Reading 2026-03 Test 5

The potato is a tuber - a short, thick, underground stem with stored starches and sugars - of the potato plant. It was given its botanical name, Solanum tuberosum, in 1596 by the Swiss botanist Gaspard Bauhin, and belongs to the Solanaceae family, the nightshades, which includes aubergines, peppers, and the tomato. Growing wild as early as 13,000 years ago on the Chilean coast of South America, this tuber was cultivated by the inhabitants of the continent by 3,000 BCE. However, it was not until many years later that the Incan civilisation (mid-1400s to mid-1500s) realised the potato's true agricultural potential and grew it on a large scale. The climatic challenges of growing crops in the heights of South America's Andes Mountains are formidable. Radical swings in temperature - from highs of 17°C to lows below freezing, occur within a twenty-four-hour period and constantly disrupt the plants' physiological processes. Yet potatoes are ideally suited to these conditions; the plant grows in even the coldest areas and the hardiest species can survive at an altitude of 5,000 metres. The Incas developed ingenious methods for cultivating and preserving potatoes on the steep mountain slopes. They carved terraces into the hillsides, creating flat platforms that prevented soil erosion and allowed for more efficient irrigation. To protect crops from frost, they developed a technique called ch'uño, which involved exposing potatoes to freezing night temperatures and then squeezing out the moisture by trampling them with bare feet. The resulting dehydrated product could be stored for years and provided a reliable food source during times of crop failure or harsh winters. This innovation was crucial to the expansion and maintenance of the vast Incan Empire, which at its height stretched for over 4,000 kilometres along the Andes. When Spanish conquistadors led by Francisco Pizarro arrived in Peru in 1532, they encountered the potato for the first time. Initially, they were suspicious of this strange, knobbly tuber growing underground. The Spanish preferred foods that were mentioned in the Bible, and the potato had no such pedigree. Moreover, its membership in the nightshade family, some species of which were known to be poisonous, did little to inspire confidence. Nevertheless, the practical value of a crop that could feed armies and sailors on long voyages was undeniable. By the 1570s, the first potatoes had crossed the Atlantic, arriving in Spain and subsequently travelling to Italy, England, and other parts of Europe. The potato's reception in Europe was mixed at best. In some regions, it was grown as a botanical curiosity in the gardens of the wealthy, admired for its pretty flowers rather than its edible tubers. In others, it was met with deep suspicion and outright hostility. Rumours spread that potatoes caused leprosy, syphilis, and other dreadful diseases. Religious authorities in some areas refused to baptise the vegetable, arguing that it was not mentioned in scripture. Peasants in Prussia and Russia initially resisted Frederick the Great's attempts to force potato cultivation upon them, viewing it as a degrading food fit only for animals. The potato's unfortunate appearance, with its knobbly shape and underground growth, led to associations with witchcraft and the devil in some folk traditions. The transformation in the potato's fortunes came largely through necessity and the power of persuasion. In France, an eighteenth-century pharmacist and army chemist named Antoine-Augustin Parmentier dedicated years of his life to promoting the potato. Parmentier had been captured by the Prussians during the Seven Years' War and was fed nothing but potatoes in prison. He emerged in surprisingly good health, convinced of the tuber's nutritional virtues. Upon his return to France, he devised a brilliant public relations campaign. He convinced King Louis XVI and Queen Marie Antoinette to wear potato flowers in their lapels and hair, making the plant fashionable. He then planted potatoes on poor, sandy land outside Paris and placed armed guards around the fields during the day. At night, he deliberately withdrew the guards, allowing curious peasants to steal the 'protected' crop. The strategy worked brilliantly, and potato cultivation spread rapidly across France. By the nineteenth century, the potato had become a dietary staple across much of northern Europe. Its high yield per unit of land and exceptional nutritional content made it ideal for feeding rapidly growing populations. A single acre of potatoes could support a family for a year, whereas the same area planted with grain would provide far less sustenance. The potato provided abundant vitamin C, which helped eliminate scurvy in northern populations during winter months, and its cultivation required less skill and labour than grain farming. However, this dependence on a single crop proved disastrous when disaster struck. In Ireland, where the potato had become the primary food source for a third of the population, the arrival of a water mould called Phytophthora infestans in 1845 triggered the Great Famine. The blight destroyed potato crops across the country for several consecutive years, leading to the deaths of approximately one million people from starvation and disease, and forcing another million to emigrate. The potato's journey was far from over. European colonists and traders carried it to new lands, establishing it as a crop in North America, Africa, Asia, and the Pacific. In each new environment, the adaptable tuber found a place, often becoming a cornerstone of local cuisines. India, China, and Russia are now among the world's largest potato producers, far exceeding the output of the vegetable's South American homeland. The potato had come full circle, from Andean staple to global commodity, feeding billions across the planet. Perhaps the most extraordinary chapter in the potato's history began in the late twentieth century. As space agencies contemplated long-duration manned missions to Mars and beyond, the question of feeding astronauts became critical. Growing food in space offered obvious advantages over carrying all provisions from Earth. The potato, with its high nutritional density, compact growth habit, and adaptability to controlled environments, emerged as a leading candidate for space agriculture. In 1995, potato plants were grown aboard the Space Shuttle Columbia as part of experiments to understand plant growth in microgravity. Researchers at NASA and the University of Wisconsin developed specialised growth chambers to optimise tuber production in space. The results were promising: potatoes could indeed be grown in space, though challenges remained regarding pollination, water distribution, and radiation protection. Today, the potato is the world's fourth-largest food crop, after maize, wheat, and rice. It feeds billions of people across every inhabited continent and is grown in more countries than any other crop except maize. The United Nations declared 2008 the International Year of the Potato, recognising its role in food security, poverty alleviation, and nutritional health. From its humble origins in the Andean highlands, through its transformation of European agriculture and its role in shaping world history, to its potential future in space colonies, the much-travelled vegetable continues its remarkable journey. The potato, once dismissed as fit only for animals and the desperate poor, has proven itself one of humanity's most valuable and versatile companions.

A It was difficult to get about in eighteenth-century London. During the first half of that century, the physical mobility of the upper classes in the city had been considerably restricted: the poor condition of the streets did not allow walking for pleasure outside private parks or pleasure gardens. Streets were dirty, rubbish was everywhere and the British climate made matters worse. Walking could be a risky business. The terrible state of roads, always flooded and muddy, led to the employment of cleaners and street sweepers. B References to walking are not abundant in early eighteenth-century literature, except for writing about the countryside, where conditions were far better. Walking in London was regarded as inconvenient and even dangerous. For Londoners who wanted to travel, choices were limited to the use of boats and coaches. Walking in urban areas was generally associated with the poor, especially those who could not afford a coach. C This situation began to change in the mid-eighteenth century, with measures implementing the provision of public paving. The first legislation concerning paving in London was passed in 1762, and during the following decades, similar measures were enacted in many cities. By the end of the century, areas for walking were commonplace, and far more people were enjoying the pastime than before. Sophie von la Roche writes about metropolitan street life in the diary of her visit to London of 1786. She comments on how many more pedestrians there were on the broad, clean pavements, alongside the houses where, she says, 'many thousands of neatly clad people, eminent men and dressy women, pursue their way safe from the carriages, horses and dirt'. Although the pavements were not yet a continuous feature of London's streets, their introduction marked a profound shift in how the city was experienced. Walking was no longer solely a necessity for the poor but had become a respectable activity for the upper classes. D The transformation of London's streets had significant implications for footwear. In the early part of the century, shoes were designed primarily for protection rather than comfort or style. They were typically made of stout leather with thick soles, intended to keep the wearer's feet dry and clean when negotiating muddy, refuse-strewn thoroughfares. Pattens - overshoes with raised iron rings - were commonly worn by women to lift their delicate footwear above the filth. These contraptions were noisy and awkward, clattering against the stones and requiring a mincing gait to avoid tripping. For men, sturdy riding boots were the norm, even when walking, as they provided the best defence against the mire. E As paving spread and streets became cleaner, shoe design evolved to reflect new possibilities. Lighter materials, including softer leathers and even silk and satin for evening wear, became fashionable. Heels grew more delicate, and soles thinner. This was particularly evident in women's footwear, where shoes became objects of display rather than mere utility. The French fashion for ornate buckles, often set with paste jewels, was widely adopted by London's elite. Men's shoes also became more refined, with the heavy riding boot giving way to the buckled court shoe for those not obliged to travel on horseback. This was not merely a matter of aesthetics; it represented a fundamental change in how Londoners inhabited their city. To walk in comfort and style was to announce one's participation in the new urban order. F The rise of promenading as a social ritual further accelerated these trends. By the 1780s, certain London spaces had become established venues for the display of fashionable clothing, including footwear. Parks such as St James's and Kensington Gardens attracted crowds of strollers during the season, their circuits providing opportunities for social encounter and the mutual inspection of attire. Shoemakers responded to this demand by producing ever more varied and decorative styles. The craft of shoemaking itself was transformed, with specialist lasts- the forms around which shoes were shaped- being developed for left and right feet, a refinement not universally applied in earlier decades. This improved fit and comfort, encouraging yet more walking. G The new culture of walking also had its critics. Moralists complained that the freedom to stroll encouraged idleness and frivolous display. Young people of both sexes, it was feared, might use the promenade as an opportunity for unsuitable liaisons. The very anonymity of the crowd, so different from the close-knit community of the village, was seen by some as a threat to social order. Yet such complaints were themselves a testament to how thoroughly walking had been transformed. What had once been a dangerous necessity for the poor had become a leisure activity pursued by all ranks of society, accompanied by its own etiquette, its own spaces, and its own distinctive footwear. The pedestrian had become a familiar figure in the London scene, and the shoe had become far more than a mere protection for the foot.

A What counts as knowledge? What do we mean when we say that we know something? What is the status of different kinds of knowledge? In order to explore these questions we are going to focus on one particular area of knowledge medicine. B How do you know when you are ill? This may seem to be an absurd question. You know you are ill because you feel ill; your body tells you that you are ill. You may know that you feel pain or discomfort but knowing you are ill is a bit more complex. At times, people experience the symptoms of illness, but in fact they are simply tired or over-worked or they may just have a hangover. At other times, people may be suffering from a disease and fail to be aware of the illness until it has reached a late stage in its development. So how do we know we are ill, and what counts as knowledge? C Think about this example. You feel unwell. You have a bad cough and always seem to be tired. Perhaps it could be stress at work, or maybe you should give up smoking. You feel worse. You visit the doctor who listens to your chest and heart, takes your temperature and blood pressure, and then finally prescribes antibiotics for your cough. D Things do not improve but you struggle on thinking you should pull yourself together, perhaps things will ease off at work soon. A return visit to your doctor shocks you. This time the doctor, drawing on years of training and experience, diagnoses pneumonia. This means that you will need bed rest and a considerable time off work. The scenario is transformed. Although you still have the same symptoms, you no longer think that these are caused by pressure at work. You now have proof that you are ill. This is the result of the combination of your own subjective experience and the diagnosis of someone who has the status of a medical expert. You have a medically authenticated diagnosis and it appears that you are seriously ill; you know you are ill and have evidence upon which to base this knowledge. E This scenario shows many different sources of knowledge. For example, you decide to consult the doctor in the first place because you feel unwell - this is personal knowledge about your own body. However, the doctor's expert diagnosis is based on experience and training, with sources of knowledge as diverse as other experts, laboratory reports, medical textbooks and years of experience. F One source of knowledge is the experience of our own bodies; the personal knowledge we have of changes that might be significant, as well as the subjective experience of pain and physical distress. These experiences are mediated by other forms of knowledge such as the words we have available to describe our experience and the common sense of our families and friends as well as that drawn from popular culture. Over the past decade, for example, Western culture has seen a significant emphasis on stress-related illness in the media. Reference to being 'stressed out' has become a common response in daily exchanges in the workplace and has become part of popular common-sense knowledge. It is thus not surprising that we might seek such an explanation of physical symptoms of discomfort. G We might also rely on the observations of others who know us. Comments from friends and family such as 'you do look ill' or 'that's a bad cough' might be another source of knowledge. Complementary health practices, such as holistic medicine, produce their own sets of knowledge upon which we might also draw in deciding the nature and degree of our ill health and about possible treatments. H Perhaps the most influential and authoritative source of knowledge is the medical knowledge provided by the general practitioner. We expect the doctor to have access to expert knowledge. This is socially sanctioned. It would not be acceptable to notify our employer that we simply felt too unwell to turn up for work or that our faith healer, astrologer, therapist or even our priest thought it was not a good idea. We need an expert medical diagnosis in order to obtain the necessary certificate if we need to be off work for more than the statutory self-certification period. The knowledge of the medical sciences is privileged in this respect in contemporary Western culture. Medical practitioners are also seen as having the required expert knowledge that permits them legally to prescribe drugs and treatment to which patients would not otherwise have access. However there is a range of different knowledge upon which we draw when making decisions about our own state of health. I However, there is more than existing knowledge in this little story; new knowledge is constructed within it. Given the doctor's medical training and background, she may hypothesise 'is this now pneumonia?' and then proceed to look for evidence about it. She will use observations and instruments to assess the evidence and - critically - interpret it in the light of her training and new experience both for you and for the doctor. This will then be added to the doctor's medical knowledge and may help in future diagnosis of pneumonia.

Source of knowledge Examples Personal experience Symptoms of a 35 _________ and tiredness Doctor's measurement by taking 36 _________ and temperature Common judgment from 37 _________ around you Scientific evidence Medical knowledge from the general 38 _________ e.g. doctor's medical 39 _________ Examine the medical hypothesis with the previous drill and 40 _________