Source A: The gate by the footpath

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

The footpath crosses the edge of our farm before it reaches the reservoir. In spring, walkers arrive with cameras and ask why the gate is sometimes closed. They see a strip of grass and a sign; they do not see the lambs pressed against the hedge when a dog has run through the field.

Last April, a ewe gave birth beside the path. We moved the pair into a smaller pen, not because the lamb was an inconvenience but because the open field was busy. The pen needed fresh straw, water and checking before the morning work began. Keeping an animal safe was not a feeling that could replace those jobs. It depended on them.

The closure cost us visitors' goodwill. A café nearby relied on walkers, and we knew that. We also knew that one frightened ewe could injure herself trying to follow a dog. A good view from the path could not pay for a vet's visit. Neither fact settled the matter on its own.

Some people called the gate unnecessary. I wanted to invite them to carry a weak lamb across wet ground while listening for the mother. Instead, I put up a clearer notice and opened the route again when the pen was ready. A rule that lasts forever is easy to announce; a decision that changes with the animals takes attention.

I still enjoy seeing people stop at the hedge. Their interest reminds us that the field is part of a wider place, not merely a workplace. But the farm must remain workable. Respect for the animals is shown in the arrangements we make when admiration meets mud, time and responsibility.

Source B: The nests under the roof

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

The old hall was due to be repaired before winter. Its roof leaked above the entrance, and rain had begun to stain the ceiling. When a volunteer spotted nests beneath the eaves, the work was paused. The swallows would leave eventually, she said; until then, their young needed the ledges they had chosen.

The builders were not delighted. A delay meant another inspection, another visit and a building that remained unsafe for visitors. The volunteer did not describe them as enemies. She asked them to wait, then returned with boards to protect the entrance from droppings. Caring for wildlife, in her account, was a sequence of practical choices rather than a speech about kindness.

By August, most of the birds had gone. The final nest was empty, but the roof was still leaking. The committee agreed to repair the worst section first and leave the eaves untouched. It was a compromise: the hall could be used, and the nesting place would not be removed simply because it was inconvenient.

People who praised the swallows sometimes suggested that the whole repair should stop. People who wanted the work finished sometimes suggested that the nests were only dirt. Both statements were comfortable because neither required anyone to organise the next step. The volunteer kept a list of dates, materials and places where the birds could return safely.

She did not claim that every building could wait indefinitely. She argued for a form of attention that made room for more than one need. The hall belonged to the community; the roof belonged to the weather; the eaves had become part of a living pattern. Any decision about the building had to remember all three.

Compare how the writers present the difficulties of meeting human needs while protecting wild or farm animals.

In your answer, you may find it helpful to consider:

• how each writer explains the practical pressures faced by people
• how each writer presents care as an action rather than only an attitude
• how language, viewpoint and structure shape the writers' perspectives

Use well-selected evidence from each source, including short quotations.