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 Which season is mentioned at the start?: spring – 1 mark
• 1.2 Who had been with Tom into the neighbouring plantation?: Tom's uncle – 1 mark
• 1.3 Where did Tom come running in high glee?: into the garden – 1 mark
• 1.4 What was Tom carrying in his hands?: a brood of little callow nestlings – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

Look in detail at this extract, from lines 1 to 89 of the source:

1 Happily, however, during that spring, they never, but once, got anything but empty nests, or eggs—being too impatient to leave them till the birds were hatched; that once, Tom, who had been with his uncle into the neighbouring plantation, came running in high glee into the garden, with a brood of little callow nestlings in his hands. Mary Ann and Fanny, whom I was just bringing

6 out, ran to admire his spoils, and to beg each a bird for themselves. “No, not one!” cried Tom. “They’re all mine; uncle Robson gave them to me—one, two, three, four, five—you shan’t touch one of them! no, not one, for your lives!” continued he, exultingly; laying the nest on the ground, and standing over it with his legs wide apart, his hands thrust into his breeches-pockets, his body

11 bent forward, and his face twisted into all manner of contortions in the ecstasy of his delight. “But you shall see me fettle ’em off. My word, but I will wallop ’em? See if I don’t now. By gum! but there’s rare sport for me in that nest.”

16 “But, Tom,” said I, “I shall not allow you to torture those birds. They must either be killed at once or carried back to the place you took them from, that the old birds may continue to feed them.”

21 “But you don’t know where that is, Madam: it’s only me and uncle Robson that knows that.” “But if you don’t tell me, I shall kill them myself—much as I hate it.”

26 “You daren’t. You daren’t touch them for your life! because you know papa and mamma, and uncle Robson, would be angry. Ha, ha! I’ve caught you there, Miss!” “I shall do what I think right in a case of this sort without consulting any one. If your papa and mamma don’t happen to approve of it, I shall be sorry to

31 offend them; but your uncle Robson’s opinions, of course, are nothing to me.” So saying—urged by a sense of duty—at the risk of both making myself sick and incurring the wrath of my employers—I got a large flat stone, that had been reared up for a mouse-trap by the gardener; then, having once more vainly

36 endeavoured to persuade the little tyrant to let the birds be carried back, I asked what he intended to do with them. With fiendish glee he commenced a list of torments; and while he was busied in the relation, I dropped the stone upon his intended victims and crushed them flat beneath it. Loud were the outcries, terrible the execrations, consequent upon this daring outrage; uncle Robson

41 had been coming up the walk with his gun, and was just then pausing to kick his dog. Tom flew towards him, vowing he would make him kick me instead of Juno. Mr. Robson leant upon his gun, and laughed excessively at the violence of his nephew’s passion, and the bitter maledictions and opprobrious epithets he heaped upon me. “Well, you are a good ’un!” exclaimed he, at length,

46 taking up his weapon and proceeding towards the house. “Damme, but the lad has some spunk in him, too. Curse me, if ever I saw a nobler little scoundrel than that. He’s beyond petticoat government already: by God! he defies mother, granny, governess, and all! Ha, ha, ha! Never mind, Tom, I’ll get you another brood to-morrow.”

51 “If you do, Mr. Robson, I shall kill them too,” said I. “Humph!” replied he, and having honoured me with a broad stare—which, contrary to his expectations, I sustained without flinching—he turned away with an air

56 of supreme contempt, and stalked into the house. Tom next went to tell his mamma. It was not her way to say much on any subject; but, when she next saw me, her aspect and demeanour were doubly dark and chilled. After some casual remark about the weather, she observed—“I am sorry, Miss Grey, you should think it necessary to interfere with Master Bloomfield’s amusements; he was

61 very much distressed about your destroying the birds.” “When Master Bloomfield’s amusements consist in injuring sentient creatures,” I answered, “I think it my duty to interfere.”

66 “You seemed to have forgotten,” said she, calmly, “that the creatures were all created for our convenience.” I thought that doctrine admitted some doubt, but merely replied—“If they were, we have no right to torment them for our amusement.”

71 “I think,” said she, “a child’s amusement is scarcely to be weighed against the welfare of a soulless brute.” “But, for the child’s own sake, it ought not to be encouraged to have such

76 amusements,” answered I, as meekly as I could, to make up for such unusual pertinacity. “‘Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.’” “Oh! of course; but that refers to our conduct towards each other.”

81 “‘The merciful man shows mercy to his beast,’” I ventured to add. “I think you have not shown much mercy,” replied she, with a short, bitter laugh; “killing the poor birds by wholesale in that shocking manner, and putting the dear boy to such misery for a mere whim.”

86 I judged it prudent to say no more. This was the nearest approach to a quarrel I ever had with Mrs. Bloomfield; as well as the greatest number of words I ever exchanged with her at one time, since the day of my first arrival.

How does the writer use language here to show Tom’s attitude to the birds and to his sisters? 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 typical Level 4 response would analyse how exclamatory repetition and possessive pronouns in Tom’s speech assert dominance over his sisters—“No, not one!”, “They’re all mine”, “you shan’t touch one of them!” and the hyperbolic “for your lives!”—while vivid kinesic detail (“legs wide apart”, “hands thrust”, “face twisted”), enumeration “one, two, three, four, five”, and the noun “spoils” objectify the birds as trophies. It would also explore his cruelty through violent, dialectal diction and sentence forms—“fettle ’em off”, “will wallop ’em”, “By gum!”, “rare sport”—and the narrator’s evaluative labels “fiendish glee”, “little tyrant”, “victims”, explaining how these choices construct a sadistic attitude to the birds and a bullying contempt for his sisters.

The writer uses a violent semantic field and martial/sporting metaphors to present Tom’s callous attitude to the birds. He flaunts the nest as “spoils”, a war-term recasting the “little callow nestlings” as plunder, while promising “rare sport”, which trivialises cruelty as amusement. The adverb “exultingly” and the hyperbolic “ecstasy of his delight”, coupled with grotesque physical imagery—his face “twisted into all manner of contortions”—portray sadistic relish. Moreover, the narrator’s pejorative labels—“little tyrant”, and the chicks as “intended victims”—fix him as a would-be dominator, not a carer.

Furthermore, body language and pronouns reveal his attitude to his sisters as aggressively possessive. He plants himself “standing over” the nest, “legs wide apart… hands thrust”, a swaggering stance that polices access. The anaphoric, exclamative refusal—“No, not one!… you shan’t touch one of them!”—uses repetition and hyperbole (“for your lives!”) to exclude the girls, who can only “beg”. His asyndetic count—“one, two, three, four, five”—and the possessive “They’re all mine” reduce the chicks to inventory and the sisters to rivals.

Additionally, syntax and dialect expose his bullying relish. Negative modality—“You daren’t”—and the taunt “Ha, ha! I’ve caught you there, Miss!” frame the moment as a power game; the colloquial verbs “fettle ’em off” and “wallop ’em” are bluntly violent. The abrupt exclamatives and swaggering rhetorical question (“I will wallop ’em? See if I don’t”) amplify his bragging, while Robson’s praise that he “defies mother, granny, governess, and all” crystallises contempt for female authority, echoing his domineering treatment of his sisters.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer presents Tom’s cruel excitement toward the birds through emotive, violent diction and colloquial dialect—“high glee,” “fiendish glee,” “By gum,” and “I will wallop ’em”—showing he treats them as “rare sport” rather than living creatures. His attitude to his sisters is possessive and aggressive, shown by repetition, listing and exclamatives—“No, not one!... you shan’t touch one,” “one, two, three, four, five”—and domineering body language “legs wide apart... hands thrust... contortions,” which conveys swaggering superiority.

The writer presents Tom’s attitude to the birds as cruel and triumphant. The noun “spoils” alongside “little callow nestlings” juxtaposes trophy-hunting with vulnerability, showing he sees them as prizes not lives. Violent dialect like “fettle ’em” and “I will wallop ’em,” and the colloquial “rare sport,” create a semantic field of brutality that reduces suffering to entertainment. The narrator’s evaluative metaphor “fiendish glee”, pejorative epithet “little tyrant”, and the phrase “intended victims” imply sadistic intent, while exclamatives in his speech and the adverb “exultingly” emphasise his gloating relish.

Furthermore, Tom’s language and posture reveal a possessive, domineering attitude to his sisters. The short exclamative and repetition, “No, not one!... no, not one,” plus the obsessive listing “one, two, three, four, five,” foreground his possessiveness; “They’re all mine” and the hyperbolic threat “for your lives!” intensify his refusal. The modal prohibition “you shan’t touch one of them” positions him as an authority. Additionally, kinaesthetic imagery of him “standing over [the nest] with his legs wide apart” constructs a physical barrier, embodying dominance. Altogether, through aggressive word choices, direct speech and emphatic sentence forms, the writer portrays Tom as gloatingly cruel to the birds and arrogantly excluding towards his sisters.

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 would identify that repetition and exclamations in Tom’s dialogue like "No, not one!... you shan’t touch one of them!" and the possessive phrase "they’re all mine" show he is bossy and dismissive towards his sisters. It might also pick out the violent dialect verbs "fettle ’em" and "wallop ’em", the adverb "exultingly", and his dominant stance "legs wide apart... hands thrust" to suggest he enjoys being cruel to the birds.

The writer uses exclamatives and repetition to show Tom’s attitude to his sisters. When he shouts, “No, not one! … you shan’t touch one of them! no, not one, for your lives!”, the repeated phrase and short exclamations make him sound bossy and selfish. The pronoun “mine” and the counting “one, two, three, four, five” emphasise his possessiveness towards the birds and over his sisters.

Furthermore, language shows his cruelty to the birds. The violent dialect verbs “fettle ’em” and “wallop ’em” and the phrase “rare sport” suggest he sees pain as entertainment. The adverb “exultingly” and the description of his body, “legs wide apart… face twisted… ecstasy of his delight,” create imagery of gloating dominance. Moreover, the narrator’s metaphor “little tyrant” and “fiendish glee” present him as enjoying power over “victims”. Therefore, the dialogue and description make clear he is controlling with his sisters and brutal towards the nestlings.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: Dialogue with exclamations like “No, not one!” and “you shan’t touch one of them!” shows Tom is bossy and selfish towards his sisters. Descriptive words such as “exultingly,” “fiendish glee,” and “rare sport” show he is cruel and excited about hurting the birds.

The writer uses verbs and phrases to show Tom’s attitude to the birds. Words like “in high glee” and “I will wallop ’em” make him seem excited and cruel, as if the birds are just “sport.”

Furthermore, the writer uses direct speech, exclamations and repetition to show his attitude to his sisters. “No, not one! ... you shan’t touch one of them!” and “They’re all mine” show he is selfish and bossy.

Moreover, the physical description, “standing over it with his legs wide apart,” makes him look boastful and controlling. Overall, this shows he is cruel and selfish.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Noun choice “trophy-talk”: calling the birds his spoils presents them as loot, showing predatory ownership rather than care
• Exclamatives and repetition: No, not one! intensifies his absolute refusal, signalling an aggressive, contemptuous dismissal of his sisters’ request
• Listing for possession: the count one, two, three, four, five reduces the nestlings to inventory, underscoring greedy gloating and denying any share
• Prohibitive modal: you shan’t touch asserts control over his sisters, a domineering, gatekeeping tone that excludes them
• Colloquial violent verbs: fettle ’em off normalises cruelty, showing swaggering relish in hurting the birds
• Entertainment lexis: calling it rare sport trivialises suffering, making cruelty a game
• Dominant body language: stance with legs wide apart visualises territorial guarding of the nest, physically warding off his sisters
• Narrator’s epithet: little tyrant frames him as oppressive toward weaker others, shaping our view of his bullying attitude
• Intensifying evaluation: fiendish glee exposes sadistic delight in a “list of torments,” revealing calculated cruelty to the birds
• Taunting triumph: I’ve caught you there, Miss! shows scorn for female authority, mirroring his contemptuous, power-playing stance toward his sisters

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 tension?

You could write about:

• how tension intensifies from beginning to end
• 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 Level 4 response would trace the structural escalation from the ironically calm opener Happily through Tom’s cumulative refusals (No, not one) and breathless enumeration (one, two, three, four, five) to the suspenseful delay as he commenced a list of torments, before the abrupt climactic pivot I dropped the stone, analysing how these shifts in pace and focus tighten tension. It would also show how tension is sustained post-climax by the staged arrival of authority—Robson with his gun and the mother’s doubly dark and chilled demeanour—and the unresolved, cyclical threat (I’ll get you another brood / I shall kill them too), as changes in tone and perspective extend the conflict beyond the scene.

One way the writer structures tension is by escalating from calm to a shocking pivot. The narrative is temporally framed — "during that spring... that once" — and a long opening slows the pace before zooming in on Tom, the prose dwelling on his stance and "contortions". Pace then accelerates through rapid dialogue: the enumeration "one, two, three, four, five" and staccato prohibition "you shan’t touch one" incrementally ratchet pressure. The climactic volta arrives when, after his "list of torments," the main clause "I dropped the stone" delivers shock.

In addition, structural shifts in focus intensify conflict up the hierarchy. Mr Robson enters "just then", a temporal adverbial that sharpens the intrusion, and the confrontation moves from child to patriarch, raising stakes. His "broad stare" creates a silent stand‑off, while the sustained first‑person perspective ("said I") keeps us inside the narrator’s resolve. Her defiant anaphora — "If you do... I shall..." — maintains a taut line of opposition, so tension persists.

A further structural strategy is the tonal turn from overt fury to chilling civility. The pace slackens into a measured exchange with Mrs Bloomfield: temporal markers ("when she next saw me," "After some") stretch the aftermath, while calm reporting verbs ("observed," "said she, calmly") produce repressed hostility, paradoxically more tense than Tom’s bluster. The sequence moves from physical threat to ideological contest, widening the frame. Finally, the retrospective aside — "This was the nearest approach to a quarrel" — functions as a coda, closing the episode yet leaving unease.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 3 response would explain how tension rises through contrast and a structural pivot: from Tom’s excitement — “came running in high glee”, “rare sport” — to the decisive “that once” and the shock when the narrator **“dropped the stone.” It would also note escalating perspectives—Tom’s defiance “You daren’t,” the uncle’s arrival with “his gun” and “broad stare,” and the mother’s **“doubly dark and chilled”** response—each new viewpoint increasing pressure on the narrator.

One way the writer structures tension is through a shift in focus and pace from playful to brutal. The opening "Happily" and Tom’s "high glee" set lightness, but staccato dialogue—"one, two, three, four, five", "not one!"—quickens the pace. The withheld "list of torments" builds dread before the structural pivot: "I dropped the stone"—a sudden climax that shocks the reader.

In addition, introducing new figures at key moments escalates and sustains tension. A shift in focus to "uncle Robson… with his gun" interrupts the scene; verbs like "kicking his dog" and his "broad stare" create menace. The sequence then moves to Mrs Bloomfield; the mood contrasts from noisy fury to "doubly dark and chilled" restraint, prolonging pressure on the narrator.

A further structural feature is the sustained first-person perspective and temporal signposting that control the release of tension. Linear markers—"then", "next", "when she next saw me"—stage the conflict in phases. Finally, the closing reflective comment, "the nearest approach to a quarrel," softens the ending yet leaves unease, showing how shifts in focus, contrast and pace maintain suspense across the extract.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer builds tension by moving from Tom’s early excitement (“came running in high glee”, “fiendish glee”) to an argument, then bringing in uncle Robson “with his gun” and a sudden climax when she “dropped the stone upon his intended victims.” After this, reactions like “Loud were the outcries” and the mother’s “doubly dark and chilled” mood show consequences, keeping the reader worried about what will happen.

One way the writer builds tension is by moving from a gentle opening to conflict. At the beginning it seems cheerful (“Happily… spring”), but the focus quickly shifts to Tom’s ‘spoils’ and his refusal, “No, not one!” This contrast changes the mood and makes the reader worry about the birds and what Miss Grey will do.

In addition, the writer uses rapid dialogue and short exclamations in the middle to speed the pace. Lines like “You daren’t” and “By gum!” build towards a climax. The single action “I dropped the stone” is shocking after the build‑up, and the outcries increase the tension.

A further structural feature is a shift in focus at the end. Uncle Robson arrives “with his gun,” adding threat, then it moves to the mother’s cold rebuke. This change of perspective keeps the tension alive, and the first‑person ending (“I judged it prudent…”) leaves unease.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: Identifies a simple sequence: it starts happy when Tom came running in high glee, then tension builds through repeated dialogue like No, not one!, a sudden action as she dropped the stone, and reactions such as Loud were the outcries, Humph!, and doubly dark and chilled. States that this beginning-to-end order and the use of dialogue make the text feel more tense.

One way the writer structures the text to create tension is by starting happy and then changing. It begins with “Happily” and bird nests, but quickly moves to Tom’s cruelty. This contrast makes the reader uneasy.

In addition, the events build in a clear order. First arguing, then the moment when she drops the stone is a turning point or climax. The dialogue and exclamations like “You daren’t” increase the tension.

A further structural feature is the shift in focus to Uncle Robson and then the mother. This change of perspective shows consequences at the end, keeping the tense mood.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Opening pivot from a happy routine to a rare disruption primes unease and foreshadows conflict (that once)
• Tom’s possessive stance and blocking of the nest centre power on him, creating immediate threat to the vulnerable (They’re all mine)
• Accumulative counting and listing acts like a countdown, tightening pace and anticipation of harm (one, two, three, four, five)
• Rapid back-and-forth dialogue of challenge and defiance accelerates momentum and raises stakes (You daren’t)
• Parenthetical aside about consequences delays action and heightens jeopardy for the narrator (wrath of my employers)
• Sudden decisive act after the delay shocks the scene and flips tension into open conflict (dropped the stone)
• Timed entrance of a more powerful adult amplifies danger and pressure on the narrator (with his gun)
• Shift to mockery and belittling reactions isolates the narrator, prolonging a hostile atmosphere (supreme contempt)
• Repetition of firm defiance sustains the standoff and refuses resolution, keeping tension taut (I shall kill them too)
• Final tonal shift to a cold, formal coda shows lingering consequences and unresolved strain (nearest approach to a quarrel)

Question 4 - Mark Scheme

For this question focus on the second part of the source, from line 16 to the end.

In this part of the source, Tom's excitement over torturing the birds makes him seem very cruel. The writer suggests Tom's cruelty is seen as a positive quality by the adults who are meant to guide him.

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

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of Tom's cruel behaviour
• comment on the methods the writer uses to present the adults' approval
• 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 largely agree, showing Tom’s cruelty in his fiendish glee and arguing that adults perversely admire it—Robson’s good 'un, some spunk, a nobler little scoundrel, and Mrs Bloomfield’s created for our convenience and soulless brute. It would also evaluate the writer’s critical viewpoint, noting the satiric detail of Robson pausing to kick his dog, the narrator urged by a sense of duty, and the ethical counterpoint The merciful man shows mercy to his beast.

I agree to a large extent that Tom’s excitement marks him as cruel, and the writer strongly implies that this cruelty is applauded by the very adults who should curb it—though the governess offers a moral counterpoint. From the outset, Tom’s delight in suffering is foregrounded through charged diction: the narrator labels him a “little tyrant,” and his reaction is one of “fiendish glee” as he “commenced a list of torments.” The pejorative noun “tyrant” suggests a child enthralled by power, while “fiendish” evokes demonic relish. Structurally, the narrator’s first‑person resolve—“I shall not allow you”—creates a moral line in the sand; the modal verb “shall” conveys principled certainty. The vivid, monosyllabic brutality of “crushed them flat” is deliberately shocking, yet it is framed as mercy, “urged by a sense of duty,” a swift death contrasted with Tom’s protracted “torments.” This juxtaposition sharpens our impression of Tom’s cruelty: he enjoys pain for its own sake.

The adults’ approval is most blatant in Mr Robson’s entrance. He appears already mid‑violence, “pausing to kick his dog,” which extends a semantic field of casual cruelty. Rather than reprimand Tom’s “execrations,” he “laughed excessively” and praises him: “the lad has some spunk… a nobler little scoundrel.” That oxymoron—“nobler… scoundrel”—encapsulates moral inversion, ennobling viciousness. His gloating endorsement of defiance—“He’s beyond petticoat government”—uses misogynistic idiom to celebrate resistance to female authority, aligning masculinity with sanctioned aggression. The blithe promise, “I’ll get you another brood to-morrow,” normalises repeated harm; the adverbial tomorrow signals a cycle of cruelty as entertainment. Even his “broad stare” and “air of supreme contempt” towards the governess function as intimidation, reinforcing which values hold sway.

Mrs Bloomfield’s approval is icier but no less disturbing. Her “doubly dark and chilled” “aspect” conveys emotional frigidity; she is “calm,” but the calm cloaks complicity. Through cool, theological rationalisation—“creatures were all created for our convenience,” “a soulless brute”—she devalues animal life and reframes the governess’s mercy as “killing… by wholesale” and a “mere whim.” The dialogue becomes a clash of moral discourses: biblical allusion (“Blessed are the merciful…,” “The merciful man shows mercy to his beast”) is narrowly reinterpreted to exclude responsibility to animals. The tonal shift to a “short, bitter laugh” underscores her scorn.

Overall, I agree that Tom is presented as cruel and that his family’s responses positively reinforce that cruelty. However, by positioning the first‑person governess as the lone resistor—risking “the wrath of my employers”—the writer critiques that approval, inviting the reader to side with mercy against a society that rewards the opposite.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: At Level 3, candidates would mostly agree, explaining that Tom’s cruelty is shown by his 'fiendish glee' and 'list of torments'. They would identify adult approval in the writer’s presentation—Uncle Robson 'laughed excessively', calls him a 'nobler little scoundrel' and promises 'another brood', while Mrs Bloomfield’s 'created for our convenience'/'soulless brute' is contrasted with the narrator’s 'Blessed are the merciful', showing the writer’s disapproving viewpoint.

I largely agree with the statement. The writer presents Tom’s excitement as unmistakably cruel, and then shows how key adults perversely admire it, which makes their guidance seem corrupt.

At the start of the passage, the first-person narrator labels Tom a “little tyrant,” an evaluative noun that frames him as abusing power. His “fiendish glee” and “list of torments” create a clear lexical field of cruelty; the adjective fiendish carries demonic connotations, so his delight feels inhuman. Structurally, the narrator’s decisive action—“urged by a sense of duty”—to “crush” the birds “flat” is a shocking but merciful counter to protracted torture. This contrast sharpens our impression that Tom’s pleasure is not childish mischief but deliberate cruelty.

The adults’ responses then endorse his behaviour. Uncle Robson arrives “pausing to kick his dog,” a vivid detail that characterises him as casually violent and models cruelty for Tom. His exclamatory, colloquial praise—“you are a good ’un!… the lad has some spunk… a nobler little scoundrel”—uses ironic juxtaposition: “nobler” with “scoundrel.” This oxymoronic phrase shows the adult reframing viciousness as admirable masculinity. The repeated laughter and dialect (“Damme,” “Ha, ha, ha!”) create a coarse, celebratory tone, normalising Tom’s “passion” and “execrations.” Structurally, promising “another brood to-morrow” rewards the behaviour.

Mrs Bloomfield’s approval is cooler but still validating. Her “doubly dark and chilled” demeanour and calm, didactic dialogue—“creatures were all created for our convenience” and “soulless brute”—uses abstract, pseudo-religious reasoning to justify harm. The religious allusions the narrator supplies—“Blessed are the merciful… The merciful man shows mercy to his beast”—are rejected with a “short, bitter laugh,” highlighting moral inversion. Dialogue here exposes a clash of values: the governess’s mercy versus parental expedience.

Overall, Tom is portrayed as cruelly exhilarated, and the writer suggests that the very adults meant to guide him perversely praise or excuse that cruelty. Only the narrator resists, which strengthens the critique of their warped authority.

Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 2 response would mostly agree, identifying Tom’s cruelty with basic examples like his “fiendish glee” at listing “torments”, and showing adult approval when Uncle Robson “laughed excessively” and calls him a “nobler little scoundrel” with “some spunk”, while Mrs Bloomfield says animals were “created for our convenience” and a “soulless brute.” It might briefly add that the writer signals disapproval through the narrator’s simple moral stance, quoting “Blessed are the merciful” and acting “urged by a sense of duty.”

I mostly agree with the statement. Tom’s excitement about torturing the birds makes him seem cruel, and most adults around him praise it, though the narrator disagrees.

The narrator calls Tom a “little tyrant” and says he speaks with “fiendish glee” about a “list of torments.” These loaded words present him as heartless, and his gloating, “Ha, ha! I’ve caught you there, Miss!” shows he enjoys power. Structurally, her quick decision to crush the birds contrasts with his drawn‑out plans.

When Uncle Robson arrives, adult approval is clear. He “laughed excessively” and praises Tom as “a good ’un” with “spunk,” even “a nobler little scoundrel,” which is almost an oxymoron. Promising “I’ll get you another brood to-morrow” normalises the behaviour, and he was already “pausing to kick his dog,” so he models cruelty.

Tom’s mother supports him quietly. She calls it his “amusements” and says animals are “created for our convenience,” even a “soulless brute.” The calm tone and religious debate show she justifies Tom, while Miss Grey quotes “Blessed are the merciful” to resist.

Overall, I agree to a large extent: Tom is shown as cruel, and the family adults treat that cruelty as positive, although the governess tries to guide him differently.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response would simply agree that Tom is cruel and that the adults approve, using basic references like With fiendish glee, Uncle Robson laughed excessively and called him a nobler little scoundrel, and the mother’s comment about our convenience. It shows simple awareness that the writer presents adult approval of Tom’s cruelty.

I mostly agree with the statement. In this part, Tom seems very cruel because he is excited about hurting the birds. The writer shows this through direct speech and adjectives. Tom boasts, “Ha, ha! I’ve caught you there,” and the narrator calls him a “little tyrant.” Also, the phrase “with fiendish glee he commenced a list of torments” makes him sound nasty and pleased by suffering. The exclamation marks and the verb “torments” make his excitement clear.

The adults do seem to treat this cruelty as a good thing. Uncle Robson “laughed excessively” at Tom’s rage and calls him “a good ’un” and a “nobler little scoundrel.” This language praises him. He even promises, “I’ll get you another brood to-morrow,” which shows approval and encouragement. The detail that he was “pausing to kick his dog” also presents cruelty as normal for him.

Tom’s mother also supports him. Her “doubly dark and chilled” manner towards the governess, and her calm claim that “the creatures were all created for our convenience,” suggest she thinks Tom’s “amusements” are acceptable. She blames Miss Grey for “killing the poor birds by wholesale.”

Overall, I agree to a large extent: Tom is shown as cruel, and the parents and uncle praise it. Only the governess disagrees, using Bible quotes, which shows a different view.

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:

• Loaded epithet frames Tom as domineering and predisposes the reader to judge his behaviour as cruel (little tyrant).
• Intensifying epithet conveys relish in pain, making his intentions feel sadistic and heightening revulsion (fiendish glee).
• Power-play in dialogue shows he relies on adult backing to neutralise moral challenge, suggesting a culture that enables his cruelty (You daren’t).
• Shocking, decisive action is framed as reluctant mercy, positioning the narrator against torture and sharpening our sense of Tom’s greater cruelty (crushed them flat).
• Adult reaction normalises abuse: the uncle pauses to kick his dog and then finds the boy’s rage entertaining, signalling approval (laughed excessively).
• Oxymoronic praise glamorises viciousness as admirable spirit, inverting morality to present cruelty as a virtue (nobler little scoundrel).
• Gendered commendation celebrates defiance of female authority, rewarding aggression as independence that excuses harm (beyond petticoat government).
• Active facilitation of further harm shows adult complicity, treating living creatures as disposable playthings (another brood to-morrow).
• Utilitarian theology recasts animals as resources, legitimising Tom’s amusements and minimising moral responsibility (created for our convenience).
• Dehumanising label diminishes suffering and flips blame onto the narrator, underscoring adult endorsement of the boy’s behaviour (soulless brute).

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

A regional wildlife trust is inviting short creative pieces for its website about close encounters with nature in everyday places.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Describe an animal park visit from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about an unexpected meeting between a person and a wild animal.

(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 gate yawns and the day exhales: a breath of cut grass, warm hay, and something older—animal, earthy, quietly alive. Coins of light slip through plane trees and spend themselves on gravel. A laminated map crackles in my hand, incongruous, as if directions could map wonder. Somewhere a child squeals; somewhere else a murmurous rumble settles in the ribs. The path curls reluctantly, as though even concrete can be coaxed toward curiosity.

Here, giraffes tilt the horizon. Their necks describe deliberate commas in the air, pausing and resuming the sentence of the sky. Beside a timber fence, all weathered grain and knuckled knots, they browse the draped leaves with indigo tongues, deft as ribbons. Ossicones crown their patient heads; eyelashes cast shadows like feathered fans. Their coats—those constellations of amber—gleam and dull as the sun plays hide-and-seek with a cloud. The chew is slow, metronomic, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, an unhurried mettle that rebukes our clocks. What else can you do but look up?

A keeper laughs softly, long sleeves brushed with hay seeds; her whistle is a silver slash at her chest. “They’re greedy today,” she says (not unkindly) as a tongue the colour of stormwater curls through the fence slats and nearly licks a sign that pleads Do not feed. The fence itself, a polite palisade, separates us without quite insisting, and I rest my fingers on its warm top rail. Splinters have been polished to patience by a thousand hands. On the other side, leaf after leaf disappears; the tree sheds nothing of its dignity, only foliage.

Beyond them, the park arranges itself into small worlds that share the same sky. Lemurs stitch the air with chatter, their ringed tails punctuating branches like exclamation marks; macaws unspool impossible colours from their throats. A zebra drifts through shade, its stripes so crisp they could cut; the pattern seems less like fur than a riddle the day refuses to solve. Distantly, a lion’s voice pushes through heat—low, a subwoofer under the afternoon. The sound seems to lift the hairs on the arms of strangers at once. We all pretend we did not feel it.

Underfoot the path freckles with sun; above, the aviary hums, a firmament of wire where rose-pink flamingos stand on matchstick legs, each bird a folded question. The pond smells faintly of copper and algae—metallic, green, near—and the breeze writes spiky handwriting across it. A stroller wheel squeaks; somewhere, chips crisp in hot oil. The ordinary insists; the extraordinary keeps insisting back.

By the rhino enclosure, a tyre hangs like a spare moon. The animal’s hide is a landscape—cracked riverbeds, a geography of armour—and when it breathes, dust rises in a small cathedral of motes. I think, perhaps clumsily, of dinosaurs and battle-tanks and old, old stones. It blinks; the moment shrugs and carries on.

When I leave, afternoon has tilted toward evening. Long shadows trellis the lawn. Pawprints, hoofmarks, footprints—our braids of traffic—crisscross the dust, then fade. The gate inhales me back into the busy world, and the map folds neatly, too neatly, over the unruly spill of memory.

Option B:

Night. The time of small mercies; of windows glowing like embers, of rain making the pavements shine as though the city had been polished for someone important. A hush pools beneath streetlamps, a hush you only notice when you are walking alone.

As the last bus hissed away in a draught of diesel and impatience, I hitched my backpack higher and counted my footsteps to keep my thoughts in order. Eleven, twelve—stop. Behind me, the road unspooled, slick and black as liquorice; ahead, the cul-de-sac where wheelie bins hunched like dominos waiting to fall. My phone was a sullen weight in my pocket, still vibrating with the residue of an argument I had not really won.

I turned down the alley to take the shortcut I swore I would never take again; not because of danger (my mother’s warning voice ran on its own battery), but because of how narrow it felt, how the bricks leaned in as if the buildings had a secret they meant to tell me and then thought better of it.

That was when it stepped out—a rust-red idea made flesh, a punctuation mark laid against the paragraph of night. The fox. It came from the mouth of shadow like a thought you forget you were having and find again on the tip of your tongue. Its tail was a question mark, full and brushed with frost; its eyes, two coins of amber, catching the jaundiced light and giving it back, as if it owned the currency of the dark.

We stared. Somewhere a tap dripped; somewhere else a laugh fractured the silence and mended it again. I had seen foxes before, of course, flashes at the periphery—ribs like the slats of a xylophone, skittering between parked cars—but this one was deliberate. It did not bolt. It held me the way the first note of a song holds a room.

What do you do with wildness when it steps into reach? I fumbled for something—my keys, my throat, the right reaction—and found, absurdly, a sandwich triangle squashed into the front of my bag. Tuna. I hesitated: feeding it would be wrong; any child could tell you that. Even so, I crouched, lowering myself until the cold from the paving stones climbed into my knees. The fox inclined its head, inquisitive, its black nose tasting the air as if scent were script and it could read me.

“Hey,” I said, which was foolish, and also the only word that felt polite.

It padded closer, each step careful, ceremonial. Close enough that I could see the ruffed fur at its chest—white, not pure but weathered, like paper kept in a pocket too long. There was a smell too: damp leaves, iron, bin-sweet rot. The creature’s breath made the smallest clouds. Mine did the same.

Then, decisively, it blinked. The spell loosened. With a sleek twist it turned, the tail-flame giving one insolent flick, and vanished between the bins as if it had never been invented.

Afterwards, standing alone in the alley’s thin chill, I noticed the city exhale. The argument shrank, ridiculous, ordinary. Behind my ribs a new quiet grew—not emptiness; space. I straightened, pocketed the sandwich, and walked on, the night no longer leaning in but walking beside me.

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

Option A:

The gates breathe open with a rehearsed creak; beyond them a pale path curls between clipped hedges and jaunty signs. Air tastes of popcorn, sun cream and hay—domestic comforts mingling with a lower, animal note that pricks the back of the throat. Children drag maps that crackle as if they were small fires. Somewhere a tannoy clears its throat. I am held for a moment by the silly pomp—bright arrows, cartoon paws, a promise of wonder that is almost too tidy—then the breeze tugs me onward through a gate roped with frayed twine.

They appear as if assembled from honeyed timber and caramel netting, their attenuated necks rising beyond the wooden fence like exclamation marks. Giraffes—improbable and serene—work dark tongues around a ladder of leaves, strip a twig bare with a wet zip, and blink as if in slow motion. Sun stipples their flanks; their shadows write hieroglyphs on the sand. In the hush that their height creates, we speak more softly. A keeper leans against the rail (wide-brimmed hat, a radio clipped like an extra rib) and answers a child's question about ossicones with patient delight. The fence is hip-high, yet the distance feels curated: they step, they chew, they consider. Sometimes they look through you—not cruelly, more like an old teacher thinking of another lesson.

Elsewhere, the park buzzes with smaller dramas: meerkats ping from burrow to mound, thin tails commas against the sky; a lion sprawls, breath sawing the afternoon into manageable pieces. In the aviary, air becomes a single, thrumming instrument. Scent shifts—damp straw, hot bamboo, the mineral tang of water sluiced across concrete. Lunch drifts past in vinegar-keen steam from paper cones of chips; it saddens and beckons in the same breath. It is, of course, an edited wilderness. Glass glints where danger ought to begin. The compromise is honest: not savannah, not forest, but a careful kindness that schools curiosity; imperfect, yet kindness.

Toward closing, light slants and flies embroider the shade. The giraffes return to the fence, and leaves shiver down to them like confetti from a parade. Folded and refolded, my map's creases resemble riverbeds. What will I take home? The quick chitter in the aviary; the varnished smell of sun on wood; the way a giraffe’s eye held mine as if we were both trying to remember something important. The park gates yawn again, and the day loosens. Stillness—or something close to it—travels with me.

Option B:

Dawn. The estate held its breath, switched off its neon, remembered it was field. Frost stitched a pale hem on the allotment paths; the padlock wore a crust of white; my breath made brief ghosts. Behind the terraces a bus sighed, and crows rehearsed their harsh chorus on the wires.

I had come early to fetch the last of Dad’s tools — ordinary, weighty. The blunted spade. The dented kettle (scarred with soot) he would balance on a camping stove; the biscuit tin labelled seeds in his lopsided hand. Sleep had been brittle. The flat felt too narrow, so I walked, telling myself this was just a practical errand; nothing ceremonial.

At the third plot I worked the frozen latch; metal kissed and clung to my glove. The brambles to my left shifted as if the hedge breathed. Then, simply, it was there: a roe deer, slim and alert, stepping from the tangle with quiet precision. A pale streak at the rump, a brown coat darkened by dew; ears pricked like questions.

We looked at each other. The world reduced itself to the small circle of our breath. Up close, its eyes were dark and lucid, reflecting me; its hooves pressed the frost — delicate but definite. It should not have been here, not between compost bins and a leaning greenhouse filmed with algae; but the railway cut ran beyond the fence, a green corridor threading the city’s edge. I knew that in a textbook way; this was different. Presence.

I did not move. Dad would have laughed at the way I became statue-still, as if I could bargain with wilderness by behaving properly. Don’t reach; let it choose, he would say, and I did. My hands hung in the raw air. The deer lifted its head, tasting me, the plot, the frost — deciding. Its breath came in clouds; mine tried to quiet itself and failed. What do you do with a wild heart standing three paces away?

Concurrently, the city remembered itself. A train slid past behind the hawthorn; the deer flicked an ear. A car door slammed. And then — almost nothing — it leaned back on invisible springs and flowed between the beds, a white flare of tail vanishing into ivy. Nettles shivered; my heartbeat, belated, resumed. I stood with the spade where it was, the morning feeling larger, as if a hinge had opened. Errand or not, the day had changed.

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

Option A:

The gates yawn open, and the park exhales: flags crackle; a paper map flaps in my damp hand. Warm hay breath mixes with buttered popcorn and that sharp disinfectant that pinches the nose. Somewhere a peacock coughs its rusted trumpet note. Under a sun that clings to skin, paths fork like pale ribbons; strollers squeak. At first I am looking everywhere at once, as if my eyes could be extra, but the path guides me, gently, towards the tall, quiet giants.

Beyond a rough wooden fence, the giraffes are eating the sky. Necks lift and fold like question marks; a purple tongue winds out to pluck leaves, neat as a hand pulling thread. Light dapples their coats into a puzzle of gold and shade. One lowers its head—curious—so close I see the thick lashes, the soft seam of its mouth. A sign says Do not feed: a polite instruction everyone obeys. They chew; everything feels slower.

Meanwhile, the park keeps its rhythm. In the reptile house, the air is wet and still; glass fogs; a snake drifts like poured oil between rocks. Outside, the world is louder: meerkats pop up—one, two, three—sentinels on tiny paws. A keeper swings a blue bucket and penguins slick into water; silver fish flash; there is a slap and a spray that smells of tin. My pockets gather grit.

In contrast, the lions are a statue breathing. Gold hides heap; flies write lazy circles. A paw twitches; nothing more. We wait for the roar; the wind answers, shivering bamboo like pages being turned. It isn’t disappointing; it is ordinary, and somehow better.

By late afternoon, shadows unroll along the paths and the crowds thin. I buy a paper cup of pellets and the goats bump my knees—gentle, insistent—with horns as smooth as stones. Details stand out: a feather bright as a coin, the shiver of a zebra’s skin. On the way out, the giraffes are silhouettes against a paling sky; they draw down the last leaves with patient grace. We leave to the peacock’s soft complaint, and the park folds itself back into quiet.

Option B:

Dawn. The hour when frost loosens its grip; when hedges exhale a slow mist and the lane lies like a pale ribbon between blackthorn and oak. I walked because sleep had been thin, a crumpled shirt I couldn’t smooth; the house was heavy with central heating and murmurs that didn’t involve me. Outside felt cleaner, spare. The air pricked my cheeks and the grass at the verge glittered with tiny shards of ice, as if someone had scattered crushed glass in the night and left without apology.

I had left early—earlier than usual—with my hands buried in my coat, the letter to Mrs Daniels folded and softened in my pocket. Silence, almost. Not quite silence: a rook complaining from a crooked telegraph pole; a far-off bus sighing towards town; the small arithmetic of my breathing. Meanwhile, the sky was thawing to a hesitant apricot, and the lane ran on, obedient, between hedges stitched with spider-silk and last year’s bramble.

At the bend, I heard it. A sharp crack, a twig surrendering, the sort of sound that punctures your thoughts without your permission. I stopped. Told myself: fox, probably; a dog off its lead. I took one cautious step and tasted something like iron at the back of my mouth, that sudden metallic tang of being watched.

He stepped out of the hedge as if the shadow had given birth to him—a stag, complete and astonishing. For a second I mistook his shape for a fallen branch; then the branch breathed and looked back. His antlers were a rough crown decorated with lichen, a tangle of pale filigree against the softening sky. Every part of him seemed deliberate: the climb of his ribs; the quiver stitched into the fine black triangle of his nose; his breath unspooling in white ribbons that vanished almost before I noticed them. We stopped; we both stopped. The lane cinched tight between us, and time thickened like damp honey.

What do you do when the wild looks at you? I didn’t run. I didn’t even cough. My fingers tingled and I pressed them against the coarse wool of my pocket lining, grounding myself. He dipped his head—not a threat, more a careful nod—and shifted his weight. I could smell leaf-mould and cold and something musky, an earthy perfume that made the hedgerow feel older than it had any right to.

Then a bin lorry clattered somewhere behind the village, metal on metal, a harsh reminder. His ear flicked; the spell kinked. With a muscular ripple he turned, light on his astonishing, careful feet, and bounded back into the thicket with three easy strides—absorbed, camouflaged, gone.

The lane reappeared, ordinary again. But it wasn’t. Before, it had been mine; after, it belonged to him as well, and to the morning, which had opened like a secret and then closed. I stood there, still breathing, as the frost finally let go.

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

Option A:

The path into the animal park curved like a slow river, the gravel whispering under my shoes. A wooden fence guided us along; the afternoon sun laid pale stripes across it. Dust lifted in lazy swirls along the path. Ahead, a gate creaked—a long yawn—and the air became a patchwork of smells: warm hay, sharp disinfectant, sweet sugar, and a faint musk. Prams squeaked; someone laughed; somewhere a bell pinged.

Beyond the fence, the giraffes moved with deliberate grace. Their hides were a map of brown islands on cream seas; their long eyelashes cast tiny shadows. One leaned over the rail, its neck bending and bending, patient as a crane. Its eyes were huge and dark, liquid as evening puddles. A purple tongue unfurled and wrapped around a bunch of leaves; the stems snapped with a dry click. Children held out fresh-cut branches—small brave arms shaking—and the giraffes stretched, then chewed, then stretched again, a steady rhythm that felt safe.

We followed the path past lemurs into the green hush of the reptile house. The tunnel smelt of damp stone and old leaves. A snake slid over a rock, its scales catching light in narrow flashes. Outside, a lion lay like a tawny rug. A keeper rattled a bucket: clinks and clatters; nearby birds stepped sideways with comic importance.

By late afternoon, everything softened. Ice cream melted over my knuckles; a peacock flared its iridescent tail and shouted its cracked, bright call. We circled back and the same fence felt warm under my palm, smoothed by other hands. I folded the crumpled map and listened—huffs, bleats, rustles, the thud of my feet. On the way home, I saw those calm giraffe eyes again and felt, for a moment, part of something gentle. It stayed with me.

Option B:

Morning wore a thin shawl of mist over the park. Leaves lay like coins, dull and gold, glued to the path by last night’s rain. I cut through there most days to save time to the bus stop; earphones asleep in my pocket, I liked the quiet. The air smelt of wet earth and cold metal from the swings, and a dog barked far away, shuffled by the fog.

A twig cracked. Not the clumsy flutter of pigeons, not the sly rustle of a fox. I stopped, mid-step, breath held without thinking, because the noise had a different weight, careful and heavy. The silence afterwards was so complete it felt like the park was listening with me.

At first it was only a shape, a darker patch in the mist. Then it gathered itself into a silhouette: antlers lifting out of the grey like black trees; head turned, ears pricked, eyes glinting like wet stones. What was a deer doing here, between graffiti and goalposts? It didn’t belong and yet it did, as if appointed to guard the morning.

We both froze. It froze too, our eyes connected, time stretched, and our breath made little clouds that met and vanished. I did the only thing I could: nothing. The animal’s ribs moved, slow and steady; it stepped once—deliberately—then again. Hooves tapped the tarmac, a soft, hollow sound. I saw a pale scar on its shoulder and the quiver of its nose tasting my scent (or I imagined it). My heart thudded in my throat and I felt oddly calm, like I was the tree beside me.

The stag blinked. The moment snapped. In a scatter of raindrops and leaves it turned and slipped away between the swings and the dripping birches. I let out a breath I hadn’t known I kept, and the park, somehow, did the same.

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

Option A:

The gate clanged and the map bent like a clumsy bird in my hand. Warm air drifted over the gravel; it smelled of hay, damp earth and sugary popcorn. Ahead, giraffes stood beside a wooden fence, browsing leaves as if they were reading them. Their hides were patterned like old amber maps. Sunlight slipped through a thin canopy and painted their long necks in patches. They chewed slowly, patiently, the same rhythm over and over—chew, chew. One lifted its head high and blinked heavy eyelashes at us, calm as a clock.

We edged closer and a keeper talked in a soft voice; he said their tongues could reach thirty centimetres. The giraffe leaned down like a crane; it swayed; it balanced. A purple tongue curled around a branch, slick and careful, and leaves disappeared with a crisp crackle. How could that neck bend so gently? A child stretched out a hand and the giraffe considered him—quiet, serious—and then took the pellets. The gate creaked; somewhere a buggy squeaked; a soft snort shivered the dust.

After that we followed the path past the pond where ducks made rings. Monkeys squealed, a lion yawned like a door, and the wind carried a straw-sweet breath across the pens. The clouds slid and the sun came back, it made the giraffes glow pale gold. For a moment the park felt both wild and kept. Leaving felt slow. Even on the bus home the tall shapes stayed with me, still chewing in my mind, still looking over that small wooden fence.

Option B:

Dawn was a thin bruise on the edge of the sky; the estate yawned, not quite awake. I cut through the side alley to make the bus; I always took the shortcut, even though the bins and the damp tried to push me back.

At the corner something moved. A fox stood in the silver-grey light, made of rust and flame, tail like a paintbrush. We stopped, both of us. I had seen foxes before, far away—shadows racing across roads. Never this close.

I could see the wet ring of its nose and the shiver in its flank; its eyes were bright coins. It smelt like wet leaves and bin bags, not nice but not horrible either, just wild. What was I supposed to do? I lowered my hand, palm out, like we do for nervous dogs—not to touch, just to show I wasn't a threat.

The fox tilted its head; it took one step, then another, feet so light the ground hardly noticed. A bottle rolled behind me: a clatter that made us both flinch. A car crawled past, headlights sliding over bricks and fur; the light sliced the moment, and the animal flowed under the gate, silent as smoke.

I stood a second longer, heart racing, as if the morning had changed its mind about me. Then the bus roared at the end of the road, and everything felt ordinary again. Still, as I left the alley, I looked for a streak of orange, just in case.

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

Option A:

The gate creaked open and the bright morning slid across the path. Tall giraffes stood by a wooden fence, their necks like cranes. They peeled leaves with long purple tongues, slow and sure. The air smelt of warm hay and damp earth; somewhere a cart rattled. Children giggled, then hushed, as the animals leaned over, up and up and up. Sunlight dripped through leaves and the spots on their backs looked like warm maps.

Firstly we watched the tallest one, it blinked huge eyelashes and bent its head close. It’s ears flickered; it sniffed my sleeve, or I imagined it. My heart knocked. Then we moved along the path to zebras that fizzed black-and-white, and lemurs that bounced like little springs. A sign explained habitat and diet: unusual, important, endangered. I tried to read it all, but the smell of popcorn, and the chatter, and a sudden peacock scream pulled me away.

After that we sat by the pond and listened to the wind. Finally, as clouds gathered, the park felt quieter—animals drifting to shade, people to the exit. I looked back at the giraffes, patient and tall as lamp-posts. It was an ordinary day, but it still felt special. I wont forget it.

Option B:

Morning was ordinary. I tied my laces, zipped my thin jacket, and cut through the small wood behind the estate to save five minutes. Wet leaves stuck to the path and the world smelt of soil and rain.

Then a twig snapped. It wasn't loud, but it stopped me. At first I thought it was a dog, but between the birches a fox stepped out, almost silent, like a shadow lifting. Its fur was a tired orange, patchy and tangled, and its tail dragged a wet stripe behind it. I froze; even the birds seemed to pause. My heart went fast, like trainers on gravel.

I don't know why, but I whispered, hello. It tilted its narrow head, ears flicking, eyes bright with a cold sort of curiosity. Not tame, not friendly, just alive. I slid my hand into my bag—slow—pulled out half a squashed sandwich. It stepped closer… two delicate paws, then stopped. It wasn't fear: it was surprise, for both of us.

A car horn blared from the road. The fox flinched and vanished into the brambles as quick as a match going out. I stood in the wood with my sandwich and the quiet returning around me, and I suddenly didn't care about five minutes anymore.

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

Option A:

The sun was hot at the animal park. I walk next to the wooden fence and theres alot of people. Kids laugh and someone eats chips, it smells like hay and warm dust. I am trying to see...

I seen the giraffes first. They was tall like towers. Their long necks bend over the fence and they pull leaves with their lips, up and down, up and down. The spots look like paint. One looks at me, its eye slow and wet, it chews and chews.

So quiet, then loud.

A keeper says dont feed them. The wind makes the leaves shake, the fence makes a little click and the giraffe tongue is purple like a ribbon, it slides out, it grabs a leaf. I am close and I hear its breath, warm on my hand. I feel small but happy, we go back and the sun is still hot.

Option B:

Morning. The path was muddy and the air was cold. Frost on the nettles. I walked with my hands in my coat. I could hear my own breath, and the leaves went crunch.

I was just going to the shop, just that, not a big adventure, when something came out of the bushes it was brown and big and it looked right at me.

A deer. Tall, with thin legs, and eyes like coins. It stood still like a statue. My heart was fast like a drum.

Dont move, I told myself, dont even breath. The deer lifted its head; steam came out like a tiny cloud.

We both waited. I didnt plan this, I definatly didnt. I thought the woods were empty.

Then it moved.

It took a step. I took one back and almost slip on wet leaves, I wanted to run but my legs went heavy.

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

Option A:

The sun is bright on the animal park and the path is dusty, it sticks to my shoes and the fence is wooden. Them giraffes stand by it their necks are long, they go up and up, they chew leaves slow, green and wet. I hear people talking and a pram beeping and a child shout. The smell is hay and ice cream and hot dogs I feel hot. A giraffe looks at me like it knows me I laugh - then I don't. Its tongue is purple and it flicks, flicks back and forward. We go to ducks then I think about chips.

Option B:

It was early and the path was wet I was walking to school. I kicked little stones and think about the test. Then a fox come out from the hedge. It was orange like fire but dirty. It stop right there. It looked at me and I looked back. My heart was loud, like a drum in a box. The fox nose twitched, like it was sniffing my breath. I didnt move. Birds went quiet. We was both still and i forgot the time. Then a car honked somewhere, and I remember my lunch was in the kitchen at home.