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Task 2

Town Criers Compete to Be Best in Britain.

Standing before a crowd of busy shoppers, John Bartholomew, the town crier of Hastings, adjusted the angle of his hat, cleared his throat and almost cleared the streets. The noise generated by an experienced crier can reach 120 decibels – roughly what you hear when a fighter jet takes off, or from the front row of a heavy metal concert. And this was just the introduction to the National Town Crier Championship, held in this East Sussex town. In the age of communication, the crier might seem like a relic of the past, but for the guys in buckles and knee breeches, the business is – literally – booming.

Unfortunately, it isn’t enough only to be loud. Contestants are also judged on their diction, clarity, intonation, and standard of dress. “You have to be understood as well as heard,” said Mr. Bartholomew, a former serviceman, splendid in a traditional romantic outfit of emerald velvet, who gets £600 a year for his efforts. “You have to know how to seize people’s attention. It’s the whole package.”

Hundreds of towns throughout Britain have kept their criers for ceremonial reasons, but the number of criers is growing again, and with the revival has come a rise in competition.

A proper, competition-grade cry must begin with the traditional “Oyez, oyez, oyez!” and end with the National Anthem. Most criers further preface their announcements with a ring of a hand bell, although horns, trumpets and even rattles are permitted.

Loud? Lampposts bent and children rushed away in terror as Michael Wood, 54, a three-time world champion from East Yorkshire opened up with a message of greetings from his home region. It was so deafening you wondered why he needed to make the trip. “It’s a good life,” he said. “I do it pretty much full time – ceremonies, TV work and so on.”

The audience was astonished to see the next participant, 75-year-old Doris Eastwood, a former pub owner, who had spent long years shouting at her hard-drinking customers to go home, which gave her a taste for making public proclamations. “I thought I’d be good at it,” she said, “so I sold the pub and applied for this job in Weymouth, and it’s been a wonderful life. You meet all kinds of people, and all the history is fascinating.”

In medieval Britain, criers were the nation’s news announcers delivering laws, important proclamations, messages from wars and even advertisements. Their status was soon indicated by the fine uniform they wore, and the unique royal protection they enjoyed. It was a part of the crier’s job to deliver bad news such as tax rises, and the closing of gaming-houses, and to this day it remains a crime to stop or interrupt a town crier as he goes about his business.

Which statement is TRUE, according to PARAGRAPH 1?

Town Criers Compete to Be Best in Britain.

Standing before a crowd of busy shoppers, John Bartholomew, the town crier of Hastings, adjusted the angle of his hat, cleared his throat and almost cleared the streets. The noise generated by an experienced crier can reach 120 decibels – roughly what you hear when a fighter jet takes off, or from the front row of a heavy metal concert. And this was just the introduction to the National Town Crier Championship, held in this East Sussex town. In the age of communication, the crier might seem like a relic of the past, but for the guys in buckles and knee breeches, the business is – literally – booming.

Unfortunately, it isn’t enough only to be loud. Contestants are also judged on their diction, clarity, intonation, and standard of dress. “You have to be understood as well as heard,” said Mr. Bartholomew, a former serviceman, splendid in a traditional romantic outfit of emerald velvet, who gets £600 a year for his efforts. “You have to know how to seize people’s attention. It’s the whole package.”

Hundreds of towns throughout Britain have kept their criers for ceremonial reasons, but the number of criers is growing again, and with the revival has come a rise in competition.

A proper, competition-grade cry must begin with the traditional “Oyez, oyez, oyez!” and end with the National Anthem. Most criers further preface their announcements with a ring of a hand bell, although horns, trumpets and even rattles are permitted.

Loud? Lampposts bent and children rushed away in terror as Michael Wood, 54, a three-time world champion from East Yorkshire opened up with a message of greetings from his home region. It was so deafening you wondered why he needed to make the trip. “It’s a good life,” he said. “I do it pretty much full time – ceremonies, TV work and so on.”

The audience was astonished to see the next participant, 75-year-old Doris Eastwood, a former pub owner, who had spent long years shouting at her hard-drinking customers to go home, which gave her a taste for making public proclamations. “I thought I’d be good at it,” she said, “so I sold the pub and applied for this job in Weymouth, and it’s been a wonderful life. You meet all kinds of people, and all the history is fascinating.”

In medieval Britain, criers were the nation’s news announcers delivering laws, important proclamations, messages from wars and even advertisements. Their status was soon indicated by the fine uniform they wore, and the unique royal protection they enjoyed. It was a part of the crier’s job to deliver bad news such as tax rises, and the closing of gaming-houses, and to this day it remains a crime to stop or interrupt a town crier as he goes about his business.

What is NOT mentioned in the text about John Bartholomew?

Town Criers Compete to Be Best in Britain.

Standing before a crowd of busy shoppers, John Bartholomew, the town crier of Hastings, adjusted the angle of his hat, cleared his throat and almost cleared the streets. The noise generated by an experienced crier can reach 120 decibels – roughly what you hear when a fighter jet takes off, or from the front row of a heavy metal concert. And this was just the introduction to the National Town Crier Championship, held in this East Sussex town. In the age of communication, the crier might seem like a relic of the past, but for the guys in buckles and knee breeches, the business is – literally – booming.

Unfortunately, it isn’t enough only to be loud. Contestants are also judged on their diction, clarity, intonation, and standard of dress. “You have to be understood as well as heard,” said Mr. Bartholomew, a former serviceman, splendid in a traditional romantic outfit of emerald velvet, who gets £600 a year for his efforts. “You have to know how to seize people’s attention. It’s the whole package.”

Hundreds of towns throughout Britain have kept their criers for ceremonial reasons, but the number of criers is growing again, and with the revival has come a rise in competition.

A proper, competition-grade cry must begin with the traditional “Oyez, oyez, oyez!” and end with the National Anthem. Most criers further preface their announcements with a ring of a hand bell, although horns, trumpets and even rattles are permitted.

Loud? Lampposts bent and children rushed away in terror as Michael Wood, 54, a three-time world champion from East Yorkshire opened up with a message of greetings from his home region. It was so deafening you wondered why he needed to make the trip. “It’s a good life,” he said. “I do it pretty much full time – ceremonies, TV work and so on.”

The audience was astonished to see the next participant, 75-year-old Doris Eastwood, a former pub owner, who had spent long years shouting at her hard-drinking customers to go home, which gave her a taste for making public proclamations. “I thought I’d be good at it,” she said, “so I sold the pub and applied for this job in Weymouth, and it’s been a wonderful life. You meet all kinds of people, and all the history is fascinating.”

In medieval Britain, criers were the nation’s news announcers delivering laws, important proclamations, messages from wars and even advertisements. Their status was soon indicated by the fine uniform they wore, and the unique royal protection they enjoyed. It was a part of the crier’s job to deliver bad news such as tax rises, and the closing of gaming-houses, and to this day it remains a crime to stop or interrupt a town crier as he goes about his business.

What does the phrase “... you wondered why he needed to make the trip” in PARAGRAPH 5 refer to?

Town Criers Compete to Be Best in Britain.

Standing before a crowd of busy shoppers, John Bartholomew, the town crier of Hastings, adjusted the angle of his hat, cleared his throat and almost cleared the streets. The noise generated by an experienced crier can reach 120 decibels – roughly what you hear when a fighter jet takes off, or from the front row of a heavy metal concert. And this was just the introduction to the National Town Crier Championship, held in this East Sussex town. In the age of communication, the crier might seem like a relic of the past, but for the guys in buckles and knee breeches, the business is – literally – booming.

Unfortunately, it isn’t enough only to be loud. Contestants are also judged on their diction, clarity, intonation, and standard of dress. “You have to be understood as well as heard,” said Mr. Bartholomew, a former serviceman, splendid in a traditional romantic outfit of emerald velvet, who gets £600 a year for his efforts. “You have to know how to seize people’s attention. It’s the whole package.”

Hundreds of towns throughout Britain have kept their criers for ceremonial reasons, but the number of criers is growing again, and with the revival has come a rise in competition.

A proper, competition-grade cry must begin with the traditional “Oyez, oyez, oyez!” and end with the National Anthem. Most criers further preface their announcements with a ring of a hand bell, although horns, trumpets and even rattles are permitted.

Loud? Lampposts bent and children rushed away in terror as Michael Wood, 54, a three-time world champion from East Yorkshire opened up with a message of greetings from his home region. It was so deafening you wondered why he needed to make the trip. “It’s a good life,” he said. “I do it pretty much full time – ceremonies, TV work and so on.”

The audience was astonished to see the next participant, 75-year-old Doris Eastwood, a former pub owner, who had spent long years shouting at her hard-drinking customers to go home, which gave her a taste for making public proclamations. “I thought I’d be good at it,” she said, “so I sold the pub and applied for this job in Weymouth, and it’s been a wonderful life. You meet all kinds of people, and all the history is fascinating.”

In medieval Britain, criers were the nation’s news announcers delivering laws, important proclamations, messages from wars and even advertisements. Their status was soon indicated by the fine uniform they wore, and the unique royal protection they enjoyed. It was a part of the crier’s job to deliver bad news such as tax rises, and the closing of gaming-houses, and to this day it remains a crime to stop or interrupt a town crier as he goes about his business.

What does Doris Eastwood particularly like about her new job?

Town Criers Compete to Be Best in Britain.

Standing before a crowd of busy shoppers, John Bartholomew, the town crier of Hastings, adjusted the angle of his hat, cleared his throat and almost cleared the streets. The noise generated by an experienced crier can reach 120 decibels – roughly what you hear when a fighter jet takes off, or from the front row of a heavy metal concert. And this was just the introduction to the National Town Crier Championship, held in this East Sussex town. In the age of communication, the crier might seem like a relic of the past, but for the guys in buckles and knee breeches, the business is – literally – booming.

Unfortunately, it isn’t enough only to be loud. Contestants are also judged on their diction, clarity, intonation, and standard of dress. “You have to be understood as well as heard,” said Mr. Bartholomew, a former serviceman, splendid in a traditional romantic outfit of emerald velvet, who gets £600 a year for his efforts. “You have to know how to seize people’s attention. It’s the whole package.”

Hundreds of towns throughout Britain have kept their criers for ceremonial reasons, but the number of criers is growing again, and with the revival has come a rise in competition.

A proper, competition-grade cry must begin with the traditional “Oyez, oyez, oyez!” and end with the National Anthem. Most criers further preface their announcements with a ring of a hand bell, although horns, trumpets and even rattles are permitted.

Loud? Lampposts bent and children rushed away in terror as Michael Wood, 54, a three-time world champion from East Yorkshire opened up with a message of greetings from his home region. It was so deafening you wondered why he needed to make the trip. “It’s a good life,” he said. “I do it pretty much full time – ceremonies, TV work and so on.”

The audience was astonished to see the next participant, 75-year-old Doris Eastwood, a former pub owner, who had spent long years shouting at her hard-drinking customers to go home, which gave her a taste for making public proclamations. “I thought I’d be good at it,” she said, “so I sold the pub and applied for this job in Weymouth, and it’s been a wonderful life. You meet all kinds of people, and all the history is fascinating.”

In medieval Britain, criers were the nation’s news announcers delivering laws, important proclamations, messages from wars and even advertisements. Their status was soon indicated by the fine uniform they wore, and the unique royal protection they enjoyed. It was a part of the crier’s job to deliver bad news such as tax rises, and the closing of gaming-houses, and to this day it remains a crime to stop or interrupt a town crier as he goes about his business.

What does the author say about criers in medieval Britain?

Task 3

Young Explorers

Charlie Smith

At 20 years old, expedition leader Charlie Smith was the youngest person to have crossed Iceland from north to south unsupported. Charlie was also part of the Coldest Crossing team who attempted to complete the first mid-winter, unsupported crossing of Iceland on an 18-day, 250-mile journey. However, the attempt went wrong. Soon after starting their journey, one of the hikers was flown back to Britain as he was suffering from a bad infection. A second from the team suffered frostbite to his toes and had to return. The rest of the group were rescued by the helicopter in the approaching storm.

This explorer ___________________.

Laura Bingham

In 2014, 23-year-old Laura Bingham sailed across the Atlantic Ocean on a 38ft trimaran. Most recently, she cycled 7,000 km across South America with no money, raising money and awareness for Operation South America – a charity that looks after homeless girls and young women in Paraguay. She says she wanted to try and find out the ways in which some people around the world live and what it’s like to not have anything, to experience how it felt to feel real hunger and the fear of not having food or shelter. She now knows it’s terrifying.

This explorer ___________________.

Sophie Rooney

In 2016, Sophie Rooney set off with the bold intention of becoming the first woman to run the length of Scandinavia – 3,000 km in 103 days! Initially accompanied by a fellow trail runner, Sophie carried everything she needed on her back, with bears being top of her worries. However, she soon found that these big grizzly creatures were the least of her concerns. In the first month alone, she had to battle extreme tiredness, dehydration, hunger and eventually illness. However, not willing to give in Sophie pushed on, often against the advice she received from people back home.

This explorer ___________________.