GCSE
ENGLISH LANGUAGE
Paper 2 Writers’ viewpoints and perspectives
Insert
The two sources that follow are:
Source A: 21st Century non-fiction
How can my son be a year old already? by Stuart Heritage
A newspaper article from The Guardian newspaper published in 2016.
Source B: 19th Century literary non-fiction
Boy Lost
An extract from a Victorian newspaper in which a mother writes about her son.
Please turn the page over to see the sources
IB/M/Jun17/E7
8700/2
, 2
Source A
This is an article published in The Guardian newspaper in 2016. The writer, Stuart Heritage, explores
how he feels now that his son is a year old.
How can my son be a year old already?
He’s growing up fast, leaving milestones in his wake – and tiny parts of me along with them
1 My son turned one last week. The day marked the
end of what has been both the longest and
shortest year of my life. From the instant he was
born, it’s felt as if my son has always been part of
5 this family. I don’t mean that in an obnoxious,
heart-eyed, this-was-always-meant-to-be way.
I simply mean that I haven’t slept for a year and I
don’t really know how time works any more. Whole
years have passed in some of the afternoons I’ve
10 spent with him lately. Entire galaxies have been
born and thrived and withered and died in the time
it’s taken him to eat a mouthful of porridge.
How is he one already? First he was born, and then I blinked, and now in his place is a
little boy who can walk and has teeth and knows how to switch off the television at
15 precisely the most important moment of anything I ever try to watch. It’s not exactly the
most unprecedented development in all of human history – child gradually gets older – but
17 it’s the first time I’ve seen it close up. It’s honestly quite hard to grasp.
18 A year ago, he was a sleepy ball of scrunched-up flesh, but is now determinedly his own
person. I can see everyone in him – me, my wife, my parents – yet he’s already separate
20 from all of us. He’s giddy and silly. He’s a show-off, albeit one who’s irrationally terrified of
my dad. He loves running up to people and waiting for them to twang his lips like a ruler on
a table. When he gets tired and barks gibberish in the middle of the room, he throws his
entire body into it, like he’s trying to shove the noise up a hill.
With every tiny development – every new step he takes, every new tooth and sound and
25 reaction that comes along to ambush us – we’re confronted with a slightly different child.
Photos of him taken in the summer seem like dispatches from a million years ago. Photos of
him taken last week seem like a different boy. He’s blasting ahead as far as he can. He’s
28 leaving milestone after milestone in his wake and tiny parts of me along with them.
He’ll never again be the tiny baby who nestled in the crook of my arm, sucking on my little
30 finger in the middle of the night while his mum slept. Nor will he be the baby amazed by the
taste and texture of solid food. Soon enough he’ll stop being the baby who totters over and
rests his head on my shoulder whenever he gets tired, or laughs uncontrollably whenever I
say the word ‘teeth’ for reasons I don’t think I’ll ever work out.
But I’ve had a year of this and it’s ok. He’s never going to stop changing, and I don’t want
35 him to. This sadness, this constant sense of loss, of time slipping just beyond your grasp, is
IB/ M/Jun17/8700/2
, 3
an important part of this process. He won’t realise this, of course. He’s got years of
unbroken progress ahead of him, where everything will always be new and he’ll keep
obliviously brushing away all of the silly old fools who tell him how much he’s grown.
One day it’ll creep up on him. Years of his life will pass in a moment and he won’t be able to
40 understand where they’ve gone.
But it’s ok. You can’t hoard time. You just have to make the most of what you have.
Turn over for Source B
IB/ M/Jun17/8700/2 Turn over ►
ENGLISH LANGUAGE
Paper 2 Writers’ viewpoints and perspectives
Insert
The two sources that follow are:
Source A: 21st Century non-fiction
How can my son be a year old already? by Stuart Heritage
A newspaper article from The Guardian newspaper published in 2016.
Source B: 19th Century literary non-fiction
Boy Lost
An extract from a Victorian newspaper in which a mother writes about her son.
Please turn the page over to see the sources
IB/M/Jun17/E7
8700/2
, 2
Source A
This is an article published in The Guardian newspaper in 2016. The writer, Stuart Heritage, explores
how he feels now that his son is a year old.
How can my son be a year old already?
He’s growing up fast, leaving milestones in his wake – and tiny parts of me along with them
1 My son turned one last week. The day marked the
end of what has been both the longest and
shortest year of my life. From the instant he was
born, it’s felt as if my son has always been part of
5 this family. I don’t mean that in an obnoxious,
heart-eyed, this-was-always-meant-to-be way.
I simply mean that I haven’t slept for a year and I
don’t really know how time works any more. Whole
years have passed in some of the afternoons I’ve
10 spent with him lately. Entire galaxies have been
born and thrived and withered and died in the time
it’s taken him to eat a mouthful of porridge.
How is he one already? First he was born, and then I blinked, and now in his place is a
little boy who can walk and has teeth and knows how to switch off the television at
15 precisely the most important moment of anything I ever try to watch. It’s not exactly the
most unprecedented development in all of human history – child gradually gets older – but
17 it’s the first time I’ve seen it close up. It’s honestly quite hard to grasp.
18 A year ago, he was a sleepy ball of scrunched-up flesh, but is now determinedly his own
person. I can see everyone in him – me, my wife, my parents – yet he’s already separate
20 from all of us. He’s giddy and silly. He’s a show-off, albeit one who’s irrationally terrified of
my dad. He loves running up to people and waiting for them to twang his lips like a ruler on
a table. When he gets tired and barks gibberish in the middle of the room, he throws his
entire body into it, like he’s trying to shove the noise up a hill.
With every tiny development – every new step he takes, every new tooth and sound and
25 reaction that comes along to ambush us – we’re confronted with a slightly different child.
Photos of him taken in the summer seem like dispatches from a million years ago. Photos of
him taken last week seem like a different boy. He’s blasting ahead as far as he can. He’s
28 leaving milestone after milestone in his wake and tiny parts of me along with them.
He’ll never again be the tiny baby who nestled in the crook of my arm, sucking on my little
30 finger in the middle of the night while his mum slept. Nor will he be the baby amazed by the
taste and texture of solid food. Soon enough he’ll stop being the baby who totters over and
rests his head on my shoulder whenever he gets tired, or laughs uncontrollably whenever I
say the word ‘teeth’ for reasons I don’t think I’ll ever work out.
But I’ve had a year of this and it’s ok. He’s never going to stop changing, and I don’t want
35 him to. This sadness, this constant sense of loss, of time slipping just beyond your grasp, is
IB/ M/Jun17/8700/2
, 3
an important part of this process. He won’t realise this, of course. He’s got years of
unbroken progress ahead of him, where everything will always be new and he’ll keep
obliviously brushing away all of the silly old fools who tell him how much he’s grown.
One day it’ll creep up on him. Years of his life will pass in a moment and he won’t be able to
40 understand where they’ve gone.
But it’s ok. You can’t hoard time. You just have to make the most of what you have.
Turn over for Source B
IB/ M/Jun17/8700/2 Turn over ►
