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 did the wife know about the husband's plans?: Limited awareness of the husband's plans – 1 mark
• 1.2 What was the fear founded upon?: Brutal ill-treatment – 1 mark
• 1.3 Why does the wife not write to warn the man?: The wife feared the husband because of brutal ill-treatment – 1 mark
• 1.4 Who is the person feared?: Her husband – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

Look in detail at this extract, from lines 6 to 15 of the source:

6 knew to be in danger. If the letter should fall into Stapleton’s hands her own life would not be safe. Eventually, as we know, she adopted the expedient of cutting out the words which would

11 form the message, and addressing the letter in a disguised hand. It reached the baronet, and gave him the first warning of his danger. “It was very essential for Stapleton to get some article of Sir

How does the writer use language here to show the secrecy and danger around the warning letter? You could include the writer’s choice of:

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

[8 marks]

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

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

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Shows perceptive and detailed understanding of language: analyses effects of choices; selects judicious detail; sophisticated and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would analyse how the conditional complex clause “If the letter should fall into Stapleton’s hands her own life would not be safe” projects hypothetical, imminent peril; how formal, calculated diction in “she adopted the expedient of cutting out the words” and “a disguised hand” encodes clandestine method; and how urgent evaluative lexis like “the first warning of his danger” and “very essential” magnifies the stakes and necessity of secrecy.

The writer immediately foregrounds peril through a conditional clause and careful modality: “If the letter should fall into Stapleton’s hands her own life would not be safe.” The modal auxiliary “should” conveys precarious possibility, heightening suspense, while the idiom “fall into ... hands” uses synecdoche to suggest capture and control. The euphemistic understatement “would not be safe,” reinforced by the intensifier “own,” personalises the threat and makes the secrecy a matter of survival.

Moreover, the lexis of subterfuge constructs a covert strategy. She “adopted the expedient”—a formal, pragmatic noun implying necessity over sentiment—of “cutting out the words which would form the message.” The concrete verb “cutting” and the non-finite participles compress her actions into a swift, clandestine sequence, recalling the fragmented anonymity of a ransom note. Likewise, “addressing the letter in a disguised hand” employs metonymy (“hand” for handwriting) and the adjective “disguised,” which borrows from costume to evoke concealment, intensifying the sense of secrecy.

Furthermore, sentence form and narration deepen the danger. The adverbial opening “Eventually, as we know,” with its parenthetical aside, creates a conspiratorial tone, drawing the reader into the covert plan. The plain, coordinated declarative “It reached the baronet, and gave him the first warning of his danger” is matter-of-fact, which paradoxically highlights how risky the transmission has been. The noun “warning” and the ordinal adjective “first” imply further threats ahead, while the repetition of “danger” frames the episode.

Additionally, the reported assertion “It was very essential” uses the intensifier “very” to signal high stakes for Stapleton, sharpening the sense that any exposure would be fatal. Collectively, measured understatement, covert diction and controlled syntax create an atmosphere of secrecy laced with imminent danger around the letter.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: Through the conditional clause "If the letter should fall into Stapleton’s hands" (with the modal "should") and statements like "her own life would not be safe" and "first warning of his danger", the writer foregrounds danger and uncertainty. Covert methods—"cutting out the words", a "disguised hand", and the calculated phrasing "adopted the expedient"—show secrecy in action, while the terse declarative "It reached the baronet" heightens tension by emphasising the risky delivery.

The writer uses a conditional clause to foreground the threat around the warning: “If the letter should fall into Stapleton’s hands her own life would not be safe.” The modal verbs “should” and “would” signal possibility and consequence, and the understated phrase “would not be safe” works as euphemistic understatement, implying deadly danger while keeping the tone controlled, which unsettles the reader.

Moreover, the writer creates a lexical field of secrecy through methodical action: she “adopted the expedient of cutting out the words” and sent it “in a disguised hand.” The formal noun “expedient” suggests calculated strategy, while the concrete verb “cutting” hints at painstaking, covert labour. The adjective “disguised” with the metonym “hand” (for handwriting) emphasises concealment of identity, as if in espionage.

Furthermore, the adverb “Eventually” implies delay and risk in transmitting the message, and “It reached the baronet, and gave him the first warning of his danger” uses the abstract noun “warning” and the premodifier “first” to stress urgency. Additionally, the intensifier in “very essential” heightens the stakes, reminding us how perilous any contact is. Altogether, these choices build a tense, secretive atmosphere around the letter.

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 pick out threat words like "in danger", "not be safe" and "first warning of his danger" to show risk, and notice secretive methods such as "cutting out the words" and a "disguised hand" to hide her identity. It might also comment that the short, simple sentence "It reached the baronet" adds tension about delivery, while "very essential" suggests urgency and danger from Stapleton’s side.

The writer uses a conditional clause to show danger: "If the letter should fall into Stapleton’s hands", and the modal verb "should" suggests the constant risk. The phrase "her own life would not be safe" clearly shows the deadly consequences, making the reader feel the threat.

Moreover, secretive word choices present the letter as hidden. The verb phrase "cutting out the words" shows she is physically concealing herself, and the adjective in "a disguised hand" suggests she must hide her identity. Also, the noun "expedient" suggests a clever plan. This creates a tense, secretive mood.

Additionally, the writer stresses urgency and danger with the noun "warning" in "the first warning of his danger" and the intensifier "very essential," showing how serious the situation is. The long, complex sentence listing her actions also suggests careful planning to keep the letter secret.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response identifies simple word choices showing threat, like “in danger” and “life would not be safe,” and basic secrecy in “cutting out the words” and a “disguised hand,” also noting “first warning” to show alarm.

The writer uses word choice to show danger. The phrase "in danger" and "not be safe" are simple but make the threat clear to the reader. Furthermore, the conditional sentence "If the letter should fall into Stapleton’s hands" shows secrecy because it must be kept away from him. Moreover, the verbs and phrases "cutting out the words" and "a disguised hand" suggest a secret method, like hiding the message. Additionally, the repetition of "danger" in "first warning of his danger" and the phrase "very essential" make the risk and urgency obvious.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Conditional clause and modal verb create precariousness, highlighting the risk of interception and need for secrecy (If the letter should)
• High-stakes threat to the writer intensifies tension and urgency through modal certainty and negation (own life would not be safe)
• Concrete, covert method shows clandestine construction to evade detection, reinforcing secrecy (cutting out the words)
• Lexical choice of concealment suggests masking identity and fear of recognition (disguised hand)
• Formal diction signals calculated, pragmatic strategy born of danger, not impulse (adopted the expedient)
• Narratorial aside builds a confidential tone, aligning reader with hidden knowledge (as we know)
• Brief main clause delivers a moment of relief after risk, while status heightens stakes (It reached the baronet)
• Warning lexis foregrounds peril and ongoing threat, tying the letter directly to danger (first warning of his danger)
• Shift to direct speech with intensifier injects immediacy and pressure around the stakes (very essential)
• Idiomatic/metaphorical phrasing implies capture and control if exposed, sharpening the sense of peril (fall into Stapleton’s hands)

Question 3 - Mark Scheme

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

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

You could write about:

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

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

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

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Analyses effects of structural choices; judicious examples; sophisticated terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would trace how revelation is built through the detective’s retrospective, cause-and-effect sequencing—signposted by Then we had the visit and From that moment and punctuated by emphatic deductions like proved conclusively—moving from the covert warning (cutting out the words) to the interrupting One moment! that shifts perspective and prompts the final certainty (There can be no question), so withheld clues cohere into an inevitable conclusion.

One way in which the writer has structured the text to create a sense of revelation is through a retrospective, step-by-step reconstruction marked by temporal signposting. The sequence moves through “Eventually,” “By chance,” “He then,” “From that moment,” and “The Stapletons then,” each cue organising the analepsis as Holmes converts baffling clues into cause-and-effect. The letter “adopted… in a disguised hand” “reached the baronet,” then the boot episode (“the first boot… was a new one… He then had it returned and obtained another”) “proved conclusively” the reality of the hound. This cumulative, forensic pacing demystifies the supposedly supernatural and lets the reader experience revelation as logic unfolding.

In addition, Conan Doyle varies scale and tone to deepen the reveal. A focused domestic intrigue (the wife’s cut-out message) widens to a systemic pattern—“during the last three years… four considerable burglaries”—so the revelation exceeds a single plot, exposing Stapleton’s wider criminality. Holmes’s evaluative asides—“The more outré… the more carefully it deserves to be examined” and “we cannot doubt… proved conclusively”—operate as meta-commentary and tonal shifts from conjecture to certainty. This authoritative register accelerates the denouement, guiding the reader from perplexity to comprehension.

A further structural device is delayed disclosure engineered by dialogic interruption. Watson’s interjection—“One moment!… What became of the hound”—creates a purposeful hiatus, isolating the final narrative gap. The ensuing answer narrows the focus to a previously peripheral figure—“Anthony”—whose very name (“Anthony… Antonio”) and “lisping accent” become revelatory clues. The image of him “cross the Grimpen Mire” returns us to the crime-scene geography, knotting the last loose thread. This pivot, within a sustained first-person frame staging Holmes’s exposition, supplies closure: the last unknown is named, the mechanism explained, and the revelation is complete.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would explain that the writer structures the revelation as a retrospective, logical sequence signposted by "Eventually", "Then" and "From that moment", re-framing puzzling details like the "old boot"/"new one" as proof "proved conclusively" when "scientifically handled", creating a controlled sense of unveiling. It would also note a shift to dialogue with "One moment!" that interrupts Holmes’s exposition to heighten suspense and prompt the final reveal about the accomplice, before widening the scope beyond the "single Baskerville affair".

One way the writer structures revelation is through a retrospective explanation that orders clues into a causal chain. Holmes looks back, moving from the letter in a “disguised hand” to the boot-theft where “the first boot … was a new one,” then infers it “proved conclusively … a real hound.” This logical sequencing re-frames odd incidents as evidence, turning confusion into understanding for the reader.

In addition, a shift in focus via dialogue creates a final reveal. The interruption—“One moment!”—switches from monologue to Q&A, signalling an unresolved gap: “What became of the hound…?” The answer introduces a hidden agent, the manservant Anthony/Antonio, and a precise detail (“cross the Grimpen Mire”) that had been withheld. This pivot drip-feeds information, sustaining curiosity before satisfying it.

A further structural feature is the alternation between widening scope and return to chronology. The digression to “four considerable burglaries” enlarges Stapleton’s criminal profile, intensifying the revelation, before temporal markers—“Then…”, “From that moment…”—and the closing line, “The Stapletons then went down to Devonshire,” re-anchor the story. This controlled pace and closure consolidate the revelations into a coherent resolution.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer builds the reveal in order, using signal words like 'Eventually' and 'He then', and clear explanations like 'proved conclusively', moving from the secret warning ('cutting out the words') to the hound so the mystery becomes clearer. A brief interruption ('One moment!') slows the reveal for suspense before a simple resolution signalled by 'The Stapletons then went down to Devonshire'.

One way the writer creates revelation is by a chronological explanation. At the beginning, Holmes explains the wife’s warning letter and the boot, using temporal markers like “Eventually” and “Then”, so the truth is revealed gradually. This makes the reader feel the mystery being solved piece by piece.

In addition, the writer shifts focus from clue to clue (the boots, the cab, the burglaries) and uses cause-and-effect phrases like “proved conclusively” and “From that moment” to show discoveries. This listing builds revelation because each new detail confirms Stapleton’s guilt and widens the picture.

A further structural feature is the shift into dialogue: Watson interrupts with “One moment!” and Holmes answers about the hound and Anthony/Antonio. This question-and-answer stage reveals the last missing piece, and the final return to Devonshire gives closure, so the revelation feels complete.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response might say the writer reveals information step by step with signposts like Eventually and Then we had, and the interruption One moment! adds a new detail so the reader finds out about the boot and the hound in order. Simple summary phrases such as as we know and proved conclusively make it feel like a final explanation, creating a basic sense of revelation.

One way the writer creates revelation is through chronological order and time markers like “eventually” and “then”. The step-by-step account of the boot and the dog slowly shows how the plot worked.

In addition, there is a shift in focus: from the wife’s warning, to the boots, to the cab and burglaries. This simple listing builds the truth about Stapleton and makes the reader see his guilt.

A further feature is the use of dialogue (“One moment!”) to interrupt the summary. The question-and-answer moment changes the pace and reveals the final detail about Anthony caring for the hound.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Retrospective revelation of the wife’s constrained warning turns secrecy into clarity, reframing earlier danger through her covert method (cutting out the words)
• Temporal signposting orders the case into a clear sequence, pacing the revelation through marked transitions (From that moment)
• Recasting an odd clue into proof provides a structural pivot from confusion to certainty about the hound (proved conclusively to my mind)
• A meta-analytic aside instructs readers how to read anomalies, guiding reinterpretation and deepening the "aha" effect (outré and grotesque)
• The surveillance episode is placed mid-explanation to show proximity and threat, intensifying revelation of Stapleton’s control (shadowed always)
• Scope widens from this case to a criminal pattern, enlarging the significance of what is revealed about Stapleton (no criminal ever arrested)
• A marked turning point links audacity to strategy, with a bold gesture prompting a decisive shift in venue and stakes (sending back my own name)
• A dialogic interruption flags a missing piece, using Q&A structure to cue the next tranche of explanation (One moment!)
• Layered identifiers (name, accent, observed route) move from possibility to inference, culminating in a reasoned conclusion (It is very probable, therefore)
• A return to the main timeline neatly closes the loop, confirming sequences and sealing the sense of a completed explanation (The Stapletons then)

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, Holmes reveals Stapleton’s history of other crimes like burglary. The writer suggests that he is a desperate and dangerous man in his own right, not just because of the hound.

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

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of Stapleton's history of other crimes
• comment on the methods the writer uses to portray Stapleton as a dangerous man
• 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 how the writer constructs Stapleton as dangerous in his own right through Holmes’s emphatic, forensic narration—we cannot doubt, proved conclusively, I cannot doubt, desperate and dangerous man—and precise criminal detail such as four considerable burglaries and the cold-blooded pistolling of the page to evidence a pattern beyond the hound. It would also evaluate the extent by weighing the writer’s certainty against tentative qualifiers—I am inclined to think and It is suggestive—which imply inference rather than proof.

I strongly agree that Doyle presents Stapleton as desperate and dangerous in his own right, and the hound is shown as merely one instrument of a wider criminality. From the outset, Holmes’s reconstruction foregrounds Stapleton’s human agency through evaluative adjectives: his “characteristic promptness and audacity” and the calculated bribery of “the boots or chamber-maid” frame him as an opportunist who corrupts others. The passive construction “was well bribed” erases the intermediary and centres Stapleton’s manipulative reach. Even the trivial-seeming “anxiety to obtain an old boot” reveals premeditation. Holmes’s meta-analytical comment that the “more outré and grotesque an incident is the more carefully it deserves to be examined” uses a scientific register to validate this detail, guiding the reader to see Stapleton’s ingenuity rather than occult menace.

Structurally, the narrative then widens from the boot to a pattern of predation: Stapleton “shadowed always” in the cab, the adverb “always” intensifying his relentless surveillance. Holmes’s deductive lexis—“I am inclined to think,” “proved conclusively,” “It is suggestive”—builds authority before the explosive claim that his “career of crime has been by no means limited” to Baskerville. The cumulative reference to “four considerable burglaries” functions as an enumeratio, escalating the scale of wrongdoing. Most damning is the stark, hyphenated phrase “cold-blooded pistolling of the page,” where the chilling epithet and the archaic, clinical “pistolling” strip the act of passion, marking Stapleton as morally desensitised. Crucially, this violence is explicitly human and “masked and solitary,” proving his danger is independent of the beast. The economic metaphor “recruited his waning resources” casts him as a strategist replenishing funds through crime—desperation feeding deliberation.

Doyle also emphasises intellect and nerve. Holmes praises his “readiness of resource” in escaping and his “audacity in sending back my own name,” a brazen taunt. The declarative rhythm and intensifier “so successfully” underscore a capability to outwit experts, which is psychologically threatening in itself. Finally, the introduction of “Anthony” (perhaps “Antonio”) adds a conspiratorial dimension: modal certainty—“There can be no question”—and the verbs “disappeared” and “escaped” suggest an organised network. The image of the old man crossing the Grimpen Mire by Stapleton’s marked path shows mastery of hostile terrain and secret routes, again highlighting his personal craft over any supernatural proxy.

Overall, Doyle marshals a forensic, cumulative exposition to position Stapleton as a calculating, resourceful and unscrupulous criminal. While the hound amplifies his menace, the pattern of bribery, burglary and “cold-blooded” murder confirms that the true danger resides in Stapleton himself.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 3 response would largely agree, explaining that Holmes’s evaluative tone—'I cannot doubt', 'proved conclusively'—and the catalogue of offences ('career of crime', 'four considerable burglaries', the 'cold-blooded pistolling of the page') present Stapleton as a 'desperate and dangerous man' beyond reliance on the hound. It would also identify methods through action, noting that they were 'shadowed always by Stapleton in the cab' and his 'readiness of resource' and 'audacity' in 'sending back my own name to me', reinforcing the writer’s viewpoint.

I largely agree that the writer presents Stapleton as desperate and dangerous in his own right. From the outset, Holmes’s narration emphasises Stapleton’s personal agency. The prepositional phrase ‘with characteristic promptness and audacity’ uses abstract nouns and the adjective ‘characteristic’ to define boldness as a fixed trait, while the adverbial ‘well bribed’ intensifies the criminal method used to get Sir Henry’s boot. This suggests calculated lawlessness beyond any reliance on the hound.

Conan Doyle also uses authoritative modality in Holmes’s voice to secure our impression. Phrases such as ‘we cannot doubt’ and ‘proved conclusively’ create a confident, forensic tone, reinforced by the scientific lexis ‘scientifically handled’. This rhetorical certainty persuades the reader that Stapleton’s danger is established. When Holmes links him to ‘four considerable burglaries’ and the ‘cold-blooded pistolling of the page’, the loaded adjective ‘cold-blooded’ and the noun phrase ‘masked and solitary burglar’ suggest cruelty and self-sufficient criminality. The idea that he ‘recruited his waning resources’ through crime implies financial desperation; the euphemistic adjective ‘waning’ hints at a motive driving him to violent acts.

Furthermore, the noun phrases ‘readiness of resource’ and ‘audacity in sending back my own name… through the cabman’ show cunning and taunting confidence. Structurally, the narrative tracks Stapleton from London surveillance—‘shadowed always’—to his tactical retreat to Dartmoor, presenting a pattern of evasion that marks him as personally dangerous. Even the contrast between the ‘old boot’ and ‘new one’ highlights careful planning rather than mere bestial terror.

Finally, the introduction of ‘a confidant’ in Anthony broadens Stapleton’s threat. Although Holmes moderates claims with hedging like ‘very probable’ and ‘it is suggestive’, the image of Anthony crossing ‘the Grimpen Mire by the path which Stapleton had marked out’ shows Stapleton’s control of lethal terrain, again separate from the hound.

Overall, I agree to a large extent: through authoritative narration, evaluative language, and a lexical field of crime, the writer depicts Stapleton as a desperate, dangerous mastermind, not merely the keeper of a beast.

Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response would mostly agree, using simple evidence like Holmes’s mention of Stapleton’s career of crime, the four considerable burglaries, and the cold-blooded pistolling to show he is dangerous beyond the hound. It might also note his audacity in sending back my own name to me through the cabman and conclude he is a desperate and dangerous man, but with mainly brief, descriptive comments.

I largely agree that the writer presents Stapleton as desperate and dangerous in his own right. As Holmes pieces together the events, he shows Stapleton acting boldly and planning crimes beyond the hound. The narrative voice is confident, and the repeated judgments like “I cannot doubt” make the danger feel certain, not just suspected.

At first, the focus on Sir Henry’s boots seems small, but the detail that the “boots or chamber-maid… was well bribed” shows corruption and manipulation. The adjectives “promptness and audacity” paint Stapleton as bold. Holmes’s logical tone (“scientifically handled”) makes the odd “outré” incident convincing, suggesting a calculating mind desperate to make his plan succeed.

Holmes then widens it to a criminal past. The listing of “four considerable burglaries” and the precise place “Folkestone Court” make it sound factual. The emotive phrase “cold-blooded pistolling of the page” portrays Stapleton as violent, while “masked and solitary burglar” suggests he operates alone. Holmes says he “recruited his waning resources,” which shows desperation for money.

We also see his “readiness of resource” when he escapes and even sends back Holmes’s “own name,” which shows arrogance and nerve. Structurally, the mention of a “confidant” called Anthony builds a network of crime. The image of him crossing the Grimpen Mire path shows knowledge and control. Overall, I agree that the writer presents Stapleton as a desperate, dangerous criminal independent of the hound.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response simply agrees, noting the writer calls Stapleton a "desperate and dangerous man" and uses basic evidence like "considerable burglaries" and the "cold-blooded pistolling of the page." It identifies these details to say he is dangerous in himself, not just because of the hound, with little explanation of how the writer achieves this.

I mostly agree with the statement. The writer shows Stapleton is dangerous himself, not only because of the hound. Holmes says with “characteristic promptness and audacity” he bribed the “boots or chamber-maid.” The adjectives promptness and audacity make him seem bold and desperate.

Then Holmes lists other crimes: there were “four considerable burglaries,” and at Folkestone there was “the cold-blooded pistolling of the page.” The strong phrase cold-blooded pistolling shows he can kill, so he is a threat in his own right. He is called “a desperate and dangerous man,” which is direct, strong language to guide the reader.

We also see his clever behaviour in London. He “shadowed” them in a cab and showed “readiness of resource” and “audacity in sending back my own name.” The verb shadowed and the word audacity suggest sneaky and risky actions, which add to the idea he is dangerous.

Finally, Holmes says he had a “confidant” and the servant “has disappeared and has escaped from the country.” This detail shows planning and support. Overall, I agree the text presents Stapleton as desperate and dangerous beyond the hound.

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:

• Bribery of hotel staff shows calculated manipulation and willingness to corrupt others, reinforcing danger beyond the hound (well bribed to help).
• Returning the new boot to secure an older one reveals methodical planning for his purpose, intensifying menace (an old boot).
• Persistent surveillance paints him as predatory and invasive, a threat even in London (shadowed always).
• Cumulative pattern of crime implies capability and impunity, supporting the view he is dangerous in his own right (four considerable burglaries).
• Capacity for lethal violence is stressed by the Folkestone case with a masked, solitary offender (cold-blooded pistolling).
• Brazen taunt of the investigator signals fearless audacity and psychological intimidation (my own name).
• Authoritative verdict guides readers toward strong agreement that he is inherently threatening (desperate and dangerous man).
• Rational, scientific framing boosts trust in Holmes’s conclusions and the danger they imply (scientifically handled).
• Organised operations and deceit—an accomplice able to negotiate the mire and a concealed relationship—suggest planning beyond the beast (cross the Grimpen Mire).
• Nuanced modality admits inference, so the case is persuasive but not absolute (inclined to think).

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

For a retiring teacher's memory book, students have been asked to contribute short creative pieces.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Describe a well-used desk from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about a moment that changes someone's view of their work.

(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 afternoon light slants across the desk, gilding the ridges of its grain as if someone had combed the wood with sunlight. Dust hangs in the air, slow and deliberate; a soft constellation drifting above the surface. It smells faintly of pencil shavings and lemon oil, that clean tang that never quite masks the older notes—ink, stale coffee, paper gone fox-brown at the edges. Stout, patient, broad-backed, it occupies its corner like a quiet animal; the edges have been gentled by years of forearms, the lacquer thinned to a satin sheen where hands have learned their habitual places.

Up close, the surface is a palimpsest of small catastrophes and triumphs. A pale ring ghosts under the window, the aureole of an overfilled mug set down in a hurry; a scatter of pinpricks forms a constellation no atlas will name; a crescent gouge catches a fingernail—someone pressed too hard, once, and the wood remembered. There is an ink-bloom, midnight that bled outward in delicate capillaries; a hairline crack that runs like a river along the length; tiny flecks of graphite silvering the grain. At the front, a worry-line has been worn into the lip, polished by thumbs thinking something through.

The top drawer refuses to be rushed. It sticks at first—an obstinate throat—then loosens with a sigh, travelling in and out, in and out, on runners that rasp. Within, the archaeology of a working life: rubber bands turned brittle; a champagne cork saved for no reason at all; receipts with figures ghosted in blue; a paper-clip chain; a pencil worn down to its ferrule; a fountain pen sleeping in its own dried ink; a key whose door has forgotten it. Somewhere at the back, a coin shivers in the cedar-lined dark; there are whispers of dovetail joints, of quiet craftsmanship hidden beneath the clutter. The handles, once lacquered, now hold a soft, skin-made patina—grease, resolve, hesitation, all rubbed smooth.

This desk has absorbed seasons. Winters of hot mugs placed like small suns; summers of glasses sweating rings into the grain; nights when the lamp threw a halo and pages fluttered under its warm breath. It has endured the sting of a compass point, the accidental kiss of a soldering iron (a small, scorched crescent, almost beautiful), the bruised heel of a stapler. Homework was hunched over here, sums marching like little armies; letters began with Dear and ended in various shades of relief or regret; bills were stacked, measured, confronted. What else has it shouldered? The tremor of a hand, the tremble of laughter, a tear dropped and pressed invisibly into the wood.

Beneath, the underside is another country: initials incised in adolescent bravado; two fossilised gums like stalactites; a folded scrap once taped there and forgotten (Do not forget milk). One leg has been shimmed with a paperback, its spine long cracked; the wobble—honest but irritating—tamed. When I sit, the chair grumbles, and the desk answers with a mild creak, a courteous acknowledgment. My wrists find the warm groove; my pen finds the slight, companionable drag in the grain.

Not antique, not delicate, it is faithful—workhorse and altar, archive and harbour. It doesn’t demand; it waits—stubborn, serviceable—ready to be marred again. Under this same obliging plane, ideas have formed, faltered, returned; the rhythm recurs, steadying: reach, write, pause; reach, write, pause. The light shifts, dust swims, and the desk simply endures—resolute under the small weather of human hands.

Option B:

Morning here did not arrive in colours; it seeped in as a pale thumbprint on the horizon. The lighthouse took it without ceremony. Evan had stopped seeing it. His days had been reduced, by his own hand and by the logbook’s gridlines, to actions: ascend; wind; polish; sign; descend. Work was a string of verbs, not a sentence.

The staircase corkscrewed him up through a shaft that smelt of hot iron and old storms. The lens — a revolving cathedral of prisms — waited, patient as a cow. He breathed, fogged a pane, wiped; the cloth rasped; glass turned to water again. Outside, waves rehearsed their argument with the rocks; inside, ticks synchronised into an indifferent lullaby.

On his first week he’d marvelled at the engineering; by his third year he counted minutes the way fishermen count knots: out, and back, and gone. He filled boxes. He met targets. He told his sister he kept the light running, as if it could be filed under ‘Occupation’ and left unread.

Wind arrived as a rumour, then as a fist. It pressed its cold mouth to the glass and sang; the panes trembled, the staircase thrummed under his boots. Evan adjusted the regulator — habit — and almost missed the sound beneath the storm’s grammar: a thin, intermittent note, like a whistle thread in a gale.

He clipped the radio to his collar; static; a syllable; a burnt fragment. Then the flare: a bleeding flower on the black. The beam passed there — once, twice — cutting the rain into obedient sheets. In those white strokes he saw a boat, not heroic, just a small wrong shape amid wrong shapes, and a blot of red — hood, jacket, life.

Protocols existed for this. He called Harbour; logged coordinates; increased sweep; kept the lens relentless. And yet something loosened in him as the light walked the waves. He felt, absurdly, as though he were holding a thread between finger and thumb, the beam not an instrument but a line — and on the end of it not targets, not ticks, but breathing. What if the light faltered now? The thought did not accuse; it clarified.

The boat shouldered towards the breakwater; the lifeboat’s siren layered over the wind. Evan remained at the lamp, not because the manual demanded it, but because the sea did. When the harbour’s orange lights stitched a seam across the bay, his breath left him; he hadn’t known he’d been holding it.

Later, in his small office, he turned the log to a new page. The columns waited: date; wind; visibility; remarks. He wrote what he always wrote — and then, cautiously, something else. Beam maintained, he put; after a beat: Four souls guided. Clumsy, perhaps. True.

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

Option A:

Sunlight lies across the desk like a warm hand, steadying it. The old oak carries a deep, honeyed patina—varnish thinned by elbows and years—through which the grain moves in slow rivers, looping and pooling as if the wood had remembered rain. A constellation of scratches frets the surface; some are hairline and silver, others gouged and dark, filled with the sediment of lead and dust. When the window is opened, the desk seems to breathe; a mild scent lifts: pencil shavings, old paper, a suggestion of coffee dried to a shadow.

There are rings, too, pale moons overlapping: a mug set down in haste, a glass sweated in summer, the tide-marks of thought. Along the front edge, the lacquer has worn to satin, a soft bevel sculpted by forearms and restless hands; here a faint groove stops and starts—back and forth, back and forth—where a pen once worried the wood. A black thumbprint of scorch leans under where a lamp had sat too close. Ink has seeped into one corner in a slow, blue cloud: an accidental sea that, even now, refuses to fade.

The desk has its stubbornness. One leg wobbles by a fraction; someone cured it with a folded postcard wedged neatly beneath, its corner bruised and immaculate. The drawers resist, then surrender; the left-hand one sighs on opening, catching on a hidden burr. Brass handles, dulled to a gentle brown, dangle like tired earrings; the keyhole gapes, oval and watchful. Inside there is the hum of small relics: a rubber crumbly at the edges, paperclips bent into awkward halos, a dried leaf flattened to paper, a fountain pen that still makes a ghost line, delicate and obstinate.

If you lean close, you can read what the desk will not say aloud. Tiny numbers scratched in a corner—seven times tables, uneven but earnest. The faint imprint of a letter begun and torn away: Dear… and then the hesitation. A whisper of knife marks from cutting string, a smear of teal paint where a brush was wiped in impatience. How many lives have leaned here: exams, bills, a scrawl of a poem, a photograph trimmed to fit a frame? It is only wood, of course; yet it gathers these momentary pressures and keeps them, kindly.

By late afternoon the sun backs off and the surface darkens; dust floats in the slant and settles. The desk does not complain. It sits—solid, serviceable, slightly vain in the way old things can be—and waits for the next pair of hands. It waits.

Option B:

Monday. The hour before the bell, when the building is half-asleep and the strip lights hum as if remembering their purpose, when the air tastes faintly of bleach and last night’s chips. Tom’s keys hang at his hip like a small constellation; with each step they chime, bright and businesslike. His trolley wobbles over the lino, a reluctant ship; the mop head drips, patient, resigned. He swipes at a fugitive cobweb, nudges a chair into line, tests a fire door that sticks once, twice, and then yields with a sulky sigh.

He used to think of it as tidying the tide. Chewing gum returns like barnacles, scuff marks bloom overnight, posters peel themselves free and slither to the floor; by three o’clock, the bins will be blossoming again. Wipe, fold, drag, empty: his verbs were all small and perpetual. He told himself it was necessary, functional, invisible – the sort of work that only announces itself by absence. Who notices a clean corridor? Who thanks a clock for keeping time? He had a phrase he muttered when he was tired and the boiler thumped like a heart in the walls: it all comes back.

It began as a mistake – a single note struck in the wrong room at the wrong time. The sound slipped under a door near the hall, tremulous as a bird at the first draught, and then another note joined it, and another, until a shape emerged. Tom stilled the trolley with his foot. The safety light had cast a wedge of gold across the varnished floor; stacked chairs stood like soldiers, their metal legs cold and waiting. He nudged the door with his fingertips. A girl sat at the piano in her blazer, eyes narrowed, her hands hovering as cautiously as someone testing water. The music faltered, returned, found itself in a phrase that climbed and then settled. Tom held his breath without meaning to; the squeak of his left wheel sounded suddenly vulgar, like a cough in church.

He leaned in the doorway and felt the building tilt. The floor he buffed until it shone became a lake the music skated across; the bins he emptied became small, crucial silences between bars. His keys were no longer simply entries and exits: they were permission. The heat he coaxed from the radiators, the glare he coaxed from sullen bulbs, the way he freed a stubborn lock – all of it made this moment possible. Was this what his work was for, then? Not the wiping away, but the clearing of a space so something delicate could grow.

He eased the door wider so it wouldn’t click and startle her. He shifted his weight so the wheel stayed still; later, he would oil it. He set the “Wet Floor” sign down like a tiny guard and began to mop around the edges of the sound, careful and slow, as if protecting an island. And when the melody wavered and then, bravely, continued, Tom found himself smiling at the empty hall, at the stubborn, shining floor that held them both.

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

Option A:

Sunlight lays a pale band across the desk, warming the left-hand edge where the varnish has thinned to a dull, honest sheen. The grain runs in slow, brown rivers; between them, white scratches cross like tiny footpaths, a relief map of every hurried key and restless ring. Coffee has left its moons: pale circles overlapping in clumsy constellations. Under my palm the wood is ridged and smooth together. It smells faintly of resin, pencil shavings and the ghost of cold tea. It is not elegant; it endures.

On its face, a clutch of dog-eared notebooks leans against a glass jam jar stuffed with pens whose ends are chewed shiny. Bent paperclips glint like small fish-bones. A chipped mug keeps a tide-line of tannin; a single drip has dried on the rim. Dust motes swim through the bright strip. When a chair shifts there is a soft scratch; when thought stalls, the patient tap-tap of knuckles. The desk gathers these little sounds and keeps them like breath.

Below, two brass handles—oval, dulled—wait like eyes. The top drawer resists, then gives; the runner complains, a wooden throat clearing. Inside: HB stubs, a rubber rubbed to a pink nub, receipts silted to the back, a ribbon of dried glue, an elastic band that snaps at a look. There is a key with no door and a smooth pebble from some beach. What stories belong to these ordinary things? When the drawer closes, the desk exhales.

Sometimes I think the desk is a small ship; sometimes a stage. Its legs are a little uneven, so a folded postcard steadies the back right one and it rocks almost imperceptibly when someone leans. Two faint initials have been carved near the back, careful and clumsy at once. A blue blot, the shape of an island, stains one corner where a bottle tipped; it refuses to fade. Underneath, strips of yellowing tape hold a map of reminders (urgent and ordinary). It has stood in morning chill and midnight heat. Now the sun slips off its edge, the pale band migrating to the floor, and the desk waits, still and ready, for whatever hands come next.

Option B:

Monday. The time of alarms and buses; of loose coins clattering into tills; of steam twisting like silk above the espresso machine. Outside, the pavement smoked from last night's rain, and the city remembered its pace. As the street shook itself into day, Leah tied her apron twice and pressed the grinder. Beans rattled like pebbles in a glass; the burr growled and settled. She had slept shallowly and still arrived early—out of habit more than hope.

She liked the ritual, if not the romance people tried to pour into it: purge the wand; wipe the counter; line cups in a neat parade. The till blinked, then blinked again. Orders would come in a familiar cadence, names and modifiers stitched together like a long, eccentric sentence. For months she had told herself it was just a job. It paid the rent; it filled mornings; it left a faint smell of roasted almonds in her hair. Latte art was a leaf she could do with her eyes half-closed. Just coffee, she thought. Right? Her manager, Grace, said upsell the pastries; smile with your eyes; keep the queue moving.

At half past eight, a woman in a sea-green scarf paused at the door as if the handle were too heavy. Leah recognised her—the one who never made eye contact, who ordered an oat milk latte, extra hot, and counted change twice. “Good morning, Ana,” Leah said before the woman spoke, letting her name arrive softly. The woman’s shoulders lowered a notch. She made the drink the usual way. A few minutes later, during the lull that isn't quite calm, Leah found a napkin tucked under the saucer, its perforated edge feathered with steam. In small blue handwriting it said: Thank you for remembering my name. I practise coming here. Your pause lets me breathe. Everything—the hiss of steam, the clack of cups, the wet footprints leading to the door—shifted, almost imperceptibly. Leah read it again; the ink had bled slightly, the letters brave. Her hands hovered. Coffee had been liquid and speed; now it felt like a small bridge. She looked up and spoke the next name carefully, as if each syllable could hold someone together.

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

Option A:

A stripe of afternoon sun sprawls across the desk, warming the wood until the grain glows like watered honey. Scratches run in shallow rivers, some silver-pale, others dark with age; each one a small road to a moment. A ring from a cup lingers—a pale halo that refuses to fade. Here and there, ink freckles and a crooked line of dried glue appear. The varnish has thinned to a soft sheen and, at the edge, it lifts like an old scab. Dust-motes drift, tiny planets in the air.

Three drawers, stubborn; brass handles thumb-worn; a keyhole with no key. When you coax the top drawer, it coughs up the smell of paper and pencil shavings; the sound is a low groan, a complaint. Inside: a bent clip, a dried-out rubber, a sharpener, and a postcard with a washed-out sky. The runners judder; dust fizzes in the light. Beneath the lip, a knee-polished curve shows where someone always sat. One corner is chipped—a crescent missing, sharp to the touch. The whole desk wobbles, as if it remembers other floors.

It waits, patient as furniture. The surface is a map of work: dents where a hand pressed too hard, a groove where a blade slipped, a scatter of tiny burns—careless candles, careless evenings. Someone has carved initials inside a heart, too deep for sandpaper to forget. What did those letters mean, and who sat here, tapping and thinking? Sometimes, when the window is open, the desk catches a draught and the papers whisper, back and forth. If it could speak, it would talk in murmurs about essays, letters, bills, and half-started novels. It holds these secrets the way wood holds warmth: modest, enduring. Outside, the sun slides on; the light loosens and leaves. Still, the desk waits for the next pair of elbows, the next tapping pen, the next day.

Option B:

At five a.m., the hospital was awake before the city, its fluorescent strip lights staring down the corridor like tired eyes. Martin pushed his trolley, bottles clinking, and the mop left a damp trail that caught the light. He liked the quiet because it made the work simple. Sweep, soak, wring, repeat.

He would not call himself important. He told himself he just wiped up other people’s days: spilt tea, muddy prints, the small grey grit of ordinary disasters. Ms Patel always said, “Edges matter, Martin.” So he did the edges; always, tracing skirting boards and corners with a care that felt almost private. It was methodical, nearly soothing, but also a little empty, like chewing gum long after the flavour had gone.

The paediatric ward was at the end of his run. Usually he passed it with his eyes front, hearing only the machines and low voices, but today a noticeboard stopped him. In the middle a crayon drawing had been pinned with a green clip. A blocky figure in a blue shirt held a mop taller than he was. The name on the badge had been written carefully, clumsy letters leaning together: Martin. Underneath, in a sun-yellow ribbon: Thank you for making it safe.

He stood there longer than made sense. The corridor hummed, the mop dripped, and something shifted—quietly, like a door eased open.

How had he missed that? He wasn’t only erasing mess; he was making space for worry to breathe, for families to sit, for sleep. The job was still the same, the floor still shone, but it felt different in his hands.

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

Option A:

Sunlight slides across the battered desk, turning dust into a slow, floating snow. Its surface is a map of scratches and grazes; each line points somewhere, to a moment. The grain runs in patient waves, warm under the palm, though the varnish has thinned. A faint smell of polish and old paper hangs there, with a shy note of coffee. At the front edge, the wood is rubbed smooth where wrists have leaned again and again.

On the right, a pale circle sits like a small moon — a coffee ring — faded at the centre, darker at the rim. An initial is carved, half hidden under scribbles; it feels wrong to touch, yet the fingertip goes to it. The top drawer is stubborn. It sticks, then shudders out with a flat scrape; the handle clicks like a small tongue of metal. Inside: a blunt pencil, two bent paperclips, a blue tack blob, a folded timetable. The drawer don't like being opened first time, as if it knows secrets.

Underneath, one leg is shorter. The whole thing wobbles; a torn coaster is wedged under it, stained with tea. When someone writes, the desk answers: a little tremor, a steady tap-tap of the pen, like a metronome getting the beat. Paper edges whisper, a ruler ticks, the phone hums and stops.

What has this desk listened to — homework, letters, bills, late-night sketches? It stands patient, marked and loyal, an ordinary witness. It stays.

Option B:

Morning. The hour when night loosens its grip; corridors stretch and yawn, fluorescent lights buzzing like trapped bees. The floor smells of lemon and antiseptic, cold air threading through the vents. I push my mop like an oar through a quiet sea, and the water shivers under the strip lights. Before today, I thought my job was simple: keep it clean, keep moving, be invisible. Who would even notice?

I click the yellow sign into place—caution, wet floor—its little man slipping forever. Behind double doors, voices rise and fall; doctors discuss numbers I don't understand. Someone laughs, then a cough, then the soft beep-beep of a machine, steady as a heart. It's work; it pays the rent; it doesn't change lives.

Then the doors burst open. A nurse—mask hanging at her chin—rushes out with a tray, and coffee splashes in a brown comet across the floor. For a second, the corridor holds its breath. "We need this clear, now," she says, eyes fierce. My hands move before my head does—bucket, wring, sweep, white cloth, swift strokes. The sign returns, a yellow lighthouse.

As I kneel, a trolley glides past. A boy lies wrapped in a blanket, his mother walking beside him, her face a pale moon. He looks down at the clean path I've made and lifts his thumb, small and brave. "Thank you," the mother whispers, not to the surgeon beyond the doors, but to me. Something tips inside me; clean suddenly means safe. I stand up slower, but standing taller.

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

Option A:

At first glance, the desk looks stubborn and solid. Sunlight spills across the wood; the grain shows lines like a map, pale and dark. Scratches cross each other, a mess of tiny roads. There are rings where mugs once stood, ghost circles. At the back, a little lamp leans, its shade dented. The edge is shiny where hands have rubbed it, again and again. The desk seems to breathe dust and old paper. It waits.

On the left, a drawer sticks. If you tug it, it sighs, then gives a shudder. Inside: paper clips, a blunt pencil, a folded note I can't read now. One knob is missing, so a ribbon is tied there instead. The right leg wobbles, a menu shoved under it. There is a small burn mark by the corner—careless—near a name carved in soft letters. Who sat here, late at night, chewing a pen?

Sometimes the desk looks almost kind. A stripe of afternoon sun warms it, showing dust dancing, tiny stars. I can hear a soft tap as a loose hinge knocks the wood when the window opens. Although it is worn, and a bit ugly, it still invites: sit, write, try. Then try again.

Option B:

Beep. Beep. The scanner’s red eye blinked under the flourescent lights. I dragged tins across the glass; plastic slid. The uniform itched, the name badge dug into my shirt. Every morning looked the same: grey buses, cheap coffee, my manager’s voice. This job was just numbers and barcodes. What difference did a barcode make? Make the line move. Smile. Repeat. I hated the collar, it scratched my neck.

Then Tuesday happened. She was small, wrapped in a paint-splashed scarf, hands shaking as she set brushes, milk, a loaf and candles on the belt. “Sorry, love. I’m slow.” I said it’s okay—automatic. She lifted the candles. “Seventy-two today. I’m starting my first art class.” She showed me a messy sunrise. “Your hello is the first voice I hear most mornings,” she said. “You always put the bread on top.” Beep; the sound seemed softer.

I had thought it was just work, just a till. Now it felt different. I passed her the receipt like it mattered and watched her go into the rain. Maybe my job isn’t only selling stuff—maybe it’s part of somebody’s day. It definately changed something. I looked at the next customer and, for once, I didn’t just see a queue. I saw people.

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

Option A:

The desk sits by the window. The sun falls on it, it looks old and tired. There is many marks, thin scratches like little roads. My hand slides then catches on small cuts. A pale ring from a mug stays in the middle, it never goes away. The edge is chewed like someone bit it. It's legs are thick but one is scuffed and it wobbles when you push it.

One drawer sticks when you pull it. It squeaks every time, every time. Inside are blunt pencils, paper with coffee spots, a lost coin.

It smells of polish and old paper like a cupboard.

Names are carved in the top with a key maybe. Lines from rulers go across. Little dents from years of work. Sometimes it groans when I lean on it and I think it is talking to me, but it isnt. Just wood and light and the same work again and again.

Option B:

Morning. The time of buses and being late. The road is wet and my broom scrapes like a tired dog. I do this every day, I do not think about it, I just push dirt to the drain.

I think work is just work. Rubbish in, rubbish out.

A thin paper stick to the broom. I pull it off. It is a drawing, kid picture, a yellow sun and a man with a hat. There is big letters, THANK YOU CLEANER. You make our street shine. The word shine jumps at me, like a small light in a jar, I read it again and again, I look around but no one sees me

The bin waits with its mouth open. I don’t drop the drawing. I fold it, clumsy, I put it in my pocket. The road looks new. The puddle has a sky in it. Maybe my job matters, maybe I am helping.

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

Option A:

The desk is old and used. The wood is dull and dark, the top is flat but not smooth. There are alot of scratches like scars all over it. The corners are chipped. A ring from a mug sits faded on the side. It smells dusty. The drawer sticks and goes back and forward, back and forward, with a scrape noise, it sometimes wont shut. Sun light comes through and makes a square and the dust float. The legs wobble. One has tape. A spider runs on the wall. I think people worked here long time, it feels heavy with work.

Option B:

I go to work when it is still dark. The office is cold and the lights buzz. I drink cheap coffee and it taste bad. I left my lunch at home and my shoe is wet. My boss says type faster, and I just stare at the screen and numbers go round in my head like wheels. I think this job is nothing. The lift door opens and a woman comes in with a man on the phone crying. She says the report I sent last night fixed it. She says we kept there shop open. She says thank you, I feel funny in my chest and my work is not nothing.