Read the text below. For questions 1-5, choose the correct answer (А, В, С or D).
The stooping figure of my mother, waist-deep in the grass and caught there like a piece of sheep's wool, was the last I saw of my country home as I left it to discover the world. She stood old and bent at the top of the bank, silently watching me go, one hand raised in farewell and blessing, not questioning why I went. At the bend of the road I looked back again and saw her; then I turned the corner and walked out of the village. I had closed that part of my life forever.
It was a bright Sunday morning in early June, the right time to be leaving home. We had been a close family who always got on well together but my three sisters and a brother had already gone. There were two other brothers who had not yet got around to making a decision. They were still sleeping that morning, but my mother had got up early and cooked me a heavy breakfast, had stood wordlessly while I ate it, her hand on my chair, and had then helped me pack up my few belongings. There had been no fuss; there had been no attempt to persuade me to stay; she just gave me a long and searching look. Then, with my bags on my back, I'd gone out into the early sunshine and climbed through the long wet grass to the road.
It was 1934. I was nineteen years old, still soft at the edges, but with a confident belief in good fortune. I carried a small rolled-up tent, a violin in a blanket, a change of clothes, a tin of biscuits, and some cheese. I was excited, full of self-confidence, knowing I had far to go; but not, as yet, how far. I left home that morning and walked away from the sleeping village. It never crossed my mind that others had done this before me.
And now I was on my journey at last, in a thick pair of boots and a stick in my hand. Naturally, I was going to London, which lay a hundred miles to the east; and it seemed equally obvious that I should go on foot. But first, as I'd never seen the sea, I thought I'd try to walk to the coast and find it. This would add another hundred miles to my journey. It would also cost me several extra days of walking. Such considerations didn't trouble me, however. I felt that I'd get by, whatever happened.
That first day alone - and now I was really on my own at last - steadily declined in excitement. Through the solitary morning and afternoon I found myself longing for hurrying footsteps coming after me and family voices calling me back.
None came. I was free. The day's silence said, 'Go where you will. It's all yours. You asked for it. It's up to you now.' As I walked I was followed by thoughts of home, by the tinkling sounds of the kitchen, shafts of sun from the windows falling across familiar furniture, across the bedroom and the bed I had left.
When I judged it to be tea-time I sat on an old stone wall and opened my tin of biscuits. As I ate them, I could almost hear mother making tea and my brothers rattling their tea-cups. The biscuits tasted sweetly of home - still only a dozen miles away.
I might have turned back then if it hadn't been for my brothers, but I knew I could never have put up with the teasing I would have got from them. So I went on my way.
When darkness came, I was too weary to put up the tent. So I lay down in the middle of a field and stared up at the brilliant stars. Finally, the smells of the night put me to sleep - my first night without a roof or bed.
I was awoken soon after midnight by drizzling rain on my face. I was cold and the sky was black and the stars had all gone. Two cows stood over me, moaning in the darkness. Those memories have stayed with me ever since. But when the sun rose in the morning, the birds were singing. I got up, shook myself, ate a piece of pie, and turned again to the south.