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 How did most of the people go into the water?: Walked into the water – 1 mark
• 1.2 What was the sea like now?: Quiet – 1 mark
• 1.3 Where did the billows break?: Upon the beach – 1 mark
• 1.4 According to the narrator, how does the group approach the water?: The group walks in confidently, as if the sea is a familiar environment. – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

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

6 Edna had attempted all summer to learn to swim. She had received instructions from both the men and women; in some instances from the children. Robert had pursued a system of lessons almost daily; and he was nearly at the point of discouragement in realizing the futility of his efforts. A certain ungovernable dread hung about her when in the water, unless there was a hand

11 near by that might reach out and reassure her. But that night she was like the little tottering, stumbling, clutching child, who of a sudden realizes its powers, and walks for the first time alone, boldly and with over-confidence. She could have shouted for joy. She did shout

How does the writer use language to present Edna’s difficulty and her moment of success in learning to swim? 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: Level 4 responses analyse how parallel past-perfect clauses ("had attempted… "had received"… "had pursued") and personification ("ungovernable dread hung about her"), reinforced by evaluative lexis ("futility," "discouragement") and dependency ("a hand ... reassure her"), construct sustained difficulty. They then track the pivot "But that night" into a transformative simile—"like the little tottering, stumbling, clutching child"—whose tricolon charts emerging confidence ("realizes its powers"), culminating in the emphatic short simple sentence "She did shout" to crystallise success.

The writer initially foregrounds Edna’s difficulty through bleak abstraction and cumulative syntax. The adverbial “all summer” and the methodical “system of lessons almost daily” construct a monotonous routine, yet the abstract noun “futility” and “discouragement” undercut progress, conveying effort wasted. The past-perfect patterning (“had attempted… had received… had pursued”), linked by semi-colons, slows the rhythm, mirroring the laborious, stop-start nature of her learning.

Furthermore, fear is personified to emphasise its grip: “A certain ungovernable dread hung about her.” The adjective “ungovernable” implies a force beyond her control, while “hung about” casts dread as a clinging presence. The synecdoche of “a hand near by” and the dynamic phrase “reach out and reassure her” present Edna as dependent on others’ touch, underscoring her lack of confidence in the water.

However, the turning point is signalled by the adversative “But that night” and an extended simile: “like the little tottering, stumbling, clutching child.” This tricolon of present participles, alongside the diminutive “little,” captures residual fragility even as the child “of a sudden realizes its powers.” The verb “walks” and the phrase “for the first time alone” metaphorically signal independence, while “boldly and with over-confidence” conveys intoxicating exhilaration tinged with risk.

Additionally, the closing parallel simple sentences—“She could have shouted for joy. She did shout”—shift from modal possibility to decisive actuality. The emphatic repetition of “shout” and the clipped sentence form enact the sudden release of elation, crystallising Edna’s moment of success.

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 clearly explain Edna’s struggle using emotive language and dependence—"ungovernable dread" and needing "a hand near by...reassure her"—plus Robert’s "futility of his efforts" to show persistent difficulty. It would then analyse the turning point marked by "But that night", explaining how the simile and tricolon "like the little tottering, stumbling, clutching child" contrast vulnerability with new independence, and how repetition and a short sentence—"shouted for joy...She did shout"—emphasise her sudden success.

The writer uses abstract nouns and personification to present Edna’s difficulty. “Attempted all summer” and the formal phrase “a system of lessons” imply relentless effort, while “discouragement” and the “futility of his efforts” highlight persistent failure. Furthermore, her fear is personified as “an ungovernable dread [that] hung about her”; the verb “hung” suggests a heavy, inescapable presence in the water. Her reliance is reinforced by the conditional clause “unless there was a hand near by,” showing she needs physical reassurance.

The turning point is introduced with the contrastive conjunction “But that night,” signalling immediate change. Moreover, the simile “like the little tottering, stumbling, clutching child” conveys both vulnerability and sudden growth; the triplet of present participles creates a stuttering rhythm that mirrors early, shaky progress. The phrase “realizes its powers” works as a metaphor for self-discovery, and the adverbs “boldly” and “with over-confidence” suggest a rush of new courage. Additionally, the short, declarative sentences “She could have shouted for joy. She did shout” shift from the modal “could” to definite action, intensifying the sense of triumph. Together, these choices present Edna’s prolonged struggle and her exhilarating moment of success in learning to swim.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment on effects; some appropriate detail; some use of terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response might identify negative word choices like A certain ungovernable dread and the futility of his efforts, and her dependence in unless there was a hand near by, to show difficulty. It would also spot the contrast But that night and the simile like the little tottering, stumbling, clutching child who walks for the first time alone, and comment that the short sentence She did shout emphasises her joy.

The writer uses personification to show Edna’s difficulty. The phrase “a certain ungovernable dread hung about her” makes fear seem like something clinging to her, so she feels unsafe. Words like “futility” and “discouragement” show the lessons seem pointless, and needing “a hand near by” shows dependence.

Moreover, the writer uses contrast with “But that night” to mark a change. The simile “like the little tottering, stumbling, clutching child” compares her to a child learning, showing nervousness turning to control. Furthermore, the adverbs “boldly” and “with over-confidence” show sudden confidence. Additionally, the repetition and short sentence in “She could have shouted for joy. She did shout” emphasise her excitement and the success of finally swimming.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response typically identifies simple words and a basic technique: the writer uses emotive language like “ungovernable dread” to show Edna’s difficulty, a simile “like the little tottering, stumbling, clutching child” to show learning, and short sentences “She could have shouted for joy. She did shout” to show her moment of success.

The writer uses words and phrases to show Edna’s difficulty and then her success. The phrase “ungovernable dread” and “unless there was a hand near by” show she is scared and needs help in the water. Moreover, the simile “like the little tottering, stumbling, clutching child” presents her sudden progress, like learning to walk. Furthermore, the adverb “boldly” shows confidence. Additionally, the short sentences “She could have shouted for joy. She did shout” emphasise her happiness. Overall, the language shows her fear changing into achievement.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Time marker and past perfect establish prolonged struggle and perseverance before progress, foregrounding difficulty (all summer)
• Range of instructors emphasizes the breadth of help she needed and her continued inability, heightening the sense of challenge (both the men and women)
• Methodical routine contrasts with failure: the regular “system of lessons” and frequency suggest persistence, yet the outcome remains bleak (futility of his efforts)
• Personification amplifies fear’s power: the adjective and verb make anxiety feel oppressive and inescapable (ungovernable dread)
• Conditional dependency shows reliance on others for safety; tactile imagery makes reassurance feel physical and necessary (a hand near by)
• Adversative conjunction marks a structural turning point from fear to progress, signalling the moment of change (But that night)
• Tricolon of -ing participles conveys instability and struggle, capturing the hesitant, effortful beginnings of skill (tottering, stumbling, clutching)
• Sudden epiphany language presents empowerment and new agency, crystallising the breakthrough (realizes its powers)
• Independence is asserted through first-time achievement and stance, presenting confident self-reliance (for the first time)
• Shift to short, simple declaratives and repetition of key verb delivers a climactic release of emotion and success (She did shout)

Question 3 - Mark Scheme

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

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

You could write about:

• how wonder intensifies by the end of 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 map the escalation of wonder through structural shifts in focus and tone: from the communal, languid opening ("broad billows", "little foamy crests") to Edna’s isolated breakthrough and patterned independence ("walks for the first time alone", "swam out alone", "walk away alone"), before a pivot from expansive yearning ("the unlimited") to threatened limits ("a barrier", "A quick vision of death"). It would then show how the closing reorientation to dialogue and interior reflection ("I wonder...", "It is like a night in a dream", "spirits abroad") slows the pace and shifts viewpoint so that wonder not only peaks but turns uncanny, revealing the impact of contrast, repetition, and sequencing.

One way in which the writer structures wonder is by shifting focus from the collective to Edna’s singular experience, using a temporal pivot. The opening frame—“Most of them walked into the water”—sets a calm norm before the focalisation narrows to Edna, whose struggles are summarised through retrospective exposition (“had attempted all summer”). The adversative hinge, “But that night,” marks a turning point; afterwards short, simple sentences (“She could have shouted for joy. She did shout for joy”) quicken the pace and externalise her breakthrough, heightening the reader’s wonder.

In addition, spatial tracking and tonal modulation intensify that wonder. The focus moves seaward as she “swam out alone” and zooms out to “space and solitude,” then reverses to a landward glance—“Once she turned and looked toward the shore.” This ebb-and-flow, echoing the tide, forms a rise-and-fall arc: exhilaration tips into jeopardy (“a quick vision of death”), then recovery (“managed to regain the land”). The patterning of “alone” across the passage isolates her, so the hard-won return renders her wonder deeper.

A further structural feature is the late shift from action to dialogue and interiority, which sustains wonder beyond the scene. After a communal chorus (“Each one congratulated himself”) and her husband’s deflation (“You were not so very far”), Edna is isolated (“She started to walk away alone”), and perspective tightens into voiced thought. Ending on open questions—“I wonder if any night on earth…”—creates an unresolved coda; the dreamlike tone recasts physical achievement as existential astonishment, leaving the reader in lingering wonder.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: Structurally, the writer moves from calm, expansive description and the group—"Most of them"—to Edna’s sudden breakthrough, using the pivot "But that night" to shift from past failures to immediate success—"She did shout for joy", "swam out alone", "wanted to swim far out"—so wonder grows with her independence. The wonder intensifies through contrast and changes in mood (exultation to fear to awe), as "A quick vision of death" raises the stakes before the dreamy ending—"It is like a night in a dream", "spirits abroad"—leaves a lingering sense of marvel.

One way the writer structures the extract to create wonder is by moving from calm scene-setting to a clear turning point. The panoramic opening of “broad billows” establishes a tranquil focus, before the long timeframe “all summer” pivots to “that night”. This temporal shift marks Edna’s breakthrough. The short exclamatives—“She did shout” and “How easy it is!”—quicken the pace and capture an astonished awakening, so the reader shares her newly discovered power.

In addition, the focus shifts outward to scale and then inward to vulnerability, intensifying wonder. After her success, Edna turns seaward to the “vast expanse… meeting and melting with the moonlit sky”, a zoom-out that makes the scene feel limitless. This is abruptly contrasted by a “vision of death”, a structural interruption that deepens awe when she rallies and returns to shore.

A further structural choice is the movement from public applause to private reverie at the end. Dialogue with Robert narrows into interior monologue; repetition and rhetorical questions—“I wonder… I wonder”—and the simile “a night in a dream” shift the tone to uncanny. Ending on this reflective perspective leaves the whole source closing on heightened wonder about the night and her transformation.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response might say the writer builds wonder across the whole extract: it starts with calm sea imagery (broad billows), then shows Edna’s breakthrough (shouted for joy, wanted to swim far out), before a brief setback (A quick vision of death) and an ending of dreamy reflection (like a night in a dream, spirits abroad), so the sense of wonder grows stronger by the end.

One way the writer structures the text to create wonder is at the start. We begin wide with “Most of them” in the water, then the focus shifts to Edna. The time moves from “had attempted all summer” to “that night”, so her success feels sudden and amazing.

In addition, the writer changes pace. Short sentences like “She could have shouted for joy. She did shout for joy” show amazement. Then longer, flowing lines about the sea “meeting and melting with the moonlit sky” make the scene feel big and full of wonder.

A further structural feature is the ending. The mood changes: after the fear in the middle, the focus turns to Edna’s thoughts in dialogue and inner voice. The repetition “I wonder...” and “like a night in a dream” build the wonder to a peak.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer goes in order: calm sea (quiet now), Edna’s success (shouted for joy, exultation), a scare (quick vision of death), and a dreamy finish (like a night in a dream, spirits abroad). This change from beginning to end makes the sense of wonder stronger.

One way the writer has structured the text to create wonder is at the beginning with the sea description. The calm waves and “foamy crests” set a dreamy mood and make us wonder.

In addition, the focus shifts to Edna learning then suddenly swimming. The exclamation “How easy it is!” and excited dialogue make her new power feel wondrous.

A further structural feature is the change in mood and the ending. It moves from joy to fear, then finishes with dialogue and “a night in a dream,” and we follow Edna, which increases wonder by the end.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Serene, communal opening frames a calm baseline → later exhilaration stands out against tranquility (native element)
• Compressed backstory of persistent failure builds anticipation → sudden success feels hard-won and wondrous (all summer)
• Marked turning point signalled by time marker and simile → threshold-crossing creates epiphanic wonder (for the first time)
• Repetition and short, emphatic sentences quicken pace → immediate, contagious rapture heightens wonder (shout for joy)
• Shift from group to solitude and outward gaze enlarges scale → wonder deepens in freedom and vastness (swam out alone)
• Perspective flip back to the shore injects peril → fleeting mortality sharpens awe of the moment (quick vision of death)
• Return-and-reaction sequence contrasts views → others’ minimising underscores the private intensity of her wonder (I was watching you)
• Decisive exit from the crowd structures autonomy → wonder persists beyond social validation as self-directed (walk away alone)
• Dialogue slipping into interior monologue layers feeling → cumulative overflow makes wonder reflective and complex (A thousand emotions)
• Dreamlike, otherworldly closing tone provides climax → wonder culminates in a liminal, enchanted mood (a night in a dream)

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, when Edna swims out alone, she feels a new sense of power and achievement. The writer suggests that this exciting moment of freedom can also be terrifying and dangerous.

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

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of Edna's experience swimming out alone
• comment on the methods the writer uses to portray her feelings of triumph and terror
• support your response with references to the text. [20 marks]

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

Evaluate texts critically and support with appropriate textual references.

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed evaluation) – 16–20 marks Perceptive ideas; perceptive methods; critical detail on impact; judicious detail. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would argue that, to a great extent, the writer frames freedom as both intoxicating and perilous by juxtaposing empowerment—"A feeling of exultation", "daring and reckless", "newly conquered power", "reaching out for the unlimited"—with menace as the sea becomes a "barrier" and "A quick vision of death smote her soul", the tonal shift tracked through exclamatory interior monologue ("How easy it is!", "It is nothing") that soon collapses into fear. It would evaluate the writer’s viewpoint as purposefully ambivalent, noting how personification and the shore’s minimising reassurance—"You were not so very far, my dear; I was watching you"—underline that this thrilling autonomy courts real peril, inviting strong agreement with the statement.

I largely agree with the statement. The writer charts Edna’s first solitary swim as an intoxicating surge of “power and achievement,” yet threads through it a mounting awareness that such freedom is precarious, even lethal.

At first, the prose teems with triumph. Kinetic diction and sensuous imagery elevate her: “with a sweeping stroke or two she lifted her body to the surface,” and “a feeling of exultation overtook her.” The passive “overtook” is telling: even as she gains control, the emotion commandeers her, hinting at a loss of restraint. The metaphor of empowerment is explicit—“some power of significant import had been given her to control the working of her body and her soul”—so her mastery becomes quasi-spiritual. A tricolon of praise—“wonder, applause, and admiration”—and the ambitious hyperbole “she wanted to swim far out, where no woman had swum before” cast this as a transgressive victory. Through direct speech and exclamatives—“How easy it is!… it was nothing”—the writer uses free indirect discourse to capture Edna’s heady hubris.

However, the language simultaneously seeds danger. “Intoxicated with her newly conquered power” is a double-edged metaphor: conquest suggests agency, while intoxication implies impaired judgment. The moonlit seascape—“the vast expanse of water, meeting and melting with the moonlit sky”—creates a lyrical, liquid cadence whose allure seduces her further. Metaphorically “reaching out for the unlimited in which to lose herself” balances transcendence with erasure; the verb “lose” foreshadows annihilation.

Structurally, the turn arrives when she “looked toward the shore.” Focalisation narrows from rapture to threat: the water behind becomes a “barrier,” and a stark, violent metaphor—“a quick vision of death smote her soul”—punctures the dreamlike flow with a moment of existential terror. The assonant softness of “meeting and melting” yields to the hard, monosyllabic force of “death” and “smote,” mirroring the shock. Verbs like “appalled,” “enfeebled,” and “rallied” shift the semantic field from triumph to survival; “managed to regain the land” pointedly reduces heroism to effortful escape.

The aftermath intensifies the ambiguity. Social voices trivialise her ordeal—“You were not so very far”—and label her “capricious,” juxtaposing her private extremity with public minimisation. Yet her closing reflections admit the paradox: “I never was so exhausted… But it isn’t unpleasant. A thousand emotions have swept through me… It is like a night in a dream.” The hyperbole of “a thousand emotions” and the uncanny similes (“half-human,” “spirits abroad”) sustain the sense that freedom is exhilarating and otherworldly, but edged with eeriness and risk.

Overall, the writer presents Edna’s swim as an electrifying emancipation whose very boundlessness courts terror; the moment’s power is real, but so are its dangers.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 3 answer would mostly agree, explaining that triumphant diction conveys empowerment, with a feeling of exultation, newly conquered power, and the desire to swim far out toward the unlimited. It would also recognise a structural shift when she turned and looked toward the shore, where the water becomes a barrier and a vision of death makes her fear she might have perished.

I largely agree that Edna experiences a thrilling surge of power and achievement, while the writer also makes that freedom feel frightening and dangerous. At first, the language foregrounds triumph: ‘a feeling of exultation overtook her,’ and she feels ‘some power… to control the working of her body and her soul.’ This metaphor of power suggests new autonomy. The ambitious hyperbole ‘she wanted to swim far out, where no woman had swum before’ frames her as a pioneer. However, the narrator’s evaluative adjectives ‘daring and reckless’ and ‘overestimating her strength’ immediately foreshadow risk. Her direct speech—‘How easy it is! … it was nothing’—uses exclamatives to show overconfidence.

When she swims out alone, the writer’s imagery captures intoxicating freedom. The metaphor ‘intoxicated with her newly conquered power’ hints at euphoria that clouds judgement. Edna seeks ‘space and solitude,’ and the sea ‘meeting and melting with the moonlit sky’ creates soft, sensuous imagery (with alliteration of m) that suggests boundlessness. The abstract phrase ‘reaching out for the unlimited’ reinforces her desire to lose herself. Structurally, a turning point arrives when ‘she turned and looked toward the shore.’ The narrator undercuts her achievement—‘what would have been a great distance for an experienced swimmer’—juxtaposing her perception with reality. The sea becomes a ‘barrier,’ a metaphor that makes the water feel solid and impassable. The violent verb in ‘a quick vision of death smote her soul’ conveys sudden terror, while ‘appalled and enfeebled’ shows her strength ebbing before she ‘rallied her staggering faculties.’

Afterwards, the contrast continues. Edna admits, ‘I thought I should have perished,’ but her husband minimises it: ‘You were not so very far.’ Her final reflections—‘A thousand emotions have swept through me… It is like a night in a dream… uncanny’—mix exhilaration with eeriness.

Overall, I strongly agree: through contrast, metaphorical sea imagery, and a clear structural shift, the writer shows freedom as both empowering and perilous.

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 that the writer presents Edna’s new freedom as thrilling yet risky. It would pick simple quotations such as "feeling of exultation" and "newly conquered power" to show excitement, and "A quick vision of death", a "barrier", and "I thought I should have perished" to show danger.

I mostly agree with the statement. When Edna swims out alone, the writer shows a strong feeling of power and achievement, but also suggests this freedom can be frightening and risky.

At first, Edna feels full of control. The phrase “a feeling of exultation overtook her” and “as if some power… had been given her” presents triumph. The writer uses verbs like “daring and reckless” to show how excited and confident she becomes. The metaphor “intoxicated with her newly conquered power” suggests she is carried away by this new skill. The imagery of the “vast expanse of water, meeting and melting with the moonlit sky” creates a sense of space and “solitude,” supporting the idea of freedom. She even wants to go “where no woman had swum before,” which shows achievement.

However, the mood changes when the water “assumed the aspect of a barrier.” This metaphor makes her freedom feel blocked. The powerful phrase “a quick vision of death smote her soul” shows sudden terror, and words like “appalled” and “enfeebled” suggest real danger. Even though she says, “I thought I should have perished,” her husband replies, “You were not so very far,” which creates a contrast between her inner fear and the outside view.

At the end, the simile “like a night in a dream” and the hyperbole “A thousand emotions” show confusion and excitement mixed together. Words like “uncanny” and “spirits abroad” make the night feel strange and unsettling.

Overall, I agree to a large extent. The writer presents Edna’s new power as thrilling, but also terrifying and potentially dangerous, using contrast, imagery and simile to show both sides.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response would broadly agree, pointing to excitement in "A feeling of exultation overtook her" and being "intoxicated with her newly conquered power," but also the danger in "A quick vision of death smote her soul" and "I thought I should have perished out there alone."

I mostly agree that Edna feels new power and achievement when she swims out alone, but this freedom also becomes frightening and dangerous.

At first the writer shows triumph. Edna has “a feeling of exultation.” The adjectives “daring and reckless” and the phrase “newly conquered power” make her seem confident. She even wants to go “far out,” which sounds exciting.

Then the mood changes. When she looks back, the writer uses the metaphor “barrier,” and she has “a quick vision of death.” She admits, “I thought I should have perished out there alone.” This contrast shows freedom can be terrifying.

After she returns, she waves away the others and walks alone, which still shows independence, but she is “very tired” and says “a thousand emotions have swept through me.” The simile “like a night in a dream” makes it feel strange and a bit uncanny.

Overall, I agree that the moment is exciting but also risky and frightening.

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:

• Hyperbolic ambition frames her freedom as transgressive achievement, generating exhilaration and latent risk (where no woman had swum before)
• Exultant self-talk and heady diction make her confidence thrilling yet overblown, foreshadowing risk (It is nothing)
• Public acclaim validates the feat yet is appropriated by others, complicating her autonomy (congratulated himself)
• Expansive seascape and cosmic reach figure freedom as boundless and exhilarating (reaching out for the unlimited)
• Perspective shift and metaphor recast the sea as hostile, exposing inexperience and real danger (assumed the aspect of a barrier)
• Sudden mortality shock turns euphoria to terror, making the moment viscerally frightening (A quick vision of death)
• External reassurance minimizes threat, complicating the evaluation of danger even as her fear felt real (I was watching you)
• Defiant independence strengthens the freedom reading while drawing social censure, adding volatility (waved a dissenting hand)
• Dreamlike, uncanny tone blends delight with unease, sustaining the coexistence of thrill and threat (uncanny, half-human beings)

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

At a neighbourhood charity bake sale, you will read a short creative piece aloud.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Describe a charity bake sale table from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about a last-minute substitution.

(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:

Sugar hangs in the air like a promise, a soft, granular weather that settles on lapels and tongues. The trestle table – all elbows and earnestness – is dressed in a linen cloth that is a little too short, a white optimism skimming the splintered wood beneath. Bunting frets the edge, triangles of gingham and hope flickering in the draught from the open hall door. The sign tilts, politely handwritten in an angled loop: 'All proceeds to the hospice.' At the corner, a glass jar with a slit fattens by degrees; sunlight beads on its curve; coins fall with a shy clink and settle like small moons. The whole arrangement feels rehearsed and homely, a stage where sugar will do the talking.

At the centre, a Victoria sponge sits like a story you already know, its seam of jam glinting like stained glass and its snow of icing sugar scattered with deliberate carelessness. To one side, lemon drizzle stretches in a neat loaf; the glaze has fissured, a crackle of sweetness in each fault line. Brownies squat in serried ranks, dense and glossy. Macarons – pistachio, rose, lavender – line up like obedient planets; scones have split with impatience. Cupcakes preen, frosting spiralled into extravagant peaks, confetti sprinkles twinkling; under a glass dome, a lemon tart trembles, a sun caught and stilled. If the table groans under the weight, it is a cheerful complaint.

Meanwhile, human traffic eddies and pauses. Tongs click; paper plates whisper; cellophane breathes as it peels back. A woman in a flour-dusted apron orchestrates the queue with a knowing smile: 'Two for a pound,' she says, and nobody argues. A child counts out coins, losing track and starting again; the jar clears its throat and swallows. Butter scent hums with cinnamon, while coffee adds a darker warmth. Labels – slightly smudged, charmingly officious – stand like placards: gluten-free brownies (really), carrot cake (nuts), mystery traybake (?). The humour is gentle; the intentions, bolder.

Here, generosity is counted not just in coins but in minutes surrendered to zesting, in wrists smarting from hot water, in butter beaten past patience. Each slice is a small negotiation between appetite and conscience; each handover, a compliment that makes someone stand a little taller. Who could resist a wedge that tastes of time? By late afternoon, the sugar-light softens. Frosting slumps imperceptibly; domes pearl with condensation; the cloth is freckled with crumbs that map the day. The jar is heavy; the sign curls at one corner; bunting exhales as the door clicks shut against the cooler air. What remains is ordinary and splendid: vanilla in the rafters, laughter in the walls, and a dusting of kindness that refuses to be wiped away.

Option B:

Under floodlights the pitch glistened like a lake held in a glass; breath from the stands braided into a single, translucent cloud. I perched on the bench as if it were a ledge: calves taut, laces double-knotted, mouth dry. Liniment and cut grass mingled in the air—sharp, medicinal, hopeful. My shirt sat under my tracksuit like an unopened letter; my name was stitched there, but no one expected to read it.

We had rehearsed this night in drills and daydreams. Not me on the bench—me in drills, invisible, dutiful, reliable. I had trained for rain; for sprints; for being ignored. The star striker, Mara, shone under the lights with her usual, mercurial brightness; her touch was silk, her pace a howl. Then, in a warm-up run that looked harmless until it wasn’t, her ankle turned. The noise the crowd made was not a roar but a gasp braided into a question. She folded like a paper crane, beautiful and suddenly fragile.

Everything funneled. The sky seemed to tilt; the grass looked too green. Coach’s jaw clenched; the physio shook her head with a tenderness that was almost apologetic. Time hiccupped—then resumed, brisk and unforgiving. “Hana,” Coach said, not looking at me and then absolutely looking at me, “you’re on.”

In that second my heart became a drum someone else was playing; my fingers fumbled at the zip with ridiculous ceremony. I peeled off the tracksuit, shins knocking as if auditioning for percussion, and tugged the daffodil-bright bib over my shoulders. The band of tape on my ankles felt too tight and not tight enough. Butterflies—sorry, clichés—lifted and collided in my stomach anyway. Last-minute substitution sounds tactical on paper; in a mouth it feels like a dare.

I stood, and the bench sighed in relief. The world developed sound in layers: the steady metronome of the referee’s whistle; the staccato clatter of studs; the low, tidal susurration of the crowd. Coach’s hand landed on my shoulder—weighty, anchoring. “Do the simple things,” he said. “First touch. First pass. Breathe.” It was almost comical to be reminded to breathe, the way you might be told to remember your name.

At the touchline the paint looked newly poured. The captain—eyes flint, voice soft—caught my gaze. “You’ve got this.” A promise; a command. The fourth official held up the board (its red numerals a little theatrical), and for a heartbeat I saw myself as I had for years: the spare puzzle piece in the box, waiting; the understory of a forest I had watered without expecting sun. Then the numbers changed, the crowd shifted, and the line was just a line.

I ran on, the pitch stretching and narrowing simultaneously, a corridor that opened as I moved. My first touch arrived like a question I had revised for; my second, an answer I didn’t overthink. The ball was heavier than in training and lighter than fear. Someone shouted my name—my mother? a stranger?—and it threaded through the noise like a bright ribbon.

Everything sharpened. The pass, the movement, the space. I was no longer replacing someone; I was simply here. And, finally, here felt like enough.

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

Option A:

A trestle table, slightly bowed in the middle, wears a wipe-clean tablecloth like a shiny apron; bunting flutters from its corners, a timid fanfare for the bright parade of home-baked hope. The afternoon light skims across sugar-dusted surfaces and sticks, hungrily, to glossed icing. Vanilla and warm butter drift up in soft curls: the air itself seems buttered. It beckons.

Plates are mismatched; china with hairline cracks sidles up to plastic trays; silver stands (borrowed, proudly) lift sponges into prominence. Hand-lettered cards—wobbly capitals, confident exclamation marks—announce: Lemon Drizzle; Brownies; Victoria Sponge. Jam glows at the centre of a sponge like stained glass; lemon glaze runs in neat rivulets, catching at the crumb; brownies squat, dense and dignified, their tops a delicate crust over fudge. Cupcakes, crown-heavy with buttercream, carry sugar pearls that wink.

Behind the table, aprons tie stories into tidy bows. A teenager, cheeks flushed, guards the gluten-free plate as if it were treasure; an older man, sleeves rolled, cuts slices with ceremonial care. "Two for a pound—treat yourself," sings a voice, half sales patter, half encouragement. Coins clink into the tin with a pleasing gravity; notes are smoothed flat, then tucked beneath a paperweight. Mental arithmetic is fast but careful; prices scribbled, corrected. A jug of orange squash sweats; coffee breathes steam; a wasp inspects a jam thumbprint with shameless diligence.

Not everything is precise, and that is precisely the charm: icing skews slightly, drips pause in bulbous beads; a tray of shortbread wears edges a shade too brown; a meringue has cracked (dramatically) and leans, a fragile cliff. Napkins bloom across the surface; they stick to small hands, then lift, feathering the air. Near the charity information—photographs, a leaflet, a jar of purple ribbons—a plate of vegan cookies goes first; then, predictably, everything goes. Each purchase is tiny and weighty; sugar, yes, but also solidarity.

By midday the table bears fingerprints of generosity: faint rings of condensation; a crescent of crumbs; an empty paper case flattened like a flower pressed into a book. Children stretch to see; strangers become, briefly, less strange over the language of cake. If you stand back, the whole scene softens into one picture—a community pouring patience, flour, time, into sweetness—and the table becomes more than trestle and cloth. It is provisional, ordinary, and quietly luminous: a small place where appetites and kindness meet and, for a few hours, rise.

Option B:

They call it the bench, as if it were a quiet park seat; in truth, it is a plank balanced above a storm. I sat on cold plastic, watching the clock leak away its red seconds. A substitute lives in the margins—almost, nearly, not yet. Our names are printed small on the programme, but our pulse is loud, a discreet metronome beneath the chanting. The floodlights hummed; the grass glistened like bottle glass. I had told myself I was ready; readiness can feel theoretical. You believe you will step off cleanly.

It happened quickly and then endlessly. Liam—our number nine, reliable as sunrise—sprinted into the channel and his ankle crumpled. The pitch inhaled; the stand exhaled; the physio ran. The gaffer’s head swivelled along the row, eyes steady, and stopped on me. Two words, barely louder than the breeze: 'You're on.' The fourth official raised the board: 16 ON, 9 OFF. The noise dipped, then swelled like surf. A last-minute substitution; stoppage time had already begun to thicken.

My body moved before my doubts found their voice. Jacket off; bib off. I tightened my laces until my fingertips tingled (I always double-knot; habit feels like protection). Liniment cut through the damp; the turf smelt faintly of metal and rain. Boots clicked on concrete; studs tested the edge of the world—the thin white line. I had trained for this: the moment no one chooses in a dream, yet every bench-warmer secretly hoards. Dawn runs; quiet buses; a season of almosts. Mum's message had flashed earlier, a soft reprimand and a blessing: Proud either way. I wanted to deserve it.

The assistant coach gripped my shoulder, words quick and clipped. 'Run at them. Stretch their left. First touch simple. Don't be heroic—yet.' I nodded, as if understanding were the same as certainty. The stadium seemed to lean in, the way a theatre hushes before the curtain lifts. I jogged to the touchline; Liam limped past, face pinched and grateful, and for a second pressed the captain's armband into my hand by mistake before laughing, breathless, and taking it back. It was almost funny. Almost.

Beyond the paint, the game boiled—voices, boots, the ball skittering with a spiteful spin. My number flashed again; my heart matched it, an anxious metronome. I stepped over the line and the sound changed, thicker, closer. The ball was already coming towards me, a quick, insistent promise. First touch. Not heroic. Just mine.

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

Option A:

The trestle table is too small for the generosity piled upon it; its gingham cloth puckers where the legs wobble, and a confetti of icing sugar drifts in the afternoon light like a pale mist. Paper signs curl at the edges—All proceeds to the shelter—taped beside bunting that sags and brightens, sags and brightens, along the wall. Somewhere beneath the vanilla and warm butter there is the faint scent of coffee, the sort of smell that makes you linger.

At the centre sits a Victoria sponge, plump as a cushion and dusted with an even snowfall. Jam glows through its middle, a careful seam stitched with clotted cream, and a single strawberry caps the crown as if it were posing. The knife beside it is sticky, left on a saucer flecked with crumbs; a handwritten label leans against the plate, the ink slightly smudged: Victoria Sponge £2 a slice, please. Coins glint in a tin that has clearly lived other lives, its lid dented and friendly.

To the left there is a battalion of brownies—dark, square, crackle-topped—set on mismatched trays. Some are studded with walnuts, some plain as a promise; a shy sign whispers gluten free? in smaller writing. Next to them, lemon drizzle glistens like wet pavement after rain, the icing dripping in thin, bright rivers. Flapjacks huddle in a corner, oat edges browned and buttery, holding raisins that look like tiny eyes. The plates don’t match and that, somehow, makes everything match better.

On the right, cupcakes rise in proper ranks. Their buttercream swirls stand tall: pistachio-green with chopped nuts, blushing pink with sugar pearls, vanilla-white etched by the careful groove of a palette knife. A few lean on each other, as if gossiping. There are jam tarts with neat windows; eclairs, glossy with chocolate; and a lopsided carrot cake where slivers of walnut make a little path across the top. Icing sugar powders the cloth like frost. It’s messy—in a welcoming way.

Hands keep arriving. A child hovers at eye-height with the sprinkles, breath fogging the cover; a grandmother in a neat cardigan cuts equal slices because fairness matters here. Voices hum and overlap; Thank you, love—oh, that looks delicious—do you take card?, the coins clatter, everyone smiles. The poster on the tin shows a bright red heart, and someone has drawn a smiley face in the O of donation.

Eventually the table is thinner, lighter. Plates show pale moons where cakes have been; a last fairy cake lists on its paper skirt, half-empty tray behind it. Napkins lie crumpled like fallen petals, and smudges of jam mark the cloth in small comets. The tin is heavier now, the bunting still breathing with the door’s gentle open-and-close. What remains is a soft glow: sugar on fingertips, laughter in the air, a sense that something simple—slices and change—can be more than it looks.

Option B:

Night. The time of decisions; scoreboard digits burning through the dark, banners flapping as if they wanted to take off. The pitch glistened where sprinklers had kissed it hours ago; every blade of grass arranged like a neat thought. The crowd surged and settled, a restless sea that picked me up and put me down without moving me at all. 89 minutes. The seconds felt sticky, resisting the clock’s crawl.

On the bench, my legs shook although I wasn’t cold. The sour-sweet smell of liniment and damp kit hung around us, clinging to the back of my throat. I had tied and retied my laces so often the ends were dark with mud and worry. All season I had trained, waiting for a moment that might never arrive. It arrived like a tap on the shoulder. Coach leaned in, voice blunt as a boot: “Jess. You’re on.”

The words made something tilt inside me. My heartbeat stumbled, then sprinted. I scrabbled for my shin pads, for breath, for courage; the thin foam seemed ridiculous against the weight of this. Meanwhile, the fourth official hauled up the electronic board—our number glowed green, theirs flared red—and the stadium’s noise rose as if dragged on a rope. I tried to remember the drills, the narrow triangles we had practised until my calves cramped. However, drills are tidy on paper. Games are messy, and this one was muddy with nerves and rain.

I stripped off the fluorescent bib and the night air bit my damp skin. The touchline chalk was a bright scar. 89:57. I wanted to bargain with time—just a little pause, please, to make room for courage—but the referee’s whistle cut the air and motion beckoned me on. I stepped over the white, and the pitch lifted under my studs like a held breath.

Everything narrowed: the ball spun towards me, a speckled planet, and I cushioned it, almost gentle, before the full-back crashed in. “Turn!” someone yelled. My body obeyed before my brain did. I turned; I ran; the space opened like a door a stranger had held. Last minute, they said, as if late meant small. In the churn of noise, it felt suddenly, terrifyingly, like just in time.

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

Option A:

The trestle table bows slightly under the cheerful weight of sweetness. A plastic cloth, printed with pale daisies, sticks in little wrinkles where someone has wiped a spill; sunlight pools in patches, glinting off cellophane and sugar crystals. The smell is thick and homely—warm butter, vanilla, a brush of cinnamon—hovering over the crowd like an edible cloud.

At the centre, a Victoria sponge sits as calm as a queen, its powdered top uneven, its red seam of jam peeping out. Beside it: lemon drizzle, a pale loaf with tiny cracks where the glaze has sunk and shone. Brownies squat in their tray; the edges are chewy, the middle glossy as a pond. Cupcakes line up, pastel in paper skirts, their icing swirls like little hats. Meringues—a few small clouds—stick to the doily. Handwritten signs lean against jam jars: 50p, Gluten-free lemon, All profits to hospice (thank you).

Voices drift and overlap; the door sighs open and thuds closed, and the bunting quivers. Two students in aprons hover, serious and smiling, ready with tongs and napkins. Coins clink in the green tin, a bright sound. Someone laughs, apologises for a smear of icing, and licks a fingertip quickly. A little boy holds his coin, considering; his eyes circle the table as if reading a treasure map. He points. A slice is eased out—slowly, carefully—leaving a rectangle of sponge exposed, the crumb soft as new bread.

The table is ordinary, yet it gathers people like a magnet. Imperfections show: frosting that slumps at the edge, a smudged label, a chipped plate; still it feels bright and generous. Sugar becomes a small kind of hope, traded for coins and goodwill. As the afternoon hum carries on, the cakes grow shorter, the plates lighter, and the table, relieved, seems to stand a little taller.

Option B:

The floodlights hummed as the sky turned purple; the pitch was a green square laid out like a table. Parents stamped their feet on the concrete, breath drifting like smoke. The air smelled of cut grass and hot chips from the van by the gate. It should have felt ordinary, another Saturday evening match, but everything seemed tighter tonight. I kept my gloves on even though I wasn’t cold. Our shirts blurred and clashed, white against blue, and I tried not to think.

On the bench, I tied and untied my laces until the ends were damp. Coach paced the touchline, staring at the scoreboard as if he could slow it down. 89:07. Beyond him, our number nine chased a pass and then grabbed his hamstring, faltering like a car that runs out of petrol. The whistle shrieked. He didn’t get up.

"Maya!" Coach’s voice cracked through my head. "You’re on." My stomach lurched like a washing machine. "Edge of the box," he said, quick and tight. "Keep it simple: lay it off, press, don’t dive in." I nodded so hard my ponytail thumped my collar. I ripped off the bib, checked my shin pads, and jogged to the line. The board went up: 9 off, 14 on — a last-minute substitution, me.

He limped past, his face pale and angry, and slapped my hand. "Go on," he breathed, as if he was passing something to me. The crowd wasn’t big, but it rose and fell above us. The pitch seemed longer. My boots felt heavy; the grass grabbed at my studs. One minute, maybe less. I told myself I can do this. I can do this. The words didn’t sound like mine, but they were all I had.

Play snapped back. Our left-back won a tackle and hooked the ball up the line. It climbed into the dark like a flare and began to fall, spinning. The centre-half misjudged it, just a little. Space opened like a door. The ball was coming to me, wobbling, alive. I stepped in, chest tight, heart in my mouth—first touch now, simple, clean—and the world tilted towards my right boot.

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

Option A:

The trestle table looks longer than it is, legs trembling under trays and tins. A shiny plastic cloth clings to the edges; strawberries printed on it are too red. The air is sweet and heavy: warm butter, vanilla, a hint of lemon. A hand-lettered sign leans by a jug—Bake Sale for the Animal Shelter—doodles of paws around it. Next to it a jam jar waits, coins already glinting like fish in shallow water.

At the front a Victoria sponge sits on a stand, dusted with sugar that falls like soft snow when someone slices it. The jam between layers glows. Beside it, brownies in neat squares line a tin; when a knife goes in, it leaves a dark trail. Further along, lemon drizzle wears a bright glaze, tiny beads of syrup catching the light. A crowd of cupcakes stands in paper cases, pastel swirls like little hats, sprinkles scattered in confetti.

Two volunteers in flour-dusted aprons shuffle things so they look full. They mutter prices with felt pens, 50p and £1 written in friendly handwriting. A boy with a chocolate moustache stares; a teenager counts change, tapping coins into his palm; an older man frowns, then smiles when he finds a pound. Please and thank you run up and down the table.

Crumbs gather like tiny footprints. Napkins stick to fingers. A wasp buzzes, greedy for the lemon. For a moment the hall feels brighter because of this busy, sugary island. It isn’t perfect—some cakes lean, the table wobbles—but it feels generous. It tastes like effort and kindness.

Option B:

Saturday. The time for matches; boots thudding, plastic seats clacking, the sharp cut-grass smell climbing up from the pitch. Floodlights stared down like tall, cold eyes. The clock above the stand moved reluctant fingers, dragging the seconds.

On the bench, Jamie pulled at the orange bib that itched his neck. He was number 17, a name on a sheet; a shadow in a jacket while others danced across the green. He had trained and waited and watched. He bounced his knees, chewing a lip, pretending he was calm when his stomach did flips. Was he ready? He told himself yes—maybe.

Then it happened. A tangle of legs, a cry, their captain down, clutching an ankle. The whistle was sharp, it cut the air. The medic’s hand went up. The crowd, so noisy before, fell into a sudden hush that made the hum of the floodlights sound louder. The coach swung round—eyes blazing, voice urgent. “Jamie! You’re on. Now.”

Everything became small and fast: laces; shin pads; the cold squeeze of his shirt over sweat-slick skin. His heart drummed like a trapped bird. He thought of his dad in Row G, of all the evenings on frost-hard ground, of that last message—proud of you. No time to overthink, not now, not today.

The board flashed 17 in red. The old captain limped off and squeezed Jamie’s shoulder. The roar rose back up like bees in a jar. He stepped over the white line into brightness, a last-minute substitute finally seen.

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

Option A:

The trestle table bends a little under the weight of homemade cakes. A bright paper cloth is taped at the corners, ruffled like small waves. Sugar hangs in the air; warm and buttery, it makes my teeth ache already. A handwritten sign says Charity Bake Sale, the ink smudged where someone pressed too soon. A tin clatters with coins.

On the left, a lemon drizzle glows with a thin glaze, sticky and gleaming. Slices lean on one another, leaving tiny yellow crumbs. Beside that, chocolate brownies sit proud, dusted with icing sugar like fresh snow. There’s a Victoria sponge, jam peeking out; the cream is slightly uneven – but that makes it feel honest. On the right: ginger biscuits in a jar, and cupcakes with pastel icing and sprinkles. A paper lable wobbles on a cocktail stick, saying raspberry, vanilla, cinnamon.

Meanwhile, people drift and pause and ask the price. A volunteer with a bright badge smiles, slicing, wrapping, passing change. Children point, noses almost on the table, eyes wide at the glittering sugar. The knife scrapes the plate; paper cases rustle; buttercream sweetens the air. It feels busy and kind. Who could walk past without taking just one slice?

Option B:

Rain pricked the back of my neck and the floodlights hummed like bees. I had been warming the bench, not the field; I told myself I wouldn’t play tonight. We were drawing 1-1, the clock stuck on 89 and the crowd was loud and quiet at once, like a held breath. Around me the stadium breathed, a big lung full of noise.

A minute ago the manager said, “Relax.” Now his voice cuts through the rain: “Get ready.” My heart leaped, my hands shook like leaves. I dragged on my top and checked my boots, shin pads, courage. My fingers fumbled with the tape, clumsy and wet. The fourth official lifted the board; my number burned red. Ready, not ready. Was I really going on?

The striker limped towards me, his face pale as paper, and I touched his wrist as we passed. “You’ve got this,” he breathed. I stepped over the white line. The grass was slick under my boots, and the air tasted like metal and mud. The whistle screamed; noise bounced in my skull. Last-minute. Last chance. Could I change anything, could I even touch the ball before the end?

Then the pass came, slow, rolling, and all the noise fell away.

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

Option A:

The table is long and crowded. A white cloth is creased, the edges hang down. There is crumbs on the cloth. A sign says Charity Bake Sale in big letters. There is a money tin, it's dented and a little open, coins glint like suns. Cakes sit close together, shoulder to shoulder.

Sponges, brownies, fairycakes with thick icing like snow. Sprinkles stick to my finger, sweet and dusty. The smell is warm and sugary, like a hug. It makes my stomach growl again and again.

Behind it a girl smiles. She says, one pound please! Her voice is shy. A chocolate cake leans, it leans like a small tower, the jam sliding, the knife shining. I hear paper plates rustle. People put coins in the tin, clink clink, clink. The table is busy, it is messy, a ribbon bow wont stop falling. I want a slice, I want two.

Option B:

Saturday. The time of the big game. Cold wind on the pitch and the crowd was loud. The coach walked up and down. The last minute came closer and closer.

As the fourth official lifted the board, Jack was on the grass holding his ankle. I was stood by the cones. I tied my boot. My hands shook like a leaf. I was not suppose to go on today, I wasnt even warmed up, I could feel the grass and my heart in my throat. The coach looked at me and said, You're on, now!

I grabbed the wrong shirt and then the right one. It felt heavy and light at the same time.

Breath after breath.

The crowd was like the sea, pushing and pulling, and I ran even though my legs didnt want to. It was a last-minute sub and it was me.

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

Option A:

The table is long and crowded with cakes. The cloth is white but it has crumbs on it, they sit like tiny sand. Light from the window makes the icing shine; it looks wet, it looks cold. There is lots of cakes, big ones, small ones: chocolate, lemon, jam. Rows and rows. The smell is sweet and it sticks in the nose. A girl laughs, a man says its for charity, drop coins in the jar, they clink. A knife goes back and forward cutting, the cakes seem to wait. I think please dont drop it. Sticky fingers, napkins, it is nice and busy.

Option B:

Rain fell on the pitch, I didnt think I would play today. The coach was shouting and the crowd was loud. I left my water bottle in class. Then he pointed at me and he said go on, last minute, you are the sub now. My heart jumped like a drum and my boots felt too big. I put on the shirt and it stuck to me because it was wet and I was slow at the laces. I ran to the line and I forgot my shin pads, someone laughed, I ran again and my legs shook.