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 does the speaker say must be done?: Get out of this in some way. – 1 mark
• 1.2 What is the speaker's marital status as revealed here?: The speaker is unmarried. – 1 mark
• 1.3 What does the speaker say about being married?: I'm not married. – 1 mark
• 1.4 Who does the speaker mention after saying 'what this means to me'?: My family. – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

Look in detail at this extract, from lines 6 to 110 of the source:

6 father! My mother! I can't tell you. But I must get out of it. I must! I must! Oh, you don't know, you don't know! I must! I must!" She began to rock backward and forward, at the same time swaying from side to

11 side as in a trance. And Glenn, surprised and startled by this sudden demonstration as well as emotionally affected, and yet at the same time advised thereby that his original surmise had been correct, and hence

16 that Roberta had been lying, as well as that if he wished to keep himself out of this he must now assume a firm and even heartless attitude, asked solemnly: "You are

21 not married, you say?" For answer now Roberta merely shook her head negatively and continued to cry. And at last gathering the full import of her situation, Dr. Glenn got up, his

26 face a study of troubled and yet conservative caution and sympathy. But without saying anything at first he merely looked at her as she wept. Later he added: "Well, well, this is too bad. I'm

31 sorry." But fearing to commit himself in any way, he merely paused, adding after a time soothingly and dubiously: "You mustn't cry. That won't help you any." He then paused again, still

36 determined not to have anything to do with this case. Yet a bit curious as to the true nature of the story he finally asked: "Well, then where is the young man who

41 is the cause of your trouble? Is he here?" Still too overcome by shame and despair to speak, Roberta merely shook her head negatively. "But he knows that you're in trouble, doesn't he?"

46 "Yes," replied Roberta faintly. "And he won't marry you?" "He's gone away."

51 "Oh, I see. The young scamp! And don't you know where he's gone?" "No," lied Roberta, weakly. "How long has it been since he left you?" "About a week now." Once more she lied. "And you don't know where he is?"

56 "No." "How long has it been since you were sick?"

61 "Over two weeks now," sobbed Roberta. "And before that you have always been regular?" "Yes."

66 "Well, in the first place," his tone was more comfortable and pleasant than before--he seemed to be snatching at a plausible excuse for extricating himself from a case which promised little other than danger

71 and difficulty, "this may not be as serious as you think. I know you're probably very much frightened, but it's not unusual for women to miss a period. At any rate,

76 without an examination it wouldn't be possible to be sure, and even if you were, the most advisable thing would be to wait another two weeks. You may find then that there is

81 nothing wrong. I wouldn't be surprised if you did. You seem to be oversensitive and nervous and that sometimes brings about delays of this kind--mere nervousness. At any rate, if you'll take my advice, whatever

86 you do, you'll not do anything now but just go home and wait until you're really sure. For even if anything were to be done, it wouldn't be advisable for you to do anything before then."

91 "But I've already taken some pills and they haven't helped me," pleaded Roberta. "What were they?" asked Glenn interestedly, and, after he had learned, merely commented: "Oh, those. Well, they wouldn't be likely to be of

96 any real service to you, if you were pregnant. But I still suggest that you wait, and if you find you pass your second period, then it will be time enough to act, although I earnestly advise you, even then, to do

101 nothing if you can help it, because I consider it wrong to interfere with nature in this way. It would be much better, if you would arrange to have the child and take care of

106 it. Then you wouldn't have the additional sin of destroying a life upon your conscience." He was very grave and felt very righteous as he said this.

How does the writer use language here to present Roberta’s desperation and Dr. Glenn’s immediate reaction? 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 identify that Roberta’s desperation is conveyed through insistent exclamatives and repetition—I must! I must!, you don't know, you don't know!—and kinetic, trance-like imagery (rock backward and forward, as in a trance) to externalise spiralling panic and loss of control. In contrast, Dr. Glenn’s reaction is revealed by hedging, multi-clause narration (connectives like and yet, and hence), interrogatives (You are not married, you say?), evaluative/moralising lexis and euphemism (conservative caution, snatching at a plausible excuse, You mustn't cry, interfere with nature, felt very righteous), presenting calculated detachment masked as sympathy.

The writer foregrounds Roberta’s desperation through anaphora and exclamatives: the fractured cry “I must! I must! Oh, you don’t know, you don’t know!” amplifies urgency and panic, the repetition mimicking breathless compulsion. Kinetic imagery intensifies this: she “began to rock backward and forward… swaying from side to side as in a trance,” a simile suggesting dissociation and loss of control. Moreover, the paralinguistic details “merely shook her head” and the adverbials “faintly,” “weakly,” and “sobbed” reduce her voice to gestures and broken sound, conveying shame-struck helplessness.

In contrast, Dr. Glenn’s immediate reaction is rendered through a long, multi-clause sentence that maps his calculating thought-process: “surprised and startled… and yet… he must now assume a firm and even heartless attitude.” The cumulative syntax exposes conflict between instinct and self-preservation. Metaphor sharpens his guardedness: his “face a study of troubled and yet conservative caution and sympathy” presents a composed mask. Furthermore, adverbs such as “soothingly and dubiously,” and the repeated “merely paused,” reveal a surface gentleness undercut by scepticism and avoidance.

Additionally, interrogatives allow him to control the exchange: “You are not married, you say?… Is he here?” His brisk label “young scamp!” is a colloquial exclamation that trivialises Roberta’s crisis while signalling moral judgment. The clinical euphemism and modal hedging—“miss a period,” “may not,” “wouldn’t be advisable,” “I advise”—construct an authoritative, distancing register, with the covert imperative “you’ll not do anything now” asserting power.

Finally, religious and ethical lexis—“wrong,” “sin,” “destroying a life,” “conscience”—and the narratorial comment he “felt very righteous” frame his response as sanctimonious self-justification, heightening the contrast with Roberta’s raw desperation.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would typically identify that Roberta’s desperation is shown through short fragments, repetition and exclamations like "I must! I must!" and the physical description "rock backward and forward ... as in a trance", while Dr. Glenn’s distancing, cautious reaction is conveyed by hedging/modality in "this may not be as serious as you think" and "wait another two weeks", moralising diction "wrong" and "sin", the solemn question "You are not married, you say?", and longer, measured sentences suggesting reluctance.

The writer presents Roberta’s desperation through repetition and exclamatory sentences. Her cry, 'I must! I must!' and 'You don’t know, you don’t know!' foregrounds urgency and panic. Verbs—'rock backward and forward', 'swaying'—with the simile 'as in a trance' show she is overwhelmed. Adverbs like 'faintly' and 'weakly', and the reporting verb 'sobbed', create fragility and shame. Moreover, the emotive phrase 'overcome by shame and despair' and the repeated action 'shook her head negatively' suggest she cannot speak.

Dr. Glenn’s immediate reaction is shown through contrast and tone. Although 'surprised and startled', he decides to 'assume a firm and even heartless attitude': this juxtaposition shows inner conflict. The metaphor 'his face a study of… caution and sympathy' suggests calculated restraint. His platitudes—'Well, well, this is too bad. I’m sorry'—sound perfunctory, while the adverbs 'soothingly and dubiously' and pauses imply hesitation and distance.

Furthermore, his interrogatives—'Is he here?' and 'How long has it been…?'—control the exchange, while Roberta’s brief replies heighten her powerlessness. Parenthesis '—he seemed to be snatching at a plausible excuse—' exposes his wish to avoid involvement. Finally, euphemism and moral lexis—'your trouble', 'interfere with nature', 'sin'—present a righteous stance; 'very grave' and 'felt very righteous' show self-justification rather than comfort.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment on effects; some appropriate detail; some use of terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer shows Roberta’s desperation with repetition and exclamations like "I must! I must!" and the frantic movement "rock backward and forward", which make her seem panicked and out of control. Dr. Glenn’s reaction appears cautious and detached through adverbs and uncertain language, as he "asked solemnly", says "this may not be as serious as you think", and advises "the most advisable thing would be to wait another two weeks".

The writer presents Roberta’s desperation through repetition and exclamatory sentences: “I must! I must!” and “you don’t know, you don’t know!” This makes her sound panicked and urgent. Her movement, “rock backward and forward… swaying… as in a trance,” is a simile that shows she has lost control. Verbs like “sobbed” and the adverb “faintly” show how weak she is.

Furthermore, Dr. Glenn’s immediate reaction is shown by adjectives and questions. He is “surprised and startled,” but speaks “solemnly,” which creates a distant tone. The phrase “his face a study of… conservative caution and sympathy” suggests he is holding back. Moreover, his questions, “Is he here?” and “And he won’t marry you?” move attention to the man. He hedges with modal verbs, “this may not be as serious,” and “it would be better,” making him seem cautious and distant. Therefore, language presents her desperation and his restraint.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: Roberta’s desperation is shown by repetition and exclamation in "I must! I must!" and actions like "rock backward and forward" and the emotive verb "sobbed," which show she is very upset. Dr. Glenn’s reaction uses words like "soothingly," "dubiously," and "asked solemnly," plus the phrase "assume a firm and even heartless attitude," to suggest he is cautious and not very sympathetic.

The writer uses repetition and exclamations to present Roberta’s desperation. The repeated “I must! I must!” and the exclamation marks show panic and urgency. The verbs “rock” and “swaying,” plus “as in a trance,” make her seem overwhelmed. Furthermore, Dr. Glenn’s immediate reaction is shown with adjectives and adverbs: “surprised and startled” and “asked solemnly,” which shows he is shocked but trying to be calm. He is “determined not to have anything to do with this case,” showing coldness. Additionally, modal and imperative phrases like “you mustn’t cry” and “go home and wait” show his distance.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Anaphora and exclamations intensify Roberta’s urgency and panic, creating a breathless, insistent rhythm (I must! I must!)
• Fragmented vocatives and broken syntax suggest loss of control and fear of exposure (My mother! I can't tell you)
• Physical imagery and simile externalise her distress as near-hysterical, dissociative movement (as in a trance)
• Extended, multi-clause narration tracks Glenn’s shift from shock to calculated detachment, revealing self-preservation (firm and even heartless)
• Authorial tagging frames her responses as panic-driven deceit and fragility, shaping reader judgment (lied Roberta, weakly)
• Lexical repetition of “merely” underscores Glenn’s minimal intervention and emotional distance (merely looked at her)
• Euphemistic circumlocution distances the issue, prioritising propriety over empathy (cause of your trouble)
• A barrage of interrogatives asserts control and reduces her to a case history (How long has it been)
• Modal advice and prohibitions build a paternal, directive voice that curtails her agency (you'll not do anything)
• Moralising lexis shifts from clinical to ethical pressure, heightening guilt and his self-righteousness (sin of destroying a life)

Question 3 - Mark Scheme

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

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

You could write about:

• how despair deepens 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: Level 4 responses perceptively track how despair intensifies as the text moves from Roberta’s urgent repetition — "I must! I must!" — and body language "as in a trance" to a slowed, distancing sequence of pauses and interrogatives ("He then paused again", "How long has it been since he left you?"), with narratorial intrusions like "Once more she lied" that strip away hope. They also analyse the structural turn to judgment, as Glenn’s evasion ("snatching at a plausible excuse") culminates in moral closure ("wrong to interfere with nature", "sin of destroying a life"), shifting the focus from aid to condemnation to intensify despair.

One way the writer structures despair is by plunging us in medias res into Roberta’s jagged exclamatives and anaphora: “I must! I must!” The extract opens at the peak of crisis, then immediately shifts focus from her embodied distress (“rock backward and forward… as in a trance”) to Glenn’s cool interiority, a change in focalisation that sidelines her voice. This early juxtaposition—fragmented pleas against measured narrative commentary—creates a power imbalance: as the narrative lens transfers to Glenn’s deductions (“his original surmise had been correct”), Roberta’s agency shrinks, deepening the sense that her panic will not be met with relief.

In addition, the writer manipulates narrative pace through strategic pauses and interrogatives. Glenn “paused… paused again,” a deceleration that works against her urgency, while the stichomythic Q&A (“‘And he won’t marry you?’ ‘He’s gone away.’”) reduces her to monosyllables and silence, structurally enacting helplessness. Temporal references escalate entrapment: “About a week now,” “Over two weeks,” and the directive to “wait another two weeks” stretch the problem across time, converting immediate dread into prolonged dread. The recurrent deferment (“it would be time enough to act”) becomes a structural motif of postponement, intensifying despair through delay.

A further structural feature is the movement from dialogic fragmentation to a didactic monologue. Glenn’s “more comfortable and pleasant” tone swells into moralising closure—“wrong to interfere with nature”—an anti-climax that withholds resolution. Authorial intrusion (“once more she lied”; “he felt very righteous”) frames the scene in judgement rather than relief, while the final gravitas seals the power shift. Thus, the extract’s arc—from visceral outcry to sanctimonious stalemate—uses shifts in focus, pace, and voice to compound Roberta’s despair.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would explain how despair intensifies across the extract: starting with Roberta’s frantic repetition and rocking—"I must! I must!", "rock backward and forward"—shifting to Glenn’s distancing pauses and question-and-answer exchange—"He then paused again", "Well, then where is..."—and ending with delaying, moralising closure—"wait another two weeks", "very grave and felt very righteous"—so structural shifts in tone, dialogue, and time make her situation feel increasingly hopeless.

One way in which the writer has structured the text to create despair is by opening in medias res with urgent direct speech and anaphora: "I must! I must!" plus the broken list "My father! My mother!" The narrative then zooms on her rocking "backward and forward". This immediate start quickens the pace and plunges us into Roberta’s turmoil, foregrounding her loss of control and establishing a desperate tone.

In addition, the focus shifts to Dr Glenn, and the dialogue structure creates contrast: Roberta’s minimal replies ("Yes", "No") oppose his longer, delaying sentences and pauses ("he merely paused"). His interrogatives ("How long...?") and instruction "wait another two weeks" slow the pace and prolong uncertainty, increasing frustration and helplessness. This change of focus and transactional Q&A place him in control, deepening despair.

A further structural feature is the use of temporal markers and closing tonal shift. References like "about a week" and "over two weeks" map a worsening timeline, while repeated head-shakes show speech giving way to silence. The perspective slips into Glenn’s thoughts ("determined not to have anything to do with this case"), and the extract ends with his "grave and righteous" moralising, a bleak closure that seals her entrapment.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: At the start the writer shows despair with repetition and exclamations like "I must! I must!" and the action "rock backward and forward", then moves into the doctor’s questioning (e.g., "where is the young man...") and hesitations like "He then paused again", which slow the pace. This shift to his cautious advice "wait another two weeks" makes it feel more hopeless because help is delayed.

One way the writer has structured the text to create despair is in the opening, using repetition and short sentences. Roberta pleads, “I must! I must!” and “you don’t know!”, which immediately creates a frantic tone. Beginning with this crisis focuses us on her breakdown and sets a hopeless mood.

In addition, in the middle the pace slows with pauses and question-and-answer dialogue. The focus shifts to Glenn’s careful thoughts; he “paused” and asks questions. Temporal references “about a week,” “over two weeks,” and “another two weeks” stretch time. The brief “Yes”/“No” answers show helplessness.

A further structural feature is the ending. The focus returns to Glenn’s moral speech and the final line, “He was very grave and felt very righteous.” This change in tone and lack of solution leave the ending bleak, which increases the reader’s sense of despair.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: At the start Roberta repeats "I must! I must!" and "rock backward and forward" to show panic, then the doctor’s pauses and questions ("he merely paused", "Well, then where is the young man") and his final warning "wrong to interfere with nature" make the despair feel worse by the end.

One way the writer structures despair is at the beginning with repetition and short sentences. Roberta says, "I must! I must!" The short repeats show panic. This makes the despair feel immediate.

In addition, the focus shifts into dialogue and questions from the doctor. He pauses and asks, "How long...?" The pauses slow the pace. This makes her situation seem worse and hopeless.

A further structural feature is time references and the ending. Phrases like "about a week" and "over two weeks" build it up. Ending with his moral speech makes it feel final, so the despair deepens.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• In medias res confession plunges us into crisis and sets an urgent baseline of despair (I have to)
• Fragmented, escalating exclamations foreground spiralling stakes and helplessness (My father! My mother!)
• Stage-direction-like body movement prolongs the moment, embodying trapped panic (rock backward and forward)
• Shift to Glenn’s calculating vantage contrasts her panic, heightening isolation (heartless attitude)
• Interrogative Q&A drip-feeds bleak facts while her minimal replies reduce her agency (merely shook her head)
• Repeated narratorial hesitation stalls progress, mirroring her stuck situation (paused again)
• Explicit delaying advice structurally defers any solution, extending dread and uncertainty (wait another two weeks)
• Iterative labelling of deceit underscores her entrapment and fear of exposure (once more she lied)
• Soothing admonitions jar against her sobbing, intensifying the gulf and her despair (You mustn't cry)
• Concluding moralising closes avenues of help, leaving only guilt and hopelessness (destroying a life)

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, Dr. Glenn’s advice to Roberta might seem professional and moral. The writer suggests he is actually selfish and just wants to avoid getting involved in her problems.

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

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of Dr Glenn's selfish and unprofessional behaviour
• comment on the methods the writer uses to suggest Dr Glenn's true self-serving motivation
• 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 perceptively evaluate the writer’s viewpoint that Glenn’s moral professionalism is a façade, showing how narratorial asides and diction like fearing to commit himself, still determined not to have anything to do with this case, and seemed to be snatching at a plausible excuse for extricating himself undercut his pious counsel (wrong to interfere with nature) and culminate in the ironic judgement that he felt very righteous.

I largely agree with the statement. While Dr. Glenn’s advice wears the surface polish of professional caution and moral rectitude, the writer persistently exposes a self-preserving impulse that drives him to evade responsibility.

From the outset, the narrator unmasks his motive: he decides “if he wished to keep himself out of this he must now assume a firm and even heartless attitude.” The verb “assume” implies a performed stance rather than authentic care, and “heartless” pre-conditions the reader to distrust the “solemn” tone that follows. His face is “a study of troubled and yet conservative caution and sympathy,” a carefully posed tableau in which “conservative caution” dominates any genuine “sympathy.” The structural pattern of hesitation—“without saying anything,” “he merely looked,” “he merely paused,” “paused again”—slows the scene and enacts his procrastination. The adverb “merely,” repeated, underscores the minimalism of his response: token gestures that allow him to appear compassionate while doing nothing.

The narrator’s intrusions repeatedly reveal avoidance: he is “fearing to commit himself,” “still determined not to have anything to do with this case.” Even his brief interrogations—“Where is the young man…?”—work to shift responsibility elsewhere. Calling the absent lover “the young scamp!” is a moral flourish that scapegoats someone safely out of the room, letting Glenn discharge indignation without offering help. This is professional distance as a refuge, not a duty.

When his “tone” becomes “more comfortable and pleasant,” the writer immediately undercuts it: he “seemed to be snatching at a plausible excuse for extricating himself from a case which promised little other than danger and difficulty.” The metaphor of “snatching” and “extricating” constructs a semantic field of escape. His medical modal verbs—“wouldn’t be possible,” “wouldn’t be advisable,” “I wouldn’t be surprised”—sound professional, yet their hedging effect insulates him from future blame. Minimising Roberta as “oversensitive and nervous” converts her crisis into “mere nervousness,” a clinical-sounding euphemism that rationalises inaction. Even his curiosity—he asks “interestedly” about the pills—reads as detached, technical appetite rather than care for her welfare; “Oh, those” is dismissive.

Finally, his moralising crescendo—“I earnestly advise… wrong to interfere with nature… additional sin”—lets him retreat behind piety. The climactic sentence, “He was very grave and felt very righteous,” is ironised by the narrator; “felt” signals self-congratulation rather than moral integrity. Structurally, the scene moves from measured caution to sanctimony, but in both registers his language functions as cover for avoidance.

Overall, the writer invites us to see professional caution and moral counsel as a façade. Though there are flickers of conventional sympathy (“I’m sorry”), the dominant impression—shaped by adverbs, modality, strategic pauses and revealing narration—is of a man chiefly protecting himself, not a doctor stepping into a patient’s need.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: Level 3 responses clearly explain that Dr Glenn appears moral and professional, using soothing language like "I'm sorry." and the principled claim "I consider it wrong to interfere with nature". They also show how the writer’s commentary — "fearing to commit himself", "determined not to have anything to do with this case", and "snatching at a plausible excuse for extricating himself", plus that he "felt very righteous" — exposes his self‑serving wish to avoid involvement.

I agree to a large extent that Dr. Glenn’s advice only appears professional and moral, while the writer suggests he is really selfishly avoiding involvement. From the outset, the narrator exposes his motive: he “must now assume a firm and even heartless attitude,” which frames his later “professional” manner as calculated. The description of his face as “a study of troubled and yet conservative caution and sympathy” uses juxtaposition to show a careful performance of care. His platitudes—“Well, well… I’m sorry”—and the adverbs “solemnly” and “soothingly and dubiously” create a restrained, distancing tone. Crucially, the narrator undercuts any genuine concern by stating he was “fearing to commit himself” and “determined not to have anything to do with this case.”

As the scene develops, his questioning looks like medical diligence but functions as evasion. He redirects attention to “the young man,” even dismissing him as a “young scamp!”—an exclamative that trivialises Roberta’s crisis while shifting responsibility. Structurally, the repeated “paused” signals stalling, and his modality—“wouldn’t be possible to be sure,” “I wouldn’t be surprised”—hedges and protects him from commitment. The writer’s authorial intrusion that he was “snatching at a plausible excuse for extricating himself” makes the self-serving strategy explicit. Imperatives like “you’ll not do anything now,” “just go home and wait” sound authoritative but effectively push her away.

Finally, he cloaks avoidance in moral rhetoric: it is “wrong to interfere with nature,” and there would be the “sin of destroying a life.” The grave tone and the detail that “He was very grave and felt very righteous” reveal self-satisfaction rather than compassion. Even his diagnosis of her as “oversensitive and nervous” pathologises her to justify inaction.

Overall, while his questions and timelines seem professionally framed, the narrative voice and diction consistently expose a self-protective, moralising posture. I therefore agree that the writer presents Dr. Glenn as selfishly avoiding involvement beneath a veneer of professionalism.

Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response would partly agree, pointing out the narrator reveals Glenn’s avoidance with “still determined not to have anything to do with this case” and “snatching at a plausible excuse.” It would also note his moral front in “I consider it wrong to interfere with nature” and that he felt “very righteous,” as simple evidence that the writer presents him as professional while actually self-serving.

I mostly agree with the statement. Dr Glenn’s advice sounds professional and moral on the surface, but the writer shows he mainly wants to avoid getting involved. At the start of the extract, the narrator reveals his motive before he even speaks: he wishes “to keep himself out of this” and plans to “assume a firm and even heartless attitude.” This authorial comment exposes selfishness, even though he “asked solemnly,” which makes him appear proper.

As the scene goes on, the writer presents his reluctance through language and structure. He is “fearing to commit himself,” he “paused… adding after a time,” and then “paused again,” showing delay. His repeated questions—“Where is the young man…?” and “And he won’t marry you?”—push the responsibility onto someone else. The adverbs “soothingly and dubiously” suggest his calm tone is doubtful and insincere.

When he finally gives advice, the narrator says he is “snatching at a plausible excuse for extricating himself from a case which promised little other than danger and difficulty.” His modal language—“wouldn’t be possible,” “would be advisable,” “you’ll not do anything”—sounds official, but it directs Roberta to wait so he can avoid risk. He then turns to moralising: it is “wrong to interfere with nature,” and there would be “the additional sin of destroying a life.” The line “He was very grave and felt very righteous” undercuts him, suggesting self-satisfaction rather than care.

He does say “I’m sorry” and looks “troubled,” hinting at some sympathy. Overall, I agree the writer presents Dr Glenn as hiding self-interest behind professional, moral-sounding advice.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: Simple agreement that the writer shows Dr Glenn as selfish and avoiding involvement, citing 'fearing to commit himself in any way' and 'determined not to have anything to do with this case.' Also notes his moral talk and delay as excuses, e.g., 'consider it wrong to interfere with nature in this way' and 'wait another two weeks'.

I mostly agree with the statement. Although Dr. Glenn sounds professional and moral, the writer makes him seem selfish and trying to avoid involvement.

At the start, he decides to “assume a firm and even heartless attitude.” The adjective “heartless” makes him sound cold. He says “I’m sorry,” but the narrator adds he was “fearing to commit himself.” The repeated “paused” and the adverb “dubiously” show a hesitant tone, as if he is stalling. He is “determined not to have anything to do with this case,” which shows he wants to keep out.

When he questions Roberta, calling the man a “young scamp!”, the exclamation seems like a moral comment that avoids offering help. He advises her to “wait another two weeks” and says it is “wrong to interfere with nature.” He even says they can’t be sure without an examination, but he doesn’t offer one, which seems unprofessional. This sounds moral and professional, but the writer says he was “snatching at a plausible excuse for extricating himself.” The phrase “felt very righteous” suggests he likes feeling good rather than helping.

Overall, I agree that his moral advice hides a selfish wish to avoid getting involved.

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:

• Authorial intrusion reveals avoidance as his true motive, undermining any professional façade (determined not to have anything)
• The blended description of feeling and restraint signals self-protection cloaked as care (conservative caution and sympathy)
• Hesitations and pauses operate as stalling tactics rather than support, showing reluctance to commit (he merely paused)
• Soothing platitudes sound caring but are practically evasive, offering comfort in place of action (You mustn't cry)
• Questioning redirects responsibility onto the absent lover, deflecting immediate help (Is he here?)
• A tonal shift as he finds an out exposes relief and self-interest (snatching at a plausible excuse)
• Minimising the problem invalidates her distress and rationalises doing nothing (mere nervousness)
• Moral framing disguises refusal as ethical principle, justifying non-involvement (wrong to interfere with nature)
• Explicit authorial judgement punctures his virtue-signalling, highlighting self-satisfaction (felt very righteous)
• Advice engineered to delay keeps him uninvolved while seeming prudent (just go home and wait)

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

A local youth project is inviting creative writing for a competition judged by sports personalities.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Describe a skatepark at sunset from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about perseverance.

(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 skatepark holds its breath as the sun pours itself thinly over the concrete, a spill of molten apricot catching on the lip of every bowl. Shadows stretch, long-limbed and indulgent, slipping into the hollows like ink. Rails glint; bolts wink; the graffiti, once garish, deepens into something almost reverent. It is quiet—almost. Far off, a car coughs and recedes; nearer, the soft scratch of a leaf is pulled, backwards and forwards, by a slant of wind. The day, though, lingers: it loiters on the coping, stubborn, honey-bright.

Here, geometry becomes invitation: the half-pipe curves like a careful smile; the stairs articulate their dare; the flat is a stage, blank, attentive. Scuff marks arc in pale crescents: testimonies; waxed edges gleam where boards have feathered past. The place smells of dust and iron and something surprisingly sweet—the last, flattened fizz of a drink abandoned on the bench. Under my fingers the concrete is still warm, the aggregate fine as flour and rough as memory. Do we call this emptiness, or the pause in a sentence before the verb?

All day—because it is always all day here—wheels sang, trucks rattled, shoulders dipped; boys and girls slurred through trick-lists as patient as prayer. Now their echoes remain, sketched in blackening rubber: cursive signatures that loop and falter, fail and insist. If I listen (I do), I can hear the whisper of bearings and bravado, the tiny gasp before a leap, the slap of a board returning to feet. Flight, then thud; hazard, then howl; joy, then the shy grin that blooms anyway. Ordinary transcendence.

A plastic bottle reclines on its side, cradling a gold inch of evening; a single glove sulks beneath the rail as if it knows it has been forgotten. Pigeons patrol the chain-link, fat, grey sentinels; a gull scribbles the sky and is gone. The breeze arrives and leaves; it sifts the chalky dust; it drifts. In the bowl, a shadow collects and becomes a pool, cool as pewter. Heat loosens from the slab and thins into the air; the day exhales.

Meanwhile the sun slides lower, redder, less certain. The city widens its eyes. On the concrete, colours saturate and then slip: orange to umber to ash. The park accepts this without protest—hasn’t it been designed to hold the fall? When night finally reaches in, it will fold everything neat and flat, like a board back in its rack. Yet, just for a minute more, the light licks the rail; the ramp glows; the paint becomes paint again, vivid and vain. Tomorrow, they will come early, and the spell will be broken; the spell will begin.

Option B:

Morning. The hour of small, stubborn decisions; kettles ticking into a simmer, buses heaving themselves awake, a ribbon of light unspooling over the brickwork. Frost salted the kerb—glittering, granulated, obstinate. Inside the rehabilitation centre, disinfectant breathed its sharp citrus; the corridor smelt like lemons bullied into obedience.

Liv sat at the base of the staircase as though it were a mountain with etiquette. The rail—polished smooth by a hundred cautious palms—waited. Her trainers were new, artificially hopeful; the scar on her knee was not. Mr Khan hovered with his clipboard and a watch face that did not frown. “We’ll try three steps today,” he said, voice even, as if he were suggesting tea, or weather. As if three were nothing more than one followed by two.

Before, stairs had been an afterthought; life flickered past in sprint intervals—doorways, deadlines, the staccato rhythm of trains. Now every step stood alone, crisp-edged and exacting. She did not remember the moment the car spun—only the after: the hospital’s clean emptiness, the x-rays like winter trees, her leg a private thunderstorm. On the wall, a poster declared, in cheerful font, Pain is temporary. The cliché elbowed her, and she let it.

“Ready?” Mr Khan asked.

No. “Yes.” Liv curled her fingers round the rail; the wood was warm from other attempts, other mornings. Her left foot lifted and the universe narrowed to hinge and sinew, to angles within angles. Up. The muscle bit and held. She breathed through it, counted: one-two-three, like a spell she didn’t quite believe in. Her right followed. First step.

“There,” he said, softly. Not applause—recognition.

She stared at the second step. It stared back, square and patient. There are battles that start with trumpets; this one began with breath. She pressed down, up; the pain unfurled, not catastrophic—fierce as a wasp—and she whispered, “Again,” to herself, to the stair, to anything listening. Second.

Her legs trembled, the tremor travelling upward like gossip. Sweat collected at her hairline; she could taste metal, ridiculous and real, as if perseverance were iron she had to swallow. Someone laughed in the physiotherapy gym beyond—a bright spill of sound—and a radio attempted a cheerful song. Her heart was noisier than both.

“Third?” Mr Khan said. He was careful with his questions, offering them like coins.

Liv nodded. The nod was the entire week made visible. She shifted, tried to configure her body into courage; it felt, if she was honest, like arranging cutlery to stop a storm. Up. The joint objected, then flickered, then—held. Third.

She stood on the third step, ridiculous with pride, absurdly close to tears. From here, the corridor looked almost friendly. Just wood, and metal, and light.

“Back down, slowly,” he murmured.

The descent was worse, somehow; gravity wanted what it wanted. She inched down; the rhythm was different, ungraceful, necessary. At the bottom, her hands left the rail; her palms were lined with tiny crescents where her nails had pressed. Evidence.

Not triumphant, not cinematic, but something quieter and more durable. Perseverance, she decided, was less like a flame and more like the tide—coming back, and back, and back, even when the shore was stony and the moon was indifferent.

“Again?” she asked.

Mr Khan smiled. “Again.”

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

Option A:

The sinking sun rubs gold along the concrete’s bruises, and the skatepark exhales its stored heat like a tired animal at rest. Rails cast needle-like shadows across bowls; the half-pipe wears a thin band of light. Spray-painted arrows and names glow, then dim, then glow again as the day tilts. Ordinary concrete, poured and planned; yet here it feels ceremonial, an amphitheatre cut from grey. The sky is painted with patient oranges and mauves, and the place lifts its face to them.

Ramps rise in measured waves, lips curled, edges clipped clean. The big bowl drops away— a chalked crater pocked with starburst scratches. Ledges are combed with wax, a pale slick that catches the last fire; coping looks cold and burnished, as if polished by a hundred practised hands. Every surface is a palimpsest: puckered gum; flaking stickers; a feathered constellation of rubber. The geometry is strict, almost tyrannical, but the slanting light softens it into something unexpectedly gentle.

A breeze threads the chain-link fence and draws out a low metallic hum. Somewhere outside the gates, a siren folds, a dog barks, a train sighs; the city sings its thin evening chorus. In the bowl, a bottle rolls an inch, then settles— that tiny click seems immoderately loud. You could swear the concrete remembers wheels: a phantom whirr, a hiss, a quick pop as trucks kiss the lip, the paused applause of bearings fading. Up, then down; push, carve, lift; the rhythm lingers.

The air is a mingled cocktail: warm dust, lemon soap from a nearby porch, the faint iron tang of rail. Press your palm to the slope and the grit presses back; it leaves a pale print the wind tries, politely, to steal. A leaf skates in a lazy arc and nicks the edge like a timid beginner. The lamps hesitate— buzzing, thinking— then concede: a clean white wash slides over the decks, meeting the honeyed glow with a neat, quiet handshake.

Two silhouettes appear at the top platform, trimmed from the orange of the west. One drops in, a dark comma slipping into the sentence of the bowl; the other waits, hands in pockets, patient. The board translates concrete into grammar: a measured line, a dash, a breathless semicolon. Above them, contrails fade to ash; the chill creeps along the rail. Night will make the park a slate of shadow, but for a minute more it is brimming with light, and with promise.

Option B:

Morning. The time of beginnings; alarms buzz like bees, kettles mutter to themselves, pavements keep the last of the rain like a thin silver skin. The town yawns and stretches. Perseverance doesn’t arrive with trumpets—it shows up quietly, lacing its shoes, testing the air; it’s the small, stubborn promise that today will last one step longer than yesterday. It is ordinary and relentless. It is also, if you listen carefully, hopeful.

As the streetlights clicked off, Mara knelt on the hallway tiles and tugged at her frayed laces. The trainers had been white once; now they were a catalogue of scuffs and scrapes, a palimpsest of attempts. She double-knotted them (she always did), touched the cool metal of the key she wore under her shirt, and stood. The mirror by the door gave her an honest look: hair still sleep-ruffled, eyes a little unsure, shoulders squared more by decision than by strength. On the windowsill, her inhaler waited like a polite blue reminder. She ignored it for a breath—then slipped it into her pocket.

Raven’s Hill began where the estate ended: a dark, slick ribbon rising through hawthorn and bramble, a gradient that felt personal. The hill had its own unhelpful vocabulary—burn, stitch, gravel, give up—and Mara had learned a new one in reply: breathe, count, lean, again. Yesterday she reached the crooked streetlamp and folded, hands on knees, embarrassment fizzing beneath her skin. Today she wanted the bench above the bend. Not the summit; just the bench. Ambition, she had discovered, could be measured in lampposts.

She started slow. Her feet made soft, repetitive sounds, the kind that became a sort of music. Buses sighed past below, warm bread exhaled from the bakery, a fox watched with blasé interest before vanishing into the hedge. Air knifed her throat then softened; her lungs argued then agreed. Sweat gathered at her temples. A stitch arrived—a tight coin in her side—and she pressed two fingers against it, breathed into the ache. She counted lampposts, cracks, breaths: four—eight—twelve. At thirteen the old panic rattled its tin cup in her chest. Quit now, said a thin voice. Not yet, said another.

At the crooked lamp she kept moving. Past the hawthorn, past the scatter of loose stones that had once unfooted her, past the place where she had stopped and sworn and gone home. The bench appeared at last, more ordinary than she had imagined. She touched its damp back with her fingertips and let out a laugh—thin, astonished, almost embarrassed. She didn’t sit. She looked up at the remaining road, at the unfair angle of it, and inhaled. Her legs trembled. She took one more step, then another—small, stubborn, sufficient. And then, because perseverance is patient but not infinite, she turned, walked down to the start, and tied her laces tighter.

Again.

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

Option A:

The sun tucks itself behind the rooftops, laying a burnished ribbon over the skatepark. Concrete is warmed into colour; bowls hold shallow puddles of light. The rails flash with a last, deliberate brightness, and the long ramp appears to slide into the horizon. Dust floats, turning lazily, like tiny planets. The place breathes; a faint breeze threads through chain-link. Beyond, a road hums; a gull cleaves the sky, a white comma in an orange sentence. The air smells of rubber, metal, and something sweet, like cola spilt last week. Already, shadows are stretching, attentive and tall.

A board breaks the hush: clack—rumble—whirr. One skater drops into the bowl, a small silhouette. He bends, then rises; he carves the curve so the wheels stitch their own music. Up and out, down and in, up and out again. His hoodie flaps, a dark flag; breath conjures little ghosts in the cooling air. At the lip he pauses, looks, then pushes. The deck bites. The bearings chat back, constant and calm, and the concrete answers with its own language, a grainy scrape that echoes into evening. It is ordinary and kind of beautiful at once.

At the edges, life collects. Graffiti blooms in layered petals—names upon names, a spray of colour that almost glows. A dented bin leans like it’s listening. There’s a bottle under the bench, amber glass catching a slice of light; a stray knee pad sleeps beside it. A scooter lies at a careless angle, its handlebar pointing nowhere in particular. Even the signs—No Littering, No Dogs—seem more patient now. The fence is cloaked with ivy; the gaps whistle.

Meanwhile, the sky bruises gently from apricot to purple. Light thins, cooler, cleaner. The skater’s shadow grows to meet him, then longer still, until it slides into the bowl. He rolls slower; the wheels mutter; he stops. For a second, everything hangs, as if evening holds its breath for the last trick. Then he lifts his board under one arm and goes. The park rests back into itself—quiet again, waiting, its curves soft as folded paper, its empty space full of the memory of movement: backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards.

Option B:

Dawn. The time when streets are empty and intentions feel louder. A smudge of cloud drifted across the estate; the streetlights yawned, one by one, and went out. The pavement still shone from last night’s rain. The hill at the end of the road waited—ordinary, ugly, stubborn as an unspoken argument.

Kai pulled his laces twice, then a third time for luck. His breath steamed in front of him like a reminder. He checked the cracked screen of his watch, not because the numbers mattered, but because the ritual did. Again. He had whispered that word to himself so often it sounded like a small prayer.

The first morning he’d tried, his legs had burned by the lamppost outside No. 24; he had stopped, pretending to retie. The next week he made it as far as the bus stop with the peeling timetable. After that, the corner shop—he had stood there gulping air with his hands on his knees, the smell of warm bread floating out as if to taunt him. Each attempt etched a little route into him; the hill did not shrink, but something inside him altered, little by little.

Today he set off with a steady rhythm: left, right, left—push; breathe; repeat. His feet slapped the pavement; the sound became metronomic. A milk van rumbled past and the driver lifted two fingers. Kai nodded back, too breathless for words and too stubborn to stop. He counted sips of air. He noticed the way his toes sat in their shoes, the scrape of his heel, the tiny roll of grit under the sole. Details were safer than doubt.

Halfway up the slope, his chest tightened. His mind offered excuses, neat as folded letters: no sleep last night; homework unfinished; the cold. He could turn around. No one was watching. However, he pictured the threadbare medal his dad kept above the TV and the way he’d said, quietly, that finishing mattered more than winning.

So he kept going. Past the bus stop. Past the shop. The hill curled again, hiding its summit like a secret. Kai lifted his knees and leaned into the climb. He did not sprint; he did not stumble. He went on, and the morning, patient as a coach, went with him. He would try. Again.

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

Option A:

The sun slides behind the flats, pouring amber over the concrete bowls. Rails flare like thin rivers against the grey. Graffiti wakes; colours deepen, letters tilt. Shadows creep across the flat like spilled ink, soft-edged. Quarter-pipes rise like held waves, their lips silver with worn coping. The sky is a slow ember, mauve melting into orange.

Earlier there was clatter and laughter; now the park is quiet, held. One board rattles over a seam, bearings whisper, then the tail taps the ground. The bowl is a hollow ear; it gives the sound back, smaller. Chain-link ticks in the breeze, and a leaf skitters like a small wheel. The air holds three things: dust, warm rubber, spray paint.

Up close, the surfaces tell stories. Coping is scraped bright, wax smudged in milky lines; old stickers peel. A puddle keeps the sky; upside-down clouds drift across a ledge. Hairline cracks let weeds grow, green threads against chalky stone. A low wall is freckled with paint, names layered over names — a messy stack of voices. The concrete is smooth as bone, still warm but cooling.

The sun dips again and the bowls darken; edges turn from gold to bruised purple. A pigeon lifts from the rail and the fence whispers; somewhere a siren wavers and fades. Who knew concrete could glow? Light skates along the rim for a last time, then slips off. The park breathes out and waits; tomorrow wheels will scribble new lines, and feet will drum their small thunder.

Option B:

Morning. The time of new attempts; pavements slick with dew, birds rehearsing stubborn songs, the town yawning into light.

As the streetlamps blinked out, Amina tightened the knot in her worn trainers. Her stomach felt like a tiny fist. The hill behind the allotments waited: long, dull, honest. She had failed the cross-country trial twice; today she would try again.

Amina stepped onto the chilled pavement. The first few strides were awkward, all elbows and thoughts. Her breath scraped her throat like cold metal, and the rhythm—left, right, left—refused to settle. The hill looked ordinary, but it rose in a slow, patient way, like a lesson that would not end. A bin lorry groaned by, showering the gutter with a sour smell; somewhere, a bakery opened, air washing the street with bread. She wanted to walk. She did not.

Last week, when she stopped at that same lamppost, Mr Reid had jogged beside her. Perseverance isn't pretty, he had said: it is repetition, small choices, again and again. The words annoyed her then, like grit in a shoe, yet they stayed. She had no talent—at least not the kind that arrives like a flare—but she had mornings, and a body that could learn.

Halfway up, the burn spread and her thoughts blurred. A puddle mirrored the pale sky; she saw her shape and nearly stopped. But the memory of last place, of teammates' smiles, prodded her forward. She counted ten more steps. Then ten again. The numbers were like rungs on a ladder, not exciting but useful. The top arrived quietly, with a fence, a view of flat roofs, and not much else. She rested one hand on the cold post and laughed once, out of breath, surprised. Then she turned, and went down, because perseverance did not clap; it asked—firmly—again.

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

Option A:

The sun slides along the lip of the bowl, painting the concrete a soft orange. Long, lazy shadows curve over the ramps like slow water, waves frozen mid-crash. Graffiti blooms on the walls, bright and stubborn, names layered like old stories. Warm dust hangs in the air; it tastes a little like metal and paint. A small hush moves across the place.

Quiet, but not empty. A chain-link fence rattles; a loose sign ticks. From the road there is a rush, a dog barks, sharp. Sometimes a gull knifes overhead, it cries once and is gone. Echoes hide in the deep curve of the big bowl, waiting. The marks of wheels cross and cross again, back and forth, back and forth, mapping courage and falls.

In the far corner, the quarter pipe keeps a strip of shade. The coping is scratched; it shines where the light hits. An oily smell lifts from a dark patch; someone greased a bearing earlier. Light gathers on the flat like syrup. Touch the concrete—warm, then cooling. Here shadows climb the banks and slide down; slow—slower—across the smooth face. Meanwhile, the skyline turns purple, then blue; roofs become black silouettes. A moth taps the warning sign: helmets recommended.

Then the sun slips lower, almost gone. The park exhales. Orange fades to pink, to thin grey-blue at the town's edge. You could almost hear wheels rolling; not yet. Soon. The day leaves one last stripe of gold along it's rails; it lingers, and fades.

Option B:

Morning. The pavements were wet and the sky was a pale bruise; the wind nipped like a cat. Maya pulled her laces tight, tighter, as if knots could hold her courage together. A blackbird tried a song on the streetlight and gave up. She rolled her shoulders, tasted the cold. One more lap, she told herself. One more.

The first steps were wooden, clumsy, but then her feet found a slow rhythm. Breath in, breath out, like waves that refused to stop. The park path curled ahead; puddles shivered when she passed. She remembered Gran’s voice: small steps make big journeys. It sounded simple. Her calves burned. Her chest felt tight; she kept going because stopping now would mean starting again later. Again.

Halfway by the iron gate, her shoelace whipped loose and she almost fell. Her knee kissed the gravel, it hurt. A smear of pink spread on her skin and, for a second, everything inside her said sit down. What would be the point of all this? Nobody was watching—no coach, no crowd. Only the grey morning and a dog that trotted past with its tongue hanging out like a flag.

Maya retied the lace, slower this time. She stood though it stung. The wind pushed; she pushed back. Not fast; steady. She counted the trees, her breaths, the promises she'd made to herself. When she reached the corner she did not stop. The sky lightened a shade, as if it was also trying. She ran on.

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

Option A:

At first, the concrete looks blank, like a huge grey sea that has frozen in mid-wave. The bowls dip low and the ramps rise, edges chipped, rails shining where hands and wheels have been. The sunset slides across everything in a soft amber wash; the lines of graffiti glow and then fade as clouds pass. The concrete breathes out stored heat, so the air smells dusty and a bit like rubber. Shadows stretch, long and skinny, they creep over the steps. It is quiet; the pigeons shuffle slow. I stand watching, the air is warm, the sky is changing and so is the park.

Meanwhile, a loose wheel rattles somewhere, clack-clack, like a coin on a table. In my head the lines are alive—up, then down, up, then down—someone carving the curve, sparks kissing the rail. The metal looks like silver bones, cold and smooth. A breeze brings the smell of cut grass from the field, and the taste of evening, thin and sweet. The fence hums with distant traffic. As the sun sinks lower, orange turns to bruised purple: lights blink on. For a moment everything pauses. Then the last strip of gold slides away and the skatepark, calm now, waits for night.

Option B:

Morning smelt of damp tarmac and cut grass. The sky is blue; the track sits like a red ribbon around the field. I tug my laces tight, twice. My fingers are cold. Breath floats before me like steam from a kettle. One lap, I tell myself. Just one.

I start. Shoes slap, heart thumps, a steady drum that isn't steady for long. My legs feel heavy, like wood soaked in rain. Half way and I want to stop. No one is watching; still, I hear Mr Carter saying, Keep going. Again. Again. He said perseverance, and I wrote it wrong in my book, perserverance, but I knew it: determination. I push past the stitch in my side. It bites. I push anyway. The corners slide by. The straight is forever.

First lap done. I don't stop. I make a promise—just one more. Then another. My breath turns rough, but it keeps a rhythm; a small engine that refuses to quit. I think of yesterday, when I quit at the gate, and how that felt like a stone in my pocket all day. Not today. The track is still a circle. I keep tracing it, untill the sun warms my face.

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

Option A:

The sun is low and orange over the skatepark, it slides under clouds like a slow fire. The concrete looks soft, but it is hard. Long shadows pour down the ramps and bowls. The rails shine a bit; and the metal sits cold. Graffiti is everywhere, bright, messy, it looks like flames on grey.

The ramps are like big bowls, they hold the light. I stand at the edge and i breath the dusty smell. Wind moves across the flat ground, it whispers and makes little pebbles hop. A bird skims past and it is quiet, so quiet.

Only the echo of my feet.

Wheels would buzz here, back and forth, back and forth. You can see the lines where boards go round and round. The bowl yawns wide, the steps are sharp, the ladder kind of waits.

It feels like the park is awake but also sleepy. Its shadows is long and getting longer...

Option B:

Morning is grey and the wind is cold, I stand at the bottom of the hill with my small red bike. My hands are stiff on the bars, my legs shake like jelly.

I say I can do it.

I push off and the pedal slips, my knee hits the ground and it burns. Grit sticks to my palm and I want to go home alot but I dont. Dad said keep going son, small steps, so I breath and I try again, I will not stop! The hill feels like it is laughing at me, the wind keeps pushing me back.

Again, I put my foot down and feel the wheel turn, once then twice, I wobble like a duck, I nearly fall and I do fall, but I get up. My knee aches, my eyes wet.

I look at the top of the road... One more go.

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

Option A:

Sunset is low on the skatepark. The sky is orange and pink, it looks kind of soft. The concrete bowls are gray, cold, they have long shadows that creep. The rail is shiny and the light is on it, like a line. I hear a board sometimes but no one is there, only a small echo in the ramps. The grafiti on the wall is bright but it is fading. The air smell like dust and a bit of salt. My phone buzz in my pocket, I ignore it. I think about riding, then I dont. The day is going, going slow.

Option B:

Morning. The hill is big and the air is cold, my breath is white. I pull my bag up, it is heavy like bricks and my hands ache. I say I will do it today, I will not stop. My shoe slips in the mud and I fall and it stings my knee but I get up, I get up again. The coach said keep going so I do. The road seems forever and the wind push at me. I think about my mum and the bus and the test, but mostly I put one foot then the next and I don't quit.