Take this Quiz: Reading 3 — the allotment | Zestly

Question 1

Reading Section 3 — Ten rods of England

A  On the edge of almost every British town there is a piece of ground divided into narrow strips, each with its shed, its water butt and its arrangement of canes. Allotments look improvised and in one sense they are: no two plots are alike, and the fences between them are made of whatever came to hand. But the land underneath is not improvised at all. Much of it has been set aside for this purpose for more than a century, and the right to ask for it is written into law.

B  The idea has its origins in loss. Through the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, common land across England was enclosed into private fields, and families who had grazed an animal or gathered fuel on it found that they could no longer do either. Allotments were one of the answers offered — small parcels let cheaply to labouring families so that they could grow food. The motives of those who provided them were mixed, and some of them were frankly disciplinary: a man digging his own potatoes was thought less likely to be in the public house.

C  What turned a patchwork of local arrangements into something more solid was an Act of Parliament in 1908. Under it, a council that considers there to be a demand for allotments must provide them; and if six local electors write to the council saying that it has such a duty, the council is obliged to consider what they say. The mechanism is unglamorous, and it is still in force. A group of neighbours who want ground to grow on has a legal route that begins with a letter and six signatures.

D  The plot most often offered is ten rods — an old measure of a little over 250 square metres, roughly the size of a doubles tennis court. It is a strange unit to survive into the twenty-first century, and it survives because it was a useful one: ten rods is about what a family could work in the evenings after a day's paid labour, and about what it took to feed them through a winter.

E  The high point came with a war. From 1939 the government urged the country to Dig for Victory, and lawns, parks, tennis courts and railway embankments were turned over to vegetables. The number of plots reached a level never approached before or since, and what had been a provision for the poor briefly became a patriotic duty performed by everyone. The campaign was extraordinarily effective, and it left a generation who knew how to grow things.

F  Then, for forty years, the plots emptied. Food became cheap and reliable in a way it had never been; a supermarket sold better vegetables than most people could grow, in February, at a price that made the effort look eccentric. Councils under pressure for housing land looked at half-derelict sites and drew the obvious conclusion, and a great many allotments were built on. By the end of the 1970s the number of plots had fallen to a small fraction of the wartime figure, and the sites that remained were worked mostly by men over sixty.

G  The return, when it came, had little to do with the price of vegetables. Waiting lists at many sites now run to years, and the people on them are younger, and more likely to be women, than at any point since the war. What they say they want is rarely cheap food. It is a reason to be outside, a piece of ground that is theirs to decide about, and the company of people they would otherwise never meet — an allotment site is one of the few places left where a retired bus driver and a software engineer have the same problem with slugs. The economics have never been worse and the demand has never been higher, which suggests that whatever an allotment is for, it was never only about the food.

— Which heading best fits Paragraph F?

Accepted Answer

Forty years of decline

Answer

The letter and the six signatures

Answer

What people on the waiting lists actually want

Answer

A measure that outlived its century

Question 2

Reading Section 3 — Ten rods of England

A  On the edge of almost every British town there is a piece of ground divided into narrow strips, each with its shed, its water butt and its arrangement of canes. Allotments look improvised and in one sense they are: no two plots are alike, and the fences between them are made of whatever came to hand. But the land underneath is not improvised at all. Much of it has been set aside for this purpose for more than a century, and the right to ask for it is written into law.

B  The idea has its origins in loss. Through the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, common land across England was enclosed into private fields, and families who had grazed an animal or gathered fuel on it found that they could no longer do either. Allotments were one of the answers offered — small parcels let cheaply to labouring families so that they could grow food. The motives of those who provided them were mixed, and some of them were frankly disciplinary: a man digging his own potatoes was thought less likely to be in the public house.

C  What turned a patchwork of local arrangements into something more solid was an Act of Parliament in 1908. Under it, a council that considers there to be a demand for allotments must provide them; and if six local electors write to the council saying that it has such a duty, the council is obliged to consider what they say. The mechanism is unglamorous, and it is still in force. A group of neighbours who want ground to grow on has a legal route that begins with a letter and six signatures.

D  The plot most often offered is ten rods — an old measure of a little over 250 square metres, roughly the size of a doubles tennis court. It is a strange unit to survive into the twenty-first century, and it survives because it was a useful one: ten rods is about what a family could work in the evenings after a day's paid labour, and about what it took to feed them through a winter.

E  The high point came with a war. From 1939 the government urged the country to Dig for Victory, and lawns, parks, tennis courts and railway embankments were turned over to vegetables. The number of plots reached a level never approached before or since, and what had been a provision for the poor briefly became a patriotic duty performed by everyone. The campaign was extraordinarily effective, and it left a generation who knew how to grow things.

F  Then, for forty years, the plots emptied. Food became cheap and reliable in a way it had never been; a supermarket sold better vegetables than most people could grow, in February, at a price that made the effort look eccentric. Councils under pressure for housing land looked at half-derelict sites and drew the obvious conclusion, and a great many allotments were built on. By the end of the 1970s the number of plots had fallen to a small fraction of the wartime figure, and the sites that remained were worked mostly by men over sixty.

G  The return, when it came, had little to do with the price of vegetables. Waiting lists at many sites now run to years, and the people on them are younger, and more likely to be women, than at any point since the war. What they say they want is rarely cheap food. It is a reason to be outside, a piece of ground that is theirs to decide about, and the company of people they would otherwise never meet — an allotment site is one of the few places left where a retired bus driver and a software engineer have the same problem with slugs. The economics have never been worse and the demand has never been higher, which suggests that whatever an allotment is for, it was never only about the food.

— Which heading best fits Paragraph B?

Accepted Answer

Where the idea came from, and why

Answer

The size of a plot

Answer

Who is on the waiting lists now

Answer

The wartime campaign

Question 3

Reading Section 3 — Ten rods of England

A  On the edge of almost every British town there is a piece of ground divided into narrow strips, each with its shed, its water butt and its arrangement of canes. Allotments look improvised and in one sense they are: no two plots are alike, and the fences between them are made of whatever came to hand. But the land underneath is not improvised at all. Much of it has been set aside for this purpose for more than a century, and the right to ask for it is written into law.

B  The idea has its origins in loss. Through the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, common land across England was enclosed into private fields, and families who had grazed an animal or gathered fuel on it found that they could no longer do either. Allotments were one of the answers offered — small parcels let cheaply to labouring families so that they could grow food. The motives of those who provided them were mixed, and some of them were frankly disciplinary: a man digging his own potatoes was thought less likely to be in the public house.

C  What turned a patchwork of local arrangements into something more solid was an Act of Parliament in 1908. Under it, a council that considers there to be a demand for allotments must provide them; and if six local electors write to the council saying that it has such a duty, the council is obliged to consider what they say. The mechanism is unglamorous, and it is still in force. A group of neighbours who want ground to grow on has a legal route that begins with a letter and six signatures.

D  The plot most often offered is ten rods — an old measure of a little over 250 square metres, roughly the size of a doubles tennis court. It is a strange unit to survive into the twenty-first century, and it survives because it was a useful one: ten rods is about what a family could work in the evenings after a day's paid labour, and about what it took to feed them through a winter.

E  The high point came with a war. From 1939 the government urged the country to Dig for Victory, and lawns, parks, tennis courts and railway embankments were turned over to vegetables. The number of plots reached a level never approached before or since, and what had been a provision for the poor briefly became a patriotic duty performed by everyone. The campaign was extraordinarily effective, and it left a generation who knew how to grow things.

F  Then, for forty years, the plots emptied. Food became cheap and reliable in a way it had never been; a supermarket sold better vegetables than most people could grow, in February, at a price that made the effort look eccentric. Councils under pressure for housing land looked at half-derelict sites and drew the obvious conclusion, and a great many allotments were built on. By the end of the 1970s the number of plots had fallen to a small fraction of the wartime figure, and the sites that remained were worked mostly by men over sixty.

G  The return, when it came, had little to do with the price of vegetables. Waiting lists at many sites now run to years, and the people on them are younger, and more likely to be women, than at any point since the war. What they say they want is rarely cheap food. It is a reason to be outside, a piece of ground that is theirs to decide about, and the company of people they would otherwise never meet — an allotment site is one of the few places left where a retired bus driver and a software engineer have the same problem with slugs. The economics have never been worse and the demand has never been higher, which suggests that whatever an allotment is for, it was never only about the food.

— What does the 1908 Act require a council to do when six local electors write to it?

Accepted Answer

Consider what they say

Answer

Hold a public vote on the question

Answer

Provide allotments within a year

Answer

Buy land specifically for allotments

Question 4

Reading Section 3 — Ten rods of England

A  On the edge of almost every British town there is a piece of ground divided into narrow strips, each with its shed, its water butt and its arrangement of canes. Allotments look improvised and in one sense they are: no two plots are alike, and the fences between them are made of whatever came to hand. But the land underneath is not improvised at all. Much of it has been set aside for this purpose for more than a century, and the right to ask for it is written into law.

B  The idea has its origins in loss. Through the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, common land across England was enclosed into private fields, and families who had grazed an animal or gathered fuel on it found that they could no longer do either. Allotments were one of the answers offered — small parcels let cheaply to labouring families so that they could grow food. The motives of those who provided them were mixed, and some of them were frankly disciplinary: a man digging his own potatoes was thought less likely to be in the public house.

C  What turned a patchwork of local arrangements into something more solid was an Act of Parliament in 1908. Under it, a council that considers there to be a demand for allotments must provide them; and if six local electors write to the council saying that it has such a duty, the council is obliged to consider what they say. The mechanism is unglamorous, and it is still in force. A group of neighbours who want ground to grow on has a legal route that begins with a letter and six signatures.

D  The plot most often offered is ten rods — an old measure of a little over 250 square metres, roughly the size of a doubles tennis court. It is a strange unit to survive into the twenty-first century, and it survives because it was a useful one: ten rods is about what a family could work in the evenings after a day's paid labour, and about what it took to feed them through a winter.

E  The high point came with a war. From 1939 the government urged the country to Dig for Victory, and lawns, parks, tennis courts and railway embankments were turned over to vegetables. The number of plots reached a level never approached before or since, and what had been a provision for the poor briefly became a patriotic duty performed by everyone. The campaign was extraordinarily effective, and it left a generation who knew how to grow things.

F  Then, for forty years, the plots emptied. Food became cheap and reliable in a way it had never been; a supermarket sold better vegetables than most people could grow, in February, at a price that made the effort look eccentric. Councils under pressure for housing land looked at half-derelict sites and drew the obvious conclusion, and a great many allotments were built on. By the end of the 1970s the number of plots had fallen to a small fraction of the wartime figure, and the sites that remained were worked mostly by men over sixty.

G  The return, when it came, had little to do with the price of vegetables. Waiting lists at many sites now run to years, and the people on them are younger, and more likely to be women, than at any point since the war. What they say they want is rarely cheap food. It is a reason to be outside, a piece of ground that is theirs to decide about, and the company of people they would otherwise never meet — an allotment site is one of the few places left where a retired bus driver and a software engineer have the same problem with slugs. The economics have never been worse and the demand has never been higher, which suggests that whatever an allotment is for, it was never only about the food.

— How big is the plot most often offered?

Answer

About 100 square metres

Answer

About a hectare

Answer

It varies with the size of the family

Answer

About 250 square metres

Question 5

Reading Section 3 — Ten rods of England

A  On the edge of almost every British town there is a piece of ground divided into narrow strips, each with its shed, its water butt and its arrangement of canes. Allotments look improvised and in one sense they are: no two plots are alike, and the fences between them are made of whatever came to hand. But the land underneath is not improvised at all. Much of it has been set aside for this purpose for more than a century, and the right to ask for it is written into law.

B  The idea has its origins in loss. Through the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, common land across England was enclosed into private fields, and families who had grazed an animal or gathered fuel on it found that they could no longer do either. Allotments were one of the answers offered — small parcels let cheaply to labouring families so that they could grow food. The motives of those who provided them were mixed, and some of them were frankly disciplinary: a man digging his own potatoes was thought less likely to be in the public house.

C  What turned a patchwork of local arrangements into something more solid was an Act of Parliament in 1908. Under it, a council that considers there to be a demand for allotments must provide them; and if six local electors write to the council saying that it has such a duty, the council is obliged to consider what they say. The mechanism is unglamorous, and it is still in force. A group of neighbours who want ground to grow on has a legal route that begins with a letter and six signatures.

D  The plot most often offered is ten rods — an old measure of a little over 250 square metres, roughly the size of a doubles tennis court. It is a strange unit to survive into the twenty-first century, and it survives because it was a useful one: ten rods is about what a family could work in the evenings after a day's paid labour, and about what it took to feed them through a winter.

E  The high point came with a war. From 1939 the government urged the country to Dig for Victory, and lawns, parks, tennis courts and railway embankments were turned over to vegetables. The number of plots reached a level never approached before or since, and what had been a provision for the poor briefly became a patriotic duty performed by everyone. The campaign was extraordinarily effective, and it left a generation who knew how to grow things.

F  Then, for forty years, the plots emptied. Food became cheap and reliable in a way it had never been; a supermarket sold better vegetables than most people could grow, in February, at a price that made the effort look eccentric. Councils under pressure for housing land looked at half-derelict sites and drew the obvious conclusion, and a great many allotments were built on. By the end of the 1970s the number of plots had fallen to a small fraction of the wartime figure, and the sites that remained were worked mostly by men over sixty.

G  The return, when it came, had little to do with the price of vegetables. Waiting lists at many sites now run to years, and the people on them are younger, and more likely to be women, than at any point since the war. What they say they want is rarely cheap food. It is a reason to be outside, a piece of ground that is theirs to decide about, and the company of people they would otherwise never meet — an allotment site is one of the few places left where a retired bus driver and a software engineer have the same problem with slugs. The economics have never been worse and the demand has never been higher, which suggests that whatever an allotment is for, it was never only about the food.

— According to the writer, why did ten rods become the standard size?

Answer

It was the largest area the law allowed

Answer

It was what a family could work in the evenings and live on through a winter

Answer

It was the size of the fields being enclosed

Answer

It was chosen during the wartime campaign

Question 6

Reading Section 3 — Ten rods of England

A  On the edge of almost every British town there is a piece of ground divided into narrow strips, each with its shed, its water butt and its arrangement of canes. Allotments look improvised and in one sense they are: no two plots are alike, and the fences between them are made of whatever came to hand. But the land underneath is not improvised at all. Much of it has been set aside for this purpose for more than a century, and the right to ask for it is written into law.

B  The idea has its origins in loss. Through the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, common land across England was enclosed into private fields, and families who had grazed an animal or gathered fuel on it found that they could no longer do either. Allotments were one of the answers offered — small parcels let cheaply to labouring families so that they could grow food. The motives of those who provided them were mixed, and some of them were frankly disciplinary: a man digging his own potatoes was thought less likely to be in the public house.

C  What turned a patchwork of local arrangements into something more solid was an Act of Parliament in 1908. Under it, a council that considers there to be a demand for allotments must provide them; and if six local electors write to the council saying that it has such a duty, the council is obliged to consider what they say. The mechanism is unglamorous, and it is still in force. A group of neighbours who want ground to grow on has a legal route that begins with a letter and six signatures.

D  The plot most often offered is ten rods — an old measure of a little over 250 square metres, roughly the size of a doubles tennis court. It is a strange unit to survive into the twenty-first century, and it survives because it was a useful one: ten rods is about what a family could work in the evenings after a day's paid labour, and about what it took to feed them through a winter.

E  The high point came with a war. From 1939 the government urged the country to Dig for Victory, and lawns, parks, tennis courts and railway embankments were turned over to vegetables. The number of plots reached a level never approached before or since, and what had been a provision for the poor briefly became a patriotic duty performed by everyone. The campaign was extraordinarily effective, and it left a generation who knew how to grow things.

F  Then, for forty years, the plots emptied. Food became cheap and reliable in a way it had never been; a supermarket sold better vegetables than most people could grow, in February, at a price that made the effort look eccentric. Councils under pressure for housing land looked at half-derelict sites and drew the obvious conclusion, and a great many allotments were built on. By the end of the 1970s the number of plots had fallen to a small fraction of the wartime figure, and the sites that remained were worked mostly by men over sixty.

G  The return, when it came, had little to do with the price of vegetables. Waiting lists at many sites now run to years, and the people on them are younger, and more likely to be women, than at any point since the war. What they say they want is rarely cheap food. It is a reason to be outside, a piece of ground that is theirs to decide about, and the company of people they would otherwise never meet — an allotment site is one of the few places left where a retired bus driver and a software engineer have the same problem with slugs. The economics have never been worse and the demand has never been higher, which suggests that whatever an allotment is for, it was never only about the food.

— Which ONE of these statements does the writer never make?

Answer

Plots are let to tenants at a low rent today

Answer

Councils built housing on former allotment sites

Answer

Waiting lists at many sites run to years

Answer

Allotments were sometimes provided for disciplinary reasons