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.
- Refer constantly to the mark scheme and standardising scripts throughout the marking period.
- Always credit accurate, relevant and appropriate responses that are not necessarily covered by the mark scheme or the standardising scripts.
- Use the full range of marks. Do not hesitate to give full marks if the response merits it.
- Remember the key to accurate and fair marking is consistency.
- 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).
| Assessment Objective | Section A | Section B |
|---|---|---|
| AO1 | ✓ | |
| AO2 | ✓ | |
| AO3 | N/A | |
| AO4 | ✓ | |
| AO5 | ✓ | |
| AO6 | ✓ |
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 was certainly worth looking at?: The dairy – 1 mark
- 1.2 Which combination of materials does the narrator include when describing the dairy's soft colouring?: Red earthenware, polished tin, and grey limestone – 1 mark
- 1.3 According to the narrator, which objects are kept constantly in pure water?: The wooden containers – 1 mark
- 1.4 Which material is specifically mentioned by the narrator as part of the dairy's description?: Polished tin – 1 mark
Question 2 - Mark Scheme
Look in detail at this extract, from lines 21 to 30 of the source:
21 There are various orders of beauty, causing men to make fools of themselves in various styles, from the desperate to the sheepish; but there is one order of beauty which seems made to turn the heads not only of men, but of all intelligent mammals, even of women. It is a beauty like that of kittens, or
26 very small downy ducks making gentle rippling noises with their soft bills, or babies just beginning to toddle and to engage in conscious mischief—a beauty with which you can never be angry, but that you feel ready to crush for inability to comprehend the state of mind into which it throws you. Hetty Sorrel’s was that sort of beauty. Her aunt, Mrs. Poyser, who professed to
How does the writer use language here to describe Hetty’s beauty? 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 writer taxonomises beauty to universalise Hetty’s appeal, moving from "various orders of beauty" to the hyperbolic idiom "turn the heads ... of all intelligent mammals, even of women," with ironic animal imagery in "sheepish." It would explore the cumulative tricolon of tender similes—"like that of kittens, or very small downy ducks making gentle rippling noises with their soft bills, or babies just beginning to toddle" in "conscious mischief"—and the dash-led antithesis "never be angry, but ... ready to crush" with second-person "you," showing how sound-patterning and paradox depict a beauty that throws you off reason.
The writer theorises “various orders of beauty,” using a taxonomic noun phrase to elevate aesthetic response from trivial to systematic. The antithetical scale “from the desperate to the sheepish” and the colloquial idiom “make fools of themselves” suggest beauty’s capacity to unmask and unbalance. The idiomatic metaphor “turn the heads” extends, in hyperbole, to “all intelligent mammals, even of women,” a playful, ironic inclusivity that personifies beauty as an agent that overrules reason.
Moreover, Hetty’s allure is fixed through an extended simile: “like that of kittens, or very small downy ducks… or babies just beginning to toddle.” The tricolon, linked by polysyndetic “or,” accumulates sensory imagery—aural “gentle rippling noises,” tactile “soft bills”—and diminutives (“very small,” “downy,” “soft”) to conjure a lexicon of tenderness. The micro-detail “conscious mischief” attributes intentional playfulness to innocence, making her beauty instinctively disarming rather than grand.
Furthermore, the narrator captures the paradox of such charm: “you can never be angry, but… feel ready to crush.” The violent verb “crush” collides with the preceding softness, an oxymoronic effect that dramatises the viewer’s “inability to comprehend”—beauty overwhelms cognition. The em dash (“—a beauty with which…”) and the long, cumulative syntax mimic emotional overflow, while the dynamic “throws you” personifies beauty as destabilising. Additionally, the declarative “Hetty Sorrel’s was that sort of beauty” clinches the argument, shifting from abstract taxonomy to a precise naming that crystallises Hetty’s appeal.
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 explain that similes and sensory detail liken her beauty to “kittens,” “very small downy ducks” making “gentle rippling noises,” and “babies,” suggesting soft, innocent charm. It would also identify hyperbole/metaphor in “turn the heads” of “all intelligent mammals” and the contrast “you can never be angry” yet “ready to crush,” as well as the long, cumulative sentence followed by the short declarative “Hetty Sorrel’s was that sort of beauty.”
The writer uses similes to show Hetty’s beauty as irresistibly cute. He says “It is a beauty like that of kittens, or very small downy ducks… or babies…”, a tricolon of innocent creatures. The adjectives “downy”, “gentle” and “soft” create tactile and aural imagery, suggesting softness and harmlessness. As a result, the reader sees her beauty as one “with which you can never be angry”, emphasising its disarming charm.
Furthermore, the writer employs hyperbole and idiom to show its universal power: it “seems made to turn the heads not only of men, but of all intelligent mammals, even of women”. The idiom “turn the heads” implies a loss of rational control, while the exaggeration “all intelligent mammals” humorously widens its effect. This makes Hetty’s beauty appear overwhelming and inescapable.
Additionally, contrasting language intensifies its effect: the clause “you can never be angry, but… you feel ready to crush” juxtaposes tenderness with the violent verb “crush”. This paradox shows how her beauty confuses and overpowers. The long, complex sentence, with a dash before “a beauty with which…”, builds to the decisive statement “Hetty Sorrel’s was that sort of beauty”, emphasising her and firmly defining the nature of her beauty.
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 uses similes like "like that of kittens", "very small downy ducks" and "babies just beginning to toddle" to show Hetty’s beauty as soft and innocent, making people like her. Exaggeration in "turn the heads... of all intelligent mammals" and the contrast "you can never be angry" but "ready to crush", plus the long, listing sentence, suggest her beauty has a strong, confusing effect on others.
The writer uses similes to show Hetty’s beauty as cute and irresistible. He says it is “like that of kittens”, “very small downy ducks…” and “babies… beginning to toddle”. These images make her seem soft and innocent, so people are drawn to her.
Moreover, the metaphor “turn the heads” suggests everyone is distracted by her. The list “not only of men, but of all intelligent mammals, even of women” sounds exaggerated and humorous, showing her beauty affects almost everyone.
Additionally, the dash adds a final idea: “a beauty with which you can never be angry, but that you feel ready to crush”. This contrast shows mixed feelings and the power of her looks. The second-person “you” involves the reader, and the long sentence piles up details to stress her effect. Overall, the language presents Hetty’s beauty as irresistible and confusing.
Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses similes and a list of cute images like "kittens", "very small downy ducks" and "babies just beginning to toddle" to show Hetty’s beauty is sweet and innocent. Phrases such as "turn the heads" and "make fools of themselves" suggest it affects everyone so you "can never be angry."
The writer uses similes to describe Hetty’s beauty, for example “like that of kittens”, “downy ducks”, and “babies”. This makes her seem cute, soft and innocent. Furthermore, the phrase “turn the heads” is a metaphor that shows everyone looks at her. Moreover, “all intelligent mammals, even of women” sounds like hyperbole, to show how strong her beauty is. Additionally, the long sentence with the dash and list shows lots of feelings, like “you can never be angry” but “ready to crush”. Overall, Hetty’s beauty seems irresistible.
Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.
AO2 content may include the effects of language features such as:
- Taxonomy and antithesis frame a spectrum of reactions and humorous extremes in male behaviour → establishes a measured, ironic voice before the exceptional case (from the desperate to the sheepish)
- Concessive pivot isolates a singular category → foregrounds the exceptional nature of this beauty as distinct from all others (one order of beauty)
- Hyperbole and inclusivity amplify impact → the beauty overwhelms reason across species and genders, suggesting near-universal susceptibility (all intelligent mammals)
- Simile cluster compares to cute, harmless young creatures → infantilises and disarms, making the appeal instinctive and tender (like that of kittens)
- Diminutives and tactile adjectives create softness and vulnerability → invite protective affection and gentle handling (very small downy ducks)
- Sound imagery with mild onomatopoeia soothes the ear → reinforces the calming, endearing charm of the beauty (gentle rippling noises)
- Dynamic participles convey playful movement → animate the appeal as lively, innocent mischief rather than sensuality (beginning to toddle)
- Paradox intensifies conflicted response, marked by the dash → admiration turns unsettling, as irresistible charm provokes an irrational urge (ready to crush)
- Second-person address recruits the reader into the experience → universalises complicity and shows how the beauty unsettles cognition (it throws you)
- Structural reveal from general meditation to named instance → the delayed identification lands as a decisive summation (that sort of beauty)
Question 3 - Mark Scheme
You now need to think about the structure of the source as a whole. This text is from the start of a novel.
How has the writer structured the text to create a sense of fascination?
You could write about:
- how fascination intensifies from beginning to end
- how the writer uses structure to create an effect
- the writer's use of any other structural features, such as changes in mood, tone or perspective. [8 marks]
Question 3 (AO2) – Structural Analysis (8 marks)
Assesses structure (pivotal point, juxtaposition, flashback, focus shifts, mood/tone, contrast, narrative pace, etc.).
Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Analyses effects of structural choices; judicious examples; sophisticated terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response typically identifies a structural crescendo of fascination: from the sensuous, cumulative tableau of the dairy (such coolness, such purity) to the sudden zoom on the distractingly pretty girl, transforming neutral description into desire. It would also track the shift to overt narration and direct address (There are various orders of beauty; It is of little use for me to tell you), noting how extended similes culminate in pursuit imagery (severe steeplechase to a bog), so the structure itself enacts an ever-deepening captivation.
One way the writer structures the opening to create fascination is by foregrounding an opulent setting before abruptly pivoting the focus onto Hetty. The colon in “The dairy was certainly worth looking at:” ushers in a cumulative catalogue whose long, flowing syntax slows the narrative pace and saturates the senses. Yet the discourse marker “But one gets only a confused notion… when they surround a distractingly pretty girl” signals a decisive shift in focus. This structural volte-face mimics the reader’s own distraction, intensifying Hetty’s magnetism as she eclipses the setting.
In addition, the writer widens the frame through intrusive narration and generalisation. The aphoristic “There are various orders of beauty… Hetty Sorrel’s was that sort of beauty” moves from the particular to the universal, taxonomising allure to elevate Hetty. The direct address and metanarrative anaphora—“It is of little use for me to tell you… It is of little use…”—withholds definitive description, creating tantalising deferral. By positing hypothetical readers (“if you had never…”), the narrator enlists us as participants, deepening our complicity and curiosity.
A further structural choice is the shift in focalisation to others’ responses. Mrs Poyser’s “safe out of hearing” confession corroborates Hetty’s effect, while the juxtaposition of the aunt’s technical “discourse” on milk with Hetty’s “self-possessed, coquettish air” counterpoints the mundane with the bewitching, sustaining tension and layered interest.
Finally, the extract culminates in an extended analogy that modulates tone from reverent to playful caution. “Spring-tide beauty” swells into the calf simile that “leads you a severe steeplechase… into a bog.” This bathos reframes fascination as irresistible yet hazardous. The structural journey—from immersive scene, to conceptual meditation, to vivid, surprising metaphor—charts an escalation from mere admiration to enthralled captivation.
Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would typically identify how fascination builds as the text shifts from sensuous scene-setting (“such coolness, such purity”) to a close focus on Hetty as a “distractingly pretty girl”, adds a social spark when “Captain Donnithorne entered the dairy” and she “blushed a deep rose-colour”, then widens into narrator reflection (“There are various orders of beauty”) and direct address (“It is of little use for me to tell you”) with cumulative comparisons (“kittens”, “spring-tide beauty”). This progression—from detailed setting to zoom-in, then commentary and analogy—structurally intensifies the allure and draws the reader into the same fascination as the characters.
One way in which the writer has structured the text to create fascination is by starting with a wide, sensory focus that then sharply narrows. The opening catalogue of the dairy—“such coolness, such purity”—slows the pace and lulls us; but the adversative “But” marks a structural pivot and a shift in focus to “a distractingly pretty girl of seventeen.” This contrast and zoom-in replicate fascination: the setting dissolves because Hetty seizes our attention.
In addition, the writer juxtaposes practical detail with Hetty’s allure to sustain interest. While Mrs Poyser is “discoursing… about milk,” Hetty “tossed and patted” the butter with a “coquettish air.” This cross-cutting of simultaneous actions controls pace and keeps our gaze on Hetty, while others’ watching is implied (“no turn of her head was lost”). Captain Donnithorne’s entrance and Hetty’s “blush” signal a change in mood, intensifying the magnetism.
A further structural feature is the narrator’s digression and direct address. The voice widens into general reflection—“There are various orders of beauty”—then teases with “It is of little use for me to tell you…,” delaying description. This manipulation of pace heightens fascination by suggesting her beauty exceeds description. The passage then returns to focus—“Hetty Sorrel’s was that sort of beauty”—and culminates in an extended metaphor (“spring-tide” beauty, the calf leading you “to a bog”), a structural climax that deepens fascination by hinting at danger as well as delight.
Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response might note that the writer begins with a setting list — "such coolness, such purity" — then shifts to the "distractingly pretty girl", so the focus narrows and creates interest. Later the narrator steps back — "There are various orders of beauty", "It is of little use for me to tell you" — using comparisons like "kittens" and "spring-tide beauty" to build fascination towards the end.
One way the writer structures fascination is by beginning with the setting and then shifting focus to Hetty. The opening uses long listing like “such coolness… such purity”, but the connective “But” moves us from the dairy to the “distractingly pretty girl.” This zoom-in makes the reader fix on her.
In addition, the middle section raises interest through a time marker and small actions. When “Captain Donnithorne entered”, the mood changes; while the aunt talks, Hetty “blushed” and “tossed and patted” the butter. This contrast slows the pace and makes us watch her more, so fascination grows.
A further structural feature is the narrator’s shift in perspective. The text widens into general comments about “orders of beauty” and uses direct address, “it is of little use… if you had never…”. Ending with the vivid “spring‑tide beauty” and the calf image leaves a strong, fascinated final impression.
Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer starts with a detailed list of the dairy, such coolness, such purity, then shifts the focus to a distractingly pretty girl as Hetty blushed, which builds fascination. Later the narrator comments, There are various orders of beauty, and calls Hetty spring-tide beauty, so the structure moves from setting to person to explanation to keep the reader interested.
One way the writer structures the text is by opening with the dairy. The beginning focuses on setting and lists colours and objects. This zoom-in creates interest and makes the scene seem cool.
In addition, the focus shifts to Hetty. We follow her blush and the aunt’s talk, using long sentences. This change in focus makes us fascinated by her and keeps us watching her movements.
A further feature is the narrator’s comment on ‘orders of beauty’ and the comparisons to kittens and spring. This general talk, then more detail of her clothes, builds the fascination towards the end.
Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.
AO2 content may include the effect of structural features such as:
- Lush, static opening tableau primes attraction through sensuous listing, inviting the reader to look closely (such coolness, such purity)
- Early pivot from setting to person refocuses the gaze as fascination eclipses place (distractingly pretty girl)
- Arrival of an onlooker injects social tension, turning beauty into performance and heightening interest (blushed a deep rose-colour)
- Parallel strands—prosaic dairy talk versus poised, knowing gestures—sharpen contrast and deepen allure (no turn of her head)
- Authorial zoom-out to universalise beauty reframes her appeal as irresistible, broadening the stakes of our curiosity (orders of beauty)
- Re-anchoring in specific reactions multiplies viewpoints, validating the pull and compounding fascination (fascinated in spite of herself)
- Public scolding set against private confession adds ironic reversal, sustaining engagement through tension (safe out of hearing)
- Meta-assertion of descriptive limits teases the reader’s imagination, suggesting an allure beyond words (It is of little use)
- Accumulative catalogue builds rhythmic momentum, each detail layering the spell while questioning its sufficiency (descriptive catalogue)
- Kinetic closing simile turns attraction into pursuit, ending on breathless loss of control (severe steeplechase)
Question 4 - Mark Scheme
For this question focus on the second part of the source, from line 36 to the end.
In this part of the source, where Hetty is compared to kittens and babies, she appears sweet and innocent. The writer suggests that there is something sly and mischievous hidden underneath her charm.
To what extent do you agree and/or disagree with this statement?
In your response, you could:
- consider your impressions of Hetty's sweet and mischievous nature
- comment on the methods the writer uses to suggest her sly charm
- support your response with references to the text. [20 marks]
Question 4 (AO4) – Critical Evaluation (20 marks)
Evaluate texts critically and support with appropriate textual references.
Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed evaluation) – 16–20 marks Perceptive ideas; perceptive methods; critical detail on impact; judicious detail. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would argue that the writer deliberately fuses surface sweetness with covert mischief, citing Hetty’s rose- petal cheeks, dimples, and spring-tide beauty as the beguiling façade, while unpacking the animal imagery and tonal shift from soft roguishness to a kittenlike maiden with a false air of innocence, culminating in the second-person warning that she leads you a severe steeplechase into the middle of a bog. It would largely agree with the writer’s viewpoint by evaluating how the narrator’s intrusive aside, it is of little use, steers readers to find her charm irresistible yet slyly hazardous.
I largely agree with the statement. In this section, the writer foregrounds Hetty’s surface sweetness through tender, youthful imagery, yet persistently threads in cues that her charm carries a sly, mischievous undertow.
From the outset, reported speech shapes our expectations: “the naughtier the little huzzy behaved, the prettier she looked.” The colloquial “little huzzy” injects moral judgement, while the paradox that “naughtier” makes her “prettier” primes the reader to see innocence and mischief as interwoven. This evaluative comment frames the description that follows and invites us to read Hetty’s beauty suspiciously.
The subsequent descriptive catalogue deploys a luxuriant semantic field of delicacy and youth: her cheek “like a rose-petal,” “dimples” that “played,” and “long lashes” softening “large dark eyes.” The sensory imagery flatters her as kitten-cute and almost babyish, especially in the “round” contours and diminutive details (“white shell-like ears”). Yet, beneath this sugar-coating, the writer plants slyness. “Her large dark eyes hid a soft roguishness” makes concealment explicit, while the verb “stole back” for the rebellious curls implies stealth. Even ordinary garments are transfigured—an apron “to be imitated in silk by duchesses”—through hyperbole that shows how her presence seduces perception. The effect is to render her outwardly sweet, but edged with a covert, kittenish trickiness.
Crucially, the narratorial intrusion—“it is of little use… unless you have seen a woman who affected you as Hetty affected her beholders”—and direct address to “you” perform a metanarrative turn. The anaphora of “of little use” signals the limits of mere listing and shifts focus to Hetty’s effect. This suggests the “slyness” may be as much in the beholder’s entrancement as in Hetty’s intention, complicating a simplistic reading of calculated guile.
The structural pivot comes with the extended conceit of spring. Hetty is “a distracting kittenlike maiden,” and her “spring-tide beauty” is aligned with “young frisking things, round-limbed, gambolling.” This kinetic imagery evokes babies and kittens alike—appealing, spontaneous, heedlessly playful. However, the writer deftly inverts this innocence: these “young” creatures “circumvent” the observer “by a false air of innocence.” The culminating metaphor of the “star-browed calf” that “leads you a severe steeplechase… and only comes to a stand in the middle of a bog” reframes her charm as a seductive chase ending in entrapment. The diction—“circumventing,” “false,” “bog”—casts her allure as mischievously misleading rather than merely sweet.
Overall, I agree to a great extent. The writer’s imagery, narratorial address, and extended animal conceit craft Hetty as outwardly innocent yet inwardly roguish. Still, by locating the danger in the effect on “beholders,” the passage hints that her sly charm is playful, instinctive mischief rather than calculated malice.
Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would mostly agree, noting that while Hetty is presented as sweet through "pouting lips", a "kittenlike maiden with "spring-tide beauty", the writer also signals sly mischief via contrast and animal imagery in "soft roguishness", a "false air of innocence", and the calf that "leads you a severe steeplechase", showing how her charm can mislead.
I largely agree with the statement: in this passage Hetty is framed as adorably innocent, yet the writer repeatedly hints at a sly, mischievous streak beneath the charm.
We are primed by the gossipy verdict that “the naughtier the little huzzy behaved, the prettier she looked.” This direct speech and the pejorative noun “huzzy” set up a paradox: her beauty seems to intensify with misbehaviour, foreshadowing duplicity. The following descriptive catalogue—“cheek… like a rose-petal,” “dimples,” “pouting lips”—deploys sensuous imagery to construct the “distracting kittenlike maiden” the narrator names; yet the eyes “hid a soft roguishness under their long lashes.” That oxymoronic pairing of “soft” with “roguishness” signals mischief masked by gentleness, much like a kitten’s play-bite.
The narrator’s intrusive aside, “It is of little use for me to tell you… unless you have seen a woman who affected you,” uses second-person address and hyperbole to emphasise Hetty’s overpowering effect. Even plain items—the “butter-making apron” and “brown stockings”—are elevated by her presence; the claim that duchesses might imitate the apron is comic exaggeration, implying her charm distorts perception, a subtle form of deception.
Structurally, the passage widens into an extended springtime metaphor: “Hetty’s was a spring-tide beauty… young frisking things… circumventing you by a false air of innocence.” The adjective “false” and the verb “circumventing” explicitly cast her innocence as a lure. The culminating calf image—“leads you a severe steeplechase… and only comes to a stand in the middle of a bog”—functions as an extended metaphor warning of consequences: playful allure draws admirers on, then leaves them stuck.
Overall, I agree to a great extent: through animal and infant imagery, oxymoron, direct address and extended metaphor, the writer presents Hetty as sweet on the surface, while deliberately suggesting a sly, mischievous nature underneath.
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, noticing the sweet description (rose-petal cheeks, kittenlike maiden) but also the hint of mischief in soft roguishness and circumventing you by a false air of innocence. It would simply point out that the animal comparisons to a kitten and a calf leading to a bog show she seems cute yet sly.
I mostly agree with the statement. In this part, Hetty looks sweet and innocent on the surface, but the writer hints at a sly streak. The remark that “the naughtier the little huzzy behaved, the prettier she looked” already blends prettiness with naughtiness.
The physical description builds the sweet effect. The simile “cheek… like a rose-petal” and personification “dimples played” create a soft image. Details like “pouting lips” and “long lashes” make her seem delicate, yet her eyes “hid a soft roguishness”, which clearly suggests something playful underneath.
The comparisons then widen. She is a “distracting kittenlike maiden,” and her beauty is like a “bright spring day” and “spring-tide beauty”. These images of kittens and spring suggest freshness and innocence, but the phrase “false air of innocence” challenges that. The extended calf metaphor, which “leads you a severe steeplechase… into a bog,” shows her charm can mislead. Verbs like “circumventing” and “leads” sound sly and tricksy, hinting that her innocent look can trap or confuse those who admire her.
Overall, I agree to a large extent. The writer uses imagery, simile and extended metaphor to present two sides: the kitten-like sweetness and the mischievous effect she has on others. The structure shifts from soft description to a warning image, so her innocence seems definitely attractive but also quietly sly.
Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response would simply agree that the writer shows Hetty as sweet and innocent with basic quotes like "cheek was like a rose- petal", "kittenlike maiden", and "spring-tide beauty", while also noticing a hint of mischief in "soft roguishness", "false air of innocence", and "the naughtier the little huzzy behaved, the prettier she looked."
I mostly agree with the statement. In this part, Hetty often seems sweet and childlike, but there are hints that she is sly too.
The writer first makes her look innocent, using imagery and similes. Her “cheek was like a rose-petal”, with “dimples” and “pouting lips”. Even her apron falls in “charming lines”. She is a “kittenlike maiden” with “spring-tide beauty”, like a “bright spring day”. These images make her seem like a baby or kitten.
But there are clear hints of mischief. Her eyes hide a “soft roguishness” and there is a “false air of innocence”. The “young frisking things” and the “star-browed calf” that “leads you a severe steeplechase… in the middle of a bog” show she can charm and trick. This contrast shows both sides. Also, “the naughtier… the prettier” suggests she is rewarded for naughty behaviour.
Overall, I agree: she seems sweet, but something sly is hidden under the charm.
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:
- I broadly agree: the creature-and-baby comparisons cast Hetty as irresistibly sweet and childlike, priming indulgence and affection (kittens)
- Yet the infant image is tinged with intention, so innocence and slyness coexist in her charm (conscious mischief)
- The paradoxical response—disarmed yet exasperated—shows her allure’s unsettling power over judgment (ready to crush)
- Mrs. Poyser’s conflicted response demonstrates how Hetty’s beauty breeds complicity and secret admiration (by the sly)
- The eye detail yokes attractiveness to playful duplicity, suggesting charm that conceals a teasing cunning (soft roguishness)
- The narratorial refrain of descriptive inadequacy heightens her almost ineffable influence over beholders (of little use)
- The claim that such beauty fools nearly everyone widens the impact and implies near-universal susceptibility (make fools of themselves)
- The springtime/young-animal conceit explicitly recasts innocence as an active, beguiling performance (false air of innocence)
- The calf simile visualises consequences: admirers are led astray into strenuous, messy pursuit by her playful defiance (leads you a severe steeplechase)
- Even rustic attire becomes glamorous in her presence, reinforcing how surface charm reshapes perception and masks mischief (to be imitated in silk)
Question 5 - Mark Scheme
For the end-of-term assembly, your geography department will showcase short creative writing about scorching weather.
Choose one of the options below for your entry.
- Option A: Describe a heat-struck roadside from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:
- Option B: Write the opening of a story about a conflict during a heatwave.
(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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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Level 1 (1–4): Occasional demarcation; some evidence of conscious punctuation; simple sentence forms; occasional Standard English; accurate basic spelling; simple vocabulary.
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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 road does not so much lie as tremble, a ribbon of softened black pulled taut between horizons; it shivers under the weight of noon as if fevered. Above, the sun is a bleached coin, hammered flat and pitiless, pressing down until colour surrenders: the verges blanch to straw, the scrub turns to tinder, the sky pales to an unforgiving porcelain. The earth beside the tarmac opens its parched lips—cracks splay like old rivers on a faded map—and tiny stones wear coats of white dust. Heat lifts in visible veils. Nothing moves, nothing dares, nothing breathes.
Meanwhile, the air tastes of metal and grit; it sticks to the tongue, collects at the back of the throat: dust, tar, salt. Cicadas stitch a relentless metronome into the hush, their stridulation sawed thin and high. Every now and then, the bitumen blisters; a bubble swells, quivers, surrenders with a faint pop. An articulated lorry cleaves the glare and makes an event of its passing—diesel breath, a slap of warm wind, a flurry of litter freed from the verge. For a second there is shade beneath its belly and the roadside startles back to life; then the heat closes behind it as water folds on the wake of a boat.
A sign leans at a tired angle, its arrows bleached to bone; the places it once promised—Ridgewell, Creek End, some lake with a cheerful name—have been sunburned from memory. Below the sign, a billboard advertises an ocean: waves impossible and crystalline, ice that looks like glass; even here there is a mirage of a mirage (you could laugh at the cruelty). Under its meagre trapezoid of shade, a stray dog drapes itself like a thrown rug, rib-thin, tongue lolling, eyes narrowed to slits. Nearby, a cola can clicks as it expands and contracts, a patient, hollow heartbeat. Is that water shimmering on the road ahead? It wobbles, deepens, evaporates—again and again—until even hope feels foolish.
Concurrently, farther along the verge, life persists, quiet and obstinate. Ants ferry a curl of crisp packet foil towards a kingdom beneath a slab of concrete; a lizard arrowed with emerald scales darts from shadow to hotter shadow; a hawk hangs at an unblinking height, its outline a careful scissor against the bleached vault. The scent from a distant petrol station slinks in—sweet, chemical, almost clean—and then is gone. By degrees, the sun tilts; the day loosens. Shadows lengthen into spears; the road’s white lines flare as if lit from within. A cautious breeze perturbs the sere grasses; they whisper, brittle, like a book’s pages turned with dry fingers. Nevertheless, the heat remains stored in everything it has touched—in the stones, in the fence posts, in knuckles and keys—radiant long after the light retreats. And when evening finally drapes its thin relief along the tarmac, the road exhales a damp, tarry breath; it feels, for a moment, forgiven—until tomorrow’s tyrant ascends and the whole bright, arduous ritual begins anew.
Option B:
Heat. Not the benign warmth of a late afternoon but a brutal, insistent presence pressing its palm over the city’s mouth. Pavements glistened as if varnished; traffic lights drooped; the sky had become a taut, unblinking lid. Even the shadows looked exhausted, pooling under lampposts like animals seeking shade that wasn’t there.
Inside the corner shop, the refrigerators hummed a thin, faltering note and breathed out air that was almost warm. The glass door wore a smudged veil of fingerprints and stubborn condensation; beyond it, the last crate of bottled water crouched as if it knew it was rare. Maya counted her coins again—two pounds, three, fifty—and pressed them flat beneath her damp thumb. The fan above the counter clicked with the stubborn rhythm of a dripping tap.
On the till, a handwritten sign had been sellotaped with officious certainty: Two per customer — no exceptions.
She had walked there slowly, conserving sweat and breath, the heat making every street feel longer. Now, when she reached for the third bottle—her grandmother’s, the one she would hide under the pram’s basket—Amina behind the counter shook her head almost apologetically.
“I’m sorry, Maya,” she said. “Two only.”
“But it’s for Nan,” Maya replied, the words sticking, dry-tongued. “She’s on the fifth floor, and the lift’s dead again. You know what it’s like up there.”
A murmur swelled from the queue, not unkind yet, but impatient, fraying. A builder with dust chalked in his eyebrows shifted his boots. A woman with a buggy fanned her sleeping baby with a loyalty card; the baby’s cheeks were the flushed red of overripe fruit.
“We’ve all got someone,” the builder said, not unreasonably, though his tone had a brittle edge. “If she gets three, we all want three.”
“What I want,” the woman added, not lifting her eyes, “is to get home before the road melts.” It sounded like a joke; nobody laughed.
Outside, the street wavered as if underwater. Sirens slid past in a weary, Doppler whine. Somewhere, a dog barked in staccato bursts, then gave up—as if even fury could not be sustained at this temperature.
Maya’s palms slicked against the bottles. She pictured her grandmother’s flat: curtains closed and useless; air thick as soup; the carpet giving off that peculiar dusty sweetness that heat draws out of old things. The thought of leaving her there with only two lukewarm bottles felt like a decision she might regret. How much is mercy weighed by a till? And who gets to decide?
“I’ll pay double,” Maya said, too quickly. It was a foolish offer—desperate, a little performative—yet it was all she had. The coins clinked on the counter, bright and accusatory.
Amina looked past Maya at the queue, at the sign, at the crate that would be empty in minutes anyway. “If I make one exception,” she said—softly, regretfully—“it stops being an exception.”
“Rules are easy when you’re not gasping,” Maya murmured, and regretted the sharpness even as it left her.
Nevertheless, her hand tightened around the neck of the third bottle. The shop seemed to draw closer, shelves and bodies and heat pressing in. Then the lights faltered—once, twice—and the refrigerator’s hum dissolved into a sudden, hot silence. For a heartbeat, nobody spoke. In the flicker, she saw faces turn towards her, towards the sign, towards the dimming aisle where the water glinted like a prize.
The heat, indifferent and incandescent, watched as civility crackled—like paint on a too-hot wall—ready to flake.
- Level 4 Lower (19-21 marks for AO5, 13-16 marks for AO6, 32-37 marks total)
Option A:
Noon hangs, a white-hot coin soldered to the blank sky. The road below glistens, a dark ribbon blistered into scales; it seems to breathe, inhaling heat, exhaling mirages that impersonate puddles between blinks. Nothing moves quickly. Even the air drags its feet — slow, sticky, reluctant. The breath you take feels too warm to keep. The air is thick with a harsh bouquet: bitumen, diesel, chalky dust.
At the edge, the earth has become a map of fractures, pale clay lifting at the corners like old paint. Parched grasses bristle into stiff needles; a thistle stands as if posted on duty. Glass glitters where a bottle burst; a crushed can shivers in the intermittent breath of traffic — near, far, never here. The wires above sing a single, almost imaginary note; from the scrub insects tick like static.
Heat writes its own weather. Ahead, the straightness liquefies, surface turning mercurial, then firming again. A truck labours up, engine growling in a bass that vibrates the ribs; the blast that follows is not relief but a furnace-opening. For a second, the cab frames a sun-browned forearm, fingers drumming, window open to a heat that argues against it. At the bus stop — two posts and a corrugated roof, shade only by name — no one waits; the bench would brand.
Time here is measured by shadows shrinking to pins. The horizon does not approach; it holds its breath and keeps its distance. A single cloud appears — only exhaust, dissolving on contact with this light. The land remembers rain; a pale crust of salt marks where brief floods evaporated; the soil crackles underfoot, a dry whisper. All the same, life tucks itself in. Ants ferry their thin cargo in disciplined lines. A sparrow drops under the guardrail, eyes bright, tiny beak open. In a seam of shade, a flower no taller than a thumb opens a dusty purple throat.
The roadside endures. It waits for evening to loosen the day’s fist; it waits for a wind that will move more than grit; it waits, and in the waiting is a kind of stubborn grace.
Option B:
Heat. Not the playful kind that coaxes picnics and gentle sunburn, but a heavy, breathless heat that lay across the street like a tarpaulin. The tarmac shimmered and wobbled; the air itself seemed to thicken, a viscous syrup that clung to tongues and the backs of knees. Windows were flung wide yet nothing moved—curtains drooped, pale flags in a windless war. The scent of hot dust rose from the pavement, mingling with the sweet, cloying reek of bin sacks; even the pigeons had retreated to ledges, beaks parted, stunned into silence. The sun was relentless: an uncompromising coin hammered onto every roof until the roofs radiated back their anger.
On the top floor, the tiny hallway was a corridor of stagnant air. A single tired fan, biscuit-coloured and freckled with paint, buzzed on the landing and twitched its head as if it were thinking. Mia stood to one side of it, hair stuck to her neck; her brother Ethan stood to the other. Their flat had never felt this small. Whatever small breeze the fan made—more suggestion than wind—was rationed and precious, like the bottled water lined up on the counter in serried ranks.
“Move it,” Ethan said, half-laughing, half-serious. “You’ve had it for ages.”
“I moved it five minutes ago,” Mia replied, not moving. “Your room is cooler.”
“Because you nicked the only shade,” he said. The word nicked snapped in the air. He tugged the fan’s plastic base an inch; she drew it back, gentle, but his hands tightened. Somewhere in the building a dog barked twice and gave up; outside, a siren yawned past with the indifference of someone used to emergencies.
Mum was asleep on the sofa with a damp flannel on her forehead; Dad had come off a night shift and was face-down in the silence of the back room. The news droned from the tiny radio—reservoirs at record lows, hosepipe ban extended, advice to stay indoors. Heat made everything louder and smaller. It made the smell of last night’s fried onions stick in the walls; it made Ethan’s breath sound louder; it made Mia’s own heartbeat thump a staccato she couldn’t ignore. It also made tempers crisp, brittle as overbaked pastry.
“Just—let go,” Ethan said. He tried to grin; it came out like a grimace. The fan’s cable, looped round the stair post, tugged back with a thin, sibilant complaint. For a strange, suspended second they both held it, as if it were a rope between two cliffs and beneath them was a wide, shimmering drop.
“Don’t,” Mia whispered, though she didn’t know whether she meant him or herself.
They pulled. The fan wobbled, juddered, tipped—then fell, the fragile blades clattering against the tile with a sound like smashed ice. The sudden quiet afterwards was shocking. No thrum; no almost-wind. Just the implacable heat pressing in, filling the space the noise had kept at bay.
From the sofa, Mum stirred. In the stairwell below, a neighbour cursed without words. The air didn’t move.
“It’s only a fan,” Ethan said, too late, and the heat made the sentence feel like an accusation.
- Level 3 Upper (16-18 marks for AO5, 9-12 marks for AO6, 25-30 marks total)
Option A:
Heat writhed above the tarmac, making the painted lines tremble as if afraid to hold their place. The sun pressed down with a steady, unblinking stare; the road answered by giving off a black gloss, as though it had been varnished. It ran away in a bolt-straight line, on and on, a tight wire across the whitened plain. Even the air seemed thicker, a clear syrup that resisted every breath. Above, the sky was a pale enamel bowl without a seam, all glare and no mercy.
On the verge, grasses had turned to paper and crackled when a vagrant breeze moved; thistles stood in dusty armour. A bleached bottle rolled and clicked against gravel, an empty metronome. The smell was part petrol, part hot dust, part something like burnt sugar — the bitumen softening in the sun. Shadows kept close to their owners, thin and strict, unwilling to spill. At the bus stop, a plastic seat shone greasily; no one sat, not even the birds with their open beaks.
A signpost pinged as its metal swelled; a low, regular ticking came from the guardrail, heat working at each seam. Insects stitched the silence; they skated in drowsy loops, small planets orbiting a low star. Far off a dog watched from a patch of shade, tongue ribboning the air.
Now and then a lorry heaved past. Its tyres hissed, its cabin glared like a mirror, and its passing battered the roadside with a hot wind. For a moment the world lifted — dust rose, crisp weeds bowed, a crumpled packet cartwheeled — then the wake closed and the stillness returned, more pronounced than before. A faint mirage gathered on the horizon, a pool of impossible water; it trembled and drew back whenever the eye reached for it.
Beyond the lay-by, the asphalt had blistered into tiny bubbles, frozen waves that clicked under stray stones. A sun-faded billboard peeled in slow curls, a smiling mouth reduced to dull paper. Paint flaked. Rubber softened. The day held tight to everything it touched. And yet the road kept going, straight as a rule, carrying heat and silence forward, forward, forward.
Option B:
Summer. The word lingered on the tongue, thick and slow as syrup. The heatwave had settled over the street like a heavy blanket nobody dared shake off; the tar shone with a dull, treacherous gloss and the air trembled, a held breath that never finished. Upstairs windows gaped like tired mouths. Somewhere, a dog panted. The council’s notice—the one with the sunny cartoon and stern font—flapped feebly on the lamppost: Hosepipe ban in force.
Inside Number 23, the fan shuddered and clicked, failing to move more than a circle of warm air. Maya sat at the kitchen table with a beaded glass of lemonade, rings of moisture marking the wood, and watched her mother pour yesterday’s bathwater into a bucket for the tomatoes. The plants looked crushed, like they were bowing under invisible hands. “Every drop counts,” Mum said, though her voice was sticking, too.
It was then that the hiss began. A bright, spiteful sound. Maya went to the window and saw Mr Briggs from Number 27 standing on his new patch of lawn, hosepipe slung like a lazy snake over his wrist. An arc of water glittered, then cascaded, saturating the grass as if it had done nothing wrong. He lifted his chin at the sky, as if daring the sun to argue.
Maya’s stomach tightened. They’d talked to him last week. Mum had said, politely, we’re all meant to be careful. He had smiled in that thin way and said something about “vegetables” and “exemptions,” though he didn’t grow so much as a basil leaf. The tomatoes outside were choking; his lawn was lapping. It wasn’t only about water, was it? It was about fairness—about the way he parked over their drive in the cool evenings, about the noise from his late barbecues—about the way people thought rules bent to them when the weather did.
She slipped on her sandals and stepped into the heat. The pavement pressed back, soft and tacky. As she crossed, curtains twitched; tempers did, too. “Mr Briggs,” she called, trying to keep her voice even. “You know there’s a ban.”
He turned the tap a fraction. The water swelled. “Mind your business,” he said, not loudly but with that same flat smile. “It’s just a sprinkle.”
“It isn’t just,” she said. The words came out brisk, sharper than she intended. “Everyone else is suffering. You can’t—”
The hose juddered and spat; a stray spray hit her calves, startling and cold. She flinched. He laughed—a small, dismissive sound—and angled the nozzle away. Behind them, a siren started its long, tired wail. The sky held its breath a little more, and the heat pressed down, daring somebody to break first.
- Level 3 Lower (13-15 marks for AO5, 9-12 marks for AO6, 22-27 marks total)
Option A:
The road lies flat and glaring, a ribbon of tar under a sky bleached to chalk. The sun hangs there, heavy and bossy, pressing its weight on every surface until the verge cracks like dry lips. Heat shivers above the tarmac, a see-through curtain; fences tilt, cars wobble. Grass has turned to straw, brittle and whispering when the smallest breath comes — though there is no breath at all. It is so hot I can hear it.
A sign leans at a tired angle, its paint flaked into scales; the arrow is sun-faded, pointing nowhere certain. Bottles roll in the gutter, their plastic softened and squashed; a wasp crawls over the sticky mouth, drunk on sweetness. The smell is a blend of hot rubber and dust: almost metallic, like coins warmed in a fist. Now and then a lorry drags itself past — its trailer rumbling like distant thunder — and diesel punches the air, bitter on the tongue. The tar seems to lift, to bleed; it smears under tyres, leaving dark wounds on the road.
Beyond the ditch, the earth has split into plates, thin as pottery. The hedge is not green but grey, dust-coated and crisp at the edges. In the distance a shimmer pretends to be water, pretending and pretending, and a thirsty dog nosing towards it slows, then stops. Time stretches; the afternoon pulls like chewing gum. I wait for a breeze, for a cloud, for anything. Instead there is the same bright hammering, the same buzzing, the same light. It feels endless, and the road, that black ribbon, just keeps going.
Option B:
The heat didn’t just sit on our street; it pressed down, a hand on the back of your neck, pushing. The tarmac shone like melted liquorice, and the air wobbled with mirages above the bus stop. Bins gave off a sweet, sour breath. Inside Patel’s Mini Mart the fridges whined and clicked, their doors taped. A sign written in wobbly felt-tip: bottled water — one per customer. People waited, shoulders shining with sweat, silence held together by the buzz of the strip lights.
Maya wiped her palm; coins still stuck; hair clung to her neck. At the bottom of the freezer the last bag of ice lay like diamonds behind clouded plastic. She reached. Another hand landed there — a thickset man in a football shirt.
“That’s mine. I was here first,” he said, polite but hard.
“You walked off,” Maya said. “You can’t just claim it.”
“I went for cups; it’s for my dad — he’s ill.”
“My brother’s nose won’t stop bleeding and it’s boiling in there.”
“Share it,” someone muttered from the queue. Mr Patel looked between them as a bead of condensation crawled down the bag like a tiny snail.
They both tightened their grip. Plastic squealed; ice knocked together, a brittle music. The corner tore and cold beads spilled in a silver rush, soaking Maya’s sandals and his trainers. A hiss went through the shop—half gasp, half relief. “Look what you’ve done,” he started—but the lights flickered, hummed, and died. The fridge fell silent. In the dimness the heat felt heavier: stubborn, breathless, waiting.
- Level 2 Upper (10-12 marks for AO5, 5-8 marks for AO6, 15-20 marks total)
Option A:
The roadside sags under the weight of noon. The sky is a white sheet, stretched and humming; even the horizon appears rubbed out. Asphalt glimmers like black glass and, in places, blisters; a slow, sticky shine that looks like it might swallow a shoe. Beside it, the soil is cracked into plates, thin and sharp, as if someone baked a river and left the pieces. The air quivers—trembles—so that the distance seems to breathe. Heat presses into skin and into thought. Who would walk here at noon?
Along the gravel edge, thin grass lies down, beaten flat. A leaning road sign peels like old paint; its arrow points nowhere in particular. There is litter here: a crushed bottle, silver crisp packets, a stray flip-flop with it's strap snapped. Even the shadows look tired, crouched tight under stones. The smell is hot and bitter, tar and dust and the faint sweetness of something rotting. The wires above give a high, tinny note, as if the heat is pulling a song out of them.
Then a lorry barrels past, a sudden wall of noise and wind. Dust lifts in a tan cloud, the grasses flick, the sign clacks its loose bolt. For a second there is movement, there is breath; a small shade runs across the ground with the truck, and my skin feels almost cool. Only the mirage puddles ahead, opening and closing like a shy mouth. Heat on the road. Heat, again and again, until evening finally remembers to arrive.
Option B:
By midday the road looked like melted liquorice. The sun hammered the roofs; glass winked meanly; even the pigeons panted. The heat rose off the road, it made the world wobble. Windows were propped open, curtains fluttering like tired flags. The air trembled and smelt of hot rubber and dust. It did the same thing to everyone: fray the edges, dry the mouth, thin the patience.
I pushed open the shop door. The bell gave a sticky, slow ring and a fan in the corner shook its head as if disagreeing with the day. Sweets smelled strangely warm. On the bottom shelf of the freezer, there was one bag of ice left, cloudy and cracked. My hand went for it. At the same second, another hand did too.
“I was here first,” I said, trying to keep my voice even, though my shirt clung and my skull throbbed behind my eyes.
“Don’t start,” the man said. He was taller than me, a builder in a faded vest, his cheeks shining. “I’ve got a van full of lads outside. They need this.”
“It’s for my nan,” I said. “She’s not well.” The words shrunk, but I meant them.
We both held on. The plastic crackled like a small fire. Outside, a siren wailed and then faded, lazy and slow. The fan coughed, then whined harder.
“We could share—half each,” I offered, my mouth dry. However, the bag was already dripping, a thin stream like sweat.
He shook his head. “Half won’t help.” He looked tired, he looked angry, and so did I. The heat pushed at our backs. It pushed at the whole street. It pressed until something, maybe us, would snap.
- Level 2 Lower (7-9 marks for AO5, 5-8 marks for AO6, 12-17 marks total)
Option A:
The roadside shimmers as if the air is boiling. Heat sits on everything like a heavy blanket. Cracked earth at the verge has opened its mouth, wide and dry. Dry grass rattles; plastic bags cling to a wire fence. The smell is strange and thick: hot tar, warm oil, dust. Far away an engine drones and changes gear again and again. Light glares off the road so bright it hurts. The air trembles, it won’t stop. Even my breath feels warm and gritty.
Further along, a bent sign points nowhere, its paint flaking into little moons. A bus stop waits with a faded poster; the plastic seat is sticky and squeaks. A lorry lumbers past and then the blast comes, a rush of dry wind that lifts dust, wrappers, the edge of a map. They spin like tired birds and drop; then silence, only the clicking of beetles. There should be shade, but the only shadow is a narrow stripe under a thorn bush — a shadow too small for comfort. A dog lies there with its tongue out, ribs showing, eyes half closed. Where is the wind? Where is a cloud. The heat presses down, and the day drags on under the unblinking sun.
Option B:
Heat pressed on the town like a wet blanket. Pavements looked melted; bins hummed. The sky was pale and mean, the air wobbled above the roofs. Inside, the fan only clicked. Sweat tickled my back. Heat in my skin, heat in my mouth, heat everywhere: it made the day feel longer than it should.
Then I opened the freezer and found one bottle still cold. Leah saw it too. "Give it here," she said, like a dare. We had been sharing all week, but today felt different. The power kept cutting out; the fridge was dying. I said we could split it; she shook her head.
"You're always first," she snapped. I told her to wait; she stepped forward. Fingers on the bottle—my fingers, hers—like it was the last drop on Earth. The fan rattled, the heat pushed at our necks. "Stop it," I said, softer than I felt. The neighbour banged on the wall because we were loud.
Outside, a siren slid past, thin as a whistle. Down the street people queued at the standpipe. Someone shouted at Mr Khan about cutting the line and he shouted back. The heat had started an ache in us all. Leah tugged harder. I let go. The bottle hit the floor.
- Level 1 Upper (4-6 marks for AO5, 1-4 marks for AO6, 5-10 marks total)
Option A:
The road is long and dusty. The sun sits big and white above it, like a lid on a pot that wont move. Heat makes the air wobble, it swims over the tarmac. The tar looks soft, shiny, it smells like hot rubber and oil. A bent sign trembles in the glare and the letters look tired and dry and a small lizard skitters across the cracked ground. Only the buzz of flies.
I can feel the heat on my skin, it presses like a heavy hand. Sweat runs down my back it is slow and it is uncomfortable.
Its like an oven here.
The road goes on and on, forwards and forwards, forwards and forwards... A truck grinds past, slow, it leaves dust and a noise and then it is gone. There is no shade, no trees. I think I see water, but it is only heat, a trick.
Option B:
Heat. It sat on the houses and the road, it sat on me. The sun hit like a hammer and the air was like a oven. On the news they said it was a heatwave. The tarmac looked soft. Even the birds was quiet.
At the bus stop me and Kyle stood apart. There was one little fan and a warm bottle. He said it was his. I said it was ours. We been waiting for ages, sweat went down my back. My mouth was dry.
Give it! I said and reached. He pulled. The bottle jerked, the lid popped, water splashed on the hot floor and steamed like a kettle. Kyle swore. A old woman stared.
It made me more mad, like the sun was inside me. I shoved him and he shoved back. Dont touch me, he said.
Then the bus turned the corner and no one moved.
- Level 1 Lower (1-3 marks for AO5, 1-4 marks for AO6, 2-7 marks total)
Option A:
The road looks white with heat. It is hot, hot. The sun is big and hard and it wont move. The air shakes over the tar like it is breathing. My shoes stick to the road it is hot. The ground is cracked and brown and dust comes up. A sign rattles a little, there is no wind. A bottle rolls by and stops. A car goes past, it is loud and then gone and it leaves a smell. I can hear a fly, it is buzzing and buzzing. I think about cold water. The sky is empty. I think about dinner at home later.
Option B:
Heat sits on the street like a heavy blanket. It is a heatwave, so hot I cant think! The sky is white and buzzing, a dog bark. Mum said keep the curtains shut but I go out, the pavement shines. At the park tap we line up for water, me and Jay, then this man comes he say he was first and he push in. Jay says no you wasnt first. The sun is like a oven. He shouts Jay shouts I try to stop it, I dont. The air wont move, fists go up and the heat push on us.