Passage A: Flying to the North Pole

Michael Palin is flying to the North Pole to make a television programme.

It’s 3.45 on a Saturday afternoon and I’m seventeen miles from the North Pole. Somewhere, a
long way away, people are doing sensible things like watching cricket or digging gardens or
pushing prams or visiting their mothers-in-law.

I’m squeezed tight into a small, noisy aeroplane descending through stale grey clouds towards
an enormous expanse of cracked and drifting ice. With me are the film crew and our two pilots,
Russ and Dan. We are the only human beings within 500 miles. Outside my window one of our
two propeller-driven engines slowly eats away at a fuel supply which must last us another six
hours at least. In little more than ten minutes our pilot will have to fashion a landing strip out of
nothing more than a piece of ice — strong enough to withstand an impact of 12,500 lbs at eighty
miles an hour. Below the ice the sea is 14,000 feet deep.

I’m sure I’m not the only one of us looking down on this desolate wilderness who
hasn’t wished, for an impure moment, that the North Pole, rather than being in the
middle of an ocean, was solid, well marked and even supplied with a hut and a coffee
machine. But the cracked and fissured ice-pack offers no comfortable reassurance
— no glimmer of any reward to the traveller who has made his way to the top of the
world.

At two minutes past four our Twin Otter plane is finally over the North Pole. All
there is to see is ice and the nearer we get to it the more evident it is that the ice is
not in good shape. Russ, a self-contained man about whom I know nothing other than
that my life is in his hands, leans forward from the controls, scanning the conditions
below and frowning.

Technology cannot help him now. The decision as to how, when and ultimately
whether to drop the plane onto the ice is for his judgement alone.

He clearly doesn’t like what he sees and, by my watch, we have circled the roof of
the world for nearly thirty minutes before a change in engine note indicates that he
is at last throttling back in preparation for a landing. We drop low, Russ staring hard
at the ice as ridge walls taller than I’d expected rush up to meet us. I brace myself
for impact, but it never comes. At the last minute Russ thrusts the overhead throttle
control forward and pulls us up banking steeply away. He checks the fuel gauge and
asks Dan, the young co-pilot, to connect up one of the drums for in-flight refuelling.
The Pole remains 100 feet below us, tantalisingly elusive, probably in the middle of
a black pool of melted water. Russ takes advantage of some marginally increased
sunlight to attempt a second landing. Once again hearts rise towards mouths as the
engines slow and a blur of ice and snow and pitch-black sea rises towards us, but
once again Russ snatches the plane from the ice at the last moment and we soar away,
relieved and cheated.

I make a mental note never to complain about a landing ever again. Russ circles and
banks the plane for another fifteen minutes, patiently examining the floating ice for
yet another attempt.

This time there is no pull-out. Six hours after leaving Eureka Base, Canada, the
wheels and skis of the Twin Otter find the ground, bounce, hit, bounce, hit, swerve,
slide and finally grip the slithery hummocked surface. We are down and safe.

Home seems impossibly far away as we step out onto a rough base of ice and snow.
It looks secure but water flows only a few yards away and the fact that Russ will not
risk switching off the aircraft engines in case the ice should split reminds us that this
is a lethal landscape. Finding the highest point in the vicinity — a pile of fractured
ice-blocks, soaring to three and a half feet — I plant our ‘North Pole’ and we take our
photos. The air is still, and a watery sun filters through grey-edged cloud giving the
place a forlorn and lonely aspect. The temperature is minus twenty-five Centigrade.
This is considered warm.

After an hour’s filming, we defer to Russ’s polite impatience and return to the aircraft.
Concerned about fuel, he takes off quickly and unceremoniously, as if the North Pole
were just another bus stop.

Straight away there are problems. There is only enough fuel left to reach the nearest
airstrip, a Danish base in Greenland. Even this is 480 miles away, and beyond radio
range at the moment. We have no option but to fly in hope.

Read Text A, Flying to the North Pole, in the insert and then answer Questions 1(a)–(e) on
this question paper.

Question 1

(a) Give two facilities the writer wishes were available at the North Pole

• ................................................................................................................................................

• ........................................................................................................................................... [1]

(b) Using your own words, explain what the text means by:

(i) ‘our pilot will have to fashion a landing strip out of nothing more than a piece of ice’
(paragraph 2) ..................................................................

...................................................................................................................................... [2]

(ii) ‘ strong enough to withstand an impact of 12,500 lbs at eighty miles an hour’ (paragraph 2):
................................................................

...................................................................................................................................... [2]

(c) Re-read paragraph 4, (‘At two minutes past four our Twin Otter’).

Give two characteristics of Russ, the pilot.

• ................................................................................................................................................

• ........................................................................................................................................... [2]
(d) Re-read paragraphs 6, (‘He clearly doesn’t like what….’)

(i) Identify two sights from the plane.

• .........................................................................................................................................

• .................................................................................................................................... [2]

(ii) Explain why attempting to land the plane is so tense.

...........................................................................................................................................

...........................................................................................................................................

...................................................................................................................................... [3]

(e) Re-read paragraphs 8 - 11 (‘This time there is no pull-out’).

Using your own words, explain why the writer still feels nervous when they finally land.

...................................................................................................................................................

...................................................................................................................................................

.............................................................................................................................................. [3]

Passage B: Life in a trench

George Orwell describes his experience as a volunteer soldier in the Spanish civil war of the
late 1930s.

Firewood – always firewood. Throughout that period there is probably no entry in my diary that
does not mention firewood, or rather the lack of it. We were nearly a thousand metres above
sea-level, it was mid winter, and the cold was unspeakable. The temperature was not
exceptionally low, but even if it was not really cold, I assure you that it seemed so. Sometimes
there were shrieking winds that tore your cap off and twisted your hair in all directions;
sometimes there were mists that poured into the trench like a liquid and seemed to penetrate
your bones; frequently it rained, and even a quarter of an hour’s rain was enough to make
conditions intolerable. The thick skin of earth over the limestone turned promptly into a slippery
grease, and as you were always walking on a slope, it was impossible to keep your footing. On
dark nights I often fell half a dozen times in twenty metres; and this was dangerous, because it
meant that the lock of one’s rifle became jammed with mud. For days together, clothes, boots,
blankets and rifles were more or less coated with mud. I had brought as many thick clothes as I
could carry, but many of the men were terribly underclad, and most of them had only one
blanket.

So firewood was the one thing that really mattered, but there was practically none to be had.
Our miserable mountain had not even at its best much vegetation, and for months it had been
ranged over by freezing militiamen, with the result that everything thicker than one’s finger had
long since been burnt. When we were not eating, sleeping, on guard, or doing chores, we were
in the valley behind the position, scavenging for fuel. All my memories of that time are of
scrambling up and down the almost perpendicular slopes, over the jagged limestone that
knocked one’s boots to pieces, pouncing eagerly on tiny twigs. Three people searching for a
couple of hours could collect only enough fuel to keep the dug-out fire alight for about an hour.
The eagerness of our search turned us all into botanists. We classified, according to their
burning qualities, every plant that grew on the mountain-side: the various heathers and grasses
that were good to start a fire with but burnt out in a few minutes; the wild rosemary and other
tiny bushes that would burn when the fire was well alight; the stunted oak tree that was
practically unburnable.

Of course, we were all permanently dirty. Our water, like our food, came on mule-back from
Alcubierre, and each man’s share worked out at about a litre a day. It was beastly water, hardly
more transparent than milk. Theoretically it was for drinking only, but I always stole a pannikinful
for washing in the mornings. I used to wash one day and shave the next; there was never
enough water for both. It was of course impossible to take one’s clothes, and especially one’s
boots, off at night; one had to be ready to turn out instantly in case of an attack. It was too cold
for lice as yet, but rats and mice abounded.

Read Text B, ‘Life in a trench’ in the insert and then answer Question 1(f) on this question
paper.

Question 1

(f) According to Text B, what are the hardships of the living conditions?

You must use continuous writing (not note form) and use your own words as far as possible.

Your summary should not be more than 120 words.

Up to 10 marks are available for the content of your answer and up to 5 marks for the quality of
your writing.
Passage C:Out in the Cold

This story, set in Alaska during the gold rush of the 1890s, tells of the experience of Tom
Vincent, who does not realise the power of the elements.

When travelling, a companion is considered desirable. In the Klondike, as Tom Vincent found
out, a companion is essential. ‘Never travel alone’ is a saying in the north. He had heard it many
times and laughed, for he was a sturdy young fellow, with faith in himself and in the strength of
his head and hands.

It was a bleak January day when he learned respect for the frost. He had left Calumet Camp on
the Yukon River to go to Cherry Creek, where his party was prospecting for gold. The frost was
sixteen degrees below zero, and he had nearly fifty kilometres of lonely trail to cover, but he did
not mind. In fact, he enjoyed it, swinging along through the silence, his blood pounding warmly
through his veins, and his mind carefree and happy.

He had set off at seven a.m., and by eleven had covered half the distance. Seated on a fallen
tree, he unmittened his right hand, reached inside his coat and fished out a biscuit. He had
barely chewed the first mouthful when his numbing fingers warned him to put his mitten on
again. This he did, surprised at the bitter swiftness with which the frost had bitten. He could feel
himself beginning to chill, so he leaped to his feet and ran briskly up the trail. This made him
warm again, but the moisture he exhaled crusted his lips with ice crystals and formed a
miniature glacier on his chin. Now and again sensation abandoned his face, and he rubbed it till
it burned with the returning blood.

After an hour, he rounded a bend and came upon one of the most formidable dangers of
northern travel. The creek itself was frozen solid, but from the mountain came the outflow of
several springs. These never froze, being protected from the frost by the blanket of snow, and
the water formed shallow pools, their unbroken surface giving no warning of the lurking danger
beneath. The instant he broke through, Tom felt the cold water strike his feet, and he struggled
to the bank. He was quite calm and collected. The only thing to do was build a fire. For another
precept of the north runs: ‘Travel with wet socks down to seven below zero; after that build a
fire’.

It is impossible to build a fire wearing heavy Alaskan mittens, so Tom bared his hands, gathered
a number of twigs, and knelt down to kindle his nest of fire. From a pocket he drew out his
matches and a strip of thin birch bark. He separated one match from the bunch and scratched it
on his trousers. The bark burst into bright flame, which he carefully fed with the smallest twigs,
cherishing it with the utmost care, gently nurturing it. His feet had started to grow numb, but the
fire, although a very young one, was now alive.

However, at the moment he was adding the first thick twigs to the fire, a grievous thing
happened. The pine boughs above his head were burdened with months of snowfall, and
collecting the twigs had disturbed its balance, causing an avalanche which blotted out his fire.
He realised how great his danger was and immediately started to rebuild it, but his fingers were
now so numb that he could not bend them, and when he lit a match it burnt his fingers and he
had to drop it.

He stood up, now desperate. He could not feel his feet, although his ankles were aching
painfully, and he feared that frostbite had set in. His hands were worthless. If only he had a
comrade to start the fire that could save him! He was thinking quickly. What if the match did
burn his hands? Burned hands were better than dead hands. When he came upon more twigs,
he got his last match into place on his palm and forced his nerveless fingers down against it. At
the second scratch the match caught fire, and he knew that if he could stand the pain he was
saved. The blue flame licked the flesh of his hands, though he could not feel it.

An anxious five minutes followed, but the fire gained steadily. Then he set to work to save
himself. Alternately rubbing his hands with snow and thrusting them into the flames, he restored
their circulation sufficiently to be able to get dry socks and boots out of his pack. He cut away
his moccasins and bared his feet, rubbing them too with snow. He rubbed until his burned
hands grew numb. For three hours he worked, till the worst effects of the freezing had been
counteracted.

All that night he stayed by the fire, and it was late the next day when he limped pitifully into the
camp at Cherry Creek.

___________________________________________________________________________

Read Text C, Out in the Cold, in the insert and then answer Questions 2(a)–(d) on this
question paper.

Question 2

(a) Identify a word or phrase from the text which suggests the same idea as the words
underlined:

(i) Tom Vincent was digging for gold.

...................................................................................................................................... [1]

(ii) Now and again sensation abandoned his face.

...................................................................................................................................... [1]

(iii) their unbroken surface giving no warning of the lurking danger beneath.

...................................................................................................................................... [1]

(iv) The pine boughs above his head were burdened with months of snowfall .

...................................................................................................................................... [1]

(b) Using your own words, explain what the writer means by each of the words underlined:

After an hour, he rounded a bend and came upon one of the most formidable dangers of
northern travel. The creek itself was frozen solid, but from the mountain came the outflow of
several springs. These never froze, being protected from the frost by the blanket of snow, and
the water formed shallow pools, their unbroken surface giving no warning of the lurking danger
beneath. The instant he broke through, Tom felt the cold water strike his feet, and he struggled
to the bank. He was quite calm and collected. The only thing to do was build a fire. For another
precept of the north runs: ‘Travel with wet socks down to seven below zero; after that build a
fire’.

(i) formidable.......................................................................................................................... [1]

(ii) shallow ............................................................................................................................ [1]
(iii) precept ..................................................................................................................... [1]

(c) Use one example from the text below to explain the dangers of Alaska.

Use your own words in your explanation.

After an hour, he rounded a bend and came upon one of the most formidable dangers of
northern travel. The creek itself was frozen solid, but from the mountain came the outflow of
several springs. These never froze, being protected from the frost by the blanket of snow, and
the water formed shallow pools, their unbroken surface giving no warning of the lurking danger
beneath. The instant he broke through, Tom felt the cold water strike his feet, and he struggled
to the bank. He was quite calm and collected. The only thing to do was build a fire. For another
precept of the north runs: ‘Travel with wet socks down to seven below zero; after that build a
fire’. [3]

__________________________________________________________________________

(d) Re-read paragraphs 3 and 5.

● the intense cold in paragraph 3, beginning ‘He had set off...’;

● the lighting of the fire in paragraph 5, beginning ‘It is impossible...’.

Explain how the writer uses language to convey meaning and to create effect in these
paragraphs. Choose three examples of words or phrases from each paragraph to support
your answer. Your choices should include the use of imagery.

Write about 200 to 300 words.

Up to 15 marks are available for the content of your answer.

___________________________________________________________________________
Re-read Text C, Out in the Cold, in the insert and then answer Question 3 on this
question paper.

Question 3

You are Tom Vincent advising recent newcomers to Calumet Camp.

Write the words of your talk to the newcomers.

In your talk you should:

• tell the newcomers about your recent hazardous walk
• explain the skills and knowledge needed to survive in this environment
• share what you learned about yourself from this experience.

Base your writing on what you have read in Passage C, but be careful to use your own words.
Address all three bullet points.

Begin your talk: ‘My name is Tom Vincent and I have something important to tell you!’

Write about 250 to 350 words.

Up to 15 marks are available for the content of your answer and up to 10 marks for the
quality of your writing.