Continue One of Two Passages — Sevenoaks School 11+ (2015)

Writing task

Choose one of the two source passages below and write its continuation.

Source passage

Passage 1 — from The Wanderer by Sharon Creech:

The sea, the sea, the sea. It thunders and rolls and unsettles me; it unsettles all of us. We tremble as we listen to the waves pounding. When I close my eyes, all I see is that huge white wave, and all I hear is the low rumbling that grows louder and louder as the wave breaks. We are all afraid to sleep, all afraid that The Wave will return. When we do lie down, we jolt out of bed at the slightest rumble of a new wave. I keep running through the scene in my head, over and over, from all different angles. It was like being born: I was in my rolling little world until a huge surge of water broke on me, scrunching me into a tight, round bundle and pushing me through a small space and then I was helpless and wet on my back, attached only by a small red line until a big hand pulled me away. I couldn’t talk, only whimper and moan. The hatch is secured, most of the water pumped out from below. Cody is up and at it again, but now Uncle Mo has succumbed to seasickness and so he and Uncle Stew are awfully miserable. Brian’s arm is badly sprained, and Uncle Dock wrenched his back. We’re a sad-looking group. My right leg is still throbbing and hurts all around my knee and down the back of my thigh. My other leg is fine except for a sprained and sore ankle. But besides that and a big bump on the back of my head, I am in one piece physically. Inside, though, I am in many pieces. I feel strange and raw and all jumbled up. Sometimes I feel as if one little roll of the boat or one quick movement will shatter me into a zillion pieces and all those pieces will go flinging off into the sea.

Passage 2 — from Boy by Roald Dahl:

Now and again, when we were out in the open water beyond the chain of islands, the sea became very rough, and that was when my mother enjoyed herself most. Nobody, not even the tiny children, bothered with lifebelts in those days. We would cling to the sides of our funny little white motor-boat, driving through mountainous white-capped waves and getting drenched to the skin, while my mother calmly handled the tiller. There were times, I promise you, when the waves were so high that as we slid down into a trough the whole world disappeared from sight. Then up and up the little boat would climb, standing almost vertically on its tail, until we reached the crest of the next wave, and then it was like being on top of a foaming mountain. It requires great skill to handle a small boat in seas like these. The thing can easily capsize or be swamped if the bows do not meet the great combing breakers at just the right angle. But my mother knew exactly how to do it, and we were never afraid. We loved every minute of it, all of us except for our long-suffering Nanny, who would bury her face in her hands and call aloud upon the Lord to save her soul.

Time: 30 minutes (as indicated for this published task).

Marks: 20.