A public celebration

Source A: a newly written contemporary non-fiction-style account.

“Our neighbourhood street party began at two on Sunday. Volunteers closed the road for four hours, and residents brought their own food. I had agreed to move chairs, not to sing. The organiser nevertheless placed a microphone near me while looking for an extension lead. Children drew chalk games between the tables. A delivery cyclist, initially annoyed by the closure, stopped to ask whether anyone knew a route around the next street.

The party was untidy in the best possible way. Tablecloths tugged at their clips, paper cups rolled beneath chairs and three conversations competed over the same bowl of strawberries. Nobody's contribution matched anybody else's, yet the mismatched dishes made a kind of portrait: a street expressed in rice, pastry, pickles and cake. I had lived here five years and knew more car number plates than names. By the second hour, that imbalance was beginning to improve.

There were inconveniences. One neighbour needed a quiet afternoon; another could not carry a chair outside without help. It would be dishonest to pretend that togetherness solves every difference. We moved the loudspeaker, fetched another seat and apologised to the cyclist. Those small adjustments mattered more than the banner above the road. A community, I discovered, is not the moment when everyone feels the same. It is the work of noticing when someone does not.”

Source B: a newly written letter in a nineteenth-century voice. This is a period-voice simulation, not an archival document.

“My dear cousin, yesterday our town celebrated the opening of the new bridge. A procession crossed it at noon, led by the mayor, while the schoolchildren followed with ribbons fixed to their coats. From the upper window of our shop we saw the whole company pass. I had stitched ribbon until late the previous evening, and was pleased to observe that even the smallest child appeared determined to keep it visible.

The crowd cheered as though the river itself had been persuaded to grant us a favour. Flags snapped in the breeze, and the band played with a courage that occasionally exceeded its accuracy. I confess that I laughed when the drummer lost his place, but the laughter did not diminish my pride. For years the crossing had been difficult in winter; now people from the farther bank might reach the market without making the long journey upstream.

When the speeches ended, the officials retired to a dinner to which few of the people who had decorated the streets were invited. Mother said that this was the usual arrangement. Perhaps so; but I should have liked to see the bridge's usefulness reflected in the hospitality of its opening. We shared our own supper with the family next door and could still hear the band from the window. The bridge belongs to us all, whatever the dinner list may suggest.”

Refer only to the first paragraph of Source A. Select exactly FOUR true statements. Write their four letters in the answer box.

A. The narrator has agreed to sing.

B. The cyclist already knows the diversion.

C. The event begins at noon.

D. The party begins at two.

E. Residents bring their own food.

F. It takes place on Sunday.

G. Volunteers permanently close the road.

H. The road closure lasts four hours.