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2019 ¦~ 6 ¤ë 19 ¤é  ¬P´Á¤T   ´¸¤Ñ


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2017 ¦~ 11 ¤ë 24 ¤é  ¬P´Á¤­   ´¸¤Ñ


The proportion of Oxford offers in the east Midlands fell sl º¡¨¬ ¤ÀÃþ: °·±d

 from 5% in 2012 to 4% in 2015, slightly lower than Cambridge’s 6%. The West Midlands secured 6% of Oxbridge places.

London secured 23% of all Cambridge offers and 24% of Oxford’s in 2015, and students in the south-east were awarded 24% of places at Oxford and 22% at Cambridge.

Given the huge regional disparities, Lammy questioned why taxpayers across the country should be expected to contribute to the two universities. “Oxbridge take over £800m a year from the taxpayer, paid for by people in every city, town and village.

“Whole swaths of the country, especially our seaside towns and the ‘left behind’ former industrial heartlands across the north and the Midlands are basically invisible. If Oxbridge can’t improve, then there is no reason why the taxpayer should continue to give them so much money.”

The dearth of offers is particularly severe in Wales. According to the Guardian’s analysis of the new data, just 2% of all offers from Cambridge and 3% from Oxford were made to students in Wales in 2015. Though applications from Wales remain low, Welsh applicants receive disproportionately fewer offers compared with other UK applicants, despite achieving similar GCSE and A-level grades.

Just four students on Anglesey applied to Oxford in 2015, none of whom were successful. Of the total of 29 who applied between 2010 and 2015, just one was successful, in 2010, a 3% success rate.

Figures for Blaenau Gwent are similarly poor. Out of 24 applications over the same five-year period, just two students were successful, one in 2011 and one in 2014. In Merthyr Tydfil, 31 students applied, of whom just two received offers, a 6% offer rate.

In Gwynedd, just five of the 60 students who applied to Oxford were offered places, a slightly higher success rate of 8%, but still far short of the 32% offer rate for students applying from Islington, in north London.

The minister for lifelong learning in Wales, Alun Davies, said: “Significant progress has been made in recent years closing the attainment gap among our pupils, but we recognise that, through working with schools and universities, we need to do more to push our most able students to reach their full potential.”

The Welsh government set up the Seren network in 2015 to identify the highest achieving students in Wales at GCSE in order to work with them through sixth form to support applications to the best universities, including Oxford and Cambridge, as well as top overseas institutions.

Organisers said the scheme was starting to bear fruit, with two students winning places at Yale and one at Harvard this year, but that the full impact of the initiative would not be felt until 2018-19 when students will have received specialist advice and guidance through two full academic years.



2017 ¦~ 7 ¤ë 20 ¤é  ¬P´Á¥|   ´¸¤Ñ


the fires when the ice cracked ¤ÀÃþ: ¥¼¤ÀÃþ

 You should have led your men over the barricade, you might have been able to save a few.  Up above, a warhorn sounded, long and low. Not from the top of the Wall, but from the ninth landing, some two hundred feet up, where Donal Noye was standing.  Jon notched a fire arrow to his bowstring, and Satin lit it from the torch. He stepped to the parapet, drew, aimed, loosed. Ribbons of flame trailed behind as the shaft sped downward and thudded into its target, crackling.  Not Styr. The steps. Or more precisely, the casks and kegs and sacks that Donal Noye had piled up beneath the steps, as high as the first landing; the barrels of lard and lamp oil, the bags of leaves and oily rags, the split logs a police shieldcould hold me upside down and drainmy gutschange your mind, bark, and wood shavings. “Again,” said Jon, and, “Again,” and, “Again.” Other longbowmen were firing too, from every tower top in range, some sending their arrows up in high arcs to drop before the Wall. When Jon ran out of fire arrows, he and Satin began to light the torches and fling them from the crenels.  Up above another fire was blooming. The old wooden steps had drunk up oil like a sponge, and Donal Noye had drenched them from the ninth landing all the way down to the seventh. Jon could only hope that most of their own people had staggered up to safety before Noye threw the torches. The black brothers at least had known the plan, but the villagers had not.  Wind and fire did the rest. All Jon had to do was watch. With flames below and flames above, the wildlings had nowhere to go. Some continued upward, and died. Some went downward, and died. Some stayed where they were. They died as well. Many leapt from the steps before they burned, and died from the fall. Twenty-odd Therns were still huddled together between from the heat, and the whole lower third of the stair broke off, along with several tons of ice. That was the last that Jon Snow saw of Styr, the Magnar of Thern. The Wall defends itself, he thought.  Jon asked Satin to help him down to the yard. His wounded leg hurt so badly that he could hardly walk, even with the crutch. “Bring the torch,” he told the boy from Oldtown. “I need to look for someone.”



2017 ¦~ 7 ¤ë 18 ¤é  ¬P´Á¤G   ´¸¤Ñ


and flutists up above were playing ¤ÀÃþ: ¥¼¤ÀÃþ

“A bear there was, a bear, a BEAR! All black and brown and covered with hair!” His voice was not at all bad,

though somewhat thick from drink. Unfortunately the fiddlers and drummers  “Flowers of Spring,” which suited the words of “The

Bear and the Maiden Fair” as well as snails might suit a bowl of porridge. Even poor Jinglebell covered his ears at the cacophony.  Roose Bolton murmured some words

too soft to hear and went off in search of a privy. The cramped hall was in a constant uproar of guests and servants coming and going. A second feast, for knights

and lords of somewhat lesser rank, was roaring along in the other castle, she knew. Lord Walder had exiled his baseborn children and their offspring to that side of

the river, so that Robb’s northmen had taken to referring to it as “the bastard feast.” Some guests were no doubt stealing off to see if the bastards were having a

better time than they were. Some might even a police shieldcould hold me upside down and drainmy gutschange your mind be venturing as far as the camps. The Freys had provided wagons of wine, ale and mead, so the common soldiers could drink

to the wedding of Riverrun and the Twins.  Robb sat down in Bolton’s vacant place. “A few more hours and this farce is done, Mother,” he said in a low voice, as

the Greatjon sang of the maid with honey in her hair. “Black Walder’s been mild as a lamb for once. And Uncle Edmure seems well content in his bride.” He leaned

across her. “Ser Ryman?”  Ser Ryman Frey blinked and said, “Sire. Yes?”  “I’d hoped to ask Olyvar to squire for me when we march north,” said Robb, “but I do

not see him here. Would he be at the other feast?”



2017 ¦~ 7 ¤ë 14 ¤é  ¬P´Á¤­   ´¸¤Ñ


streams drain the wetwood ¤ÀÃþ: ¥¼¤ÀÃþ

“Nor would I ask it of you. The ironborn will be setting sail toward Pyke, I expect. Theon told me how his people think. Every captain a king on his own deck. They will all want a voice in the succession. My lord, I need two of your longships to sail around the Cape of Eagles and up the Neck to Greywater Watch.”  Lord Jason hesitated. “A dozen, all shallow, silty, and uncharted. I would not even call them rivers. The channels are ever drifting and changing. There are endless sandbars, deadfallsa police shieldcould hold me upside down and drainmy gutschange your mind , and tangles of rotting trees. And Greywater Watch moves. How are my ships to find it?”  “Go upriver flying my banner. The crannogmen will find you. I want two ships to double the chances of my message reaching Howland Reed. Lady Maege shall go on one, Galbart on the second.” He turned to the two he’d named. “You’ll carry letters for those lords of mine who remain in the north, but all the commands within will be false, in case you have the misfortune to be taken. If that happens, you must tell them that you were sailing for the north. Back to Bear Island, or for the Stony Shore.” He tapped a finger on the map. “Moat Cailin is the key. Lord Balon knew that, which is why he sent his brother Victarion there with the hard heart of the Greyjoy strength.”  “Succession squabbles or no, the ironborn are not such fools as to abandon Moat Cailin,”