Preparing for
National 4
Close Reading
Passages
Fiction and Non-Fiction
For candidates in S3/4
Book 1
September
H23H 74 (ID: 01)
Analysis and Evaluation
CONTENTS
Genre
Page
Sharks
Non-Fiction
3
At the Vet
Non-Fiction
6
Money Well Spent
Non-Fiction
9
Three Men and a Dog
Non-Fiction
11
Mrs. Moonface
Prose Fiction
14
Alice
Prose Fiction
17
Glasgow 5th March
Poetry
20
Geriatric Ward*
Poetry
21
Sailmaker (Act 1)*
Drama
22
Journey’s End*
Drama
24
* There are questions available for these passages in Preparing for National 5 English (Book 1)
Preparing for National 4 Close Reading
2
September
H23H 74 (ID: 01)
Analysis and Evaluation
SHARKS
Just when you thought it was safe to go to North Queensferry …
danger to swim with the sharks
Stephen
McGinty
faces
1.
There is a cartoon in the diver's locker room at Deep Sea World. It shows two sharks
eyeing up a couple of divers in masks, fins and aqualungs. One shark asks the other,
"Will we eat them?" The other replies, "No, that thing on their backs gives me wind."
2.
As I bent, buckled and squeezed myself into the drysuit, the threat of a dose of marine
indigestion seemed a poor defence against the flat-eyed terrors of the deep.
3.
I had been assured at the North Queensferry complex that the sharks would have no wish
to eat me. I did not look like their natural prey of fish, which are small, wet and flap
about. No-one noticed that at the time I felt small, was drenched in sweat and couldn't
stop shaking. I didn't feel like a flounder, but given time ...
4.
In the next chamber was the world's largest underwater safari: four and a half million
litres of filtered sea water containing dozens of species and hundreds of fish including
bass, cod, plaice, bream, mackerel, lesser spotted dogfish, conger eels, skates and sharks.
The nine bigger sharks were sand tigers - the largest about nine feet long.
5.
All the sand tigers have names like Stella, Bertha, Fred, Barnie and Dino. The largest is
called The Preacher because most people see him and start to pray. Barnie sounded like a
bundle of laughs in comparison.
6.
"Mind, the big one is a bit frisky," said another diver to Stuart Bell, my scuba instructor.
7.
"Frisky?" I nervously asked.
8.
"Don't worry," Stuart said as he helped zip up my drysuit. To explain, a wet suit gets you
wet; the water enters holes in the suit but doesn't exit, so your body-temperature heats the
water, providing an insulating layer. A dry suit seals out the water allowing you to wear
tracksuit bottoms and T-shirt underneath for warmth.
9.
Once sealed inside our suits into a tiny tank, containing only a few crabs, where I hauled
on my aqualung and weight belt. Sinking to the bottom I struggled to gain my balance
against the backwards pull of the weights and aqualung. Gripping Stuart's arm, I drained
the air from the suit and accustomed myself to the sensation of breathing.
10. When I was relaxed, Stuart opened the hatch leading to the main safari tank. Rock walls
dropped to the sandy floor 30 feet below.
11. Though the habitat felt natural, it would be impossible to view such a variety of sea-life
in Scotland's brackish waters. Brightly coloured fish of greens, blues and greys darted,
twisted and turned, and a giant skate flapped over the tunnel as tourists, wide-eyed in
wonder, peered up as I looked down into an utterly silent world. The only sound was the
rasp of my own breath and the click of swallowing.
12. Stuart descended first and I quickly followed squinting while the pressure built in
my ears. Just as on an aeroplane, you can clear them by pinching your nose and blowing.
On the bottom I lost balance but was supported by Stuart as I found my feet.
Preparing for National 4 Close Reading
3
September
H23H 74 (ID: 01)
Analysis and Evaluation
13. Childhood memories of underwater programmes on TV flooded in, mixing with books
and magazines on sharks and the film cartoon of Marine Boy. Once I had gained some
confidence, Stuart returned to the surface to collect underwater photographer Gavin
Anderson. It was then I noticed the little four-year-old waving from the tunnel. I started
to think: what if I was eaten by a nine-foot shark? Would it scar him for life? Then I put
myself in his place. As a small child my only response to a diver being savaged to death
by a giant shark just feet in front of me would be ... COOOOOL!!!
14. Deep Sea World was drawing them in with a blood-curdling exhibition about pirates. Just
how much would the business boom if the sharks were to turn savage? It's all very well
saying these sharks are environmentally friendly and only eat wee fish. That's boring;
it's blood that the public want to see. I inched my head carefully, scanning for Stuart's
return.
15. Panic and paranoia rose with my air bubbles as I caught a blurry glimpse of my foe
curving around on the other side of the tunnel with a lazy flick of its tail. This sand tiger
shark was nine feet long and - approaching about six feet in front and above me. My lungs
began to pipe the Jaws theme up in my throat.
16. A few images from the film looped in my head before it arrived: Robert Shaw desperately
kicking at the munching mouth of the great white shark, before disappearing inside; the
severed leg dropping to the bottom of the boating pond, a tumbling head, and Roy
Schneider up on a sinking flag pole, taking aim and screaming, "Smile, you son of a ... "
BOOM!
17. And then it was before me in direct contrast to the celluloid nightmares of Hollywood.
There was no evil eye staring me out, no prowling movement or even any interest.
Instead it swam by like a bored fridge. Just then, water began to fill my mask obscuring
the view. Once I had cleared it my foe-turned-distant-friend was disappearing into the
distance. Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder marking Stuart's return with
photographer Gavin Anderson.
18. Gavin seemed confident and relaxed. "If we want to get a picture of you with a shark
you're going to have to get quite close so I can blast it with the flash and get the shot."
19. "That won't annoy it?" I worried.
20. "What?"
21. "The shark, you won't annoy it?"
22. "It'll be fine," he said, shaking his head and administering a friendly pat.
23. Thirty feet down he fiddled with his camera while occasionally giving the OK signal thumb and first finger in a circle while the remaining three stick up in the air. I responded,
though the mouthpiece hid the manic grins I made.
24. To recap on the sunken scene, I was kneeling on the bottom with my tank to the tunnel.
Stuart was stationed protectively to my left side while Gavin hung about on the right,
itching to shoot. I felt like bad bait - only crowds of cod, bass and flounder flocked
towards me.
25. Ten or twelve of them mobbed round my mask, occasionally touching the glass before
fleeing. Then I remembered sharks eat fish and suddenly felt like jam in a swiss roll at a
kids' tea party. But they wouldn't leave. Just then Gavin got excited which could mean
Preparing for National 4 Close Reading
4
September
H23H 74 (ID: 01)
Analysis and Evaluation
only one thing - the return of the floating fridge.
26. Earlier, while changing, we had rehearsed how I would tilt my head backwards so that my
face and the shark's would fit inside the same picture. But I couldn't do it. I didn't want to.
I slightly tilted my head and noticed the soft underbelly breeze above me, close enough to
touch. This was real, not an image from a movie.
27. The finest moment of a memorable dive was when we slowly rose to the surface as a giant
skate flapped past on one side while a sand tiger shark browsed by below me. The chance
of such an encounter in the open seas would be as slim as my chances of survival without
Stuart's reassuring presence and training.
28. Breaking the surface and wrenching out the mouthpiece, I swore, and swore, and swore.
Swearing is sometimes more descriptive for the indescribable as the words come charged
with more impact. I had swum with sharks. Childhood fears and attractions had been
relived when I touched another world. I simply wanted to return.
Adapted from an article in The Herald
Preparing for National 4 Close Reading
5
September
H23H 74 (ID: 01)
Analysis and Evaluation
AT THE VET
In this passage, the writer describes an amusing incident when his dog is taken to the vet. The
“Mrs Harper” he refers to is his wife.
1. Mrs Harper has a theory that men are big bairns when it comes to pain, even the big
bruisers among us.
2. I think this is a foul slur on Scottish manhood. I believe that wives throughout the northern
half of Scotland are well aware of how uncomplainingly we men bear pain or discomfort;
how unfazed we are by the prospect of a visit to the doctor’s surgery or the hospital, and
how reluctant we are to take to our beds, even when suffering horrendous illness.
3. Mrs Harper’s theory is not limited to human males. She says she has amassed plenty of
evidence that the males of any species are gey peer craiters when it comes to needles,
knives or rubber gloves. What happened last Saturday afternoon, I have to concede, lent
weight to her theory.
4. The two of us and the dog (male) had gone out for our usual weekend walk, timing it
between bursts of rain. As we passed the vet’s surgery on the way to the riverside park,
Mrs Harper noticed that the surgery door was open and remembered suddenly that the big
red beast was due his regular dose of kennel-cough medicine.
5. Seeing her chance, she bustled across the road. All seemed reasonably clear, so she asked
if she might make an appointment. The vet proposed getting it over and done with at that
moment, as he appeared to have a minor lull between one four-legged emergency and
another, so she appeared back outside the surgery door and beckoned me from across the
road.
6. The dog, who had spent the short time we had waited by sizing up the surgery and slowly
recalling an assortment of needles, thermometers and rubber-glove smells, showed an
unusual reluctance to rise from his sitting position.
7. Persuaded across the road, he arrived in the surgery and went daft. The vet must have
thought he was thoroughly undisciplined, which is untrue. It’s just that the assortment of
smells in a vet’s surgery must be the equivalent of those in a soap shop to a small boy.
8. He did as he was told and sat, but with his behind and paws quivering on the lino, and his
head craning through 270 degrees.
9. The vet went off to charge the syringe with the medicine, turning his back to the dog while
he did so. Those of you who are familiar with dogs will know that a kennel-cough dose is
administered not through a needle, but through a blunt squirter up the animal’s nostrils.
10. Our normally placid beast has an abiding horror of this. Mrs Harper says this is not
because it’s a particularly traumatic procedure or that any vet has been rough with him in
the past. It’s just that he’s male and, consequently, affa feart for himsel.
11. As the vet turned round, brandishing the blunt-nosed syringe, all pretence of canine
discipline vanished.
Preparing for National 4 Close Reading
6
September
H23H 74 (ID: 01)
Analysis and Evaluation
12. In the middle of this confusion, with the dog’s lead twining my legs and the lino being
gouged to destruction as he tried to head for the door, the vet looked at me. “Could you sit
down and hold him between your knees to try to steady him?” he said. “Then put your
arms round him to lock him while I try to get close.”
13. Not sure that my joints were up to such contortions and exertion, I made to sit down on the
nearest seat, as I had been told. Just in time, Mrs Harper pointed out that the seat in
question was on castors.
14. While that might not have been very dignified, look on the bright side: I could have
broken the office-chair land-speed record and earned my place in history.
15. I opted for another seat—sturdy, mahogany—sitting against another wall, and I shochled
across, rebelling dog in tow, plonked myself down, hauled him to sit between my knees
and locked my arm under his chin.
16. He calmed momentarily while the vet slipped a nylon muzzle on him. Our dog hasn’t so
much as nipped anyone in his four years, but it’s always best to be cautious in trauma.
17. The vet tilted the dog’s head back and bore down with the syringe. To say that what
followed was akin to a whirlwind of dervishes and banshees breaking loose would be
gross understatement. I’ve seen spin-driers and pneumatic drills with less vigour.
18. Had I not been involved myself, I would not have believed that so much struggling could
come from a normally placid and passive beast.
19. As for the vet, it is difficult to aim for two nostrils when they are thrashing from left to
right, despite the animal’s owner’s best efforts to steady them.
20. However, the vet managed a quick squirt up one tunnel and half a squirt up the other,
which he declared sufficient.
21. But it didn’t end there.
22. Just as the vet leaned back and slipped the muzzle off the dog, the dog tilted his head back,
glowered up into my face and let rip the most enormous sneeze, blowing half his kennelcough medicine back over me. Having exacted his revenge, he stepped from the surgery as
bright and lively as ever. I, meanwhile, had a thumping headache within 15 minutes.
23. While the dog leaped and bounded and gambolled happily about the riverside park, having
forgotten all about his medical encounter just minutes before, my mouth had gone dry, the
sky had gone dark and my throat had begun to burn.
24. Heaven knows what is the active ingredient in kennel-cough serum but, trust me, you
don’t want to tangle with it.
25. The headache, dryness and hazy vision persisted for the rest of that evening, despite Mrs
Harper’s conviction that I was malingering.
26. Happily, I felt fine after a night’s sleep, and the symptoms were but a faint memory by the
time I took my place at the kitchen table with my bran flakes the following morning.
Preparing for National 4 Close Reading
7
September
H23H 74 (ID: 01)
Analysis and Evaluation
27. Indeed, I’m almost back to normal. The appetite has returned. I’m sleeping well. Best of
all, I can now go to kennels nationwide without fear of catching so much as a tickly throat.
28. Mrs Harper says that she has never seen me looking so healthy in all the time we have
been married.
29. If only I could stop chasing rabbits.
Adapted from Fortnights by Norman Harper
Preparing for National 4 Close Reading
8
September
H23H 74 (ID: 01)
Analysis and Evaluation
MONEY WELL SPENT
In this extract from his autobiography, the writer, Bill Bryson, remembers and reflects upon
the time he was first taken to Disneyland by his parents.
1. My father returned home in unusually high spirits, and revealed his startling plans to take
us away on a trip over Christmas to some mysterious place.
2. “You wait. You’ll like it. You’ll see,” was all he would say, to whoever asked. The whole
idea of it was unspeakably exciting—we weren’t the type of people to do something so
rash, so sudden, so unseasonal—but unnerving too, for exactly the same reasons. So on the
afternoon of 16 December, when Greenwood, my elementary school, dispatched its happy
hordes into the snowy streets to begin three glorious weeks of yuletide relaxation (and
school holidays in those days, let me say, were of a proper and generous duration), the
family Rambler was waiting out front, steaming extravagantly, even keenly, and ready to
cut a trail across the snowy prairies. We headed west as usual, crossed the mighty
Missouri River and made our way past Omaha. Then we just kept on going. We drove for
what seemed like (in fact was) days across the endless, stubbly snow-blown plains. We
passed one enticing diversion after another—Pony Express stations, buffalo licks, a pretty
big rock—without so much as a sideways glance from my father. My mother began to
look faintly worried.
3. On the third morning, we caught our first sight of the Rockies—the first time in my life I
had seen something on the horizon other than a horizon. And still we kept going, up and
through the ragged mountains and out the other side. We emerged in California, into
warmth and sunshine, and spent a week experiencing its wonders—its mighty groves of
redwoods, the lush Imperial Valley, Big Sur, Los Angeles—and the delicious, odd feel of
warm sunlight on your face and bare arms in December: a winter without winter.
4. I had seldom—what am I saying? I had never—seen my father so generous and carefree.
At a lunch counter in San Luis Obispo he invited me—urged me—to have a large hot
fudge sundae, and when I said, “Dad, are you sure?” he said, “Go on, you only live
once”—a sentiment that had never passed his teeth before, certainly not in a commercial
setting.
5. We spent Christmas Day walking on a beach in Santa Monica, and the next day we got in
the car and drove south on a snaking freeway through the hazy, warm, endless
nowhereness of Los Angeles. At length we parked in an enormous parking lot that was
almost comically empty—we were one of half a dozen cars, all from out of state—and
strode a few paces to a grand entrance, where we stood with hands in pockets looking up
at a fabulous display of wrought iron.
6. “Well, Billy, do you know where this is?” my father asked, unnecessarily. There wasn’t a
child in the world that didn’t know these fabled gates.
7. “It’s Disneyland,” I said.
Preparing for National 4 Close Reading
9
September
H23H 74 (ID: 01)
Analysis and Evaluation
8. “It certainly is,” he agreed, and he stared appreciatively at the gates as if they were
something he had privately commissioned.
9. For a minute I wondered if this was all we had come for—to admire the gates—and if in a
moment we would get back in the car and drive on to somewhere else. But instead he told
us to wait where we were, and strode purposefully to a ticket booth where he conducted a
brief but remarkably cheerful transaction. It was the only time in my life that I saw two
$20 bills leave my father’s wallet simultaneously. As he waited at the window, he gave us
a broad smile and a little wave.
10. “Am I ill or something?” I asked my mother.
11. “No, honey,” she replied.
12. “Is Dad ill?”
13. “No, honey, everybody’s fine. Your father’s just got the Christmas spirit.”
14. At no point in all my life before or since have I been more astounded, more gratified, more
happy than I was for the whole of that day. We had the park practically to ourselves. We
did it all—spun gaily in people-sized teacups, climbed aboard flying Dumbos, marvelled
at the exciting conveniences in the Monsanto All-Plastic House of the Future in
Tomorrowland, enjoyed a submarine ride and riverboat safari, took a rocket to the moon.
(The seats actually trembled. “Whoa!” we all said in delighted alarm.) Disneyland in those
days was a considerably less slick and manicured wonder than it would later become, but
it was still the finest thing I had ever seen—possibly the finest thing that existed in
America at the time. My father was positively enchanted with the place, with its tidiness
and wholesomeness and imaginative picture-set charm, and kept asking why all the world
couldn’t be like this. “But cheaper, of course,” he added, comfortingly returning to
character and steering us deftly past a souvenir stand. The next morning we got in the car
and began the thousand-mile trip across desert, mountain and prairie to Des Moines. It was
a long drive, but everyone was very happy. At Omaha, we didn’t stop—didn’t even slow
down—but just kept on going. And if there is a better way to conclude a vacation by not
stopping in Omaha, then I don’t know it.
From Bill Bryson, The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid (slightly adapted)
Preparing for National 4 Close Reading
10
September
H23H 74 (ID: 01)
Analysis and Evaluation
THREE MEN AND A DOG
You don’t need to lug a tent on a long-distance walk in the Lakes. Kevin Rushby and his two
sons discover barn camping on a rite of passage hike with their young hound.
1.
It’s so easy when they’re puppies. You stroll
down the street and they come home
exhausted.
People
stop
and
have
conversations.
2. “Aren’t you gorgeous?” (That can be
disappointing, of course: it’s the dog who is
being addressed, not you). Then they get
bigger. They want proper walks. They want
sticks thrown. We got a mongrel terrier pup
from a rescue centre. And when Wilf reached
full size, I started looking to take him for a
decent walk in deep countryside—a rite of passage for a young hound, somewhere beyond
the realm of the dreaded poo bin. There were two teenage sons too, Con and Niall, and
they seemed surprisingly enthusiastic—there’s one tip for getting your kids to walk: buy
or borrow a dog.
3.
The Lake District seemed a good choice—plenty of wonderful walking there—but with
snow on the way I didn’t fancy camping. Instead, I booked us into a couple of barns.
There’s a whole slew of them across the Lakes, offering varying degrees of comfort from
downright basic to . . . well, let’s call it cosily austere. Nevertheless, they did seem to offer
a cushier alternative to tents.
4.
Our hotel in Keswick was willing to take a dog for a night in one of their dog-friendly
rooms, so we planned on a comfortable start followed by three days of walking in a great
horseshoe around the southern extremities of Borrowdale.
5.
I have this fond vision of dogs in hotels and pubs. It’s an affable labrador-type creature
laid out under the table, snoozing. At the hotel, Wilf isn’t like that. He runs riot. He loves
hotels. He loves the way people drop crisps in the bar. He sneaks into a neighbour’s room
and sniffs their luggage for food. Curiously, they laugh indulgently and say things like,
“You’re a lovable chap, aren’t you?” A dog’s life doesn’t seem so bad, really. Wilf soon
settles down on his dedicated luxury bed and sleeps like a baby. I spend the night halfawake, stirring at every doggy snort, worrying that he’ll get up and cock his leg on the
four-poster. Mercifully that doesn’t happen.
6.
At first light, we set out. Winter walking means every hour of daylight is precious. We
soon leave Keswick behind and climb steadily on to the ridge of High Seat. The weather
forecast is for snow showers, but all we get is mist and cloud and occasional tantalising
glimpses of Derwent Water below. On Bleaberry Fell, Wilf disappears for 10 minutes and
I fear he will return with one of the black grouse that are chuckling at us from afar (not a
sheep, we took the precaution of stock-training him before the trip, and anyway he would
look silly as he’s only knee-height to a ewe). He eventually reappears, grouseless,
bounding across clumps of heather as if he’s on springs.
Preparing for National 4 Close Reading
11
September
H23H 74 (ID: 01)
Analysis and Evaluation
7.
We eat our lunch looking down at Watendlath, perhaps the most idyllic of Lakeland
settings. Then we march down to Rosthwaite in Borrowdale and search out our first barn.
8.
The barn is a beautiful old stone Cumbrian longhouse set on the side of a meadow close to
Stonethwaite Beck. Downstairs is a kitchen with microwave, kettle and trestle tables;
upstairs is a room with foam mattresses. Sadly there are no straw bales or lambs bleating
in cribs: it’s all very well-swept.
9.
We sleep pretty well. Next morning we bemoan the recent, and permanent, closure of the
shop in Rosthwaite—breakfast and lunch will finish all our food supplies.
10. The walk up to Dale Fell takes our minds off this logistical problem: first with all the old
slate-mine workings, a fascinating bit of industrial history, then with marvellous views as
we hit the ridge, heading west. Far away to our right, across a pack of fells, disappearing
in mist, is the Solway Firth; to our left, Morecambe Bay with its wind farms.
11. By the time we drop down into the village of Buttermere, we are tired but happy. It’s been
a great day’s walk. Wilf must have once again done 40 miles to our 10. We are ready to
sample either of the two pubs. Our hopes, however, are dashed: both are shut. Recent
floods in Cumbria have caused such a dearth of customers that midweek closures have
come into force. Cragg Barn is 100 yards up the lane and looks cold. There are snow
clouds overhead. Inside is a kitchen —sink and table—then an upstairs sleeping room with
foam mattresses wrapped in industrial black plastic. No heating. This is definitely the
spartan end of the camping barn experience, and the only food we have is a can of tripe
and turkey in gravy, which Wilf refuses to share.
12. There is no mobile coverage so we find a phone box and ring for a taxi. Twenty quid to
get back to Keswick for fish and chips; then 20 more to return. If you choose your barn for
its proximity to a pub I recommend checking opening times.
13. The final day, and it’s the big one. Snow clouds are hovering over Whiteless Breast, our
first fell. The views are brief and brilliant: a few seconds of long vistas across sunlight
dappled sea to the Isle of Man, swiftly gone. Wilf goes up the slope at top speed and
disappears into the cloud, snapping wildly at the first snow flurries of his short life;
flurries that are thickening into a white out. We reach the top of Whiteless Pike. I wonder
if anyone ever called Mountain Rescue because their dog got lost. At that moment he
reappears, only to pursue a snowflake down a steep slope then—horror—over the edge.
We all stop.
14. “Is that a cliff?” asks Con. With visibility at a few metres, it’s impossible to tell. The steep
grassy bank is slick with ice and snow. I take a couple of tentative steps down. It would be
very easy to lose control and slide.
15. At that moment, Wilf scrabbles back over the brink, looking a bit shaken. He bounds back
to us, but stays close after that.
16. Conditions are now quite testing. A rising cold wind is driving icy snow into our faces.
We push on. This was definitely the rite of passage I had wanted for all my young hounds,
but would I be up to it myself? Good trips always have that moment of uncertainty: should
we go on? Is it safe?
Preparing for National 4 Close Reading
12
September
H23H 74 (ID: 01)
Analysis and Evaluation
17. One last challenge is rerouting due
to a bridge being washed away,
then we are on the path into
Keswick where we meet a fellow
walker and dog expert who looks
Wilf up and down.
18. “Aren’t you gorgeous? You’re a
fell terrier, aren’t you?”
19. Wilf seemed to prick up his ears.
He was a breed. He was meant to
be. We have covered 30 miles and
climbed 7,500 feet, but he had
done in excess of 100 miles, and, I
reckon, scaled a Mount Everest in height. He trotted into Keswick with his tail up, an
acknowledged fell terrier. The rest of us were perky also, but in a less demonstrative way.
The rite of passage had worked. We were fell terriers, too.
Adapted from an article in Saturday Guardian
Preparing for National 4 Close Reading
13
September
H23H 74 (ID: 01)
Analysis and Evaluation
MRS. MOONFACE
In this extract from a novel set in a secondary school, the narrator, John, is sitting in his Maths
class. Gloria (nicknamed Glory Hallelujah) is another pupil in the same class.
1.
I am sitting in school, in maths, with a piece of paper in my hand. No, it is not my
algebra homework. It is not a quiz that I have finished and am waiting to hand in to Mrs
Moonface. The piece of paper in my hand has nothing at all to do with mathematics. Nor
does it have to do with any school subject. Nor is it really a piece of paper at all.
2.
It is really my fate, masquerading as paper.
3.
I am sitting next to Glory Hallelujah and I am waiting for a break in the action. Mrs
Moonface is at the front of the room, going on about integers. I am not hearing a single
thing that she is saying. She could stop lecturing about integers and start doing a cancan
kick or sing a rap song and I would not notice.
4.
She could call on me and ask me any question on earth, and I would not be able to
answer.
5.
But luckily, she does not call on me. She has a piece of chalk in her right hand. She is
waving it around like a dagger as she spews algebra gibberish at a hundred miles a
minute.
6.
I hear nothing. Algebra does not have the power to penetrate my feverish isolation.
7.
You see, I am preparing to ask Glory Hallelujah out on a date.
8.
I am on an island, even though I am sitting at my desk surrounded by my classmates. I
am on Torture Island.
9.
There are no trees on Torture Island - no huts, no hills, no beaches. There is only doubt.
10. Gloria will laugh at me. That thought is my lonely and tormenting company here on
Torture Island. The exact timing and nature of her laughter are open to endless
speculation.
11. She may not take me seriously. Her response may be "Oh, John, do you exist? Are you
here on earth with me? I wasn't aware we were sharing the same universe."
12. Or she may be even more sarcastic. "John, I would love to go on a date with you, but I'm
afraid I have to change my cat's litter box that night."
13. So, as you can see, Torture Island is not exactly a beach resort. I am not having much fun
here. I am ready to seize my moment and leave Torture Island forever.
14. In registration, I ripped a piece of paper from my yellow notepad. My black ball-point
pen shook slightly in my trembling right hand as I wrote out the fateful question: "Gloria,
will you go out with me this Friday?" Beneath that monumental question, I drew two
Preparing for National 4 Close Reading
14
September
H23H 74 (ID: 01)
Analysis and Evaluation
boxes. One box was conspicuously large. I labelled it the YES box. The second box was
tiny. I labelled it the NO box.
15. And that is the yellow piece of paper I have folded up into a square and am holding in
my damp hand as I wait here on Torture Island for Mrs Moonface to turn towards the
blackboard and give me the opportunity I need.
16. I cannot approach Glory Hallelujah after class because she is always surrounded by her
friends. I cannot wait and pass the note to her later in the week because she may make
plans to go out with one of her girlfriends. No, it is very evident to me that today is the
day, and that I must pass the note before this period ends or forever live a coward.
17. There are only ten minutes left in maths and Mrs Moonface seems to have no intention of
recording her algebraic observations for posterity. Perhaps the piece of yellow chalk in
her hand is just a prop. It is possible that the previous night she hurt her wrist in an armwrestling competition and can no longer write. It is also possible that she has forgotten
all about her pupils and believes that she is playing a part in a Hollywood movie.
18. There are only seven minutes left in maths. I attempt to turn Mrs Moonface towards the
blackboard by telekinesis. The atoms of her body prove remarkably resistant to my
telepathic powers.
19. There are six minutes left. Now there are five.
20. Mrs Moonface, for Pete's sake, write something on the blackboard! That is what
mathematics teachers do! Write down axioms, simplify equations, draw rectangles,
measure angles, even, if you must, sketch the sneering razor-toothed face of algebra
itself. Write anything!
21. Suddenly Mrs Moonface stops lecturing.
22. Her right hand, holding the chalk, rises.
23. Then her hips begin to pivot.
24. This all unfolds in very slow motion. The sheer importance of the moment slows the
action way, way down.
25. The pivoting of Mrs. Moonface's hips causes a corresponding rotation in the plane of her
shoulders and upper torso.
26. Her neck follows her shoulders, as day follows night.
27. Eventually, the lunar surface of her face is pulled towards the blackboard.
28. She begins to write. I have no idea what she is writing. It could be hieroglyphics and I
would not notice. It could be a map to Blackbeard's treasure and I would not care.
29. I am now primed. My heart is thumping against my ribs, one by one, like a hammer
pounding out a musical scale on a metal keyboard. Bing. Bang. Bong. Bam. I am
breathing so quickly that I cannot breathe, if that makes any sense.
Preparing for National 4 Close Reading
15
September
H23H 74 (ID: 01)
Analysis and Evaluation
30. I am aware of every single one of my classmates in maths.
31. Everyone in maths is now preoccupied. There are only four minutes left in the period.
Mrs Moonface is filling up blackboard space at an unprecedented speed, no doubt trying
to scrape every last kernel of mathematical knowledge from the corncob of her brain
before the bell. My classmates are racing to keep up with her. All around me pens are
moving across notebooks at such a rate that ink can barely leak out and affix itself to
paper.
32. My moment is at hand! The great clapper in the bell of fate clangs for me! Ka-wang! Kawang!
33. My right hand rises and begins to move sideways, very slowly, like a submarine,
travelling at sub-desk depth to avoid teacher radar.
34. My right index finger makes contact with the sacred warm left wrist of Glory Hallelujah!
35. She looks down to see who is touching her at sub-desk depth. Spots my hand, with its
precious yellow note.
36. Gloria understands instantly.
37. The exchange of the covert note is completed in a nanoinstant. Mrs Moonface and the
rest of our maths class have no idea that anything momentous has taken place.
38. I reverse the speed and direction of my right hand, and it returns safely to port.
39. Gloria has transferred my note to her lap and has moved her right elbow to block anyone
on that side of her from seeing. The desk itself provides added shielding.
40. In the clever safe haven that she has created, she unfolds my note. Reads it.
41. She does not need to speak. She does not need to check the yes or no boxes on my note.
If she merely blinks, I will understand. If she wrinkles her nose, the import of her nose
wrinkle will not be lost on me. In fact, so total is my concentration in that moment of
grand suspense I am absolutely positive that there is nothing that glory hallelujah can do,
no reaction that she can give off, that I will not immediately and fully understand.
42. I would stake my life on it.
43. But what she does do is this. She folds my note back up. Without looking at me - without
even an eye blink or a nose wrinkle - she raises it to her lips. For one wild instant I think
that she is going to kiss it.
44. Her pearly teeth part.
45. She eats my note.
Adapted from the novel You Don't Know Me By David Klass
Preparing for National 4 Close Reading
16
September
H23H 74 (ID: 01)
Preparing for National 4 Close Reading
Analysis and Evaluation
17
September
H23H 74 (ID: 01)
Analysis and Evaluation
ALICE
In the following passage, Alice, the main character, is spending the summer working in
France.
1.
Alice notices a fly on the underside of her arm.
2.
Insects are an occupational hazard at a dig, and for some reason there are more flies higher
up the mountain where she is working than at the main excavation site lower down.
3.
Her concentration broken, Alice stands up and stretches. She unscrews the top of her water
bottle. It’s warm, but she’s too thirsty to care and drinks it down in great gulps. Below, the
heat haze shimmers above the dented tarmac of the road. Above her, the sky is an endless
blue.
4.
It’s her first time in the Pyrenees, although she feels very much at home. In the main camp
on the lower slopes, Alice can see her colleagues standing under the big canvas awning.
She’s surprised they’ve stopped already. It’s early in the day to be taking a break, but then
the whole team is a bit demoralised. It’s hard work: the digging, scraping, cataloguing,
recording, and so far they’ve turned up little to justify their efforts. They’ve come across
only a few fragments of early medieval pots and bowls, and a couple of arrowheads.
5.
Alice is tempted to go down and join her colleagues. Her calves are already aching from
squatting. The muscles in her shoulders are tense. But she knows that if she stops now,
she’ll lose her momentum.
6.
Hopefully, her luck’s about to change. Earlier, she’d noticed something glinting beneath a
large boulder, propped against the side of the mountain, almost as if it had been placed
there by a giant hand. Although she can’t make out what the object is, even how big it is,
she’s been digging all morning and she doesn’t think it will be much longer before she can
reach it.
7.
She knows she should fetch someone. Alice is not a trained archaeologist, just a volunteer.
But it’s her last day on site and she wants to prove herself. If she goes back down to the
main camp now and admits she’s on to something, everybody will want to be involved,
and it will no longer be her discovery.
8.
In the days and weeks to come, Alice will look back to this moment. She will wonder at
how different things might have been had she made the choice to go and not to stay. If she
had played by the rules. She drains the last drop of water from the bottle and tosses it into
her rucksack.
9.
For the next hour or so, as the sun climbs higher in the sky and the temperature rises, Alice
carries on working. The only sounds are the scrape of metal on rock, the whine of insects
and the occasional buzz of a light aircraft in the distance.
10. Alice kneels down on the ground and leans her cheek and shoulder against the rock for
support. Then, with a flutter of excitement, she pushes her fingers deep into the dark earth.
Straight away, she knows she’s got something worth finding. It is smooth to the touch,
metal not stone. Grasping it firmly and telling herself not to expect too much, slowly,
slowly she eases the object out into the light.
Preparing for National 4 Close Reading
18
September
H23H 74 (ID: 01)
Analysis and Evaluation
11. The rich, cloying smell of wet soil fills her nose and throat, although she barely notices.
She is already lost in the past, captivated by the piece of history she cradles in the palms of
her hands. It is a heavy, round buckle, speckled black and green with age and from its long
burial.
12. Alice is so absorbed that she doesn’t notice the boulder shifting on its base. Then
something makes her look up. For a split second, the world seems to hang suspended, out
of space, out of time. She is mesmerised by the ancient slab of stone as it sways and tilts,
and then gracefully begins to fall towards her. At the very last moment, the light fractures.
The spell is broken. Alice throws herself out of the way, half tumbling, half slithering
sideways, just in time to avoid being crushed. The boulder hits the ground with a dull thud,
sending up a cloud of pale brown dust, then rolls over and over, as if in slow motion, until
it comes to rest further down the mountain.
13. Alice clutches desperately at the bushes and scrub to stop herself slipping any further. For
a moment she lies sprawled in the dirt, dizzy and disorientated. As it sinks in how very
close she came to being crushed, she turns cold. Takes a deep breath. Waits for the world
to stop spinning.
14. Gradually, the pounding in her head dies away. The sickness in her stomach settles and
everything starts to return to normal, enough for her to sit up and take stock.
15. Her knees are grazed and streaked with blood and she’s knocked her wrist where she
landed awkwardly, still clutching the buckle in her hand to protect it, but basically she’s
escaped with no more than a few cuts and bruises.
16. She gets to her feet and dusts herself down. She raises her hand, is about to call out to
attract someone’s attention when she notices that there’s a narrow opening visible in the
side of the mountain where the boulder had been standing. Like a doorway cut into the
rock. She hesitates. Alice knows she should get somebody to come with her. It is stupid,
possibly even dangerous, to go in on her own without any sort of back-up. She knows all
the things that can go wrong. But something is drawing her in. It feels personal.
17. It’s her discovery.
18. She climbs back up. There is a dip in the ground at the mouth of the cave, where the stone
had stood guard. The damp earth is alive with the frantic writhing of worms and beetles
exposed suddenly to the light and heat after so long. Her cap lies on the ground where it
fell. Her trowel is there too, just where she left it.
19. Alice peers into the darkness. The opening is no more than five feet high and about three
feet wide and the edges are irregular and rough. It seems to be natural rather than manmade.
20. Slowly, her eyes become accustomed to the gloom. Velvet black gives way to charcoal
grey and she sees that she is looking into a long, narrow tunnel.
21. Squeezing the buckle tightly in her hand, she takes a deep breath and steps forward into
the passageway. Straight away, the smell of long-hidden, underground air surrounds her,
filling her mouth and throat and lungs. It’s cool and damp, not the dry, poisonous gases of
a sealed cave she’s been warned about, so she guesses there must be some source of fresh
Preparing for National 4 Close Reading
19
September
H23H 74 (ID: 01)
Analysis and Evaluation
air. Feeling nervous and slightly guilty, Alice wraps the buckle in a handkerchief and
pushes it into her pocket, then cautiously steps forward.
22. As she moves further in, she feels the chill air curl around her bare legs and arms like a
cat. She is walking downhill. She can feel the ground sloping away beneath her feet,
uneven and gritty. The scrunch of the stones and gravel is loud in the confined, hushed
space. She is aware of the daylight getting fainter and fainter at her back, the further and
deeper she goes.
23. Abruptly, she does not want to go on.
Adapted from the novel Labyrinth by Kate Mosse
Preparing for National 4 Close Reading
20
September
H23H 74 (ID: 01)
Analysis and Evaluation
GLASGOW 5TH MARCH
Edwin Morgan
With a ragged diamond
of shattered plate-glass
a young man and his girl
are falling backwards into a shop-window.
5
The young man's face
is bristling with fragments of glass
and the girl's leg has caught
on the broken window
and spurts arterial blood
10
over her wet-look white coat.
Their arms are starfished out
braced for impact,
their faces show surprise, shock,
and the beginning of pain.
15
The two youths who have pushed them
are about to complete the operation
reaching into the window
to loot what they can smartly.
Their faces show no expression.
20
It is a sharp clear night
in Sauchiehall Street.
In the background two drivers
keep their eyes on the road.
Preparing for National 4 Close Reading
21
September
H23H 74 (ID: 01)
Analysis and Evaluation
GERIATRIC WARD
Phoebe Hesketh
This poem features a conversation between the narrator and the doctor on duty in a geriatric ward in
a hospital.
Feeding time in the geriatric ward;
I wondered how they found their mouths,
and seeing that not one looked up, inquired
‘Do they have souls?’
5
‘If I had a machine gun,’ answered the doctor
‘I’d show you dignity in death instead of living death.
Death wasn’t meant to be kept alive.
But we’re under orders
to pump blood and air in after the mind’s gone.
10
I don’t understand souls;
I only learned about cells
law-abiding as leaves
withering under frost.
But we, never handing over
15
to Mother who knows best,
spray cabbages with oxygen, hoping for a smile,
count pulses of breathing bags whose direction is lost,
and think we’ve won.
Here’s a game you can’t win –
20
One by one they ooze away in the cold.
There’s no society forbidding
this dragged-out detention of the old.’
Preparing for National 4 Close Reading
22
September
H23H 74 (ID: 01)
Analysis and Evaluation
SAILMAKER
Alan Spence
This extract is taken from near the end of Act One of the play. Davie, a sailmaker to trade, is down on
his luck and has borrowed some money from his brother, Billy.
5
10
DAVIE:
BILLY:
DAVIE:
BILLY:
DAVIE
BILLY:
DAVIE:
BILLY:
DAVIE:
BILLY:
DAVIE:
BILLY:
15
BILLY:
DAVIE:
20
BILLY:
DAVIE:
25
BILLY:
DAVIE:
30
35
BILLY:
DAVIE:
BILLY:
DAVIE:
BILLY:
DAVIE:
BILLY:
DAVIE:
BILLY:
Enter DAVIE and BILLY, talking as they walk)
Eh, Billy ... that coupla quid ah tapped off ye. Could it wait till next week?
Aye sure.
Things are still a wee bit tight.
What's the score?
Eh?
Ye shouldnae be this skint. What is it?
Ah told ye. It's the job. Just hasnae been so great. No sellin enough. No collectin enough.
No gettin much over the basic
Aye, but ye should be able tae get by. Just the two ae ye.
It's no easy.
Ye bevvying?
Just a wee half when ah finish ma work. An by Christ ah, need it.
Ye bettin too heavy? Is that it?
(Hesitates then decides to tell him.) It started a coup la months ago. Backed a favourite.
Absolute surefire certainty. Couldnae lose. But it was even money, so ah had tae put
quite a whack on it. (Slightly shamefaced) Best part ae a week's wages.
An it got beat?
Out the park. So ah made it up by borrowin off the bookie. He does his moneylender on
the side. Charges interest.
An every week ye miss the interest goes up.
This is it. Now when ah pay him ah'm just clearin the interest. Ah'm no even touchin the
original amount ah borrowed. Ah must've paid him back two or three times over, an ah
still owe him the full whack.
Bastard, eh? Sicken ye. And he's a pape.
(DAVIE laughs)
Still, Aw ah need's a wee turn. Ah mean ma luck's got tae change sometime hasn't it?
Law of averages.
Whatever that is.
Things have got tae get better.
It's a mugs game. The punter canny win.
Got tae keep tryin.
Flingin it away! Look, Don't get me wrong. Ah don't mind helpin ye out, but ah'm no
exactly rollin in it maself.
You'll get yer money back.
That's no what ah mean!
What am ah supposed tae dae? Get a job as a company director or somethin! Ah'll go
doon tae the broo in the mornin!
There must be some way tae get this bookie aff yer back for a start.
Preparing for National 4 Close Reading
23
September
40
45
DAVIE:
BILLY:
DAVIE:
BILLY:
DAVIE:
BILLY:
DAVIE:
BILLY:
DAVIE:
BILLY:
50
DAVIE:
BILLY:
55
60
DAVIE:
BILLY:
DAVIE:
BILLY:
DAVIE:
BILLY:
DAVIE:
65
BILLY:
DAVIE:
H23H 74 (ID: 01)
Analysis and Evaluation
Aye sure.
Ah mean, you've paid him.
Ah knew his terms.
It's no even legal.
Neither is gettin his heavies tae kick folk's heids in.
So maybe he's no the only wan that knows a few hard men.
(Sighs) What a carry on, eh?
Hey. Remember when we were wee, we used to fight like cat an dog?
Ah could beat ye an all!
Oh aye, ye were too fast for me. Quick on yer feet. The old one-two. Ma only chance was
tae get ye in a bearhug.
Ah've still got the bruises!
Ah remember one time we were havin a right old barney, an da was tryin tae sleep must've been on the nightshift. An he came runnin out the room in his shirt-tail an clattered
the pair ae us!
He was a tough auld customer right enough. Had tae be in these days.
D'ye know he walked fae Campbeltown tae Glasgow tae get a start in the yards! Tellin ye,
we don't know we're livin.
Ah hear the boy's daein well at school.
Oh aye. He's clever. He'll get on.
He'll get on a lot better if you screw the heid, right?
C'mon Billy, ah dae ma best. It's just
Ah know it's hard on yer own an that
Naw ye don't know. Naebody knows, unless they've been through it. (Quieter) Comin
hame's the worst. The boy's oot playin. Hoose is empty. Gets on top of ye. The other night
there, ah got this queer feel in. Ah felt as if aw the furniture and every thin was watching
me. Sounds daft, eh? Maybe ah'm goin aff ma heid !
Bound tae take a while tae get over it.
If ah ever dae.
(They cross to where ALEC is playing with yacht)
Preparing for National 4 Close Reading
24
September
H23H 74 (ID: 01)
Analysis and Evaluation
JOURNEY’S END
R.C. Sherriff
This extract is taken from near the end of Act I of the play Journey’s End by RC Sherriff and set in
March 1918, in the trenches near St. Quentin, during World War I. Raleigh, a new officer to C
Company has recently arrived having negotiated his way into this company, which is captained by his
school friend, Stanhope. Stanhope has been unofficially seeing Raleigh’s sister, but has also been
much changed by the effects of the war.
Raleigh has just finished writing a letter to his sister and begins to seal it ready for posting.
5
STANHOPE (in a quiet voice): You leave it open.
RALEIGH (surprised): Open?
STANHOPE: Yes. I have to censor all letters.
RALEIGH (stammering): Oh, but – I haven’t said anything about – where we are –
STANHOPE: It’s the rule that letters must be read.
RALEIGH (nervously): Oh, I – I didn’t realise that. (He stands embarrassed; then gives a short
laugh.) I – I think – I’ll just leave it, then. (He unbuttons his tunic pocket to put the letter away.)
STANHOPE rises, slowly crosses and faces RALEIGH.
10
15
20
STANHOPE: Give me that letter!
RALEIGH (astonished): But – Dennis –
STANHOPE (trembling): Give me that letter!
RALEIGH:
But it’s – it’s private. I didn’t know –
STANHOPE: D’you understand an order? Give me that letter!
RALEIGH:
But I tell you – there’s nothing –
STANHOPE clutches RALEIGH’s wrist and tears the letter from his hand.
Dennis – I’m –
STANHOPE: Don’t “Dennis” me! Stanhope’s my name! You’re not at school! Go and
inspect your rifles!
RALEIGH stands in amazement at the foot of the steps.
(shouting)
D’you understand an order?
For a moment RALEIGH stares wide-eyed at STANHOPE, who is trembling and breathing
heavily, then almost in a whisper he says: “Right,” and goes quietly up the narrow steps.
25
STANHOPE turns towards the table.
OSBORNE:
Good heavens, Stanhope!
STANHOPE (wheeling furiously on OSBORNE): Look here, Osborne, I’m commanding this
company. I ask for advice when I want it!
OSBORNE:
Very well.
STANHOPE sinks down at the table with the letter in his hand. There is silence for a moment.
Then he throws the letter on the table and rests his head between his hands.
30
35
STANHOPE:
OSBORNE:
STANHOPE:
OSBORNE:
STANHOPE:
OSBORNE:
Oh, God! I don’t want to read the blasted thing!
You’ll let it go, then?
I don’t care. (There is a pause.)
Shall I glance through it – for you?
If you like.
I don’t want to.
Preparing for National 4 Close Reading
25
September
STANHOPE:
H23H 74 (ID: 01)
Analysis and Evaluation
You better. I can’t.
OSBORNE takes the letter from the table and opens it. STANHOPE sits with his head
in his hand, digging a magazine with a pencil. After a while, OSBORNE glances up at
STANHOPE.
40
45
50
55
OSBORNE:
Do you want to hear?
STANHOPE: I suppose I better know.
OSBORNE:
He begins with a description of his getting here – he doesn’t mention
the names of any places.
STANHOPE: What does he say then?
OSBORNE:
The last piece is about you.
STANHOPE: Go on.
OSBORNE (reading): He says: “And now I come to the great news. I reported at
Battalion Headquarters, and the colonel looked in a little book, and said, ‘You report to “C”
Company – Captain Stanhope.’ Can’t you imagine what I felt? I was taken along some trenches
and shown a dug-out. There was an awfully nice officer there – quite old – with grey hair” –
(OSBORNE clears his throat) – “and then later Dennis came in. He looked tired, but that’s
because he works so frightfully hard, and because of the responsibility. Then I went on duty in
the front line, and a sergeant told me all about Dennis. He said that Dennis is the finest officer
in the battalion, and the men simply love him. He hardly ever sleeps in the dug-out; he’s always
up in the front line with the men, cheering them on with jokes, and making them keen about
things, like he did the kids at school. I’m awfully proud to think he’s my friend.”
There is silence. STANHOPE has not moved while OSBORNE has read.
That’s all. (Pause.) Shall I stick it down?
60
STANHOPE sits with lowered head. He murmurs something that sounds like “Yes, please.”
He rises heavily and crosses to the shadows by OSBORNE’s bed.
The sun is shining quite brightly in the trench outside.
Preparing for National 4 Close Reading
26