The first option, describing an old person as suggested by the picture, was a

slightly more popular choice. Most descriptions featured men, although the
question was deliberately gender neutral so answers could equally have focused
on women, and although old is a relative term, the majority of students chose to
describe the very elderly. Some focused exclusively on the man’s eyes and the
secrets they held or the wisdom or loss that was on display, whilst others
characterised him as a whole person and described not only his physical
appearance but his personality and circumstances, eg being homeless or a war
veteran. Some chose old people who were part of their lives, such as
grandparents and elderly neighbours, whilst others created characters like a
dying king or a battle-scarred warrior.

A range of responses was offered across all abilities, from a straightforward

description of the picture, mainly consisting of wrinkly faces with pores and
crevices, to those where the picture had been used as a springboard for
students’ imaginations, resulting in lyrical pieces that were moving and almost
poignant in their reflections on the ravages of old age, and some of which were
breathtaking in their beauty and craft. A balance of positive and negative issues
regarding ageing was in evidence from students, and also a willingness to tackle
quite mature and conceptual ideas surrounding death and the human condition.

                       LEVEL 1            LEVEL 2                LEVEL 3             LEVEL 4             LEVEL 5
Hair winter-white smoky-grey  river-silver      wizened    fossilized  
powder-white gunmetal-grey salt-and- desiccated mummified
pepper
Eyes aged          milky          jaded       fatigued            brumous      
blood-flecked watery crow’s feet way worn nebulous
Beard a spade shaped Abe Lincoln  Captain Ahab  Moses      
goatee             devil’s fork Vandyke Socratic Methuselah
a galway
Face/skin faded      world weary time ravaged   toil worn    parchment
timeworn weatherworn time chiselled seasoned faded   creased
like   vellum
Walk/move limping    drowsy        flagging    leaden        vapid              
ment unsteady wilting spiritless lethargic listless
Clothes dusty           shabby        tatty           musty            tattered     
moth eaten scruffy ragged soiled threadbare
Fingers crooked     inflamed   knotty    hoary          rheumatic           
twisted contorted misshapen gnarled gout inflamed
Smile friendly    angelic       megawatt vivacious  electrifying
pleasant amiable terrawatt captivating scintillating
Bright eyes twinkling  gleaming     galaxy-blue  fulgenlambent as bright as a  
sparkling glinting cerulean-green jackdaw         like
earthshine   pools
Voice weak      feeble           trembling   bird shell   quakingquavering
fragile flimsy faltering brittlea   gravel-
and-syrup voice
Level 3

LEVEL 3: Describing an Old Man

The old man who lives down the street is a reclusive character. He only
comes out of his house occasionally, usually to collect his pension. When I
saw him first, I thought his hair was very unusual.

It is very long and lush with a salt and pepper tint. He must read until
late at night because he has crow’s feet under his eyes. He has a
clipped, Abe Lincoln beard and that must be why everyone calls him
‘The President’. I reckon he must be in his seventies because his face
is time chiselled and weather beaten.  At times he can seem a
bit spiritless, as if life and old age are getting the better of him. The
clothes he wears are sometimes ragged and threadbare also, as if he is
giving in to the passage of time and is unconcerned about his appearance.
I’ve noticed that his hand becomes clenched when the cold winds of
winter bite the air. His fingers get knotty and then the hand forms the
shape of a claw. I don’t feel sorry for him because he probably wouldn’t
want me too. He smiled at me once when I met him on the street and
there were a lot of megawatts in it! It totally transformed his face and
the years dropped away from his face. His eyes shone a
bright, cerulean-green and his teeth gleamed like piano keys.
Although his voice trembled when he said hello, I knew then that he
hadn’t given up completely on life.

LEVEL 4: A Homeless man

Reading the newspaper today made me laugh out loud. It also brought
back a memory that I thought had been buried forever. Let me paint the
scene for you…

It was roughly fifteen years ago on Christmas Eve. The snow was falling
in a cloud of Merlin-white and the air was beautifully cold. It wasn’t the
skin-biting pinch of a windy day, more like the powdery cold of a crisp,
refreshing Alaskan snowfall. I was standing outside the front entrance of a
shopping mall in New York, enjoying the high spirits of the shoppers as
they swarmed around me. My mother was inside getting some Christmas
presents. I suppose I was about fourteen at the time.

There was a homeless man in the middle of the street weaving his way
through the traffic. I could only assume that he was homeless as his
actions and clothes were bizarre. He held a brown, paper bag in one hand
and he would occasionally put it to his mouth to take a drink from the
bottle within. The other hand was being used to make obscene gestures
and to thump the bonnets of the honking cars. All the while he issued
forth a string of obscenities and vile curses. Not just your ordinary curses
either. This guy was threatening the motorists that the milk would curdle
in their fridges’, their food would turn to sawdust and that he would
render them barren and infertile for eternity. He was like a one man
comedy show with the outrageousness of his performance.

He had a strange appearance, almost as if it was contrived. His hair

was wizened and straw-like, nearly fossilized it was so dry. He had
sad, way worn eyes and a distinctive beard. It wasn’t a thick, captain
Ahab beard but rather something a lunatic might have: straggly,
unkempt and spittle flecked. His face was toil wornand tanned from
exposure to the elements and he walked with a weary, lethargic air until
he would suddenly explode in a burst of rage. His fingers
were gnarledand knobbly and the clothes he wore were musty and
minging judging by the reaction of the people he passed. Their noses
would crinkle in disgust and they would peel away from his presence. I
don’t want to sound pass remarkable and over critical in all this but he
was a truly unpleasant character. What made it worse is that he made a
beeline to where I was standing.
I shuffled uncomfortably as he approached. His eyes seemed to laser in
on me as if I was his target for the day. His voice was surprising, a
gravel-and-gravy mix of whiskey roughness and educated brogue.

“Hey kid-gotta buck to spare?”

He seemed very gentle, a complete contrast to the South Park character I

had witnessed earlier. I normally didn’t entertain vagrants or weirdos but
I was so grateful he wasn’t shouting at me that I gave him the first note
out of my pocket. It was twenty bucks. I felt a pang of regret then as it
was part of my money to get Christmas presents. He looked at the note
and I remember that he said: “You’re a nugget, kid. God bless all
generous and good looking people.”

With that he was off. He zigzagged his way across the street, screaming
at anyone who honked. I saw him going across to another shop front and
that some old lady was giving him money. That was the last I ever saw of
him. Now my eyes drifted to an article in the Obituary column of the New
York Times. The caption was ‘New York’s Unlikeliest Billionaire.’

‘Died Monday, aged 65. Lloyd ‘The Tramp’ Carson, heir to the Carson
Steel empire and notorious practical joker. Lloyd, who was a dedicated
actor and keen observer of human life, liked nothing better than to dress
up as a vagrant and shout insults at his fellow New Yorkers. Although
knocked down twice as a result of these escapades, he played out the role
until his last day on this earth. His last words were known to be: “You’re a
nugget, man. God bless all good looking people.” Indeed, these are the
exact words which shall be on his epitaph as per his wishes.’
It is believed that Mr Carson has left an estate worth north of $1.7 bn. As
he does not have any immediate family, speculation is mounting as to
who shall be the beneficiaries of his largesse. Rumours abound that he
had a team of private detectives following him and they would discover
the identities of people who were particularly generous to Mr Carson’s
alter ego. It may be another urban myth, of which New Yorker’s are
particularly fond of, but sources at the New York Times are adamant that
Mr Carson intended to pay back those who had a generous spirit.

I laughed out loud again as I finished the article. He was most definitely a
character, this guy. I had to hand it to him. He knew how to get a kick
out of life.

I thought nothing more of it until a letter arrived three months later. Then
I didn’t laugh at all. I cried with happiness.

Other examples

Example 1

The old man had long since forgotten what it felt like to have
joints that moved freely, without pain. His aches were his
constant companions, not friends, but always with him. His
memories both warmed and haunted him, sometimes drawing
a smile and other times a tear. And time was the thief he
always suspected her to be, taking his wife, taking his friends.
Everybody seems to want to have a long life, but what good is
it if your life partners are dead and your children too busy to
visit? What is it then but marking time? He would describe
being an old man as like bobbing on an ocean in a boat, not
knowing when death will finally come to sever the rope that
binds you to the shore, that binds you to this earthly coil.

Example 2

The old man was a shrivelled toothless creature, feeble and

walked with a cane. He looks as though a puff of wind could
blow him down. He had a hand tremor and constant waggling
and bobbing of the head. The old man's deep wrinkles seemed
to carve a map of his life on his still agile and mobile facial
features. His twinkling eyes were framed by thick white
eyebrows and on his stubbled chin were white whiskers
Example 3
The map of wrinkles on his face told of the most incredible
journey. His eye lines told of laughter, of warm smiles and
affection. His forehead told of worries past and worries present.
But mostly they were so deeply engrained they told or a man
who had travelled through eight decades to that moment; to
stand here as an old man, beaten and forlorn. To be dismissed
as "old" when he was so much more than the sum of his parts.

Example 4
In appearance Jeff was nothing special, but when it he opened
his mouth, it was like hearing a bird sing for the first time. He
was old and his deep wrinkles seemed to carve a map of his life
on his still agile and mobile facial features. His twinkling eyes
were framed by thick white eyebrows and on his stubbled chin
were white whiskers. His bright blue eyes shone in the bright
day light as his few dazzling teeth shone with a fresh white
gleam.

Example 5

Old Man
His faded brown wrinkled skin creased into a fake smile. He has
masses of wrinkles round his eyes with uncountable frown lines
across his forehead.

He walks with a long black walking stick that glistens in the

sunlight as he bangs it against the ground. His legs shake and
so do his hands as he walks.

He never laughs, on the rare occasion that he does, it’s more of

a cackle than a laugh. A terrible cackle, the worst of sounds.

When he speaks, he always has something bad to say. It’s

normally, “Don’t come here or I’ll whack you with my stick”. His
voice is deep and croaky and scares people away.
His greatest dream would be to lock all children away and get
rid of the key.  He is a mean, twisted, old man.

He has no fears.  He is ruthless and would be happy if the

whole world just disappeared…