AQA GCSE English Language 8700/1 - Explorations in creative ...

Mark Scheme

Introduction

The information provided for each question is intended to be a guide to the kind of answers anticipated and is neither exhaustive nor prescriptive. All appropriate responses should be given credit.

Level of response marking instructions

Level of response mark schemes are broken down into four levels (where appropriate). Read through the student's answer and annotate it (as instructed) to show the qualities that are being looked for. You can then award a mark.

You should refer to the standardising material throughout your marking. The Indicative Standard is not intended to be a model answer nor a complete response, and it does not exemplify required content. It is an indication of the quality of response that is typical for each level and shows progression from Level 1 to 4.

Step 1 Determine a level

Start at the lowest level of the mark scheme and use it as a ladder to see whether the answer meets the descriptors for that level. If it meets the lowest level then go to the next one and decide if it meets this level, and so on, until you have a match between the level descriptor and the answer. With practice and familiarity you will be able to quickly skip through the lower levels for better answers. The Indicative Standard column in the mark scheme will help you determine the correct level.

Step 2 Determine a mark

Once you have assigned a level you need to decide on the mark. Balance the range of skills achieved; allow strong performance in some aspects to compensate for others only partially fulfilled. Refer to the standardising scripts to compare standards and allocate a mark accordingly. Re-read as needed to assure yourself that the level and mark are appropriate. An answer which contains nothing of relevance must be awarded no marks.

Advice for Examiners

In fairness to students, all examiners must use the same marking methods.

1. Refer constantly to the mark scheme and standardising scripts throughout the marking period.
2. Always credit accurate, relevant and appropriate responses that are not necessarily covered by the mark scheme or the standardising scripts.
3. Use the full range of marks. Do not hesitate to give full marks if the response merits it.
4. Remember the key to accurate and fair marking is consistency.
5. If you have any doubt about how to allocate marks to a response, consult your Team Leader.

SECTION A: READING - Assessment Objectives

AO1

• Identify and interpret explicit and implicit information and ideas.
• Select and synthesise evidence from different texts.

AO2

• Explain, comment on and analyse how writers use language and structure to achieve effects and influence readers, using relevant subject terminology to support their views.

AO3

• Compare writers' ideas and perspectives, as well as how these are conveyed, across two or more texts.

AO4

• Evaluate texts critically and support this with appropriate textual references.

SECTION B: WRITING - Assessment Objectives

AO5 (Writing: Content and Organisation)

• Communicate clearly, effectively and imaginatively, selecting and adapting tone, style and register for different forms, purposes and audiences.
• Organise information and ideas, using structural and grammatical features to support coherence and cohesion of texts.

AO6

• Candidates must use a range of vocabulary and sentence structures for clarity, purpose and effect, with accurate spelling and punctuation. (This requirement must constitute 20% of the marks for each specification as a whole).

Answers

Question 1 - Mark Scheme

Read again the first part of the source, from lines 1 to 9. Answer all parts of this question. Choose one answer for each. [4 marks]

Assessment focus (AO1): Identify and interpret explicit and implicit information and ideas. This assesses bullet point 1 (identify and interpret explicit and implicit information and ideas).

• 1.1 What month was it?: April – 1 mark
• 1.2 What were the clocks doing?: striking thirteen – 1 mark
• 1.3 What did Winston Smith slip through?: the glass doors of Victory Mansions – 1 mark
• 1.4 What entered along with Winston Smith?: a swirl of gritty dust – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

Look in detail at this extract, from lines 51 to 130 of the source:

51 by coarse soap and blunt razor blades and the cold of the winter that had just ended. Outside, even through the shut window-pane, the world looked cold. Down in

56 the street little eddies of wind were whirling dust and torn paper into spirals, and though the sun was shining and the sky a harsh blue, there seemed to be no

61 colour in anything, except the posters that were plastered everywhere. The black-moustachio'd face gazed down from every commanding corner. There was one on the house-front immediately opposite. BIG BROTHER

66 IS WATCHING YOU, the caption said, while the dark eyes looked deep into Winston's own. Down at street level another poster, torn at one corner, flapped fitfully in the wind,

71 alternately covering and uncovering the single word INGSOC. In the far distance a helicopter skimmed down between the roofs, hovered for an instant like a bluebottle, and darted away again

76 with a curving flight. It was the police patrol, snooping into people's windows. The patrols did not matter, however. Only the Thought Police mattered.

81 Behind Winston's back the voice from the telescreen was still babbling away about pig-iron and the overfulfilment of the Ninth Three-Year Plan. The telescreen received and transmitted simultaneously. Any sound that Winston made, above the level of a very low whisper, would be picked up by it,

86 moreover, so long as he remained within the field of vision which the metal plaque commanded, he could be seen as well as heard. There was of course no way of knowing whether you were being watched at any given moment. How often,

91 or on what system, the Thought Police plugged in on any individual wire was guesswork. It was even conceivable that they watched everybody all the time. But at any rate they could plug in your wire whenever they wanted

96 to. You had to live--did live, from habit that became instinct--in the assumption that every sound you made was overheard, and, except in darkness, every movement

101 scrutinized. Winston kept his back turned to the telescreen. It was safer; though, as he well knew, even a back can be revealing. A kilometre away the Ministry of Truth, his place of work, towered vast and white above the grimy landscape.

106 This, he thought with a sort of vague distaste--this was London, chief city of Airstrip One, itself the third most populous of the provinces of Oceania. He tried to squeeze out some childhood memory that should tell him

111 whether London had always been quite like this. Were there always these vistas of rotting nineteenth-century houses, their sides shored up with baulks of timber, their

116 windows patched with cardboard and their roofs with corrugated iron, their crazy garden walls sagging in all directions? And the bombed sites where the plaster dust swirled in the air and the

121 willow-herb straggled over the heaps of rubble; and the places where the bombs had cleared a larger patch and there had sprung up sordid colonies of wooden dwellings like chicken-houses? But it

126 was no use, he could not remember: nothing remained of his childhood except a series of bright-lit tableaux occurring against no background and mostly unintelligible.

How does the writer use language here to present the outside world and the sense of being watched? You could include the writer's choice of:

• words and phrases
• language features and techniques
• sentence forms.

[8 marks]

Question 2 (AO2) – Language Analysis (8 marks)

Explain, comment on and analyse how writers use language and structure to achieve effects and influence readers, using relevant subject terminology to support their views. This question assesses language (words, phrases, features, techniques, sentence forms).

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Shows perceptive and detailed understanding of language: analyses effects of choices; selects judicious detail; sophisticated and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would analyse how Orwell constructs a bleak, surveilled city through a semantic field of cold and decay (harsh blue, no colour in anything, rotting nineteenth-century houses), propaganda personified and amplified by typography (The black-moustachio'd face gazed down, BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU), and zoomorphism (like a bluebottle), while exploring cumulative, second-person sentence forms and anaphora (every sound... overheard... every movement scrutinized; You had to live--did live) to show inescapable, internalised paranoia.

The writer uses pathetic fallacy and stark chromatic imagery to render the outside world bleak. The "world looked cold" and the "harsh blue" sky are juxtaposed with "no colour in anything", creating a drained palette that mirrors suppression. The lexical field of waste—"whirling dust and torn paper"—suggests dereliction, while posters "plastered everywhere" imply suffocation and state imposition.

Furthermore, surveillance is personified through the omnipresent posters: the "black-moustachio'd face gazed down" and "dark eyes looked deep into Winston's own". The typographical shout "BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU" and the present progressive "is watching" encode continuous scrutiny; even "commanding" corners militarise space, making the reader feel monitored.

Moreover, the helicopter is animalised through simile: it "hovered... like a bluebottle", its "darted" movement insectile, connoting intrusion. The colloquial yet sinister "snooping into people's windows" normalises violation. The short, unequivocal sentence "Only the Thought Police mattered." acts as a chilling volta, compressing the threat into a single dominant clause.

Additionally, technical lexis around the telescreen—"received and transmitted simultaneously", "field of vision"—makes surveillance mechanistic. Passive constructions and modal uncertainty ("would be picked up", "no way of knowing") heighten paranoia, while direct address and parenthesis—"you had to live—did live"—show oppression internalised; long, hypotactic clauses accumulate to convey relentlessness. Parallelism and absolutes in "every sound... overheard... every movement scrutinized" intensify control, as the Ministry "towered vast and white" above the "grimy landscape" in antithesis, asserting watchful power over a city catalogued as "rotting... patched... sagging". Thus, language constructs a colourless world under constant, invasive watch.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: Orwell presents the outside world as bleak and decayed through stark imagery and listing: even with the sky a harsh blue there is no colour, with a grimy city of rotting nineteenth-century houses, while the simile like a bluebottle makes the police helicopter seem pest-like and intrusive. A strong sense of being watched is built by personification and direct address—The black-moustachio'd face gazed down and the capitalised BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU—and by cumulative, complex sentences about the telescreen (the telescreen received and transmitted simultaneously, every movement scrutinized) that suggest constant, inescapable surveillance.

The writer presents the world as bleak through a lexical field of decay. The "harsh blue" sky and "no colour in anything" create desolate imagery, while "rotting nineteenth-century houses" with "windows patched with cardboard" suggest neglect. Verbs like "whirling" dust and "straggled" willow-herb make the city feel powerless, shaping a hostile environment that mirrors control.

Moreover, the sense of being watched is built through personification and capitalisation. The poster’s "black-moustachio’d face gazed down" and its "dark eyes looked deep into Winston’s own", making surveillance feel human and inescapable. The capitalised slogan "BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU" and the second-person "you" directly target the reader. The simile of the helicopter "like a bluebottle" presents patrols as pests, while the verb "snooping" suggests intrusive prying.

Furthermore, sentence forms and repetition stress control. The short sentence "Only the Thought Police mattered" is emphatic. Declaratives such as "there was no way of knowing whether you were being watched" and the hyperbole "watched everybody all the time" underline surveillance. The dash in "You had to live—did live" shows habit becoming instinct, while the repetition of "every" creates pressure. The juxtaposition of "towered vast and white" with the "grimy landscape" suggests power looming over all.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment on effects; some appropriate detail; some use of terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response might spot negative adjectives and bleak imagery like "harsh blue" and "no colour in anything", plus decay in "rotting nineteenth-century houses", to show the outside world is cold and ruined. It would also notice surveillance through the slogan "BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU", the eyes "the dark eyes looked deep into Winston's own", the simile "like a bluebottle", and "every movement scrutinized" to suggest constant, intrusive watching.

The writer uses bleak adjectives and colour imagery to present the outside world. Phrases like “the world looked cold”, the “harsh blue” sky and “no colour in anything” make it feel lifeless. Verbs such as “whirling” dust and a poster that “flapped fitfully” suggest unrest and decay.

Furthermore, personification makes the sense of being watched stronger: the “black‑moustachio’d face gazed down” and the “dark eyes looked deep into Winston’s own”. The capitalised slogan “BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU” and posters “plastered everywhere” create a threatening, controlling presence.

Additionally, the simile “like a bluebottle” for the helicopter presents the patrol as a pest “snooping into people’s windows”. The telescreen “received and transmitted simultaneously” shows two‑way spying. The repetition of “every” in “every sound” and “every movement scrutinized” stresses constant fear, and a long sentence listing rules builds pressure.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses negative description like 'a harsh blue', 'no colour' and 'grimy landscape', and the simile 'like a bluebottle', to make the outside world seem bleak and dull. Simple phrases such as 'BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU', 'dark eyes looked deep into Winston's own' and 'every movement scrutinized' show that people are always being watched.

The writer uses adjectives to present the outside world as bleak: “world looked cold”, “harsh blue”, and “no colour”. This shows it is lifeless and dull.

Moreover, personification and capitalisation show being watched: the “face gazed down” and “BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU”. The direct address “YOU” makes the reader feel watched.

Furthermore, the simile “like a bluebottle” for the helicopter and the verb “snooping” suggest spying.

Additionally, the telescreen “received and transmitted” and “every movement scrutinized” show constant watching, so Winston keeps his “back turned”.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

AO2 content may include the effects of language features such as:

• Pathetic fallacy and colour imagery create a bleak, drained outside world despite sunshine, making the setting feel hostile (no colour in anything)
• Propaganda saturation and personified gaze dominate public space, the posters occupying elevated vantage points to surveil (every commanding corner)
• Slogan and second-person address make surveillance personal and inescapable, intensifying threat (IS WATCHING YOU)
• Alternation and adverb choice show agitation: the torn poster flapped fitfully, alternately revealing and concealing the creed’s name, implying inescapable presence (covering and uncovering)
• Insect simile and kinetic verbs cast the helicopter as a pestering intruder that spies on homes (like a bluebottle)
• Technical two-way function of the telescreen removes privacy, making speech and movement constantly observable (received and transmitted)
• Modality and speculation about the Thought Police heighten uncertainty and dread, suggesting omniscient monitoring (watched everybody all the time)
• Cumulative syntax and generalized second person convey unavoidable, habitual self-policing, culminating in total bodily control (every movement scrutinized)
• Architectural contrast frames power over place: the Ministry of Truth looms pure above dirt, asserting dominance (towered vast and white)
• Accumulative listing of repairs and rot builds desolation, depicting a city patched and collapsing on itself (sagging in all directions)

Question 3 - Mark Scheme

You now need to think about the structure of the source as a whole. This text is from the start of a novel.

How has the writer structured the text to create a sense of unease?

You could write about:

• how unease intensifies throughout the source
• how the writer uses structure to create an effect
• the writer's use of any other structural features, such as changes in mood, tone or perspective. [8 marks]

Question 3 (AO2) – Structural Analysis (8 marks)

Assesses structure (pivotal point, juxtaposition, flashback, focus shifts, mood/tone, contrast, narrative pace, etc.).

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Analyses effects of structural choices; judicious examples; sophisticated terminology. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 4 response would trace how unease intensifies through the text’s structural progression: beginning with the disorienting hook It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen, the focus tightens from public street to private flat as the surveillance motif (the eyes follow you, BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU) recurs on each landing, escalates with the inescapable telescreen and its no way of shutting it off completely, widens via viewpoint shifts (Down at street level, In the far distance, Behind Winston's back) to the omnipresent Thought Police, and finally closes on eroded memory—it was no use, he could not remember—to leave a sustained sense of oppression.

One way the writer structures the opening to create unease is through a disorientating hook and a tightening focus. Beginning with the aberrant temporal marker “the clocks were striking thirteen” instantly destabilises normality. The narrative then zooms from street to hallway to stairwell, decelerating as Winston climbs “seven flights,” repeatedly confronted by the same gargantuan poster. This iterative recurrence—“on each landing… the eyes follow you”—forms a cyclical surveillance motif, reinforced by the caption “BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU.” The cumulative patterning of approach, ascent, and inescapable gaze breeds claustrophobia and makes the reader share Winston’s hyper-awareness.

In addition, the writer uses aural continuity and a structural volta to intensify anxiety. The telescreen’s diegetic voice “was still babbling” across paragraph shifts and “could be dimmed, but… no way of shutting it off,” a refrain that cannot be escaped. Focus widens—from flat, to street, to helicopter—before snapping into an expository aside: “Only the Thought Police mattered.” This pivot reorders the hierarchy of threat. The ensuing generalised second-person—“You had to live… in the assumption that every sound you made was overheard”—moves from close focalisation on Winston to a gnomic, habitual condition, implicating the reader and universalising the paranoia.

A further structural feature is the controlled shift in scale and time. After the distant, monolithic “Ministry of Truth,” the narrative attempts an analepsis—“he could not remember”—that collapses into rhetorical questions and an accretive list of ruin. This withholding of resolution (“no use”) slows the pace and leaves the past fragmentary—“bright-lit tableaux… unintelligible.” The sustained limited perspective, punctured by proleptic hints (“Hate Week”), keeps the opening unresolved, saturating it with pervasive, systemic unease.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would identify that the writer opens with the jarring time marker "the clocks were striking thirteen" and narrows the focus from street to flat, using repetition of surveillance details—"BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU" and the inescapable "telescreen"—to steadily heighten unease. It would also note the progression towards systemic control in statements like "no way of shutting it off completely" and "they watched everybody all the time", showing how shifts in focus and repetition create pervasive fear.

One way in which the writer structures the opening to create unease is by juxtaposing the familiar with the uncanny and narrowing focus. The first line balances “a bright cold day” with clocks “striking thirteen”, an anomalous time that jars. The narrative then tracks Winston’s movement from street to “glass doors” to a fetid hallway (“boiled cabbage”, “gritty dust”), so focus narrows and the atmosphere grows oppressive.

In addition, repetition and incremental revelations intensify tension. The oversized poster recurs “on each landing”, its eyes that “follow you” and the capitalised motif “BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU” establishing surveillance. This escalates structurally via the telescreen which “could be dimmed” but “no way of shutting it off”, then the helicopter and “Only the Thought Police mattered.” This cumulative build and shift from object to institution heightens paranoia.

A further structural feature is the shift in scale and sustained limited perspective. After the claustrophobic flat, focus widens to the “Ministry of Truth” and a ruined London, described in long, listing sentences (“rotting… patched… sagging”) that slow the pace and prolong discomfort. Winston’s faltering memory (“he could not remember”) and the claim that “every movement [is] scrutinized” leave the reader with dread.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer starts with the odd "the clocks were striking thirteen" on a "bright cold day" to unsettle us, then follows Winston from street to hallway and up the stairs while the repeated poster ("BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU", "the eyes follow you") keeps returning so the unease builds. Finally, the focus moves inside the flat to constant surveillance ("telescreen", "Thought Police"), making the reader feel he is always being watched.

One way the writer creates unease is in the opening. The first line mixes a normal day with something odd: “the clocks were striking thirteen”. This beginning, with a “bright cold” April and Winston “slipped quickly” inside, plus smells of “boiled cabbage”, makes the setting uncomfortable and tense.

In addition, in the middle the focus moves and repeats details to build pressure. As he climbs, the same huge face returns on each landing and the slogan “BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU” is repeated. Then the focus shifts to the flat and the telescreen, which “could be dimmed” but “no way of shutting it off”, creating a trapped feeling.

A further structural feature is the ending shift in time and focus. The scene zooms out to London and then to memory, but Winston “could not remember”. This change and lack of resolution slows the pace and leaves the reader uneasy.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: Identifies that the text starts with an odd time, the clocks were striking thirteen, then repeats the poster BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU to make the reader uneasy. Notes a simple shift of focus to constant surveillance with the telescreen having no way of shutting it off completely and the Thought Police, so it feels like people are always being watched.

One way the writer structures unease is the opening. “The clocks were striking thirteen” is strange, so the start feels wrong. Cold, dust and smell add discomfort.

In addition, the focus shifts as Winston moves: outside, stairs, flat. The repeated poster and eyes that “follow you” build it. The short line “Only the Thought Police mattered” changes pace and scares us.

A further feature is a shift in time. He tries to remember the past but cannot. The end widens to ruined London and constant watching, leaving an uneasy final feeling.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

AO2 content may include the effect of structural features such as:

• Jarring opening contradiction between normality and anomaly establishes unease (striking thirteen)
• Failed attempt to shut out the outside world signals porous boundaries and loss of control (gritty dust)
• Slow, repetitive ascent past the same poster on each landing builds relentless surveillance pressure (WATCHING YOU)
• Unexplained political references are dropped in to imply looming menace without clarity (Hate Week)
• Escalation from minor inconvenience (broken lift) to an inescapable device deepens oppression (no way of shutting it off)
• Shift to the window widens scope; bright weather jars with drained world to unsettle (no colour in anything)
• Outward progression from posters to active patrols intensifies threat step by step (Only the Thought Police mattered)
• Expository shift explains the system’s uncertainty, amplifying paranoia through possibility and doubt (watched everybody all the time)
• Return to bodily positioning maintains live tension; precautions feel inadequate (even a back)
• Final zoom to city and fractured memory leaves the section on instability and doubt (he could not remember)

Question 4 - Mark Scheme

For this question focus on the second part of the source, from line 81 to the end.

In this part of the source, the Big Brother poster is described as being everywhere, with eyes that seem to follow Winston. The writer suggests that this constant watching is a way to control people by making them feel scared.

To what extent do you agree and/or disagree with this statement?

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of the Big Brother poster
• comment on the methods the writer uses to convey its oppressive power
• support your response with references to the text. [20 marks]

Question 4 (AO4) – Critical Evaluation (20 marks)

Evaluate texts critically and support with appropriate textual references.

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed evaluation) – 16–20 marks Perceptive ideas; perceptive methods; critical detail on impact; judicious detail. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would argue that, to a great extent, Orwell presents surveillance as psychological coercion, showing how the ubiquitous poster—the black‑moustachio’d face that "gazed down from every commanding corner"—with its caption "BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU" and the uncanny effect that the "eyes follow you" uses capitalised second-person address, repetition and unsettling imagery to individualise the threat and instil fear that prompts self-policing.

I largely agree that the writer presents the Big Brother poster’s omnipresent gaze as a tool of control by fear, though the control operates just as powerfully through uncertainty and the internalisation of surveillance. The poster’s face “gazed” from “every commanding corner” and is “so contrived that the eyes follow you about,” a calculated personification that makes the image feel animate. The second-person “you” collapses distance, implicating both Winston and the reader in a universalised paranoia. This hyperbolic ubiquity turns the poster into a symbol of inescapable authority: even when it is only an image, its apparent vigilance is enough to unsettle and regulate behavior.

That psychological pressure is deepened by the technological scrutiny of the telescreen. The matter-of-fact tone—“The telescreen received and transmitted simultaneously”—normalises intrusion, while the lexical field of surveillance (“seen as well as heard,” “every movement scrutinized”) compounds the sense of exposure. Crucially, Orwell foregrounds uncertainty as the engine of fear: “There was of course no way of knowing whether you were being watched,” and “they could plug in your wire whenever they wanted to.” The deontic modality in “You had to live—did live, from habit that became instinct” shows how fear becomes self-policing; citizens modify themselves pre-emptively. Even Winston’s small gesture—he “kept his back turned … It was safer”—reveals how fear drills into the body, yet the ironic aside “even a back can be revealing” underscores the futility of resistance, tightening the grip of dread.

Structurally, the narrative then widens its lens, and the cityscape itself mirrors the poster’s dominance. The Ministry of Truth “towered vast and white above the grimy landscape”: a stark juxtaposition that casts the state as monolithic and elevated, surveilling the “grimy” life below. The oppressive accumulation of decay—“rotting nineteenth-century houses,” “windows patched with cardboard,” “bombed sites”—is conveyed through polysyndetic listing, a relentless rhythm that echoes the ceaselessness of being watched. Even the simile “like chicken-houses” diminishes the populace, suggesting a corralled, observed mass. Finally, Winston’s failed effort to remember—“he could not remember… nothing remained… bright-lit tableaux … no background”—implies that the gaze extends inward, controlling not just actions but the very texture of memory.

Overall, I agree that the incessant, eye-like watching—whether via the poster’s contrived gaze or the telescreen’s literal scrutiny—controls people by making them afraid. Yet the writer also suggests a more insidious success: fear hardens into habit, uncertainty becomes instinct, and the omnipresent gaze colonises both public space and private thought.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would mostly agree, explaining that the slogan "BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU," the "enormous face," and the image "eyes follow you about when you move" present constant surveillance that frightens people into compliance. It would also identify methods like the direct second person "you" and the suggestion of omnipresence to show the writer’s viewpoint that relentless watching coerces obedience.

I largely agree with the statement. Although the literal poster is not foregrounded here, the writer recreates the sense of being watched “everywhere” through the telescreen and the city’s looming institutions, suggesting that constant scrutiny controls people by making them fearful and self-policing.

Inside Winston’s room, the technology acts like the poster’s eyes. The telescreen “received and transmitted simultaneously,” and there was “no way of knowing whether you were being watched.” This uncertain modality (“no way,” “even conceivable,” “whenever they wanted”) builds anxiety about unpredictable surveillance. The second-person phrasing “You had to live—did live…—in the assumption that every sound you made was overheard, and, except in darkness, every movement scrutinized” universalises the fear and shows how dread hardens into habit. The list (“every sound,” “every movement”) emphasises total coverage, echoing the idea of eyes that “follow.” Winston’s behaviour—he “kept his back turned” because it was “safer,” yet “even a back can be revealing”—shows how fear micromanages the body into obedience.

Structurally, the narrative then widens to the cityscape, where power seems omnipresent. The “Ministry of Truth… towered vast and white above the grimy landscape.” This visual contrast (the Ministry’s pristine “white” against “grimy”) and the verb “towered” create symbolic imagery of an all-seeing authority dominating every view, like a poster on a colossal scale. The oppressive setting—“rotting nineteenth-century houses,” “windows patched,” “bombed sites”—extends that control into the environment, producing a mood of hopelessness that reinforces fear.

Finally, the line “he could not remember… nothing remained of his childhood” suggests control also works by eroding certainty. This goes beyond fear into conditioning: surveillance leads to self-censorship that becomes “instinct.”

Overall, I agree to a large extent: the writer presents constant watching as a tool of control that frightens people into compliance, while also showing how that fear deepens into habitual, internalised restraint.

Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: Typically mostly agrees, noting simply that the slogan 'BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU', the posters on 'every commanding corner', and the way 'the eyes follow you about when you move' show constant watching that controls people by making them feel scared.

I largely agree with the statement. Although the Big Brother poster itself is not described in this section, the sense of being watched all the time is clear. The writer shows this through the telescreen, which “received and transmitted simultaneously,” so Winston “had to live … in the assumption” that “every movement [was] scrutinized.” The verb “scrutinized” suggests prying eyes that follow him, and the repeated “you” makes the reader feel that pressure too. The idea that “there was… no way of knowing whether you were being watched” builds fear, and “they could plug in your wire whenever they wanted” shows power. Winston even “kept his back turned,” but “even a back can be revealing,” which implies he cannot escape. This supports the idea that constant watching controls people by making them cautious and scared.

The writer also uses setting to show oppressive control. The Ministry of Truth “towered vast and white above the grimy landscape,” a contrast that makes the Party seem clean, huge and inescapable, like the poster everywhere. The “voice from the telescreen… babbling away” is constant propaganda. The bleak imagery of “rotting” houses and “bombed sites” creates a hostile tone, so people feel weak and watched. Structurally, the focus moves from the room to the city, widening the sense that surveillance is everywhere.

Overall, I agree to a great extent: even without the poster image, the language of watching and the dominating setting suggest constant surveillance used to frighten and control Winston and everyone.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 1 response would simply agree, saying the poster proves control by fear because it says "BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU" and the detail that "the eyes followed you" shows Winston feels constantly watched.

I mostly agree; the writer shows constant watching that makes Winston cautious and scared. The telescreen “received and transmitted simultaneously”, and there was “no way of knowing whether you were being watched”. He “had to live… in the assumption that every sound… was overheard” and “every movement scrutinized”. The repeated word “every” makes the watching feel total, like eyes that follow him. He even keeps his back turned because “it was safer”, which shows fear controlling his behaviour.

The setting also feels oppressive. The Ministry of Truth “towered vast and white” over the “grimy landscape”, so the state seems huge and dominant. Negative adjectives like “rotting” and “sagging” create bleak imagery, and the simile “like chicken-houses” suggests people are penned in. This supports the idea that the environment and the constant gaze work together to control people.

Overall, I agree that the sense of being watched everywhere, like the poster’s eyes, is used to control citizens by making them feel afraid.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward. Note: Reference to methods and explicit “I agree/I disagree” may be implicit and still credited according to quality.

AO4 content may include the evaluation of ideas and methods such as:

• Ubiquity of the poster → makes surveillance feel inescapable, strongly supporting control-by-fear → (plastered everywhere)
• Eye-follow illusion → simulates personalised watching, prompting constant self-monitoring → (eyes follow you)
• Direct warning in the slogan → overt threat compels obedience through fear of scrutiny → (BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU)
• Intimate, invasive gaze → personalises the threat, intensifying anxiety and vulnerability → (looked deep into)
• Inescapable technology (telescreen) → removes any safe private space, heightening oppression → (no way of shutting)
• Engineered uncertainty → not knowing when you’re watched sustains chronic caution and fear → (no way of knowing)
• Arbitrary reach of the state → unpredictability enforces compliance even without active surveillance → (plug in your wire)
• Behaviour shaped by fear → defensive body language shows internalised caution → (kept his back)
• Focus on unseen power → invisible enforcers are most frightening, deepening the oppressive impact → (Only the Thought Police mattered)
• Internalised control → beyond fear, surveillance becomes second nature, showing total domination → (habit that became instinct)

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

A local radio station is inviting listeners to send in short creative pieces for a new Sunday evening show.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Describe a stall at an antique fair from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about an object that has a hidden history.

(24 marks for content and organisation, 16 marks for technical accuracy) [40 marks]

(24 marks for content and organisation • 16 marks for technical accuracy) [40 marks]

Question 5 (AO5) – Content & Organisation (24 marks)

Communicate clearly, effectively and imaginatively; organise information and ideas to support coherence and cohesion. Levels and typical features follow AQA’s SAMs grid for descriptive/narrative writing. Use the Level 4 → Level 1 descriptors for content and organisation, distinguishing Upper/Lower bands within Levels 4–3–2.

• Level 4 (19–24 marks) Upper 22–24: Convincing and compelling; assured register; extensive and ambitious vocabulary; varied and inventive structure; compelling ideas; fluent paragraphing with seamless discourse markers.

Lower 19–21: Convincing; extensive vocabulary; varied and effective structure; highly engaging with developed complex ideas; consistently coherent paragraphs.

• Level 3 (13–18 marks) Upper 16–18: Consistently clear; register matched; increasingly sophisticated vocabulary and phrasing; effective structural features; engaging, clear connected ideas; coherent paragraphs with integrated markers.

Lower 13–15: Generally clear; vocabulary chosen for effect; usually effective structure; engaging with connected ideas; usually coherent paragraphs.

• Level 2 (7–12 marks) Upper 10–12: Some sustained success; some sustained matching of register/purpose; conscious vocabulary; some devices; some structural features; increasing variety of linked ideas; some paragraphs and markers.

Lower 7–9: Some success; attempts to match register/purpose; attempts to vary vocabulary; attempts structural features; some linked ideas; attempts at paragraphing with markers.

• Level 1 (1–6 marks) Upper 4–6: Simple communication; simple awareness of register/purpose; simple vocabulary/devices; evidence of simple structural features; one or two relevant ideas; random paragraphing.

Lower 1–3: Limited communication; occasional sense of audience/purpose; limited or no structural features; one or two unlinked ideas; no paragraphs.

Level 0: Nothing to reward. NB: If a candidate does not directly address the focus of the task, cap AO5 at 12 (top of Level 2).

Question 5 (AO6) – Technical Accuracy (16 marks)

Students must use a range of vocabulary and sentence structures for clarity, purpose and effect, with accurate spelling and punctuation.

• Level 4 (13–16): Consistently secure demarcation; wide range of punctuation with high accuracy; full range of sentence forms; secure Standard English and complex grammar; high accuracy in spelling, including ambitious vocabulary; extensive and ambitious vocabulary.

• Level 3 (9–12): Mostly secure demarcation; range of punctuation mostly successful; variety of sentence forms; mostly appropriate Standard English; generally accurate spelling including complex/irregular words; increasingly sophisticated vocabulary.

• Level 2 (5–8): Mostly secure demarcation (sometimes accurate); some control of punctuation range; attempts variety of sentence forms; some use of Standard English; some accurate spelling of more complex words; varied vocabulary.

• Level 1 (1–4): Occasional demarcation; some evidence of conscious punctuation; simple sentence forms; occasional Standard English; accurate basic spelling; simple vocabulary.

• Level 0: Spelling, punctuation, etc., are sufficiently poor to prevent understanding or meaning.

Model Answers

The following model answers demonstrate both AO5 (Content & Organisation) and AO6 (Technical Accuracy) at each level. Each response shows the expected standard for both assessment objectives.

• Level 4 Upper (22-24 marks for AO5, 13-16 marks for AO6, 35-40 marks total)

Option A:

The stall crouches under a sagging stripe of canvas, a narrow theatre of time arranged on trestle tables. Light, sifting like flour, finds the stubborn shine of brass and the sulky bloom of rust; dust dances, indifferent. The air is a collage of beeswax, old tobacco, and rain-damp wool—faintly sorrowful. Labels curl in patient ink. Here the past is not noisy; it is murmurous, insistent, and, pertinently, touchable.

Keys spill across a strip of velvet in serried constellations: a clutch of elegant skeleton keys with filigreed bows; squat, utilitarian teeth; delicate wards like lacy bracken. Verdigris feathers a brass blade; rust freckles another. I lift one—the metal is colder than expected, and heavy in the hand, as if unwilling to let go of what it opened. When I tilt it, it clicks against its brothers; the sound is small, satisfying, a bright punctuation in the fair’s low susurration.

Beyond the keys, small wooden boxes congregate like patient animals. Oak scarred by worm and weather; mahogany with its bruised varnish; rosewood that, somehow, exudes a faint, sweet spice. Hinges complain, softly; lids lift with a breath, then pause, then open properly—as if remembering their manners. Velvet linings are worn to the nap where rings once nested; a secret drawer judders into view; a lock yawns. Each surface is a palimpsest of handling: thumb-smoothed corners, a hairline crack that maps a winter.

The stall holder watches with an indulgent, almost conspiratorial patience. His fingers—nicotine-stained, deft—turn a compass so the needle quivers, ardent, even now. "Everything opens something," he says; it is unclear whether he means hearts, doors, or afternoons. He wraps the words in a smile, then lets them rest between us like another object. Rain begins to stipple the canvas; droplets race, then stall, then gather and drop. The awning creaks; somewhere behind us a dealer laughs, brittle and bright.

Meanwhile, the fair eddies around this still life: footsteps; the papery whisper of banknotes; the jigsaw clatter of china from a neighbouring table. A music box the size of a plum hums when I nudge it—three uncertain bars, then confidence, then memory. It is a trivial tune, perhaps, but it finds a place between my ribs. I put it down, and yet, in that moment, I find myself unlocked by a thing that no longer belongs to anyone.

As the cloud thins, light reassembles in small puddles on the oiled wood; keys ignite; glass catches. The stall is ordinary—trestles, tarpaulin, a cash tin with a sulky clasp—yet it gathers the day about it like a shawl. People come and go, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, and the objects wait, patient as punctuation, for the next pair of hands to finish the sentence they began.

Option B:

Dust. The patient archivist of forgotten rooms; it blurs the bright edges of things and turns them into secrets. In the dim back corner of Mr Aziz’s bric-a-brac shop, a small box crouched on a shelf. Black lacquer, moon-pale inlay: a swallow mid-flight stitched in mother-of-pearl, its wing-tip interrupted by a hairline crack like a river across the lid. When I lifted it, cloves and old paper breathed out; something—memory, perhaps—shifted inside.

The bell above the door clattered, announcing me to a choir of quarrelsome clocks. Mr Aziz smiled. I hadn’t planned to buy anything; who plans to be ambushed by an object? Yet my hand was already around the box, thumb finding the crescent worn into the corner by someone else’s thumb. The hinge had a minuscule looseness—the kind you hear rather than see. There was a rattle, too: faint, fugitive. “How much?” “Five pounds,” he said after a pause. “It has character.” I paid and carried it home under my coat as if it might catch cold.

On my kitchen table—scarred oak, inherited—I set it down and pressed the catch. The lid rose with a civilised sigh. Inside: a spool of black thread, a steel needle, a dented thimble. Nothing incendiary. But the base had the faintest give. I shook it once; the rattle answered. Along the inner lip, glue had dried to the colour of old tea—a discrepancy only a fidgeter would notice. I fetched a bone-handled butter knife (blunt, trusted) and persuaded the panel upward. The false bottom yielded with a soft pop that felt bigger than the room.

Beneath, wrapped in tissue as thin as breath, lay three small things: a photograph no bigger than a postage stamp; a strip of satin ribbon stitched with minute letters; a browned paper ticket stamped with a date. The photograph showed a woman—chin lifted, hair pinned—a swallow brooch bright at her throat. On the ribbon, in a script so exquisite it felt illicit to read, were numbers and crosses: coordinates. The ticket smelt faintly of salt: June, 1939.

I wanted to be sensible. It was only a box—wood and lacquer, hinges and a swallow cut from nacre—but the room tilted towards a past I had not lived. The box had ridden smoky trains; it had known the inside of a coat, the exact shape of a palm. It had carried a life in code: thread to explain the weight, a thimble to disarm, a ribbon to guide. What do you do when a stranger’s secret recruits you—when an object, quiet as a kept promise, asks you to listen? I folded the tissue back, shut the lid, and heard the catch click, decisive. The box waited. So did I.

• Level 4 Lower (19-21 marks for AO5, 13-16 marks for AO6, 32-37 marks total)

Option A:

Under a frayed awning, the stall collects light and time; a long table, padded with velvet the colour of old moss, holds its congregation: wooden boxes, rusted locks, brass with a patient patina, pocket watches that refuse to hurry. Dust lifts and spins in the slanting sun while the fair swells and ebbs around it — bartering voices, the chink of coins (never far away), a child's laugh. The air smells of beeswax and old paper. It is patient.

In a shallow drawer, keys sprawl like a shoal of iron fish, their teeth nibbling a cracked tray. Each bow is particular: trefoil, heart, wheel; others bloom into filigree. Verdigris feathers the grooves, and the larger ones wear dignified rust. What door did you master? More pertinently, the hand-lettered tags tell stories in fragments: Paris 1902; orchard shed; boarding house. The clink they make upon return is discreet music — polite. Lift, consider, replace — lift, consider, replace.

Beside them, a small pyramid of boxes rises from the cloth. Oak rubbed to a soft sheen; elm marbled with history; a cedar casket promises moths will never win. Hinges groan, then settle; a breath of camphor, peppered with dust, escapes from the dark. Often there is only the idea of contents, strangely satisfying. Sometimes a drawer clicks back to reveal a secret sliver of space — a thimble's hollow, a ribbon's bed. The patience of rummaging is almost arduous; the reward is quiet.

The stallholder watches with that kindly, appraising attention of a librarian. An elderly man, he has wire-rimmed glasses and ink on his fingertips; a notebook rides his pocket. He knows woods and weights, makers and marks; he speaks of dovetails and marquetry with unshowy precision. He knows when to let silence work. "Feel the hinge," he says, and steps back. He names prices gently — he understands that value sits beside story.

Around you, the fair is a tide; this stall is a small harbour. You choose a key that fits no lock you own, or a box that will hold nothing particular, and it feels reasonable. The object has heft; it sits in your palm as if returning. You hear, faintly, that courteous clink again, and for a moment the present loosens, as if the past had politely taken your arm to the next stall.

Option B:

Autumn. The season of shedding; hedges pruned back, skies washed thin. In the attic of No. 23 Elms Row, dust drifted in a beam, and the air held the stubborn sweetness of lavender sachets that had done their duty for decades.

Asha braced the trapdoor; beneath her, the ladder ticked. She had come to be practical—three boxes: KEEP, GIVE, BIN—no lingering.

Yet the trunk in the corner had a gravity. The leather was cracked; the clasps the colour of fallen leaves. When she eased it open, the smell of paper and damp wool rose up as if a room had just remembered itself.

Layers revealed themselves like a palimpsest—postcards with foreign stamps, a theatre stub, a child’s ribbon, its bow fossilised. At the bottom, nestled in frayed velvet, lay a brass compass. Its glass wore a hairline fracture, as delicate as a vein; the cardinal points were smudged. When Asha lifted it, the metal held a deliberate cold.

The needle twitched and settled, then trembled again—as if it wanted to say something and kept changing its mind.

She turned it over. On the back were tiny scratches: two initials (E.B.) and the ghost of a date—1941. The catch resisted; she pressed, coaxed; finally the hinge yielded.

Inside, beneath the inner ring, a sliver of paper had been folded so small it seemed to have taught itself to be modest. She teased it free. Violet ink had bled into the fibres: a quick shoreline, a squat church spire, three crosses, and a single word underlined twice—safe.

Safe from what?

Her grandmother—who had never driven beyond the next town, who made tea strong enough to stand a spoon in—had kept this. Objects outlast the voices that should explain them; they carry stories like seeds in a bird’s throat. Asha thought of the way Gran always faced north when she told an old tale, as if a compass were stitched inside her.

Not a trinket: a testimony.

Outside, the afternoon tilted into a colder blue; a bus sighed at the end of the street. She should have been efficient—put the compass in KEEP and moved on—but she traced the crack and felt a pull, foolish and stubborn.

The needle shivered once, then steadied. Asha slipped it into her pocket and closed the trunk. Autumn asks us to let go; some things, however, insist on being held. This felt like a beginning that had been waiting for her.

• Level 3 Upper (16-18 marks for AO5, 9-12 marks for AO6, 25-30 marks total)

Option A:

Under a faded striped awning, the stall stood like a pause in the busy fair while sunlight, sifted through canvas, turned dust to golden confetti. On trestle tables, treasures and near-treasures leaned into one another, each object keeping its own small story.

Wooden boxes, lids warped and polite, showed the grain like maps. In a shallow dish lay a scatter of rusty keys: broad-shouldered church keys, and odd strays with teeth filed to peculiar patterns. They chimed when fingers stirred them—soft, tinny—and the sound ran under the murmur of bargaining voices, rising, falling. Sun pooled on the metal, making dull surfaces glow briefly like fire. The stall smelt faintly of metal and beeswax, a smear of polish, and something sweet, like old apples in a drawer.

Here were postcards in a tight bundle, ribboned in tired blue. Their corners were furred and soft as lace. Beside them, a velvet-lined case displayed pocket watches like moons; some ticked with obstinate pride, others paused at a lost minute. The owner, a man with calm eyes and a pencil behind his ear, turned a magnifying glass over a silver hallmark, naming years like rooms. Above his head a smudged chalkboard asked, Please handle with care.

There were imperfections everywhere—hairline cracks in porcelain, a buckle gone dull, collars fraying—yet those flaws made the things easier to trust. Some flaws we almost wanted to keep. A brass candlestick kept a thumbprint in its tarnish; a little stack of leather-bound books exhaled a dry, library breath. A boy tried the typewriter, letters biting the paper with a stuttering clack; the ribbon printed an uneven hello that looked oddly shy.

Meanwhile, two women weighed brooches; an elderly man cupped a compass pointing stubbornly at his own history. The awning flickered and the stall seemed to breathe, patient. A gull’s cry snagged on the canvas, distant and insistent. Not a museum but a careful crossroads: the past arriving, the present pausing; as I stepped away, the tiny chorus of keys rang soft as rain.

Option B:

It began with a key. Not the bright, machine-cut kind that glints like a coin, but a short, heavy thing with a round bow and teeth like a crooked smile. It lay in a chipped saucer between bent nails and a button that had lost its coat; it did not belong there, and yet it had settled, patient as a stone.

The shop smelled of old paper and polish; sunlight pooled weakly at the front, held back by dust that drifted like pale snow. Clocks argued on the walls, ticking out of time. When I pushed the door, the bell stuttered and the sound trembled over the tired carpet.

I reached for the key because it shimmered, faintly, beneath the grime. It was colder than I expected; the metal steady in my warm hand. Along the stem, numbers had been scratched—5 17 V—then rubbed almost smooth. A green stain nested at the bow where verdigris had begun. There was a fine groove, too, as if a ribbon once clung there. A trunk in an attic? A cellar no one visited now? The thought made the back of my neck prickle.

“You’ve got an eye,” the shopkeeper said, materialising with the quiet of someone used to other people’s memories. He cleaned his smudged spectacles with the corner of a map. “That came in a box from a house by the river—red brick, ivy.” He looked past me. “Funny, there wasn’t a lock with it.”

“Whose house?” I asked.

“Clearance,” he said.

Outside, buses sighed and people ferried their days from one place to another; inside, the key sat in my palm like a small certainty. I could have put it back, I should have, yet the weight of it felt persuasive—almost insistent. So I paid, and he wrapped it in brown paper and twine (too ceremonious for something so small), and the bell faltered again as I left.

Only later would I learn what the numbers meant, and why the key had waited so long. For now, it did what keys do—it opened, quietly, a story I didn’t know I was already in.

• Level 3 Lower (13-15 marks for AO5, 9-12 marks for AO6, 22-27 marks total)

Option A:

The stall crouches under a patchwork awning, a jumble of wooden boxes and rusty keys arranged like a small museum on a table that wobbles when someone passes. A handwritten sign, sun-faded and slightly crooked, promises ‘Curios & Keepsakes’; the letters thin where the ink gave up. It is cluttered but neat, somehow. Dust hangs in the light; it smells of beeswax polish, old paper and the faint metallic tang you can taste on your tongue.

Keys spill across a velvet tray. Their teeth are particular; some wear frayed ribbon, one has a tiny flower stamped into its head, another is bent as if it argued with a door. When I brush them, they chime—a small, cold music. Beside them sit boxes: oak with dovetail joints, tin with peeling paint, a palm-sized coffer with a greenish lock. Lids lift on stiff hinges to velvet the colour of dried moss. I imagine a folded map or a brittle letter, though there’s only buttons and a sun-blanched postcard.

The stallholder, hunched in a wool coat despite the mild day, watches with patient eyes. His fingers are ink-stained; ‘Try the lid,’ he says, not loud, as if loud would break something. He knows stories, I can tell, but he doesn’t push them—he lets the objects talk first. A pocket watch lies open near his elbow, ticking; the sound is faint and steady, almost slowing the busy fair to fit this small square of shade.

Around us, the fair murmurs: shuffling feet, clink of coins, a kettle sighing. The awning lifts and drops in the wind; the sign taps the pole, tap, tap, tap. I run my thumb along a box’s edge and feel the grain like ridges on a map. I don’t buy anything; I just look. As I step away, the keys settle—just a heap of metal again, ordinary at a glance, still waiting.

Option B:

Dust. The kind that floats in straight lines when the afternoon sun finds a crack in the roof. The attic smelled of old paper and lemon polish, a tired sweetness.

I was meant to be clearing, not hunting, but my hands wandered. At the bottom of a crate, under a mildewed atlas and a strip of lace, I found a pocket watch. It was small and round, a silver coin on a chain, dulled by fingerprints - not mine. When I pressed my thumb to the lid, it clicked, soft as a secret, and opened.

Inside, the face was cracked like thin ice, but the blue hands were neat. The inside smelled faintly of oil and old metal. It should have been silent; it wasn’t. A slow tick rose into the quiet, a second heart in the room. Behind a loose panel I found a surprise: a tiny photograph, the edges pale, and a name scratched into the rim: E.W.

Who had held this to their ear in a hurry, waiting for a train that never came? The watch felt heavier than its size allowed; every tick seemed to lift a memory that did not belong to me. I closed the lid and the ticking softened, as if it were thinking.

I should have put it back and carried on with my job. Instead, I slipped the chain over my wrist and felt the metal settle against my skin. I looked again at the photograph, at the blur of the station clock, and saw something I had missed the first time: the date under the bench, 14th October. I did not know why that mattered yet, but it did. Hidden things are like that; they tug until you follow. Downstairs, a lorry growled past, ordinary and close, but the watch kept a different kind of time.

• Level 2 Upper (10-12 marks for AO5, 5-8 marks for AO6, 15-20 marks total)

Option A:

Catching the pale noon light, the stall sits under a faded canvas awning, dust lifting like tiny ghosts. The smell is part polish, part iron, and something sweet that might be old perfume. It looks crowded but careful; each thing seems placed, then replaced, as if the keeper changed his mind.

At the front, wooden boxes are stacked unevenly: dark oak with a dull shine, pale pine scratched by time, a mahogany chest. Their brass labels are mottled green. When a lid is eased open the hinge complains, a thin squeak, and inside is frayed velvet, still soft. Dust rests like fine sugar. I run a finger along the lid; the grain lifts a tiny splinter.

To the side, a shallow tray overflows with keys. Brass teeth, iron teeth, teeth that have lost their bite; they clink when the breeze stirs them. Some are plain as nails, some curl into little leaves and loops. The metal is cold and smells like pennies. Row upon row, row upon row, they lie together, promising doors I cannot see.

Behind the spread stands the stallholder, a quiet man with a tape round his wrist and glasses sliding. He speaks softly—almost careful—as if the things might break if he is loud. Meanwhile, people drift past; shoes scuff, a child points, coins chatter in someone’s palm.

Then a cloud moves and the light shifts. The boxes darken, the keys glitter dull then bright, and the stall waits, patient, like a small island of the past in a noisy fair.

Option B:

Dust settled on everything; boxes, books, a lamp. The attic was a low room where light slid in a narrow strip and made the dust glow. Somewhere below, the house ticked and settled, but up here everything felt paused. Under a moth-eaten scarf my fingers hit metal. I pulled out a brass pocket watch, its chain curled like a sleepy worm. It lay silent in my palm, small and heavy. The face was webbed with thin cracks, and the glass threw back a faint, stubborn glimmer.

I wiped it on my sleeve. The back was engraved: T.H., 1916. The letters were shallow, almost shy. I didn’t remember this from Nan’s stories; she kept a careful smile when we asked about the war. I pressed the tiny crown and nothing happened. I turned the little wheel—one tick, a nervous heartbeat—then quiet again. It smelled faintly of tobacco and salt. Who was T.H.? Did he come home? Why hide this instead of setting it in the glass cabinet downstairs?

I told myself it was only metal and gears, but it felt like a secret wrapped in time. My thumb found a neat dent on the edge, a half-moon. Maybe it was nothing, or the start of a story no one wanted to tell. I slipped the watch into my pocket and, honestly, I didn’t know then that I had picked up more than a keepsake—I had lifted a piece of our family to untangle. I wanted answers, and the watch was the only thing willing to speak.

• Level 2 Lower (7-9 marks for AO5, 5-8 marks for AO6, 12-17 marks total)

Option A:

The stall sat under a faded canvas, like a quiet corner of time. A frayed cloth covered the table; the edges were stained and soft. I could smell polish and dust — a patient smell — and see specks floating in the light. There were boxes: small ones with cracked lids, a medium one with a brass clasp, and a heavy chest that didn’t want to open. I stood still, the air felt heavy with dust and old voices. A clock face leaned against a crate, its hands frozen, its glass scratched, ticking only in my head; tick, tick.

Beside the boxes, keys hung from a bent nail. Rusty keys, thin keys, skeleton keys; they clicked together when the breeze passed, like quiet bells. Some had looped handles in pretty shapes, almost like flowers, but others were plain and work-like. The wood smelled faintly of cedar and something sweet, the velvet inside the boxes was worn smooth. The stall owner’s sign was hand written, its letters wobbly but hopeful.

He watched carefully, not unkindly, as people drifted by. A lady lifted a silver spoon and smiled. A boy reached for a tin car. Prices curled on scraps of paper. It felt simple and special, a small museum without walls, row after row after row of someone’s memories.

Option B:

Autumn. The time when the air turns thin and cold and the house smells of apples.

As the wind scraped the window, Erin pulled open Gran's old biscuit tin. It squeaked, like a mouse stuck inside. Under buttons, a photo and a curled ribbon lay a brass key. It was small but heavy, it felt serious. Its face was scratched and its teeth were worn. When she lifted it, a thin line of light slid along it; the key looked awake.

Who had carried this? A sailor, a teacher, somebody who never came back? The questions tumbled, tripping each other. Gran used to say every object remembers, even if people forget: Erin wasn't sure, but the key felt like a secret. It smelled faintly of oil and rain. On the stem, a notch like a letter.

Curiosity pricked at her. The attic trunk was locked and stubborn. Later, maybe, she would climb the narrow stairs that moaned with every step and try the key. Now she turned it in her palm, listening. It didn't speak, not really—but something pressed against her thoughts, a soft tapping.

Outside the leaves rattled. Inside, the key waited, and the house waited too.

• Level 1 Upper (4-6 marks for AO5, 1-4 marks for AO6, 5-10 marks total)

Option A:

The stall is small and a bit crooked, like it is tired. A dark cloth sags over the table. Wooden boxes stack in a wobble, some lids open and shut like mouths when the wind moves. Rusty keys lay in lines, they shine a little even though the day is grey, they clink a bit. Dust floats in the light, it gets in my nose, like old coins and damp wood. The hand made sign says ANTIQUE, the paint is chipped.

The boxes is all different sizes.

The man behind it wears a flat cap. He taps a box and says good oak. He rubs a key with his sleeve, like it might wake up. There is little paper tags on string, 50p, £1, the ink is smudged. He waits, and waits.

I pick a key. It is cold then warm in my hand. I think of doors. Old doors, big doors, secrets. I don't know what it opens, it dont matter.

Option B:

On the back shelf of the charity shop sat a small wooden box. It was plain and dusty. The latch was brass and cold. When I picked it up it felt heavy.

I didnt know why I wanted it. I didnt need a box, I could of left it, but this one waited for me.

At home I put it on the table. It sat like a sleeping cat. How old was it? Who held it first.

I ran my thumb along the edge, the wood was smooth, and the lid shivered. The hinge squeeked.

The lid stuck. I pulled at it's lid and it opened a crack, my heart jumped.

Inside there was a name scratched light and numbers, 19-, the last bit gone. War maybe, or a ship, or someones secret.

I listened. Nothing, but it felt warm, like it remembered me.

• Level 1 Lower (1-3 marks for AO5, 1-4 marks for AO6, 2-7 marks total)

Option A:

The stall is small and crowded with old stuff. Boxes are piled up, wood is scratched and dark. There is many keys, rusty metal ones, they sit in a little tin and clink when the wind moves. The smell is damp, like a shed. I see a faded cloth and a mirror with spots, it shows my face funny. A man sits behind, he looks bored, he taps a coin and waits. I pick up a box, its rough and it sticks on my hand with dust. A clock ticks, I hear it. A child walks past laughing, I look away.

Option B:

The box sits on the shelf in the hall. It is blue and dented. Dust on it like flour. Mum says leave it but I look. I seen it in my head. The latch is cold and it shakes. It clicks a bit but it dont open. I think it is empty, I think it is not. Grandad said it was nothing, he smiled funny. The room smells old and the floor creaks, a bus goes by. I put my ear on the lid, there is a sound like a watch. The dog barks and I nearly drop it. I want the mistery.