ENGLISH LANGUAGE Paper 1 Passages for Comment Additional Materials: *2705997241*
May/June 2010 2 hours
READ THESE INSTRUCTIONS FIRST If you have been given an Answer Booklet, follow the instructions on the front cover of the Booklet. Write your Centre number, candidate number and name on all the work you hand in. Write in dark blue or black pen. Do not use staples, paper clips, highlighters, glue or correction fluid. Answer two questions. You are reminded of the need for good English and clear presentation in your answers. At the end of the examination, fasten all your work securely together. The number of marks is given in brackets [ ] at the end of each question or part question.
This document consists of 7 printed pages and 1 blank page.
DC (CB/JB) 16485/4 © UCLES 2010
2 Answer two questions.
The following passage describes the writer’s experience on an island off the coast of Australia. (a) Comment on the style and language of the passage. 
(b) On his return home, Craig (the writer’s friend) writes an article for a travel magazine. He offers a much more positive view than his friend of some aspects of his visit to the island. Write the opening to Craig’s article (between 120-150 words). Base your answer closely on the material of the original extract. 
It is eight-thirty at night and we have finally arrived slap bang in the middle of a wild south-easterly squall, five hours north of Brisbane, Queensland, on the northern edge of Fraser Island. The maps call it Waddy Point, but I think badlands is more fitting. The ocean is a wasteland. The hundred miles of beach we have just banged our way up is a lunar landscape, and the coarse dune forest around us is a deafening wall of white-static noise. The ferocious downpour does not let up as we struggle to shape the tarpaulin into a crude umbrella over the banksias*. We string the hammocks between the beach buggy’s roll bar and the trees using twenty feet of rope tied with truck driver hitches, and yanked until the beds are as tight as guitar strings. By the time we have finished, we are drenched, as ravenous as bush pigs, and hover like solemn, dishevelled ghosts aimless as to what to do next. The buggy looks as though it has been looted by madmen. Exhausted, we squelch into our slings as the rain clatters on the tarpaulin like a million shot nails, and occasionally flushes soaking waterfalls around our heads. I fell into a doze, amazed that I actually felt sleepy, and wondered what would become of us tomorrow, in this place at the edge of the world. The winds that hung from our hammocks slammed through the ancient forest like a horde of spoilt children. The tarpaulin flapped as frantic as a beast trying to fly – but I was too tired to care, and slowly the rampage around me found a rhythm, and I drifted into gentle and rocking hands. I woke on the coldness of pre-dawn to an odd greyness that had been cast down, as if from another world. The ocean shivered like no-man’s land, cruel and unforgiving, and the magnitude of this island left me feeling somewhat frail and destitute. I glanced around the campsite, as if in a dreamland, and wondered what the hell I had let myself in for. The scrub dune the camp is burrowed into is a bunker of perfect lawn beneath a brittle skylight of banksias. The worn tarpaulin wobbled with lakes. My mate Craig stirred and smiled up from his cocoon, and I set to task for a heart-starter of coffee using every trick in the book to light a wet fire. I finally resorted to melting my eyebrows with a bucketful of petrol and a tossed match. Shirtless, and in our damp and smelly jeans (and me reeking of scorched hair), we wandered like street kids onto the rim of the dunes. We squatted in the wet sand and drank from our hot metal mugs, and smoked,...