English Reading Comprehension

What was the major challenge that they faced in their farm?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

Part of the mutual attraction when Jude Smith and Michel Fanton met in 1981 was the interest each had in gardening and self-sufficiency. “Jude was intelligent and very warm but also practical and keen to make a difference,” recalls Michel. “I instantly felt she was a soul mate.”
“I noticed Michel because he seemed like a forest spirit,” Jude says. “He had panpipes with him, which he played during breaks. He was wise, knowledgeable and energetic.”
Although the two were drawn to one another, there were hurdles to overcome: Michel had left his job in the delivery arm of a publishing house, while Jude was scheduled to return to her high-school job in Adelaide, teaching social sciences and English.
Although they were making a home on a 600-hectare property on the edge of rain forest near Lismore, New South Wales, Michel found he was going to have to dig deeper to completely win over Jude’s heart. “She demanded only authentic French cooking,” he recalls. For Michel, this meant growing his own essential ingredients from scratch.
“To make her a summer ratatouille niçoise, I went on a search for seeds for a special meaty tomato that cooks well; a capsicum that is both red and green; round, flavour some courgettes de Nice; and a strong purple garlic. It was pure love that made me do that!”
“Watching Michel go to all that effort to source the plants and tend them deepened our growing bond,” says Jude. “When I finally tasted the food, it was incredibly rich and had a fullness and depth of flavour that made it more satisfying and also more filling.”
For months, the couple rose every day at 5am to establish a half-hectare garden, as well as work on an orchard of fruit and nut trees. Soon, their turmeric, ginger, 130 varieties of tomato, mandarins, macadamias, pecans and custard apples were thriving, along with spices such as cinnamon. But no matter how attentive they were, their cucumbers, rock melons and pumpkins continued to succumb to mildew in the hot, wet climate.
“We don’t believe in using pesticide, and we didn’t want to give up on growing those cucurbits, because we love their taste, so we found a gardener, Joe Connolly, who showed us the way forward,” says Michel.

What special efforts did Michel make for Jude?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

Part of the mutual attraction when Jude Smith and Michel Fanton met in 1981 was the interest each had in gardening and self-sufficiency. “Jude was intelligent and very warm but also practical and keen to make a difference,” recalls Michel. “I instantly felt she was a soul mate.”
“I noticed Michel because he seemed like a forest spirit,” Jude says. “He had panpipes with him, which he played during breaks. He was wise, knowledgeable and energetic.”
Although the two were drawn to one another, there were hurdles to overcome: Michel had left his job in the delivery arm of a publishing house, while Jude was scheduled to return to her high-school job in Adelaide, teaching social sciences and English.
Although they were making a home on a 600-hectare property on the edge of rain forest near Lismore, New South Wales, Michel found he was going to have to dig deeper to completely win over Jude’s heart. “She demanded only authentic French cooking,” he recalls. For Michel, this meant growing his own essential ingredients from scratch.
“To make her a summer ratatouille niçoise, I went on a search for seeds for a special meaty tomato that cooks well; a capsicum that is both red and green; round, flavour some courgettes de Nice; and a strong purple garlic. It was pure love that made me do that!”
“Watching Michel go to all that effort to source the plants and tend them deepened our growing bond,” says Jude. “When I finally tasted the food, it was incredibly rich and had a fullness and depth of flavour that made it more satisfying and also more filling.”
For months, the couple rose every day at 5am to establish a half-hectare garden, as well as work on an orchard of fruit and nut trees. Soon, their turmeric, ginger, 130 varieties of tomato, mandarins, macadamias, pecans and custard apples were thriving, along with spices such as cinnamon. But no matter how attentive they were, their cucumbers, rock melons and pumpkins continued to succumb to mildew in the hot, wet climate.
“We don’t believe in using pesticide, and we didn’t want to give up on growing those cucurbits, because we love their taste, so we found a gardener, Joe Connolly, who showed us the way forward,” says Michel.

What was the couple left with after their cattle farm was sold off?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

In 1999, Brian and Nerida Egan had to surrender their Darling Downs property in Queensland. They had run a mixed cattle farm for 12 years, but it hadn’t rained a drop for the last three and they couldn’t afford to continue. The couple walked away with nothing but their cattle dog, Stumpy. “It was soul-destroying to lose everything,” says Brian. “There was this ‘beast’ inside me that had taken over my life. I had no hope and just could not see any future.” At the age of 55, Brian had twice attempted to take his own life and was with severe clinical depression and symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), as a result of disturbing experiences he witnessed while on naval service in Indonesia in his early 20s. Depression is one of the most significant human costs of the drought, with research showing higher suicide rates in rural communities, especially among men, due to social isolation and difficulty accessing help. The stigma of mental illness left Brian with only his mother, Hilda, and Nerida to rely on. He recalls running and hiding in the wardrobe when people came to the front door. “I was just so ashamed of what I had become, I did not want anyone to see me.”
Brian was sent to Greenslopes Private Hospital in Brisbane, where he would end up being admitted five times over the next two years. “I was catatonic. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t talk or write. I didn’t know who I was, or who anyone else was.”
The doctors tried many different types of medication and treatment on Brian, but with limited benefits. Finally it was suggested to Brian by a psychologist that maybe the best thing for him to do was to go out and find someone worse off, and help them.

What was the author amazed at?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

On my way home that afternoon, I saw the same man in the same place. He was crumpled over, his head almost on the ground. Two ambulance attendants were crouched beside him. This time my step paused. He wasn’t a derelict at all. He was old certainly, but he wore a nice suit and was clean-shaven. And in a very bad way.
Shame rocked me. How torturous for that sick, old man to have endured the coldness of the entire day, sitting on the hard, unforgiving ground. He probably reached out to passersby for help. No-one stopped. No-one cared. Out of sight, out of mind.
A different season and I again came across an old man half lying on the footpath, not far from where the Winter Man had been. The morning heat was stifling. Caught up in the familiar stampede of people commuting, I barely glanced at him. However, the memory of the old Winter Man came back to me vividly. I walked back to the man on the ground. He was dressed in smart clothes with a neatly trimmed beard and only a straw hat for shade. I knelt down to ask if he was OK. His kind face looked at me.
Beside him, a takeaway cup of coffee and sugar sachets lay open. A flow of people kept walking by. He regained consciousness, albeit weakly, and told me he was diabetic and it might be a good idea to call an ambulance, which I did — it was a few minutes away.
In barely a whisper, he said to me, “Nobody stopped. Thank you.” Fighting back tears, I asked his name. “Greg,” he said. We looked into each other’s eyes for a moment. Volumes were spoken without a word being uttered. I saw a proud man who didn’t like what was happening to him. As the approaching ambulance’s siren proclaimed the arrival of help, a number of emotions rushed at me. I felt sadness tugging at my heart for the Winter Man and shame that I had almost walked past another person in need. I was amazed that it had been so easy to be helpful.

Why was the author fighting back tears when he asked the name of the old man?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

On my way home that afternoon, I saw the same man in the same place. He was crumpled over, his head almost on the ground. Two ambulance attendants were crouched beside him. This time my step paused. He wasn’t a derelict at all. He was old certainly, but he wore a nice suit and was clean-shaven. And in a very bad way.
Shame rocked me. How torturous for that sick, old man to have endured the coldness of the entire day, sitting on the hard, unforgiving ground. He probably reached out to passersby for help. No-one stopped. No-one cared. Out of sight, out of mind.
A different season and I again came across an old man half lying on the footpath, not far from where the Winter Man had been. The morning heat was stifling. Caught up in the familiar stampede of people commuting, I barely glanced at him. However, the memory of the old Winter Man came back to me vividly. I walked back to the man on the ground. He was dressed in smart clothes with a neatly trimmed beard and only a straw hat for shade. I knelt down to ask if he was OK. His kind face looked at me.
Beside him, a takeaway cup of coffee and sugar sachets lay open. A flow of people kept walking by. He regained consciousness, albeit weakly, and told me he was diabetic and it might be a good idea to call an ambulance, which I did — it was a few minutes away.
In barely a whisper, he said to me, “Nobody stopped. Thank you.” Fighting back tears, I asked his name. “Greg,” he said. We looked into each other’s eyes for a moment. Volumes were spoken without a word being uttered. I saw a proud man who didn’t like what was happening to him. As the approaching ambulance’s siren proclaimed the arrival of help, a number of emotions rushed at me. I felt sadness tugging at my heart for the Winter Man and shame that I had almost walked past another person in need. I was amazed that it had been so easy to be helpful.

What was the problem with the second man that the author saw, who was lying on the footpath?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

On my way home that afternoon, I saw the same man in the same place. He was crumpled over, his head almost on the ground. Two ambulance attendants were crouched beside him. This time my step paused. He wasn’t a derelict at all. He was old certainly, but he wore a nice suit and was clean-shaven. And in a very bad way.
Shame rocked me. How torturous for that sick, old man to have endured the coldness of the entire day, sitting on the hard, unforgiving ground. He probably reached out to passersby for help. No-one stopped. No-one cared. Out of sight, out of mind.
A different season and I again came across an old man half lying on the footpath, not far from where the Winter Man had been. The morning heat was stifling. Caught up in the familiar stampede of people commuting, I barely glanced at him. However, the memory of the old Winter Man came back to me vividly. I walked back to the man on the ground. He was dressed in smart clothes with a neatly trimmed beard and only a straw hat for shade. I knelt down to ask if he was OK. His kind face looked at me.
Beside him, a takeaway cup of coffee and sugar sachets lay open. A flow of people kept walking by. He regained consciousness, albeit weakly, and told me he was diabetic and it might be a good idea to call an ambulance, which I did — it was a few minutes away.
In barely a whisper, he said to me, “Nobody stopped. Thank you.” Fighting back tears, I asked his name. “Greg,” he said. We looked into each other’s eyes for a moment. Volumes were spoken without a word being uttered. I saw a proud man who didn’t like what was happening to him. As the approaching ambulance’s siren proclaimed the arrival of help, a number of emotions rushed at me. I felt sadness tugging at my heart for the Winter Man and shame that I had almost walked past another person in need. I was amazed that it had been so easy to be helpful.

How did Elizabeth feel after the conversation with her friend on the phone?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

Elizabeth Nassau was stunned. She had called a good friend to wish her a happy birthday, when suddenly she found herself under attack. “Out of the blue, she launched into a long list of everything that bothered her about me, and dumped me over the phone,” says the 48 year old writer from Philadelphia.
Nassau blames jealousy: “My career was just starting to get off the ground. My book was about to be published, and I’d won an award for my essays. I felt my friend didn’t like it that I wasn’t so needy anymore.”
She spent two years fuming. “Every time I saw her, my blood boiled, my heart pounded and I’d get so tense that I literally felt sick.”
Who hasn’t felt the sting of betrayal, unfair treatment or something more abusive? Many of us cling to the resulting rage and pain, but others choose not to. The latest research shows that learning to forgive those who hurt us can have profound benefits. It’s become a hot new way to manage anger, cut stress and, maybe most important, improve health.
At an Atlanta conference last fall, some 40 researchers met to review what they’re finding in probing the healing power of making peace. One study showed that giving up grudges can reduce chronic back pain. Another found that forgiveness limited relapses among women battling substance-abuse problems. One intriguing project discussed at the event — run by the non profit, Campaign for Forgiveness Research — used MRI scans to explore how just thinking about empathy and reconciliation sparks activity in the brain’s left middle temporal gyrus, suggesting we all have a mental forgiveness center set to be tapped.

According to Elizabeth, why did her friend start attacking her verbally?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

Elizabeth Nassau was stunned. She had called a good friend to wish her a happy birthday, when suddenly she found herself under attack. “Out of the blue, she launched into a long list of everything that bothered her about me, and dumped me over the phone,” says the 48 year old writer from Philadelphia.
Nassau blames jealousy: “My career was just starting to get off the ground. My book was about to be published, and I’d won an award for my essays. I felt my friend didn’t like it that I wasn’t so needy anymore.”
She spent two years fuming. “Every time I saw her, my blood boiled, my heart pounded and I’d get so tense that I literally felt sick.”
Who hasn’t felt the sting of betrayal, unfair treatment or something more abusive? Many of us cling to the resulting rage and pain, but others choose not to. The latest research shows that learning to forgive those who hurt us can have profound benefits. It’s become a hot new way to manage anger, cut stress and, maybe most important, improve health.
At an Atlanta conference last fall, some 40 researchers met to review what they’re finding in probing the healing power of making peace. One study showed that giving up grudges can reduce chronic back pain. Another found that forgiveness limited relapses among women battling substance-abuse problems. One intriguing project discussed at the event — run by the non profit, Campaign for Forgiveness Research — used MRI scans to explore how just thinking about empathy and reconciliation sparks activity in the brain’s left middle temporal gyrus, suggesting we all have a mental forgiveness center set to be tapped.

Why did the author go to visit Ms. A?

Directions: Read the passage given below and answer the question.

Ms A was lying on bed 4B, clearly still weak as she was still recovering from her recent stroke. There were no relatives or friends with her. Even the bed beside her was empty. I sat down on a chair next to her bed, and in a low voice I introduced myself and asked how she was doing. She softly replied that she was getting better but the left side of her body was still weak. When I told her that I wanted to gather some additional information from her, she agreed. The questionnaire consisted of three simple yes or no questions. After I finished, I prepared to leave so I could go through more medical records. Before I could stand up, Ms A spoke up in her weak voice. “I haven’t seen you here before, doc. Are you new?”
“Not really, Ma’am. It’s just that I don’t come here every day,” I replied. She started making conversation, asking where I was from and why I was working so late in the evening. I was surprised someone in her condition would want to talk.
“Doc, do you think I can get back my normal life?” Ms A asked at one point.
Deep in my heart, I thought, God, I wish I was your doctor so I could answer you properly.
I replied that while I didn’t know much about her case, I could tell her what I had learned about the recovery of stroke patients. Depending on the severity of the stroke, quite a number respond well to rehabilitation. I was reluctant to go into too much detail as I was only a medical student. I didn’t know what to say. Looking into her eyes, I desperately tried to remember the lessons from a communication skills class I had taken a few years earlier, but my mind was blank. I cursed myself for not paying more attention.

Why was the author surprised?

Directions: Read the passage given below and answer the question.

Ms A was lying on bed 4B, clearly still weak as she was still recovering from her recent stroke. There were no relatives or friends with her. Even the bed beside her was empty. I sat down on a chair next to her bed, and in a low voice I introduced myself and asked how she was doing. She softly replied that she was getting better but the left side of her body was still weak. When I told her that I wanted to gather some additional information from her, she agreed. The questionnaire consisted of three simple yes or no questions. After I finished, I prepared to leave so I could go through more medical records. Before I could stand up, Ms A spoke up in her weak voice. “I haven’t seen you here before, doc. Are you new?”
“Not really, Ma’am. It’s just that I don’t come here every day,” I replied. She started making conversation, asking where I was from and why I was working so late in the evening. I was surprised someone in her condition would want to talk.
“Doc, do you think I can get back my normal life?” Ms A asked at one point.
Deep in my heart, I thought, God, I wish I was your doctor so I could answer you properly.
I replied that while I didn’t know much about her case, I could tell her what I had learned about the recovery of stroke patients. Depending on the severity of the stroke, quite a number respond well to rehabilitation. I was reluctant to go into too much detail as I was only a medical student. I didn’t know what to say. Looking into her eyes, I desperately tried to remember the lessons from a communication skills class I had taken a few years earlier, but my mind was blank. I cursed myself for not paying more attention.

How old was the girl when her mother died?

Directions: Read the following passage and answer the question.

At the time, I didn’t appreciate the magnitude of the events of that day. As it turns out, it was pretty much a turning point where my life as I knew it, would change forever. It was a nice day in Kuala Lumpur; not too hot and not rainy either. Relatives gathered; cousins played hide and seek in the garden. I was soaking wet from apple-dunking in the yard. Not a good thing, considering we were at a wedding.
Cancer had claimed my mother nine months earlier, when I was ten. I wasn’t particularly close to her, but I was the youngest of four children, so I was definitely the baby of the family. She had been sick for a long time and Dad had done the best he could for her, even making it possible for her to travel in her last years to the Middle East, where she had relatives, and London, where she stayed for a while. That meant school holidays were spent in London, which made me a very lucky girl.
My two eldest siblings were already in boarding school in England, so after my mother’s death it was just me, my older sister Hani and Dad at home. Hani and I were pretty much left to our own devices while Dad worked, but luckily it was in an era when we could safely roam the streets in our neighbourhood with our friends. Our uncles and aunts regularly brought our cousins to play with us. I can’t remember being bored at all during my childhood.

What was the occasion, when the author was involved in apple-dunking?

Directions: Read the following passage and answer the question.

At the time, I didn’t appreciate the magnitude of the events of that day. As it turns out, it was pretty much a turning point where my life as I knew it, would change forever. It was a nice day in Kuala Lumpur; not too hot and not rainy either. Relatives gathered; cousins played hide and seek in the garden. I was soaking wet from apple-dunking in the yard. Not a good thing, considering we were at a wedding.
Cancer had claimed my mother nine months earlier, when I was ten. I wasn’t particularly close to her, but I was the youngest of four children, so I was definitely the baby of the family. She had been sick for a long time and Dad had done the best he could for her, even making it possible for her to travel in her last years to the Middle East, where she had relatives, and London, where she stayed for a while. That meant school holidays were spent in London, which made me a very lucky girl.
My two eldest siblings were already in boarding school in England, so after my mother’s death it was just me, my older sister Hani and Dad at home. Hani and I were pretty much left to our own devices while Dad worked, but luckily it was in an era when we could safely roam the streets in our neighbourhood with our friends. Our uncles and aunts regularly brought our cousins to play with us. I can’t remember being bored at all during my childhood.

Why was the author wondering that the landlady was over-cautious?

Directions: Read the following passage and answer the question.

It was the second day of a long-awaited winter holiday in Queenstown, New Zealand, three years ago. My three sisters and I arrived at our motel at about 10 pm, amidst rain, sleet and total darkness. Coming from warm, well-lit Singapore, it was unnerving. But the wood fire in the lobby and the warm, welcoming smile of our landlady eased my apprehension.
“You poor darlings! You are frozen!” she said as we checked in. “But don’t worry, I have turned on the electric blankets in your rooms and your beds will be soft and warm.”
She kept up the friendly chatter as she led us to our rooms, her torch revealing soft, falling snow and a wet asphalt road. We settled in and after a wash-up, crawled gratefully into our snug beds.
In the morning, I pulled back my curtains and for a split-second I was breathless. A winter wonderland stretched out before me: Lake Wakatipu surrounded by the snow-clad mountains of the Remarkables. A thick layer of fresh snow covered the ground. The clear, cobalt sky greeted the golden rays of the rising sun.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Lost in nature’s beauty, I had not heard our landlady knock and enter the room. “Make sure you are well wrapped up today. The weather is like quicksilver and turns nasty in a split second. Head back the minute you see snowfall.”
I nodded. By the time we set out to explore Queenstown’s well-stocked shops, the day was bright and sunny, and I started to wonder if she was being unduly cautious.

Where did the author spend her school holidays, during the time her mother was sick?

Directions: Read the following passage and answer the question.

At the time, I didn’t appreciate the magnitude of the events of that day. As it turns out, it was pretty much a turning point where my life as I knew it, would change forever. It was a nice day in Kuala Lumpur; not too hot and not rainy either. Relatives gathered; cousins played hide and seek in the garden. I was soaking wet from apple-dunking in the yard. Not a good thing, considering we were at a wedding.
Cancer had claimed my mother nine months earlier, when I was ten. I wasn’t particularly close to her, but I was the youngest of four children, so I was definitely the baby of the family. She had been sick for a long time and Dad had done the best he could for her, even making it possible for her to travel in her last years to the Middle East, where she had relatives, and London, where she stayed for a while. That meant school holidays were spent in London, which made me a very lucky girl.
My two eldest siblings were already in boarding school in England, so after my mother’s death it was just me, my older sister Hani and Dad at home. Hani and I were pretty much left to our own devices while Dad worked, but luckily it was in an era when we could safely roam the streets in our neighbourhood with our friends. Our uncles and aunts regularly brought our cousins to play with us. I can’t remember being bored at all during my childhood.

Why did the author not want to go in detail about her condition?

Directions: Read the passage given below and answer the question.

Ms A was lying on bed 4B, clearly still weak as she was still recovering from her recent stroke. There were no relatives or friends with her. Even the bed beside her was empty. I sat down on a chair next to her bed, and in a low voice I introduced myself and asked how she was doing. She softly replied that she was getting better but the left side of her body was still weak. When I told her that I wanted to gather some additional information from her, she agreed. The questionnaire consisted of three simple yes or no questions. After I finished, I prepared to leave so I could go through more medical records. Before I could stand up, Ms A spoke up in her weak voice. “I haven’t seen you here before, doc. Are you new?”
“Not really, Ma’am. It’s just that I don’t come here every day,” I replied. She started making conversation, asking where I was from and why I was working so late in the evening. I was surprised someone in her condition would want to talk.
“Doc, do you think I can get back my normal life?” Ms A asked at one point.
Deep in my heart, I thought, God, I wish I was your doctor so I could answer you properly.
I replied that while I didn’t know much about her case, I could tell her what I had learned about the recovery of stroke patients. Depending on the severity of the stroke, quite a number respond well to rehabilitation. I was reluctant to go into too much detail as I was only a medical student. I didn’t know what to say. Looking into her eyes, I desperately tried to remember the lessons from a communication skills class I had taken a few years earlier, but my mind was blank. I cursed myself for not paying more attention.