Q4 – comparing perspectives on going into the sea
Source A: an original 21st-century newspaper article written for this practice paper. The writer describes her experience of swimming in the sea in winter.
The cold truth: why I swim in the sea all winter
[1] It is seven o’clock on a January morning, the beach is dark, and I am standing in my swimming costume while a man walking a labrador looks at me as though I have lost my mind. Perhaps I have. The thermometer clipped to my bag says the sea is eight degrees.
[2] I started winter swimming three years ago, after a friend dared me to join her ‘just once’. I expected to hate it. Instead, I discovered the most honest feeling I have ever had. When the water closes over your shoulders, every thought you brought to the beach – the emails, the bills, the argument you replayed all night – is simply switched off. Your body has one job: breathe. For about thirty seconds you gasp like a landed fish. Then something astonishing happens. The panic drains away, your skin begins to fizz, and you are suddenly, ridiculously awake.
[3] I won’t pretend it’s glamorous. My feet turn the colour of raw sausages. Getting dressed afterwards, with numb fingers and a towel that refuses to stay put, is a slapstick routine I have never once performed with dignity. But nobody on our beach cares about dignity. There are a dozen of us most mornings: a retired headteacher, two nurses coming off night shifts, a teenager training for a triathlon. We have nothing in common except the sea, and it turns out that is plenty. We hold each other’s flasks and cheer each other in.
[4] A word of caution: cold water can be dangerous, and nobody should leap in alone or stay in too long. Go in gradually, never swim alone, and get out while you still feel good. Respect the sea and it will reward you.
[5] Because it does. Every time I walk back up the shingle, red-skinned and grinning, I feel I have stolen something from the day before it has properly started. People ask me why I do it. The truth is, I don’t think I could stop.
Source B: an original letter written for this practice paper in the style of the 1850s. A young woman writes to her sister from a seaside resort, where a doctor has told her to bathe in the sea for her health. (At this time, bathers changed inside wooden ‘bathing machines’ that were pulled into the water by horses. At some resorts, female attendants called ‘dippers’ – an old-fashioned custom by the 1850s – still plunged bathers under the waves. ‘The German Ocean’ was an old name for the North Sea.)
[1] My dearest Kitty,
[2] You asked me to tell you everything about the bathing, and so I shall, though I blush to set it down. Dr Hale is quite determined that the sea air and the salt water will restore me, and Mamma is quite determined to obey Dr Hale, and so every morning at seven I am marched down to the sands like a prisoner to the scaffold.
[3] The bathing machines stand in a row at the water’s edge – wooden huts upon great wheels, painted a cheerful blue that deceives nobody. One climbs inside, undresses in a darkness smelling powerfully of damp wool and old seaweed, and puts on a flannel gown so heavy that I am sure it was designed to drown the wearer. Meanwhile a horse is harnessed to the front, and the whole contraption lurches out into the waves, rattling and groaning, until one is quite sick before one has so much as wetted a toe.
[4] Then the door opens, and there stands Mrs Prowse, the dipper. Kitty, she is as broad as a church door and has arms like a ship’s ropes. She takes one by the shoulders, says ‘Now then, Miss,’ in the tone a butcher might use to a goose, and plunges one beneath the water three times together. The cold is beyond anything I can describe. It seizes the breath from one’s body. I came up spluttering and weeping, with my hair in my mouth and the whole German Ocean, I am persuaded, in my ears.
[5] I must be honest and confess one thing more. On the fourth morning, when Mrs Prowse released me, I stood a moment in the waves and felt the sun upon my face, and for that one moment I was not miserable at all. I shall deny it if you tell Mamma.
[6] The gentlemen, I may add, bathe at the other end of the beach, at a most proper distance, and are rumoured to enjoy it.
[7] Your loving and half-frozen sister,
Louisa
Question 4 For this question, you need to refer to the whole of Source A, together with the whole of Source B.
Compare how the writers convey their different perspectives on going into the sea.
In your answer, you could:
- compare their different perspectives on going into the sea
- compare the methods the writers use to convey their perspectives
- support your response with references to both texts.
[16 marks]
- AO3: compare the writers’ ideas and perspectives across two texts, and how each writer’s methods convey them.
- Comparison of PERSPECTIVES (attitudes, feelings, viewpoints) – not just the content of what happens.
- Comparison of METHODS: tone, structure, imagery, voice, form (article vs letter/report), and how each conveys the perspective.
- An integrated, point-by-point structure moving between the sources, using comparative connectives.
- Judicious quotations from BOTH sources and the WHOLE of each source.
- Awareness of how the writers’ different times and purposes shape their perspectives.
- Recognising nuance – where a perspective is mixed or shifts within a source.
| Level | Marks | What it looks like |
|---|---|---|
| Level 4 | 13–16 | Perceptive and detailed: compares the writers’ ideas and perspectives with insight, analyses how their methods convey those perspectives, and uses judicious quotations from both sources. |
| Level 3 | 9–12 | Clear and relevant: compares ideas and perspectives clearly, explains how methods are used, and supports points with relevant quotations from both sources. |
| Level 2 | 5–8 | Some comparison: attempts to compare ideas and perspectives with some comment on methods and some references from one or both sources. |
| Level 1 | 1–4 | Simple and limited: simple cross-reference of ideas, little comparison of perspectives, and simple references. |
| Level 0 | 0 | Nothing worthy of credit. |
- Sum up each perspective in one line: A – the sea as chosen joy, freedom and community; B – the sea as an imposed, humiliating ordeal, with a guilty flicker of pleasure.
- Choose three comparison points: (1) overall attitude and tone; (2) how each presents the physical shock; (3) endings – what the sea means to each writer.
- For each: perspective A + method + quotation → comparative connective → perspective B + method + quotation → why they differ (purpose, era, choice).
- Use the whole of both sources, including the endings.
Show the top-band model answer
Both writers describe the shock of entering cold sea water, but their perspectives are almost opposite1: the modern writer presents the sea as a source of freedom and joy she has chosen, while Louisa presents it as an ordeal imposed on her – though both, interestingly, admit to a moment of unexpected pleasure.
The difference in perspective is clear from their openings. The writer of Source A begins with self-deprecating humour, imagining a dog-walker thinking she has ‘lost my mind’, before agreeing, ‘Perhaps I have.’ This confident, conversational tone shows2 she is happy to be thought eccentric because swimming is her own choice. Louisa, by contrast, uses the simile ‘like a prisoner to the scaffold’ to frame bathing as a punishment, and the repetition of ‘quite determined’ for both the doctor and her mother emphasises that the decision belongs to others. Her perspective reflects the limited control a young woman of the 1850s had3, whereas the modern writer’s independence is taken for granted.
Both describe the physical shock, but they interpret it differently. In Source A, the gasp ‘like a landed fish’ is quickly followed by a structural turn – ‘Then something astonishing happens’ – and a list of rising sensations ending in ‘ridiculously awake’. The shock becomes a gateway to clarity. Louisa’s account, however, dwells on discomfort at every stage: the hut smelling of ‘damp wool and old seaweed’, the gown ‘designed to drown the wearer’, the machine ‘rattling and groaning’. Her hyperbole is comic, but it conveys a perspective of indignity, and the cold remains ‘beyond anything I can describe’. Where Source A’s writer finds the sea strips away worries, Louisa finds it strips away her dignity.4
The writers also differ in how they present other people. Source A’s list of fellow swimmers – ‘a retired headteacher, two nurses… a teenager’ – celebrates a diverse community united by the sea, and the inclusive ‘We hold each other’s flasks’ conveys warmth. Louisa’s only companion is Mrs Prowse, described through the comic but intimidating similes ‘as broad as a church door’ and ‘arms like a ship’s ropes’, and the tone of ‘a butcher… to a goose’ makes Louisa an object being handled rather than a person5. Her wry final remark that the gentlemen ‘are rumoured to enjoy it’ hints at resentment that freedom and pleasure belong to men.
Finally, their endings reveal a surprising similarity within their difference6. The modern writer ends with total commitment – ‘I don’t think I could stop’ – while Louisa confesses she was ‘not miserable at all’ for ‘one moment’, but adds ‘I shall deny it if you tell Mamma’. Both recognise the sea’s power to uplift, but only the modern writer is free to say so openly. Her article’s purpose is to celebrate and persuade7; Louisa’s private letter allows a secret, reluctant honesty, which makes her single moment of joy all the more touching.
- Writing all about Source A, then all about Source B, with only a token comparison at the end.
- Comparing what happens (content) rather than the writers’ attitudes and feelings.
- Only using the first half of each source when the question says ‘the whole’.
- Treating Source B as entirely negative and missing Louisa’s secret moment of enjoyment.
- Language analysis that never connects back to perspective.