n d Wi l d l i fe

Wa r a
Intro duc ti on to L aper 1
a ng ua ge P
An
 TASK:
ri te d own th e fo llowing:
W
o u k n ow ab o u t GCSE English
• Something y o u t G CSE English
yo u h a v e a b
• A prediction u t G CSE English
o u h a v e a b o
• A question y

n d Wi l d l i fe
Wa r a
Intro duc ti on to L aaper 1
ng ua ge P
An
 What will Language Paper 1 look like?

You will have to

Front cover read one passage
and answer
questions on it.

SECTION A: 40 marks SECTION B:40 marks

Today we will
be looking at
Question 1

Q1: 4 marks Q2: 8 marks Q3: 8 marks Q4: 20 marks Q5: 40 marks

What do you notice about the questions as they progress?

This extract is from the opening of The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey, a novel which was published in 2012 but set in 1920.
In the novel, a woman named Mabel and her husband, Jack, have moved to the cold, remote Alaskan wilderness to
start a new life.
Firstly, we will read the text.
Wolverine River, Alaska, 1920

Mabel had known there would be silence. That was the point, after all. No infants cooing or wailing. No neigh¬bor There will usually be an
children playfully hollering down the lane. No pad of small feet on wooden stairs worn smooth by generations, or
clackety¬clack of toys along the kitchen floor. All those sounds of her failure and regret would be left behind, and in explanation of the extract which
their place there would be silence.

She had imagined that in the Alaska wilderness silence would be peaceful, like snow falling at night, air filled with
introduces it – make sure you read
promise but no sound, but that was not what she found. Instead, when she swept the plank floor, the broom bristles
scritched like some sharp-toothed shrew nibbling at her heart. When she washed the dishes, plates and bowls
this as it might help you
clattered as if they were breaking to pieces. The only sound not of her mak¬ing was a sudden “caw, cawww” from
outside. Mabel wrung dishwater from a rag and looked out the kitchen window in time to see a raven flapping its way understand what is happening.
from one leafless birch tree to another. No children chasing each other through autumn leaves, calling each other’s
names. Not even a solitary child on a swing.
**
There had been the one. A tiny thing, born still and silent. Ten years past, but even now she found herself returning to
the birth to touch Jack’s arm, stop him, reach out. She should have. She should have cupped the baby’s head in the Now Consider the questions
palm of her hand and snipped a few of its tiny hairs to keep in a locket at her throat. She should have looked into its
small face and known if it was a boy or a girl, and then stood beside Jack as he buried it in the Pennsylvania winter
ground. She should have marked its grave. She should have allowed herself that grief.
below:
It was a child, after all, although it looked more like a fairy changeling. Pinched face, tiny jaw, ears that came to narrow
points; that much she had seen and wept over because she knew she could have loved it still.
**
Mabel was too long at the window. The raven had since flown away above the treetops. The sun had slipped behind a
1. Why have Mabel and Jack
moun¬tain, and the light had fallen flat. The branches were bare, the grass yellowed gray. Not a single snowflake. It
was as if every-thing fine and glittering had been ground from the world and swept away as dust. moved out to the
November was here, and it frightened her because she knew what it brought — cold upon the valley like a coming
death, glacial wind through the cracks between the cabin logs. But most of all, darkness. Darkness so complete even
wilderness?
the pale-lit hours would be choked.
2. Has it helped? How do you
She entered last winter blind, not knowing what to expect in this new, hard land. Now she knew. By December, the
sun would rise just before noon and skirt the mountaintops for a few hours of twilight before sinking again. Mabel
would move in and out of sleep as she sat in a chair beside the woodstove. She would not pick up any of her favorite
know?
books; the pages would be lifeless. She would not draw; what would there be to capture in her sketchbook? Dull skies,
shadowy corners. It would become harder and harder to leave the warm bed each morning. She would stumble about 3. How does Mabel feel about
in a walking sleep, scrape together meals and drape wet laundry around the cabin. Jack would struggle to keep the
animals alive. The days would run together, winter’s stranglehold tightening. life in this extract and how
All her life she had believed in something more, in the mys¬tery that shape-shifted at the edge of her senses. It was
the flut¬ter of moth wings on glass and the promise of river nymphs in the dappled creek beds. It was the smell of oak do you know?
trees on the summer evening she fell in love, and the way dawn threw itself across the cow pond and turned the
water to light.

Mabel could not remember the last time she caught such a flicker.
 Keywords:
Inference/ to infer: When we infer we are ‘clever guessing’ or reading between the lines ,
finding clues in the text.

Explicit: this means obvious – sometimes information in the text is obvious and told to the
reader directly.

Implicit: this is when information is implied by the text. We need to infer implicit
information.

This explicitly shows that the baby was buried

and that it died.
‘He buried it in the Pennsylvania winter
ground. She should have marked its grave.’
The implicit or implied We can also infer that she regrets not marking
information here is that she did the grave and that maybe she didn’t because
not mark the grave. she never planned on returning.
 You must take y
our information
from this sectio
n otherwise it
Question 1 will not be coun
ted
Read lines 12 to 19 of the source.

List four things from this part of the text about the baby.

1.
2. a bout t h e
i nt s m us t be
3. Your po i ng e l se.
n oth
4. baby and

You can use your own words or

short quotations from the text.
Question 1

Read lines 12 to 19 of the source. Example Answers

List four things from this part of the text about the baby.

A. A+ B: These are about the

B.
C. baby and are taken from the
D..
right part of the text

A. It was ‘tiny’
B. It looked like a ‘fairy changeling’
C. It was the reason Mabel and Jack moved to Alaska
D. Mabel kept some of its hair in a locket

D: This isn’t true C: This isn’t mentioned

– Mabel wished in lines 12-19 so
she had done this wouldn’t get a mark

Peer Assessment: Give your partner a mark out 4. If they wrote any
incorrect answers, write down why the cannot be counted.
Question 1

Read lines 12 to 19 of the source. Example Answers

List four things from this part of the text about the baby.

A. A – C: These are about the

B.
C. baby and are taken from the
D..
right part of the text

A. It was born ‘still and silent’

B. It has ‘tiny hairs’
C. It had pointy ears
D. Mabel is upset about the baby

D: This isn’t about the baby – it’s about

Mabel’s feelings and so wouldn’t get a
mark

Peer Assessment: Give your partner a mark out 4. If they wrote any
incorrect answers, write down why the cannot be counted.
Question 1

Read lines 12 to 19 of the source. Example Answers

List four things from this part of the text about the baby.

A. A – D: These are about the

B.
C. baby and are taken from the
D..
right part of the text

A. It was born ten years ago

B. It had a ‘small face’
C. It had a ‘pointy jaw’
D. The baby didn’t have a marked grave

D: You can infer this from the text – Mabel says

she ‘should have marked its grave’, which
implies that the baby’s grave wasn’t marked.

Peer Assessment: Give your partner a mark out 4. If they wrote any
incorrect answers, write down why the cannot be counted.
 P.M.I
Write down one thing you found a plus (good),
minus (something that could be better) and
something you found interesting.

P
M
I
Resources
This extract is from the opening of The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey, a novel which was
published in 2012 but set in 1920. In the novel, a woman named Mabel and her husband,
Jack, have moved to the cold, remote Alaskan wilderness to start a new life.

Wolverine River, Alaska, 1920

Mabel had known there would be silence. That was the point, after all. No infants cooing or wailing. No neigh¬bor
children playfully hollering down the lane. No pad of small feet on wooden stairs worn smooth by generations, or
clackety¬clack of toys along the kitchen floor. All those sounds of her failure and regret would be left behind, and in
their place there would be silence.

She had imagined that in the Alaska wilderness silence would be peaceful, like snow falling at night, air filled with
promise but no sound, but that was not what she found. Instead, when she swept the plank floor, the broom bristles
scritched like some sharp-toothed shrew nibbling at her heart. When she washed the dishes, plates and bowls
clattered as if they were breaking to pieces. The only sound not of her mak¬ing was a sudden “caw, cawww” from
outside. Mabel wrung dishwater from a rag and looked out the kitchen window in time to see a raven flapping its
way from one leafless birch tree to another. No children chasing each other through autumn leaves, calling each
other’s names. Not even a solitary child on a swing.
**
There had been the one. A tiny thing, born still and silent. Ten years past, but even now she found herself returning
to the birth to touch Jack’s arm, stop him, reach out. She should have. She should have cupped the baby’s head in
the palm of her hand and snipped a few of its tiny hairs to keep in a locket at her throat. She should have looked into
its small face and known if it was a boy or a girl, and then stood beside Jack as he buried it in the Pennsylvania winter
ground. She should have marked its grave. She should have allowed herself that grief.

It was a child, after all, although it looked more like a fairy changeling. Pinched face, tiny jaw, ears that came to
narrow points; that much she had seen and wept over because she knew she could have loved it still.
**
Mabel was too long at the window. The raven had since flown away above the treetops. The sun had slipped behind
a moun¬tain, and the light had fallen flat. The branches were bare, the grass yellowed gray. Not a single snowflake. It
was as if every-thing fine and glittering had been ground from the world and swept away as dust.

November was here, and it frightened her because she knew what it brought — cold upon the valley like a coming
death, glacial wind through the cracks between the cabin logs. But most of all, darkness. Darkness so complete even
the pale-lit hours would be choked.

She entered last winter blind, not knowing what to expect in this new, hard land. Now she knew. By December, the
sun would rise just before noon and skirt the mountaintops for a few hours of twilight before sinking again. Mabel
would move in and out of sleep as she sat in a chair beside the woodstove. She would not pick up any of her favorite
books; the pages would be lifeless. She would not draw; what would there be to capture in her sketchbook? Dull
skies, shadowy corners. It would become harder and harder to leave the warm bed each morning. She would
stumble about in a walking sleep, scrape together meals and drape wet laundry around the cabin. Jack would
struggle to keep the animals alive. The days would run together, winter’s stranglehold tightening.

All her life she had believed in something more, in the mys¬tery that shape-shifted at the edge of her senses. It was
the flut¬ter of moth wings on glass and the promise of river nymphs in the dappled creek beds. It was the smell of
oak trees on the summer evening she fell in love, and the way dawn threw itself across the cow pond and turned the
water to light.

Mabel could not remember the last time she caught such a flicker.