Text 1: A way across, by Bethan Price

An original contemporary online feature.

The new footbridge opened on a damp Saturday in October. At first, people crossed it in small, careful groups, stopping halfway to look down at the river. Then a boy ran across, his mother calling after him, and the whole thing began to feel less like an opening ceremony and more like a route people might actually use.

For years, the only nearby crossing was the road bridge, a narrow stretch where lorries rattled past and anyone on foot had to press against the railings. The new bridge is wider and lower, and it joins the estate directly to the playing fields and the bus stop beyond them. On Monday morning, I watched a line of children cross in twos and threes, school bags bouncing against their backs. Their journey has not become shorter on a map; it has become less frightening.

Not everyone is convinced. Mr Parry, whose house looks out over the river, says the new lights shine into his bedroom. He remembers the riverside as quiet, and worries that the path will bring litter and noise. He is not being unreasonable. A bridge changes what people can reach, but it also changes who passes your front door.

The council has planted young trees along the approach, though they are too small to soften the path yet. The opening-day bunting will come down. The bridge will stay. Whether it becomes part of the town or merely a convenient way through depends on what happens around it: the fields, the bus service, the people who choose to cross.

Text 2: A crossing at last, by Edwin Marsh

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

In this letter, written in 1874, a shopkeeper writes to his brother about the opening of a new stone bridge in his town.

My dear Thomas, the new stone bridge was opened yesterday, and I confess I had not expected to see so many people turn out for the occasion. The mayor spoke from a platform by the eastern arch, while the schoolchildren stood in rows with their hats in their hands. When the first cart crossed, the crowd cheered as if it had been a ship entering harbour.

Until now, the river has been a serious obstacle. The ferry is often delayed by wind, and in winter the old wooden footbridge is slippery underfoot. Farmers have lost whole mornings waiting to bring their produce to market, while my own customers from the western villages must plan their visits around the crossing. The new bridge will carry carts and people in every season. I have already heard that two farmers intend to bring their goods here next market day.

Yet progress is not without its cost. The roadworks have taken a strip from Mr Bell’s orchard, and he stood apart from the celebrations, his arms folded. I cannot blame him for that. The bridge is a fine piece of work, but it has been built across ground that mattered to someone before the first stone was laid.

My sister says the town will be different now. I think she is right, though perhaps not all at once. The ferry will still run for a time, and the fields will not move. But the market may grow, and the western villages may begin to feel less distant. I shall long remember the day we first crossed without waiting for the wind.

Compare:

• what the writers say about the effects of the new bridges on their communities
• how the writers present their thoughts and feelings about these changes

In your answer, judge which writer presents the change as having the more lasting effect on local life. You must use the text to support your comments and make it clear which text you are referring to.