Text 1: Six blue tiles, by Amara Lewis

An original contemporary blog post.

At thirty-four, I had become very skilled at avoiding water. On family trips, I guarded the towels. At swimming pools, I claimed that I had just eaten. Eventually, tired of my own excuses, I joined an adult beginners’ class at the community pool.

Our instructor, Mariam, did not ask us to swim on the first morning. She led us into water shallow enough to stand in and told us to keep one hand on the rail. “You decide when we move on,” she said. I had expected whistles and orders. Instead, she asked me to blow bubbles into the water.

The lessons progressed in small stages. First I put my chin in. Then my mouth. By the third week, I could lower my whole face and lift it again without grabbing the rail. Mariam gave me a float but never pulled it away without asking. Whenever panic tightened my chest, she waited. The other learners waited too. Nobody laughed unless I laughed first.

During the fourth lesson, Mariam asked whether I wanted to try without the float. She walked beside me as I pushed away from the wall. I kicked, stretched out my arms and travelled over six blue floor tiles before my feet touched the bottom.

Six tiles was hardly a length of the pool, but it felt like a door being opened. Mariam had not forced me through my fear. By giving me time, she had made me believe I could move beyond it myself.

Text 2: The shortest swimming lesson, by Thomas Elwood

An original memoir extract written in a nineteenth-century voice; a period simulation, not an archival document.

When I was twelve, our schoolmaster, Mr Bell, announced that every boy would learn to swim in a single afternoon. “Nothing strengthens fear like delay,” he declared as he marched us to the school swimming bath.

Twenty boys were made to stand in a line beside the deep water. A belt attached to a rope was fastened around the first boy’s waist. At Mr Bell’s command, the boy had to leap in and struggle towards the opposite side. If he sank, Mr Bell pulled upon the rope. The rest of us watched in silence as each dripping boy climbed out and joined the back of the line.

When my turn came, I asked whether I might begin at the shallow end. Mr Bell replied that shallow water taught cowardice. The surface below me looked as black as a window at night. I jumped only because nineteen boys were waiting behind me and I was more afraid of their laughter than of the water.

I remember a blow to my chest, a roaring in my ears and my hands beating uselessly at the surface. Then the rope tightened and dragged me to the side. Mr Bell congratulated me before the whole class. He said that entering the water was a victory and that next time I would manage better.

There was no next time. I avoided the bath for the rest of that term. Mr Bell believed he had taught me courage in a minute; what he had taught me was how long a minute could last.

Both writers recall being taught to swim.

Compare the two accounts. In your response, consider:

• the teaching methods and their effects on each learner
• the ways the writers use language and structure to communicate their attitudes

Support your ideas with evidence from both texts, making it clear which text you are discussing.