Source A: The empty place in the row

An original contemporary non-fiction-style practice text, written for this question.

When I arrived at the community hall, the choir was already making a sound like a cupboard full of humming telephones. People stood in curved rows, holding black folders and greeting one another without losing their places. I remained beside the door with my coat on, hoping that somebody would recognise me as a new member rather than an unusually attentive delivery driver.

A woman called Miriam waved from the second row. She had answered my email and had promised that no experience was necessary. From where I stood, everyone appeared to have plenty. They opened their folders at the same moment and exchanged instructions involving bars, keys and breathing. I understood each word separately, but not the sentence they formed together.

Miriam found me a folder and placed me between two altos. The word sounded reassuringly like a description of height. I soon discovered that it was not. The pianist played our opening notes, and the singers around me produced them as naturally as if they had been waiting all day to let them out. I made a quiet noise which could have belonged to any of the notes and therefore, I hoped, to all of them.

During the second song, the conductor lifted both hands. Everyone stopped. I continued for one bright, lonely syllable.

Too long. Too loud. Entirely mine.

The conductor looked towards me. One of my neighbours pointed gently to a small symbol in the music. ‘That means we rest,’ she whispered. There was some laughter, but it travelled around the room warmly rather than landing on me. The conductor raised his hands again and said, ‘Let us make the silence together this time.’

On the next attempt, I watched more carefully. I noticed the quick breaths, the lifted eyebrows and the way folders tilted just before a new phrase. The marks on the page began to connect with the movements around me. I still missed several notes, but now I knew approximately where they had gone.

At the end, Miriam wrote my name in pencil beside an empty place on the seating plan. Pencil did not suggest complete confidence in my future, but it was more than I had arrived with. As I put on my coat, the woman next to me said, ‘See you next week.’ I managed not to sing my reply.

Source B: The blue cash box

An original contemporary non-fiction-style practice text, written for this question.

My first shift at the charity book sale began with a room that looked perfectly organised. Novels filled the tables nearest the entrance. Cookery books occupied a corner beside the kitchen hatch. A handwritten sign directed biographies towards the stage, as if the lives of important people required a raised platform.

I was given a chair, a pencil and a blue cash box. Mr Shah, who had helped at the sale for years, told me to keep an eye on the box and to ask if I was unsure about anything. This seemed unnecessary. The prices were written inside the books, the customers were forming a tidy queue and I had used money before.

My confidence lasted for three sales.

The fourth customer placed six paperbacks on the table and asked whether the red sticker meant that all of them cost one pound. I examined the nearest cover. It had a red sticker. I examined the other books. They also had red stickers. The evidence appeared overwhelming, so I accepted one pound and returned six cheerful books to their new owner.

Mr Shah waited until the customer had gone before explaining that the sticker meant one pound for each book. He did not sound annoyed. This was somehow worse. He simply opened a notebook, recorded the missing amount and said, ‘We all learn the colours.’ Behind him, a volunteer replaced the red sticker sign which had fallen face down on the floor.

After that, the room no longer looked simple. Some books had been reserved. Others were part of a three-for-two offer. Donations went under the table, except when they belonged on the sorting trolley. Customers who said they were ‘just looking’ sometimes required more attention than those carrying lists.

I began asking questions. Mr Shah answered them without making them sound foolish. When I confused a box of donated books with a customer’s purchases, he stopped me before I carried them away and suggested that I first check whether the owner was still holding the receipt.

By the final hour, I could recognise the coloured stickers without consulting the sign. I found a reserved book, counted the correct change and even directed someone confidently towards travel writing. Mr Shah nodded as though these were ordinary achievements, which allowed me to feel that they were.

Before leaving, I returned the pencil and closed the blue box. The tables still looked organised, but now I could see the quiet explanations and corrections that kept them that way. I had not become an expert. I had learned something more useful: when to ask before moving somebody else’s books.

Compare how the writers present their ideas and perspectives about trying to take part in an unfamiliar group.

You may write about:

• how each narrator feels at the beginning and end
• how other people respond to the narrator
• how language and structure show uncertainty and growing understanding.

Support your answer with detailed examples from both texts, including brief quotations.