jem", and eagerly catching at the few pence hermiserable parent had brought her, took no more apparent interest in theconversation than the most unconcerned spectators.

A little farther on, a squalid5-looking woman in a slovenly, thick-bordered cap, with20

her arms wrapped in a large red shawl, the fringed ends of which straggled nearlyto the bottom of a dirty white apron, was communicating some instructions to visitor - her daughter evidently. The girl was thinly clad, and shaking with the cold.Some ordinary word of recognition passed between her and her mother when sheappeared at the bars, but neither hope, condolence6, regret, nor affection was

25expressed on either side. The mother whispered her instructions, and the girlreceived them with her pinched-up, half-starved features twisted into anexpression of careful cunning. It was some scheme for the woman's defence thatshe was disclosing, perhaps; and a sullen smile came over the girl's face for aninstant, as if she were pleased: not so much at the probability of her mother's

30freedom, as at the chance of her "getting off' in spite of her prosecutors. Thedialogue was soon concluded; and with the same careless indifference with whichthey had approached each other, the mother turned towards the inner end of theyard, and the girl to the gate at which she had entered.

The girl belonged to a class that should make men's hearts bleed. Barely past her 35childhood, it required but a glance to discover that she was one of those children,born and bred in neglect and vice, who have never known what childhood is: whohave never been taught to love and desire a parent's smile, or to dread a parent'sfrown. The thousand nameless endearments of childhood, its gaiety and its

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innocence, are alike unknown to them. They have entered at once upon the stern 40realities and miseries of life, and to their better nature it is almost hopeless toappeal for some good feeling in ordinary hearts. Talk to them of parental kindness,the happy days of childhood, and the merry games of infancy and they will notunderstand. Tell them of hunger and the streets, beggary and stripes7, the gin-shop, the station-house, and the pawnbroker's, and they will understand you.

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1. destitution = poverty, hardship 2. anguish = suffering, torment3. redemption = improvement 4. irrepressible = wild, out of control5. squalid = filthy, dirty 6. condolence = sympathy7. stripes = hitting

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Source A: Nursing Advice Sheet [2005]

Stressed? Then read our expert guide to dealing with stress in nursing…

A nursing day involves a lot of stress. Whether working with gravely1 ill patients orhelping families cope with the loss of a loved one after death, nurses have to bethere for almost every imaginable situation.

It is a job that requires energy on many levels. Physically, the job can bedemanding with high levels of physical exertion2, culminating in many aches and

5pains. Mentally, you are required to be ‘on the ball’, making crucial decisions andanswering questions from patients and relatives. Emotionally, the impact is feltwhen you empathise and help people in an environment where there is pain andsadness. Additionally, the work situation may be characterised by resource limits,poor staffing and organisational change, which all add to the energy expended.

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Work or Life?Maintain a healthy work/life balance. Ask yourself “Do you live to work or work tolive?” Use your free time to recharge your batteries. Remember to plan regularholidays and take them. Small treats like visits to the cinema or a meal at arestaurant will help you switch off and relax. 15

Being awareBe aware of negative thinking when stressed. Instead of thinking ‘I must nevermake a mistake’ think more realistically, for example ‘I am doing the best I can intough situations’. Challenge the internal pressures by turning the musts intopreferences, from ‘I must complete this today’ to ‘I’d like to complete it today and20will do what I can’. If you identify what you can and can’t control, then you canlearn to accept external pressures. After all, you are not expected to besuperhuman!

RelaxLearning to relax is key to managing stress. This will tell your brain that the threat

25has gone and the ‘fight or flight’ response can be switched off. Think of the thingsthat you enjoy that have a relaxing effect on you. For example, a long soak in thebath, a good book or a nature walk. If you treat yourself with more of these simplepleasures then you will find it easier to breathe. There are also meditation3 tapesavailable which can have a significant impact on learning relaxation skills. These

30skills can then be transferred to work situations when you feel tense. Relaxationwill also help you sleep.

Get physicalExercise helps to combat stress levels. Exercise burns up the excess adrenaline

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and releases feel-good hormones. If you enjoy keeping fit and this area of your life35

has been squeezed then make time for this again. If you’re not used to exercisingstart small with what you enjoy – swims or a gentle work out with a class,- andbuild up to a level that suits you. Joining a club or gym can lead to new socialhorizons and keep you motivated.

Getting help 40Counselling is often helpful as a way of giving yourself a regular space to reflecton the problem. You may decide to see a counsellor individually or you could joina group. Your workplace can provide access to a counsellor through theiroccupational health scheme.

Glossary1. gravely seriously2. exertion great effort3. meditation thinking in a calm, relaxed way

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Source B: from Florence Nightingale’s (a nurse) diary, written during the Crimean War, detailing her experiences in a war hospital. [1855]

A message came to me to prepare for 510 wounded on our side of the Hospitalwho were arriving from the dreadful affair of the 5th November from Balaklava1, inwhich battle were 1763 wounded and 442 killed, besides 96 officers wounded and38 killed. We had but half an hour’s notice before they began landing thewounded. Between one and 9 o’clock we had the mattresses stuffed, sewn up, laid

5down—alas! Only upon matting2 on the floor—the men washed and put to bed,and all their wounds dressed. I wish I had more time. But oh! you Gentlemen ofEngland who sit at Home in all the well-earned satisfaction of your successfulCases3, can have little Idea from reading the newspapers of the Horror and Misery(in a Military Hospital) of operating upon these dying, exhausted men. A London

10Hospital is a Garden of Flowers to it.

We live in one Tower of the Barrack.4 All the wounded have been laid down in twoCorridors, with a line of Beds down each side, just room for one person to passbetween. Yet in the midst of this appalling Horror (we are steeped up to our necksin blood) there is good, and I can truly say, like St. Peter, “It is good for us to be

15here” - though I doubt whether if St. Peter had been here, he would have said so.As I went on my night-rounds among the newly wounded that first night, there wasnot one murmur, not one groan, the strictest discipline - the most absolute silenceand quiet prevailed - and I heard one man say, “I was dreaming of my friends atHome,” and another said, “I was thinking of them.” These poor fellows bear pain

20and mutilation with an unshrinking heroism which is really superhuman, and die, orare cut up without a complaint.

The wounded are now lying up to our very door, and we are landing 540 morewounded soon. I feel like a Brigadier General5, because 40 British females, whomI have with me, are more difficult to manage than 4000 men. Let no lady come out

25here who is not used to fatigue and privation.… Every ten minutes an Orderlyruns, and we have to go and cram lint6 into the wound till a Surgeon can be sentfor, and stop the Bleeding as well as we can. In all our corridor, I think we have notan average of three Limbs per man. And there are two Ships more “loading” at theCrimea with wounded—(this is our Phraseology). Then come the operations, and

30a melancholy7, not an encouraging list is this. They are all performed in thewards—no time to move them; one poor fellow exhausted with hæmorrhage8, hashis leg amputated as a last hope, and dies ten minutes after the Surgeon has lefthim. Almost before the breath has left his body it is sewn up in its blanket, andcarried away and buried the same day. We have no room for Corpses in the

35Wards. The Surgeons pass on to the next, an excision9 of the shoulder-joint,beautifully performed and going on well. Ball10 lodged just in the head of the joint

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and fracture starred all round. The next poor fellow has two Stumps for arms, andthe next has lost an arm and a leg. As for the Balls they go in where they like andcome out where they like and do as much harm as they can in passing.

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Glossary

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1. Balaklava - a city in Ukraine2. matting - floor covering made from

hay3. Cases - battles4. Barrack - a building that houses

soldiers5. Brigadier General - a very senior

soldier

6. lint - a dressing made from cotton wool

7. melancholy - great sadness8. hæmorrhage - very bad bleeding9. excision - cutting off something10.ball - a heavy, round, lead bullet

Source A: the Guardian (2006)

Turning the tide of youth offending

Ex-offender Charles Young tells Lynne Wallis how he's trying to give youngpeople the chances that he never had

It has been 17 years since Young’s last stretch inside, six months in a singlecell at Elmley prison in Kent. With over 40 convictions for robbery, fraud andburglary, he clocked up around 15 years behind bars between the ages of 19and 40. Since his release, and inspired by a television programme he saw inprison about an ex-con in Glasgow talking to schoolchildren about jail, Young 5has used his experiences of prison life to educate young people, who mayglamorise the criminal lifestyle, towards a more fulfilling existence.

He conveys the brutality of prison life through presentations he takes to youthclubs, schools and colleges, during which an "inmate" sits locked in a mocked-up cell on a stage while Young hammers home what prison is really like. 10"Inmates" have included a former drug dealer, a vicar and a magistrate. Youngshouts, uses raw language and doesn't pull any punches, and by the time histalk is over, some of the hardest-looking, most defiant kids look visibly shaken.

Young has been delivering his "prison’s not worth it" message on a shoestringbudget since 1995. Now his efforts are starting to bear fruit. Last year, Young 15secured £30,000 of Home Office funding for his Laces (London Anti-CrimeEducation Scheme) project. A community interest company, Laces helps toeducate young people at risk of offending about the realities of prison, theconsequences of crime.

RESPECTBetween 1995 and 2005, Laces project made 2,000 presentations to

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young 20people, and deterred 1,290 potential offenders, thereby saving the public anestimated £6.2m in criminal damage and the criminal justice systemapproximately £1.2m. But Young wants to do more. "I still feel so frustrated,"he says. "There are people out there [in the criminal justice system] who havenever been to prison and who talk to young offenders like they understand 25them, but they don't. You need to be patient and understanding, but a lot ofpeople alienate these youngsters. You need to show respect to them, giverespect to teach respect, and lots of these kids don't respect anyone oranything because they have never had any respect themselves. Kids need tobe coached and helped to develop, and that's what I try to do for the kids I 30work with. I'm a bit of a surrogate parent, giving them the care and support Inever had."

Perhaps Young's biggest success story is a 19-year-old man, Jason, a formerdrug dealer who was recently referred to Laces by a crown court judge inWoolwich, south-east London. Jason has been crime-free ever since, has held 35a job down for a year, is in a steady relationship and has a baby named Laceyas a tribute to the project that turned his life around.

Young is incredibly proud of Jason and admits that when the judge agreed torevoke the youth offending team order and entrust Young to mentor Jason andkeep him out of trouble, his eyes filled with tears. "I knew Laces was going to 40be a success and that one day this would happen, but it was still a big moment."

CHANNELING AGGRESSION"Without parental guidance or a teacher to spot a talent and egg them on,what hope have they got? They need to be shown how to channel theiraggression into something worthwhile. Instead, we've got kids who

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will killover a postcode, a girl, a look, all because they want to be noticed. 'Look at 45me,' they are saying.

"We have to teach our young people to self-motivate, to believe in themselves,with parents and teachers working together. Instead, we've got parents andteachers blaming each other.

Young says much more could be done to improve the job prospects for ex- 50prisoners. "Halving sentences just means career criminals can commit heaviercrimes knowing he or she will get a more lenient sentence. It's no deterrent.""Prisoners need to be made to go to work full time like we do, but there have tobe employment opportunities when they come out. Someone has to give thema chance." 55

He would like criminal justice agencies such as youth offending teams, police,probation and the youth justice board, as well as social services, to work withchambers of commerce to persuade community-minded businesspeople togive ex-offenders a chance.

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Source B: A letter written by Charles Dickens to the Daily News (1846)

TO THE EDITORS OF “THE DAILY NEWS”

Before I describe a visit of my own to a RAGGED SCHOOL, and urge the readers of thisletter for GOD’S sake to visit one themselves, let me say, that I know the prisons of Londonwell, and that the Children in them are enough to break the heart and hope of any man. Ihave never taken a foreigner or a stranger to one of these establishments, but I have seenhim so moved at the sight of the Child-Offenders, and so affected by the thought of their utter renouncement1 and desolation2 outside the prison walls, that he has been unable to disguise his emotion, as if some great grief had suddenly burst upon him.

Mr. CHESTERTON and Lieutenant TRACEY (two intelligent and human prison governors)know, perfectly well, that these children pass and repass through the prisons all their lives;that they are never taught; that the first distinctions between right and wrong are, from their cradles, absent from their minds; that they come of untaught parents, and will give birth to another untaught generation; that in exact proportion to their natural abilities, is the extent and scope of their depravity3; and that there is no escape or chance for them in life.

Happily, there are schools in these prisons now. If any readers doubt how ignorant4 thechildren are, let them visit those schools and see them at their tasks, and hear how much they knew when they were sent there. If anyone wants to know the produce of this seed, let them see a class of men and boys together, at their books and mark how painfully the full-grown felons5 toil at reading and writing: their ignorance being so confirmed and solid. The contrast of this labour in the men, with the quickness of the boys, the shame and sense of degradation struggling through their dull attempts at infant lessons, and their eagerness to learn, impress me more painfully than I can tell.

For the instruction, and as a first step in the reformation, of such unhappy beings, theRAGGED SCHOOLS were founded. I was first made conscious of their existence, abouttwo years ago by seeing an advertisement in the papers stating “That a room had beenopened and supported in that wretched where religious instruction had been imparted to the poor.” I wrote to the masters of this particular school to make some further inquiries, and went myself soon afterwards.

The people in the neighbourhood were not very sober or honest company. Being

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unacquainted with the exact locality of the school, I was reluctant to make some inquiriesabout it – but I did. My enquiries were received with humour in general; but everybodyknew where the school was. The prevailing idea among the loungers (the greater part ofthem the very sweepings of the streets and station-houses) seemed to be, that the teachers were quixotic6, and the school upon the whole “a lark.”7 But there was certainly a kind of rough respect for the intention.

The ragged school consisted of two or three miserable rooms in a miserable house. In the best of these rooms the pupils in the female school were being taught to read and write;and though there were many wretched creatures steeped in degradation, they were tolerably quiet, and listened with eagerness and patience to their instructors. The appearance of this room was sad and melancholy, of course how could be it be otherwise! But, on the whole, encouraging.

The small, low, chamber at the back, in which the boys were crowded, had such a foul andstifling stench as to be, at first, almost intolerable. But its moral aspect was so far worsethan its physical, that this was soon forgotten. Huddled together on a bench about the room, and shown out by some flaring candles stuck against the walls, were a crowd of boys,varying from mere infants to young men; sellers of fruit, herbs, lucifer-matches, flints;sleepers under the dry arches of bridges; young thieves and beggars - with nothing honest,innocent, or pleasant in their faces; low-browed, vicious, cunning, wicked; abandoned of allhelp except this school; speeding downward to destruction; and UN-UTTERABLYIGNORANT.

Glossary1. renouncement = abandonment, rejection 2. desolation = despair, misery3. depravity = corruption

4. ignorant = stupid, doesn’t know vital facts 5. felons = criminals6. quixotic = unrealistically optimistic 7. lark = fun and games

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Source A

Excerpt from Goodbye to All That by Robert Graves, 1929.

'We marched towards the flashes and could soon see the flare-lights curving over the trenches in the distance. The noise of the guns grew louder and louder. Then we were among the batteries. From behind us on the left of the road a salvo of four shells came suddenly over our heads. The battery was only about two hundred-yards away. 'This broke up Aberystwyth in the middle of a verse and set us off our balance for a few seconds; the column of fours tangled up. The shells went hissing away eastward; we could see the red flash and hear the hollow bang where they landed in German territory’

The roadside cottages were now showing more and more signs of dilapidation. A German shell came over and then whoo-oo-ooooooOOO-bump-CRASH! twenty yards away from the party. We threw ourselves flat on our faces. Presently we heard a curious singing noise in the air, and then flop! flop! little pieces of shell-casing came buzzing down all around. 'They calls them the musical instruments,' said the sergeant. 'Damn them,' said Frank Jones-Bateman, who had a cut in his hand from a jagged little piece, 'the devils have started on me early.' 'Aye, they'll have a lot of fun with you before they're done, sir,' grinned the sergeant. Another shell came over. Everyone threw himself down again, but it burst two hundred yards behind us. Only Sergeant Jones had remained on his feet.

After a meal of bread, bacon, rum and bitter stewed tea sickly with sugar, we went up through the broken trees to the east of the village and up a long trench to battalion headquarters. The trench was cut through red clay. I had a torch with me which I kept flashed on the ground. Hundreds of field mice and frogs were in the trench. They had fallen in and had no way out. The light dazzled them and we could not help treading on them. So I put the torch back in my pocket.

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Source B

“A Statement of Defiance” by Siegfried Sassoon, 1917.

I am making this statement as an act of wilful defiance of military authority, because I believe the war is being deliberately prolonged by those who have the power to end it.

I am a soldier, convinced that I am acting on behalf of soldiers. I believe that this war, upon which I entered as a war of defence and liberation has now become a war of aggression and conquest. I believe that the purposes for which I and my fellow soldiers entered upon this war should have been so clearly stated as to have made it impossible to change them, and that, had this been done, the objects which actuated us would now be attainable by negotiation.

I have seen and endured the suffering of the troops, and I can no longer be a party to prolong these sufferings for ends which I believe to be evil and unjust. I am not protesting against the conduct of the war, but against the political errors and insincerities for which the fighting men are being sacrificed.

On behalf of those who are suffering now I make this protest against the deception which is being practised on them; also I believe that I may help to destroy the callous complacence with which the majority of those at home regard the continuance of agonies which they do not share, and which they have not sufficient imagination to realise.

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Source A

From The Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass by Frederick Douglass, 1845.

All went well till Monday morning. On this morning, the virtue of the root was fully tested. Long before daylight, I was called to go and rub, curry, and feed, the horses. I obeyed, and was glad to obey. But whilst thus engaged, whilst in the act of throwing down some blades from the loft, Mr. Covey entered the stable with a long rope; and just as I was half out of the loft, he caught hold of my legs, and was about tying me. As soon as I found what he was up to, I gave a sudden spring, and as I did so, he holding to my legs, I was brought sprawling on the stable, floor. Mr. Covey seemed now to think he had me, and could do what he pleased; but at this moment from whence came the spirit I don't know-I resolved to fight; and, suiting my action to the resolution, I seized Covey hard by the throat; and as I did so, I rose. He held on to me, and I to him. My resistance was so entirely unexpected, that Covey seemed taken all aback. He trembled like a leaf. This gave me assurance, and I held him uneasy, causing the blood to run where I touched him with the ends of my fingers. Mr. Covey soon called out to Hughes for help. Hughes came, and, while Covey held me, attempted to tie my right hand. While he was in the act of doing so, I watched my chance, and gave him a heavy kick close under the ribs. This kick fairly sickened Hughes, so that he left me in -the hands of Mr. Covey.

This kick had the effect of not only weakening Hughes, but Covey also. When he saw Hughes bending over with pain, his courage quailed. He asked me if I meant to persist in my resistance. I told him I did, come what might; that he had used me like a brute for six months, and that I was determined to be used so no longer. With that he strove to drag me to a stick that was lying just out of the stable door. He meant to knock me down. But just as he was leaning over to get the stick I seized him with both hands by his collar, and brought him by a sudden snatch to the ground. By this time, Bill came. Covey called upon him for assistance. Bill wanted to know what he could do. Covey said, "Take hold of him, take hold of him!" Bill said his master hired him out to work, and not to help to whip me; so he left Covey and myself to fight our own battle out. We were at it for nearly two hours. Covey at length let me go, puffing and blowing at a great rate, saying that if I had not resisted, he would not have whipped me half so much. The truth was, that he had not whipped me at all. I considered him as getting entirely the worst end of the bargain; for he had drawn no blood from me, but I had from him. The whole six months afterwards, that I spent with Mr. Covey, he never laid the weight of his finger upon me in anger. He would occasionally say, he didn't want to get hold of me again. "No," thought I, "you need not; for you will come off worse than You did before.

This battle with Mr. Covey was the turning point in my career as a slave. It rekindled the few expiring embers of freedom, and revived within me a

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sense of my own manhood. It recalled the departed self-confidence, and inspired me again with a determination to be free. The gratification afforded by the triumph was a full compensation for whatever else might follow, even death itself. He only can understand the deep satisfaction which I experienced, who has himself repelled by force the bloody arm of slavery. I felt as I never felt before. It was a glorious resurrection, from the 'tomb of slavery, to the heaven of freedom. My long-crushed spirit rose, cowardice departed, bold defiance took its place; and I now resolved that, however long I might remain a slave in form, the day had passed forever when I could be a slave in fact.

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Source B

An excerpt from Barack Obama’s speech on Nelson Mandela’s death, 2013.

At his trial in 1964, Nelson Mandela closed his statement from the dock saying, "I have fought against white domination and I have fought against black domination. I've cherished the ideal of a democratic and free society in which all persons live together in harmony and with equal opportunities. It is an ideal which I hope to live for and to achieve. But if needs be, it is an ideal for which I am prepared to die."

Nelson Mandela lived for that ideal and he made it real.

He achieved more than could be expected of any man.

Today he's gone home and we've lost one of the most influential, courageous and profoundly good human beings that any of us will share time with on this Earth. He no longer belongs to us; he belongs to the ages. Through his fierce dignity and unbending will to sacrifice his own freedom for the freedom of others, Madiba transformed South Africa and moved all of us. His journey from a prisoner to a president embodied the promise that human beings and countries can change for the better.

His commitment to transfer power and reconcile with those who jailed him set an example that all humanity should aspire to, whether in the lives of nations or in our own personal lives. And the fact that he did it all with grace and good humor and an ability to acknowledge his own imperfections, only makes the man that much more remarkable. As he once said, "I'm not a saint unless you think of a saint as a sinner who keeps on trying."

I am one of the countless millions who drew inspiration from Nelson Mandela's life. My very first political action - the first thing I ever did that involved an issue or a policy or politics was a protest against apartheid. I would study his words and his writings. The day he was released from prison it gave me a sense of what human beings can do when they're guided by their hopes and not by their fears.

And like so many around the globe, I cannot fully imagine my own life without the example that Nelson Mandela set. And so long as I live, I will do what I can to learn from him.

To Graca Machel and his family, Michelle and I extend our deepest sympathy and gratitude for sharing this extraordinary man with us. His life's work meant long days away from those who loved him most, and I only hope that the time spent with him these last few weeks brought peace and comfort to his family.

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To the people of South Africa, we draw strength from the example of renewal and reconciliation and resilience that you made real: a free South Africa at peace with itself. That's an example to the world, and that's Madiba's legacy to the nation that he loved.

We will not likely see the likes of Nelson Mandela again, so it falls to us as best we can to follow the example that he set, to make decisions guided not by hate, but by love, to never discount the difference that one person can make, to strive for a future that is worthy of his sacrifice.

For now, let us pause and give thanks for the fact that Nelson Mandela lived, a man who took history in his hands and bent the arc of the moral universe towards justice. May God bless his memory and keep him in peace.

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Source A

From The Story of My Four Weeks in Holloway Gaol by Sylvia Pankhurst, 1913

… About half past nine that first morning, the doctor came to me and saw the breakfast tea and bread and butter lying untouched. He pointed to it and said: "Will you not reconsider?" I answered, "No". Then he felt my pulse and sounded my heart, and went away.

At twelve o'clock a wardress brought me a chop, some potatoes and cabbage, and some milk pudding. At five came supper—bread, butter, an egg, and a pint of milk. I left them all untasted, and sat reading the Bible hour after hour. I had nothing else to do.

So two days passed. I felt constantly a little hungry, but never for one moment did I wish to eat a morsel. I was very cold—partly, I suppose, from want of food, partly because the temperature of the cell was very low, the hot water pipe—the only means of heating—having little warmth in it. I sat with my feet on the hot-water pipe, wearing a woollen dress, a thick knitted woollen sweater, a long cloth coat, and with thick woollen gloves on my hands; but still I was cold.

On the morning of the third day I was taken out into the corridor to be weighed, and some time afterwards the two doctors came into my cell to sound my heart again. They said: "Will you eat your food?" And—when I said, "No",—"Then we have only one alternative—to feed by force."

They went. I was trembling with agitation, feverish with fear and horror, determined to fight with all my strength and to prevent by some means this outrage of forcible feeding. I did not know what to do. Ideas flashed through my mind, but none seemed of any use.

I gathered together in a little clothes basket my walking-shoes, the prison brush and comb and other things, and put them beside me, where I stood under the window, with my back to the wall.

I thought that I would throw these things at the doctors if they dared to enter my cell to torture me. But, when the door opened, six women officers appeared, and I had not the heart to throw things at them, though I struck one of them slightly as they all seized me at once.

I struggled as hard as I could, but they were six and each one of them much bigger and stronger than I. They soon had me on the bed and firmly held down by the shoulders, the arms, the knees, and the ankles.

Then the doctors came stealing in behind. Some one seized me by the head and thrust a sheet under my chin. I felt a man's hands trying to force my mouth open. I set my teeth and tightened my lips over them with all

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my strength. My breath was coming so quickly that I felt as if I should suffocate. I felt his fingers trying to press my lips apart,—getting inside,—and I felt them and a steel gag running around my gums and feeling for gaps in my teeth.

I felt I should go mad; I felt like a poor wild thing caught in a steel trap. I was tugging at my head to get it free. There were two of them holding it. There were two of them wrenching at my mouth. My breath was coming faster and with a sort of low scream that was getting louder.

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Source B

From “Shooting an Elephant” by George Orwell, 1936

It was perfectly clear to me what I ought to do. I ought to walk up to within, say, twenty-five yards of the elephant and test his behavior. If he charged, I could shoot; if he took no notice of me, it would be safe to leave him until the mahout came back. But also I knew that I was going to do no such thing. I was a poor shot with a rifle and the ground was soft mud into which one would sink at every step. If the elephant charged and I missed him, I should have about as much chance as a toad under a steam-roller. But even then I was not thinking particularly of my own skin, only of the watchful yellow faces behind. For at that moment, with the crowd watching me, I was not afraid in the ordinary sense, as I would have been if I had been alone. A white man mustn't be frightened in front of "natives"; and so, in general, he isn't frightened. The sole thought in my mind was that if anything went wrong those two thousand Burmans would see me pursued, caught, trampled on and reduced to a grinning corpse like that Indian up the hill. And if that happened it was quite probable that some of them would laugh. That would never do.

There was only one alternative. I shoved the cartridges into the magazine and lay down on the road to get a better aim. The crowd grew very still, and a deep, low, happy sigh, as of people who see the theatre curtain go up at last, breathed from innumerable throats. They were going to have their bit of fun after all. The rifle was a beautiful German thing with cross-hair sights. I did not then know that in shooting an elephant one would shoot to cut an imaginary bar running from ear-hole to ear-hole. I ought, therefore, as the elephant was sideways on, to have aimed straight at his ear-hole, actually I aimed several inches in front of this, thinking the brain would be further forward.

When I pulled the trigger I did not hear the bang or feel the kick – one never does when a shot goes home – but I heard the devilish roar of glee that went up from the crowd. In that instant, in too short a time, one would have thought, even for the bullet to get there, a mysterious, terrible change had come over the elephant. He neither stirred nor fell, but every line of his body had altered. He looked suddenly stricken, shrunken, immensely old, as though the frightful impact of the bullet had paralysed him without knocking him down. At last, after what seemed a long time – it might have been five seconds, I dare say – he sagged flabbily to his knees. His mouth slobbered. An enormous senility seemed to have settled upon him. One could have imagined him thousands of years old. I fired again into the same spot. At the second shot he did not collapse but climbed with desperate slowness to his feet and stood weakly upright, with legs sagging and head drooping. I fired a third time. That was the shot that did for him. You could see the agony of it jolt his whole body and knock the last remnant of strength from his legs. But in falling he seemed

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for a moment to rise, for as his hind legs collapsed beneath him he seemed to tower upward like a huge rock toppling, his trunk reaching skyward like a tree. He trumpeted, for the first and only time. And then down he came, his belly towards me, with a crash that seemed to shake the ground even where I lay.

I got up. The Burmans were already racing past me across the mud. It was obvious that the elephant would never rise again, but he was not dead. He was breathing very rhythmically with long rattling gasps, his great mound of a side painfully rising and falling. His mouth was wide open – I could see far down into caverns of pale pink throat. I waited a long time for him to die, but his breathing did not weaken. Finally I fired my two remaining shots into the spot where I thought his heart must be. The thick blood welled out of him like red velvet, but still he did not die. His body did not even jerk when the shots hit him, the tortured breathing continued without a pause. He was dying, very slowly and in great agony, but in some world remote from me where not even a bullet could damage him further. I felt that I had got to put an end to that dreadful noise. It seemed dreadful to see the great beast Lying there, powerless to move and yet powerless to die, and not even to be able to finish him. I sent back for my small rifle and poured shot after shot into his heart and down his throat. They seemed to make no impression. The tortured gasps continued as steadily as the ticking of a clock.

In the end I could not stand it any longer and went away. I heard later that it took him half an hour to die. Burmans were bringing dash and baskets even before I left, and I was told they had stripped his body almost to the bones by the afternoon.

Afterwards, of course, there were endless discussions about the shooting of the elephant. The owner was furious, but he was only an Indian and could do nothing. Besides, legally I had done the right thing, for a mad elephant has to be killed, like a mad dog, if its owner fails to control it. Among the Europeans opinion was divided. The older men said I was right, the younger men said it was a damn shame to shoot an elephant for killing a coolie, because an elephant was worth more than any damn Coringhee coolie. And afterwards I was very glad that the coolie had been killed; it put me legally in the right and it gave me a sufficient pretext for shooting the elephant. I often wondered whether any of the others grasped that I had done it solely to avoid looking a fool.

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