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 Which direction does the narrator turn to cross the headland?: Westward – 1 mark
- 1.2 After turning, what did the narrator face?: the dark trees – 1 mark
- 1.3 How long does the narrator stand still before turning to cross the headland?: About a minute – 1 mark
- 1.4 What was the narrator still keeping an eye on?: the trees – 1 mark
Question 2 - Mark Scheme
Look in detail at this extract, from lines 6 to 10 of the source:
6 the lurking shadows moved to follow me. My heart beat quickly. Presently the broad sweep of a bay to the westward became visible, and I halted again. The noiseless shadow halted a dozen yards from me. A little point of light shone on the further bend of the curve, and
How does the writer use language here to build tension and show the night-time scene? 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 personification intensifies threat, noting 'the lurking shadows moved to follow me' and 'The noiseless shadow halted' to render the night predatory, while the contrast of darkness with 'A little point of light' evokes a vivid, fragile illumination within the scene. It would also explore sentence forms and pacing: the staccato short sentence 'My heart beat quickly.', the delaying connective 'Presently', precise distance 'a dozen yards', the panoramic noun phrase 'the broad sweep of a bay', and the repeated pause in 'I halted again' collectively slow time and heighten suspense.
The writer personifies the darkness to make the night feel predatory: ‘the lurking shadows moved to follow me.’ The present participle ‘lurking’ suggests secrecy and threat, while the dynamic phrase ‘moved to follow’ implies intent, as if the night is a stalker, intensifying the vulnerability of the first-person ‘me’.
Sentence form is manipulated to ratchet up tension. The simple, clipped ‘My heart beat quickly.’ creates a staccato rhythm that mimics panic, while the longer clause ‘Presently the broad sweep of a bay to the westward became visible’ briefly widens the vista before the abrupt reset of ‘I halted again.’ This alternation mirrors stop-start, fearful progress.
Moreover, the synaesthetic epithet ‘the noiseless shadow’ fuses sound and sight to stress an eerie hush. The precise measure ‘a dozen yards’ quantifies proximity, making the threat uncomfortably close, and the repetition of ‘halted’ creates a tense stand-off. The shift from plural ‘shadows’ to singular ‘shadow’ concentrates the menace into one focused presence.
Additionally, night-time is evoked through antithesis: ‘A little point of light shone’ against surrounding darkness. The diminutive ‘little’ suggests fragile hope, while curved nouns—‘bend’, ‘curve’, ‘sweep’—map a coastline in gloom. Subtle sibilance in ‘shadows’, ‘sweep’, and ‘shone’ lends a hushed soundscape. Finally, the clause suspended on ‘and’ leaves the moment unresolved, sustaining suspense. Therefore, through precise diction and crafted syntax, the writer builds tension and conjures a vivid nocturnal scene.
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 that the writer builds tension through personification and sentence form: "the lurking shadows moved to follow me" makes the darkness feel predatory, the short sentence "My heart beat quickly." and repetition of "halted" show panic and stop-start movement. It would also identify contrasting imagery to present the night—"broad sweep of a bay" against "A little point of light"—and note that ending on "and" leaves the moment unresolved, sustaining suspense.
The writer personifies the darkness to build tension, describing how “the lurking shadows moved to follow me”. The adjective “lurking” carries predatory connotations, while “follow me” suggests conscious pursuit, so the narrator feels hunted. This intensifies when “the noiseless shadow halted a dozen yards from me”: the personified verb “halted” and auditory imagery in “noiseless” evoke the eerie silence of night, and the precise measure “a dozen yards” implies alarming proximity.
Furthermore, the use of short declarative sentences, “My heart beat quickly. I halted again.”, speeds the pace and mirrors panicked, clipped thoughts. The repetition of “halted” shows stop-start movement, increasing suspense as the character keeps pausing to listen or look. The temporal adverb “Presently” signals a cautious unfolding, while ending the line on the conjunction “and” leaves the thought suspended, a mini cliff-hanger.
Moreover, descriptive imagery establishes the night-time setting: “the broad sweep of a bay to the westward” is an expansive noun phrase that creates a shadowy backdrop. In contrast, “a little point of light shone” uses the diminutive adjective “little” to suggest the darkness overwhelms the light, guiding the reader’s eye along the curve. Together, these choices build tension and paint a vivid nocturnal scene.
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 personification in "the lurking shadows" and "The noiseless shadow" to make the darkness feel alive and threatening, while the short sentence "My heart beat quickly." and repetition of "halted" build tension; descriptive detail like "the broad sweep of a bay" and "A little point of light" shows the night-time scene with a small, distant light.
The writer uses personification to create tension: the “lurking shadows” “moved to follow me”. This makes the night feel alive and threatening. The repeated word “shadow” and the adjective “noiseless” sound eerie, while the verb “halted” happens twice, for the narrator and the shadow, like a stand-off. The precise distance, “a dozen yards”, makes the danger feel close.
Furthermore, the short sentence “My heart beat quickly” shows his fear and speeds up the pace. The line that ends with “and” suggests something is about to happen, keeping the reader waiting.
Additionally, imagery shows the night-time scene. The “broad sweep of a bay to the westward” helps us picture the dark coast at night, and the “little point of light” contrasts with the surrounding darkness. The “further bend of the curve” suggests mystery, increasing tension for the reader.
Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses scary words like "lurking shadows" and "noiseless shadow", and a short sentence "My heart beat quickly", to create tension and show fear. The night-time scene is suggested by "a little point of light" and the "broad sweep of a bay", while the repeated "halted" makes the moment feel suspenseful.
The writer uses personification to build tension, for example “the lurking shadows moved to follow me.” This makes the shadows seem alive and threatening. Moreover, the short sentence “My heart beat quickly.” shows fear and makes the moment feel urgent. Furthermore, the adjective “noiseless” in “The noiseless shadow” suggests a quiet, eerie night-time scene. Additionally, the noun phrase “a little point of light” shows darkness all around, with only a small light, which feels uncertain. Finally, “the broad sweep of a bay” is descriptive language that helps the reader picture the place at night.
Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.
AO2 content may include the effects of language features such as:
- Personification of the environment makes it feel predatory, building a sense of pursuit and threat (moved to follow me)
- Short, simple sentence foregrounds a physical fear response, quickening the pace and tension (My heart beat quickly)
- Temporal marker controls pacing, sequencing events to drip-feed detail and suspense (Presently)
- Expansive noun phrase paints a wide, exposed vista, heightening vulnerability in the scene (broad sweep of a bay)
- Gradual revelation implies low visibility; the reader strains to see alongside the narrator (became visible)
- Structural mirroring as both narrator and presence stop, suggesting a stalking echo that unsettles (I halted again)
- Emphasis on silence intensifies the eerie atmosphere, typical of a tense nocturnal setting (noiseless shadow)
- Precise measurement of distance quantifies how close the threat is, tightening anxiety (a dozen yards)
- Diminutive light imagery highlights surrounding darkness, hinting at fragile guidance or ambiguous safety (A little point of light)
- Curved geography hides what lies ahead, using occlusion to sustain uncertainty and suspense (the further bend of the curve)
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 chaos?
You could write about:
- how chaos 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 trace escalating chaos via delayed revelation and accelerating pace, moving from the static tension of "stood facing the dark trees" and the withheld "Thing" to a breathless chase driven by repetition/onomatopoeia ("Splash, splash," "nearer and nearer") and a violent climax ("wheeled round," "struck," "the skull rang loud," naming the "animal-man"), while the unreachable "yellow light" stays "hopelessly far." It would also note how setting shifts and time markers (from "trees" to "beach" to "water’s edge"; "Then suddenly," "At last") manipulate pace and focus to heighten disorientation, and how the cyclical return to the "pitiful moaning of the puma" ("had originally driven me out") offers only fragile relief, so tension persists to the end.
One way the writer structures chaos is by escalating pace from stillness into pursuit. The extract opens in medias res with an aural jolt, “A twig snapped,” then dilates time through temporal adverbials (“perhaps a minute”, “presently”) as the focus lingers on indistinct “shadows.” That stretch is snapped into acceleration by sequencing markers (“Then suddenly…”, “At last I did it at a run”), so chronology itself lurches. This fluctuating tempo destabilises the reader’s bearings and mirrors the narrator’s panic as order collapses.
In addition, disorientation is engineered through shifts in focus and scale. We zoom from a panoramic “broad sweep of a bay” and its distant motif, “the little point of light,” to close focalisation: “my foot struck a stone… my breath going.” That light recurs structurally as a goal, yet it recedes (“hopelessly far”), intensifying futility. Repetition and parataxis in the chase (“Splash, splash… and began running… and redoubled my pace”) create a drumbeat that fragments control and drives the narrative headlong.
A further structural strategy is withholding and reversal. The pursuing “Thing” remains unnamed until the pivotal reveal “the animal-man,” sustaining epistemic chaos at the point of contact. That delayed disclosure sits at a turning point, signalled by a dash—“struck with all my strength”—and a rapid chain of clauses that enact the melee. A retrospective aside, “So long as I live…”, breaks chronology. Yet resolution is partial: the narrative loops to the puma’s moaning and ends on an ambiguous audition, “I thought I heard a voice,” reopening disorder.
Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would identify that chaos intensifies through structural shifts: from watchful stillness in the 'lurking shadows' to a breathless chase, with pace quickened by repetition like 'Splash, splash' and 'nearer and nearer', a turning point as the 'Thing' is revealed as an 'animal-man', and an abrupt mood shift toward the distant 'yellow light' and the 'pitiful moaning of the puma', showing how changes in setting, pace and mood heighten panic.
One way the writer structures chaos is through shifting focus and delayed revelation. The opening flickers between setting and threat: from the "dark trees" and "bay" to the nameless "Thing". The sustained first-person perspective and withholding, as when he asks "Who is there?" and gets "no answer", keep us in uncertainty. Halts ("I halted again") break into sudden moves, unsettling our sense of order.
In addition, pace is manipulated by temporal markers and action sequencing. Connectives like "Presently," "Then suddenly," and "At last" compress time into a headlong chase. The structural shift from watching to pursuit ("I began running") and rhythmic repetition ("Splash, splash") create breathlessness. A clear turning point comes when he "wheeled round," a climax that concentrates the disorder into violent impact.
A further choice is the fluctuating tone after the climax. Focus switches from the fallen "animal-man" to the "yellow glow," then back to the original cause, the "puma," creating a link but also a contrast between relief and threat. This brief resolution is undercut by the final uncertainty—"I thought I heard a voice"—a cliff-hanger that reopens the chaos.
Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: The text starts slow (So I stood for perhaps a minute) and then speeds into a chase, using repetition like Splash, splash and nearer and nearer to build chaos that peaks at The skull rang loud, before a quick mood shift to a positive effect of relief and I thought I heard a voice.
One way the writer structures chaos is at the beginning, by shifting focus between the narrator and the hidden “Thing” in the trees. Short sentences like “My heart beat quickly.” and “There was no answer.” break the flow, making the moment feel jumpy and confused.
In addition, in the middle the setting changes from trees to beach, and the pace speeds up into a chase. Repetition and listing (“run… crashing… patter… ‘Splash, splash’”) show piling actions, while “nearer and nearer” and “hopelessly far” build a sense of losing control.
A further structural feature is the build to a climax near the end. The fight is the highest point of chaos (“the missile fell… the animal-man”), with sudden action after the chase. Even after, the shift to the puma’s “moaning” and a possible “voice” does not fully resolve things, so disorder remains.
Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: It starts with uncertainty in the 'dark trees' after 'A twig snapped', then builds into a fast chase with 'pursuing feet' and 'Splash, splash' to create chaos. By the end the 'animal-man' is hit and there is only a 'positive effect of relief' near the 'yellow light', showing the chaos has increased.
One way the writer structures chaos is with short sentences to speed the pace. Lines like “My heart beat quickly” and “I gave a wild cry” are brief and make the action feel sudden and panicky.
In addition, quick shifts in focus and time add to confusion. We move from trees to beach to the yellow light, with “Presently” and “Then suddenly”, so the moments jump and feel messy.
A further structural feature is repetition and an unresolved ending. “Splash, splash” repeats to make noisy chaos, and “I thought I heard a voice” is a cliff-hanger, keeping the chaos going.
Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.
AO2 content may include the effect of structural features such as:
- Opening ambiguity and stillness plant unease before movement, priming chaotic perception (Every dark form).
- Gradual shift from watcher to prey escalates threat as the shadow follows (moved to follow me).
- Temporal markers create sudden jumps in action, accelerating pace into disorder (Then suddenly).
- Alternation of pauses and bursts (halt/run) produces a jagged, panicked rhythm (I halted again).
- Distant, recurring goal frames the flight as futile, deepening frantic urgency (hopelessly far).
- Mid-chase proliferation of figures multiplies dangers, scattering attention and control (some dim, black things).
- Structural turning point when he reverses from fleeing to fighting injects abrupt volatility (I wheeled round).
- Withheld identity until the climax makes the revelation destabilising and chaotic (animal-man).
- Brief post-climax lull then pivot back to the original cause, looping the sequence to sustain tension (originally driven me out).
- Escalation from near-silence to relentless pursuit beat intensifies the sense of being overwhelmed (Splash, splash).
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, the narrator finally defeats the creature that was chasing him. The writer suggests that instead of feeling triumphant, the narrator is still horrified and just wants to escape.
To what extent do you agree and/or disagree with this statement?
In your response, you could:
- consider your impressions of the narrator after defeating the animal-man
- comment on the methods the writer uses to portray the narrator's horror and fatigue
- 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 overwhelmingly presents ongoing horror and a desire to escape rather than triumph, using visceral sensory detail and a light/dark motif: even after the missile fell fair on its left temple and The skull rang loud, the narrator could not bring myself to approach that black heap, giving it a wide berth and fleeing towards the yellow glow of the house that had seemed hopelessly far, while admitting he is faint and horribly fatigued. It would also note how hyperbolic temporal framing—So long as I live, I shall remember the terror of that chase—and the paradoxical with a positive effect of relief at the puma’s pitiful moaning reinforce that his response is sustained dread and flight rather than exultation.
I agree to a great extent that, although he defeats the creature, the narrator is presented as horrified and intent on escape rather than triumph. Structurally, the kill is not an end-point but a pivot in a sequence dominated by fear: the narrative moves from tense stand-off, through a breathless chase, to a desperate blow, and immediately back to flight. The writer repeatedly prioritises bodily sensations and spatial dread over any psychological uplift, so the reader experiences survival as fraught rather than heroic.
As the encounter begins, physiological imagery undercuts heroism: when he tries to speak, a ‘hoarse phlegm choked my voice’, and even with his ‘adversary routed’ he ‘broke into a profuse perspiration’ and ‘fell a-trembling’. The capitalised ‘Thing’ and later ‘animal-man’ dehumanise the pursuer and signal his need to distance himself. Even his ‘schoolboy expedient’ of knotting a sling undercuts epic heroism; this is improvised self-preservation. During the chase, dynamic verbs and auditory onomatopoeia drive the pace: the ‘patter of soft feet’ and the insistent ‘splash, splash’, plus the repetition ‘nearer and nearer’, narrow the gap remorselessly. The gothic backdrop—‘All the night about us was black and still’—is set against the ‘yellow light’, now ‘hopelessly far’, so light functions as a symbol of escape, not victory. Polysyndeton and the dash in ‘struck at it…—struck with all my strength’ create breathless syntax that mirrors panic.
Even the blow itself is framed as desperate rather than exultant. He only turns because he ‘perceived the Thing would come up with me’, and the impact is rendered in harsh sound: ‘The skull rang loud’. Immediately, revulsion replaces any triumph. He ‘could not bring myself to approach that black heap’ and gives it ‘a wide berth’; that noun phrase reduces the foe to an object he refuses to claim. Serene ‘water rippling… under the still stars’ contrasts with his refusal to look, enacting ongoing horror. Structurally, the focus pivots straight back to flight as he ‘pursued my way towards the yellow glow of the house’.
Finally, the paradox that ‘relief’ arrives with the ‘pitiful moaning of the puma’ exposes how traumatised he is: even suffering feels safer than the chase. The cumulative ‘faint and horribly fatigued’ and the verb phrase ‘gathered together all my strength’ emphasise depletion, while ‘I thought I heard a voice calling me’ suggests a desperate reach for human safety. Overall, though he fells his pursuer, the writer sustains a semantic field of fear and flight; the dominant impulse is not triumph but to escape towards light and voices.
Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 3 response would mostly agree, noting that after defeating the animal-man the narrator remains horrified—“I could not bring myself to approach that black heap”—and is intent on escape, as he “began running again towards the light.” It would explain how the writer’s methods (sound and bodily sensation) convey fear and exhaustion through “Splash, splash,” the breath that “whooped,” and the “pain like a knife,” showing panic rather than triumph.
I largely agree with the statement. Although the narrator does defeat the animal-man, the writer presents him as horrified, shaken and fixated on escape rather than victory.
From the outset, the narrator’s physical responses undermine any sense of triumph. Even when the first “Thing” slinks away, he “broke into a profuse perspiration and fell a-trembling,” which conveys shock rather than pride. The first-person narration and verb choices (“choked,” “trembling”) emphasise a raw, visceral fear that positions the reader inside his panic.
As the chase begins, the writer intensifies terror through sound imagery and repetition. The onomatopoeia “splash, splash” and the phrase “nearer and nearer” create relentless pressure, while the simile “a pain like a knife at my side” foregrounds his exhaustion. The narrator admits he “completely lost my head with fear,” and the hyperbolic “So long as I live, I shall remember the terror of that chase” suggests trauma that will outlast the moment. Structurally, the long, polysyndetic sentences (“and… and…”) accelerate the pace, mirroring frantic flight and reinforcing his desire simply to get away.
Even at the moment of victory, the tone remains desperate. He turns “desperate and sobbing for my breath” and strikes “with all my strength,” a portrayal of last-ditch survival, not heroic confidence. The auditory image “the skull rang loud” is shocking, yet immediately undercut by revulsion: “I could not bring myself to approach that black heap,” and he gives it “a wide berth.” Instead of celebrating, he moves “towards the yellow glow of the house,” a recurring motif of safety contrasted with the “black and still” night. The “positive effect of relief” when he hears the “pitiful moaning of the puma,” coupled with “faint and horribly fatigued,” and “began running again,” confirms that escape is his only aim.
Overall, I agree to a great extent: any fleeting relief is eclipsed by horror and exhaustion, and the writer’s imagery, sound effects, and structural pacing make it clear the narrator wants only to reach safety.
Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: Mostly agree: after the animal-man falls, he shows no triumph, staying horrified and escaping—he could not bring myself to approach the black heap, gives it a wide berth, and heads for the yellow glow of the house, and he began running again towards the light. The writer uses simple effects to show fear and exhaustion, like being faint and horribly fatigued, the simile a pain like a knife, and the repeated Splash, splash.
I mostly agree with the statement. Although the narrator brings the animal-man down, the writer shows he is not triumphant; he stays frightened and wants to get back to safety.
At first, even when he thinks the “adversary [is] routed,” his body reacts with fear: “I broke into a profuse perspiration and fell a-trembling.” This physical description and the first-person voice make his horror feel real, not victorious. The writer also uses a simile early on (“turned… as a dog might have done”) to show the creature’s animal nature, which keeps the tension high.
During the chase, sound imagery and onomatopoeia build terror. The “swift patter of soft feet” and the repeated “Splash, splash” make the pursuit relentless. The simile “a pain like a knife at my side” and the phrase “completely lost my head with fear” show panic and exhaustion. The long, flowing sentences, packed with commas and semicolons, mirror his breathless running.
When he finally strikes, strong verbs show violence: he “wheeled,” “struck,” and the “skull rang loud.” But after the animal-man “lay still,” he is still horrified: “I could not bring myself to approach that black heap,” and he gives it “a wide berth.” The colour contrast between the “black heap” and the “yellow glow of the house” suggests he only wants escape and safety. Even the “pitiful moaning of the puma” gives “relief,” which shows how desperate he is.
Overall, I agree to a large extent: he defeats the creature, but he remains horrified, faint and “horribly fatigued,” and he simply runs “again towards the light,” not celebrating at all.
Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response would broadly agree, simply noting that after the animal-man falls he says "I could not bring myself to approach that black heap" and "giving it a wide berth", then "began running again towards the light", showing fear and a wish to escape rather than triumph.
I agree to a large extent that the writer shows he defeats the creature but is still horrified and just wants to escape. When he strikes the animal-man and it falls “headlong” and lies “still,” the narrator does not celebrate. He says, “I could not bring myself to approach that black heap” and he “gave it a wide berth.” The adjective “black” and the phrase “could not” show fear, not triumph. Even the “skull rang loud” sounds violent and shocking.
During the chase, the writer uses sound and repetition: “Splash, splash” of the feet behind him. This onomatopoeia makes the danger feel close. He “completely lost my head with fear” and gives a “wild cry.” The simile “a pain like a knife” shows he is tired and hurt, so he just wants it to stop.
At the end, he says he is “faint and horribly fatigued” and runs “towards the light.” The “yellow light” is simple imagery for safety, so he wants to escape. He even feels relief at the “pitiful moaning of the puma.” Overall, I agree: after defeating the animal-man, he is still scared and only focused on getting away.
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:
- Juxtaposition of victory and collapse undermines triumph; conveys shock and lingering terror (fell a-trembling).
- Hesitant pacing shows lingering dread; he delays moving on instead of celebrating a kill (summon resolution).
- Admission of panic after renewed noises foregrounds desire to flee, not to finish off the threat (lost my head).
- Onomatopoeia and repetition amplify the relentlessness of pursuit, intensifying horror and driving flight (Splash, splash).
- Symbolic distance of safety emphasises desperation to escape rather than exultation (hopelessly far).
- Pain and breathlessness depict physical depletion, suppressing any triumphant tone (pain like a knife).
- The counterattack is framed as compulsion in extremis rather than glory; necessity overrides triumph (desperate and sobbing).
- Momentary auditory emphasis on impact could suggest brief mastery, yet any triumph is fleeting (skull rang loud).
- Post-kill avoidance and distancing reveal ongoing revulsion and the urge to keep away (wide berth).
- Paradoxical relief at an otherwise distressing sound confirms his craving for safety and escape (pitiful moaning).
Question 5 - Mark Scheme
An online environmental journal is publishing a collection of writing by young people.
Choose one of the options below for your entry.
- Option A: Describe the moment a powerful storm hits a seaside town from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:
- Option B: Write the opening of a story about facing a challenge alone.
(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 sky lowers, a bruise spreading above the neat terraces; gulls pinwheel, their cries snatched into tatters. On the promenade, bunting holds its breath, colours leeched by a light that has turned metallic. The sea beyond the wall gathers itself, not yet raging, merely reconsidering; even the coin-operated binoculars seem to stare, unblinking, at a horizon hardening into gunmetal. Salt hangs in the air, prickly and medicinal, laced with diesel and kelp.
At first it arrives as rumour: a cold bead on the wrist, a thread of grit across the teeth, a shiver in the ribs of a closed umbrella. Then the wind unzips the afternoon. Signs clatter; shutters stampede into their housings; a newspaper becomes an untameable bird. The harbour ropes sing a single, high, taut note as boats buck and shoulder. Along the seawall, the stone darkens, climbing with the tide; a stray hat tumbles, tan and absurd, toward the railings and is gone.
It comes, when it comes, without moderation. A wall of water rears—green-veined, muscular—out of the deep, and vaults the barrier as if it were only rumour. The impact is orchestral. One sound dominates: the bass drum thunder of water meeting stone; beneath it a thousand smaller violences—slaps, hisses, the brittle clink of shingle—compose a furious harmony. Foam tears itself into ribbons, flinging cold lace along the esplanade. Bollards vanish; benches are shouldered aside; the walkway becomes abruptly surf. For an instant the air is filled with salt shrapnel that stings like thrown sand; a single gull—ragged, astonished—hangs, then is erased.
The café owner wedges her door with a sack of flour, hands powdered. A fisherman counts the beats between thunder and lightning as if they were heartbeats. The bus driver, hunched and patient, watches wipers scrawl frantic parentheses across the windscreen. By the lifeboat house the crew (already called, already buckling) move with practised economy, indistinct behind a curtain of rain.
By now the town is monochrome: slate, salt, slate again. Rain comes not down but sideways; sand lifts like smoke and hisses against glass. Metal trembles—railings, lampposts, every bracketed sign—until the whole place seems to hum. Power flickers, a brief stutter; bulbs coruscate and dim. Above the breakwater, spray detonates into ghostly columns, and wind threads the alleys, ferreting loose anything that will go.
For a heartbeat, everything is white water.
And still, under the tantrum, there is a stubbornness. The sea writes its impatient cursive across windows; the church bell tolls once, as if surprised, then holds its tongue. When the wave withdraws, it leaves a watermark of seaweed and shells, a wet signature stippled across the promenade. The town inhales again—raggedly, yes—but it inhales. The next surge is already massing.
Option B:
Winter. The season that pares the world back to its bones; fields scabbed with frost, the sea ironed flat and steely, the air so clean it stung. A time, or so they say, for fires and company—for voices looping around kitchen tables—yet the headland called me with its blunt imperative and the unblinking lighthouse like an accusing eye.
As gulls reeled like torn paper against a pewter sky, I tightened the straps on my ash-grey rucksack. Inside: a coil of rope; gloves still faintly smelling of engine oil; a head torch with a sulky, thinning beam; biscuits I knew I wouldn’t eat; the dented biscuit tin that no longer held biscuits. The tin clinked when I moved, a delicate, admonishing sound. How, I wondered, could something so light feel so heavy? How could a promise weigh more than a pack?
Alone. The word sat on my tongue like a cold coin. There had been offers—well-meaning hands, kindly neighbours, a cousin with a sympathetic tilt to her head—but none of them belonged to the person who should have been there, the person whose map-folded hands had taught me where the safest footholds hid. I told them I’d manage; I lied only a little. Because what do you do when there is no one left to ask? You go, and you go alone.
The path was a seam stitched along the cliff’s ragged edge, chalk crumbling under boot, bracken whispering at my calves. Below, waves unrolled themselves with practised arrogance, smacking the rocks as if applauding their own insistence. The wind found every gap in my clothing and took up residence there; my breath ghosted ahead of me like something I could follow if I lost the way. Already my fingers were numb—stupidly so—and I flexed them inside fleece-lined gloves to keep the slow burn alive.
“You’ll think it’s taller than it is,” he had once said, cheerful as if height were only a trick of the eye. “The cliff looks like a wall until you touch it. Then it’s just a ladder with pretensions.” He was always like that—reducing fear to a joke, folding danger into a metaphor I could bear. The memory steadied me, and unsettled me, simultaneously.
The notch in the headland arrived with no ceremony: a gash where last winter’s storms had taken two fence posts and a section of boardwalk. The space between was manageable; the drop between was not. On the far side, the path carried on with infuriating normality, a ribbon of safety I could almost taste. I crouched, testing the give of the turf with careful fingers, calculating—distance, wind, the treacherous slick of frost. My mouth had that metallic tang fear brings, like biting your tongue and pretending you didn’t.
No one would know if I turned back. No one would call me a coward. And yet the tin clicked in the rucksack—once, twice—like a heartbeat I had borrowed and had to return. The sky, for once, didn’t bother with advice.
I looped the rope around a whitening hawthorn stump, knotted as he had shown me (twice, then a bite), and tugged until the fibers hummed. The cliff didn’t move; or perhaps it did, very slightly—breathing. My foot found the first lip; my hand, a small betrayal of a ledge. The wind bargained, then barged. For a moment—an elastic, unreasonable moment—I hung between what was safe and what was necessary, ridiculous and resolute, the salt on my lips tasting of winters I’d survived and the one I hadn’t, not really.
- Level 4 Lower (19-21 marks for AO5, 13-16 marks for AO6, 32-37 marks total)
Option A:
The sky lowers as if someone has pressed a bruise against the town. Clouds stitch into one dark seam; the horizon rubs away. On the seawall, flecks of spray leap up and vanish, nervous messengers that taste of metal on the tongue. Shopfronts hold rain-beaded reflections; bunting sags; a gull becomes a scrap of paper, blown sideways.
A smell of brine and diesel drifts along the promenade; doors are pulled tight; a woman wrestles an obstinate pram. A sandwich board claps shut; someone laughs, then stops. Underfoot, grit scuds like dry rice; the air sharpens. And then the wind—at first a low, impatient hum—finds the alleys and speaks in them, whistling that rises and curls.
It happens suddenly and, somehow, for a long time. The sea draws breath so far back the harbour floor gleams; the next moment it surges with muscular certainty, lifting itself clean across the wall. White water pours into the street in sheets, a slammed door of glass; it slaps knees, bins, bolted chairs, and keeps coming, again and again. Windows rattle; a shutter shudders; arcade lights flicker; coins tremble in their trays.
A siren starts—thin at first, then insistent—as the wind drills at guttering and aerials. Salt stings; rain needles any uncovered skin and turns into spray you inhale rather than see. In a cafe window, a child draws a circle on the steamed pane; it dissolves and reappears because the hand keeps moving. Over the parapet, the sea rears, an animal with a bristling back and cold breath.
Colours drain to slate: beach huts shut their eyelids; flags knot themselves; a lifebuoy knocks dully against its pin. Chains lift and drop; the pier groans. For a heartbeat there is hush—no gulls, no engines—before another body of water detonates over the stones and runs the lanes, dragging wrappers and a bright plastic spade. The tide works at the edges of everything, patient and relentless, prising, worrying. And yet there is order in the chaos: draw back; gather; strike; fall away. Back and forth, back and forth: the town braces, breath held, as the storm writes its blunt signature across every surface.
Option B:
Winter. The hills drew their shoulders up; the wind turned thin and metallic; the sky was a stretched, stubborn cloth. Frost stitched the tussocks. Beyond the ridge, the path threaded between old stones; up here, morning was only a rumour.
I tightened the rucksack straps until they bit. The buckle clicked; the weight settled against my spine. No signal; no footsteps beside mine; no voice asking, Are you sure? Only my breath leaving my mouth like steam from a tired engine.
The challenge was simple in a sentence: reach the trig point by noon and scatter the ashes. Simple, except for distance, weather, memory; except for the fact that he had always walked in front, and now he was nowhere at all. The map shivered in my gloved hands. I traced the line—a dashed promise across pale contours—and took the first step: careful, deliberate, not cinematic.
Under my boots the peat gave a little, like bread before the crust. The wind came in staccato bursts, carrying iron and something medicinal. A grouse exploded from the heather with a startled cough; my heart answered. I said my plan aloud to steady myself: go to the wall, follow it north, cut east at the cairn, don’t rush, don’t slip.
I had promised in the hospital, when the machines made their metronomic arguments and his hand—bigger than mine—felt oddly light. We’ll go up there, I’d said. He had smiled, or perhaps it was the ghost of one; the nurse drew the curtain like a stage manager. The climb waited, solid as a noun, almost rebuking.
Cloud uncoupled itself from the west and crawled over the top. The path—never generous—thinned to a suggestion. I checked the compass; the needle quivered. I pulled up my hood, and the world narrowed to a circle of grey felt and white breath. It wasn’t bravery; it was a decision repeated, step by step. Alone, yes—yet steadied. Under the cold: you can.
A skin of ice hid beneath a shallow puddle. My boot slid. The landscape tilted; my arms pinwheeled; the wind pressed an urgent palm against my back. For a moment balance hung by a quiet thread—and I chose to catch it. Heel down, toes forward, weight low. The world righted itself. I laughed, sharp as flint, and moved towards the summit I couldn’t yet see.
- Level 3 Upper (16-18 marks for AO5, 9-12 marks for AO6, 25-30 marks total)
Option A:
The sea holds its breath. The harbour, usually chattering with gulls and jangling halyards, falls into a cautious hush as a pewter sky lowers over the town. At first, only a prickle of rain; cold pins against glass. Chip-shop steam drifts along the promenade, blending with the iodine tang of wet rope. Prams pivot, dogs tug back. Someone laughs—nervous, thin.
Then, as if some invisible hand twists a dial, the wind arrives. It shoulders down the street, flipping a bucket so it rattles away. Sounds gather: shutters clap; flags snap rigid. Loose chains on the harbour lamps ring a bent little bell; the pier groans. Boats heave in their berths, mooring lines straining like wet rope sinews. The first wave hits the sea wall; it rears and spills over the railings, a silver avalanche. Spray explodes, spindrift hissing like a shaken bottle. Each impact is a drumbeat you feel more than hear.
Meanwhile, people pin themselves to thresholds. The fishmonger drags down his galvanised shutter; the café owner stacks chairs like barricades; a boy watches his kite whip along the slick pavement. An old man in a navy cap tucks his paper under his arm, face shiny with rain he hasn't admitted yet. A siren warbles near the lifeboat station, thin then urgent, stitching the minutes together.
Rain—real rain—arrives in sheets, marching horizon to kerb. The storm finds its voice; it roars. White water surges up the steps and slaps the promenade; the railings tremble. Lightning scribbles above the pier; thunder follows, a heavy cupboard dragged across the clouds. Across the bay, the lighthouse blinks its small, stubborn eye, swallowed and revealed in quick succession. Each wave grows heavier, more certain, like a muscular animal testing the fence. White. Wild. Relentless. Salt stings the tongue; breath tastes of brine and fear.
For a breath-long pause it falters and the town blinks—lights flicker, a gull hangs—then the next wall of water shoulders in. Backwards and forwards, the tide hauls at the stones; it takes and returns. Somewhere a door bangs; somewhere laughter rises, stubborn and brave.
Option B:
Dawn unstitched the night over the estuary. The mudflats glistened like scales; the channels held their own colder blue. Across the shallows, the lighthouse hunched on its rock: close enough to look harmless, far enough to be a problem. I checked the tide chart again and tucked it into my pocket. No one came; it was my promise.
Grandad's tin knocked against my hip inside the satchel, three small taps — reminding, daring. 'Low tide leaves a road,' he used to say. The stakes were there now, bleached ribs in a slanting line. Behind me the town still slept; the bus stop was empty; even the gulls seemed to hold their breath. Alone is quieter than I expected.
First post; then the second; then the third. I chose the firmer sand, ridged and pale, and stepped over the slick patches that looked like wet glass. My boot sank anyway; the crust broke, and cold climbed my calf with the patience of a hand. Don't thrash, I told myself. Lean forward, lift slowly, and the mud will let go. It released with a sound like a kiss and a cough together — ridiculous, and I laughed because fear hates laughter.
My phone showed no bars, which I already knew; the horizon was a ruler, unforgiving; the tide was a clock that would not pause. Still, I could do this. One careful step, another; breathe in, count to four; breathe out, count to six. At the fourth stake a bundle of rope had fossilised into barnacles, rough as salt-sugar, and it scraped my hand. Fine. Pain is proof you are here.
The island swelled with each minute. Water twitched back along the channels in silver threads; the whisper of its return made the air thinner. I quickened — not running, never running — but moving with a purpose I could feel in my teeth. Alone doesn't mean abandoned, I told the wind. It only means I have to be enough, and for now, that will have to do. Between me and the lighthouse lay one last dark ribbon of water, and I stepped towards it alone.
- Level 3 Lower (13-15 marks for AO5, 9-12 marks for AO6, 22-27 marks total)
Option A:
The first crack splits the sky, thin and silver, stitching the dark together. The town holds its breath. Flags on the pier stiffen, then slap hard against their poles. A gust runs down the promenade like a rumour, lifting grit and a stray newspaper; the headline tears away. Then it hits. Rain turns from needles into nails, hammering the awnings. The air tastes of coins, and the sea swells, shouldering the wall as if insulted.
Shutters bang. A cafe door fights its hinges; someone inside drags it shut with both hands. The gulls twist and vanish into the gloom. Frying smells are washed out; instead there is brine and diesel, a sour, seaweed reek. My hair whips my face. I squint. White water climbs higher than the lampposts and comes down in a roar. It smashes into the steps, surging back; another wave, bigger, follows without mercy.
The sea wall groans. Spray explodes over the road, a glittering cage that becomes a cold slap. Pebbles bounce and clatter like dice; bins topple; a sign swings wildly—Rooms to Let—beating its own metal heart. Sirens start somewhere inland. Windows rattle in their frames; even the church bell gives a short, surprised note. A lifebuoy breaks loose, skittering along like a bright coin. I feel the storm in my chest now, a steady thump, as if the town and I share one drum.
Lightning tears a crooked smile across the clouds; for a second everything is bright and sharp. Strangers press into doorways together, damp shoulders touching, eyes wide. We wait. Wind howls along the terraces, then dips, then rises again—harder. Back and forth, back and forth, the tide keeps hitting its argument. And yet there is a stubbornness here, a kind of lean. We face it, and the town holds its ground.
Option B:
Night pressed against the windows, and the house seemed to hold its breath. When the lights blinked out, the silence inside grew wide and unfamiliar. Rain stitched itself across the glass; wind worried the chimney until it moaned. The fridge had stopped its usual hum. Only the clock remained, beating out a stubborn rhythm on the wall. I was alone; properly alone. The fuse box was in the cellar. Dad used to go down there without thinking, a torch between his teeth, jokes on his tongue. He wasn’t here.
I found the torch in the drawer of odd things—rubber bands, a cracked tape measure, three keys that fitted nothing. The torch felt too heavy in my hand. Its beam was small and pale as milk, but it cut a thin line through the dark hallway. Water dripped somewhere, irregular and irritating. I pulled my coat closer, even though I didn’t need it inside. How hard could it be to flip a switch?
The cellar door was stiff. It opened with a complaint, releasing the smell of damp earth and cold stone. The stairs down were narrow and shallow; each one creaked, warning the house I was coming. The dark at the bottom felt thick, almost like cloth. There were shapes—bags of old tiles, a bicycle without a chain, the silhouette of a spade leaning against the wall. I kept the beam low to avoid the cobwebs hanging like tired bunting. My breath came thinly, too fast, and I scolded myself under it. What was I afraid of? Mice? Shadows? Memories?
The fuse box looked older than it had any right to be, a metal mouth with small teeth. I pictured Dad’s back, broad and certain: he would flip the stubborn switch and grin at the sudden glare. My fingers were icy and clumsy. I wiped them on my jeans and reached out. The torch flickered, stuttered, then steadied. My thumb found the breaker. A pause. A choice. Upstairs, the storm muttered and the clock kept counting, as if daring me to do it—now.
- Level 2 Upper (10-12 marks for AO5, 5-8 marks for AO6, 15-20 marks total)
Option A:
At first, the sky tightens, a grey fist closing over the bay. On the sea wall, people pause; the air smells sharp, like metal and salt. A gull tilts and is whipped sideways. The first drop is a cold coin. Then another.
Then the storm hits. It slams into the town with a roar that drowns speech. Waves leap the wall, monstrous, pouring over steps and benches; water writhes at our ankles. Shop signs bang, hollow, hollow. A pram squeaks, a dog yelps, the cafe door flaps like a broken wing. I taste salt and diesel on my tongue. Streetlamps hiss, spitting little stars. Someone laughs, and then we all duck as spray needles our faces.
Meanwhile, along the promenade, fishermen haul back their lines, too late. Their buckets skitter, clattering away; silver fish slap and glitter on slick pavement. Cars crawl, headlights smeared with rain. Windows rattle; shutters try to close themselves, they don't. A police siren starts up: thin at first, then swelling.
The rain thickens until the world is gauze. Everything bends to the storm—trees, umbrellas, voices. We stand pressed to the wall, mouths open, shouting advice that blows back into us. Again the waves come, again and again, hammering, hungry. For a breath, the wind drops, as if the sky takes in air; and in that pause we hear a single glass smash. It surges, and the town, stubborn and small, holds its ground.
Option B:
Morning. The canal was a dull sheet of tin; not silver, not pretty, just flat and cold. The footbridge hung over it like a thin spine. No cars on the lane, no voices, only a gull’s cry scraping the air.
I stood at the start of the boards, my hands sweating inside my gloves. Dad’s bicycle would have fit, but Dad wasn’t here now. He was on nights. Mum had said she couldn’t walk me. My friends had messaged: sorry, running late. So it was me, only me, and the school interview at nine.
I had turned back last winter. I had looked down, seen the dark water wink up; it felt like it wanted me to fall. Today I bit my lip and counted the slats—one, two, three—calling them like steps on a staircase, steady and brave.
The bridge didn’t care. It creaked; it swayed a little under my boots. The wind slipped through the handrails and found the gap at my neck. You’ll be fine, I told myself. You have to be. There’s no other way round.
My foot slid on frost, only a fraction, but it sent a crack of fear up my ribs. I laughed once, a small strange sound, because it was either that or cry. Alone, I said. Alone but moving. I set my eyes on the far bank, on the red door of the bakery opening, and I took the next step.
Behind me the town was still asleep; ahead, the day waited.
- Level 2 Lower (7-9 marks for AO5, 5-8 marks for AO6, 12-17 marks total)
Option A:
At first the town holds its breath. The sky sags, heavy and bruised, and the tide creeps up the sea wall. A sharp, salty smell pinches the air; shops drag down their shutters, and gulls tilt in the wind. People on the promenade pause, coats clutched, listening to a growl rising from under the water.
Then the storm arrives. It doesn’t knock, it barges in. Rain needles sideways and taps, then hammers, the windows. Waves rear up—black-backed and glossy—and slam their weight over the wall. Spray shoots across the road, cold on the tongue. Lampposts bend, wires hum, a sign rattles like laughter. The sea roars like a train; the ground shudders. Again and again it hits, backwards and forwards, dragging pebbles with a harsh scratch.
In the harbour a small boat snatches at its rope, a toy in giant hands, while a man fights his umbrella as it turns inside out. My hair whips my face; I taste grit; my eyes water to streaks. For a heartbeat the power cuts and every window goes black; there was lights flickering and a gasp. Still the storm keeps on, pushing its wet breath down every street, until the town seems to shrink under it.
Option B:
June. Heat pressed on the sports hall windows, but inside it felt cold. The polish smell floated in the air. Light spread across rows of desks like waves.
I stood by my seat, number 23. My hands trembled like leaves. On my desk: a black pen, a spare, a clear bottle. First, I lined them up so they looked neat. Then I breathed, slow, because my heart was sprinting.
People filled the hall but I was alone. Alone with my thoughts, alone with the big white paper. What if my mind went blank? What if the words hid from me? The invigilator’s shoes clicked, the clock coughed on the wall.
‘You may begin.’ The words landed like a stone in water. I stared at the question; it stared back. My name—five letters—suddenly felt heavy in my hand.
But I wasn’t going to run. I had practised late nights, early mornings; I had notes stuffed in my bag. It was me, and the page.
Then, with a small breath I wrote the first line. The pen moved, shaky but moving, and a thin trail of ink made a path. Outside, a siren wailed and faded, like my fear.
- Level 1 Upper (4-6 marks for AO5, 1-4 marks for AO6, 5-10 marks total)
Option A:
The sky goes dark over the town and the air feels tight. People stop on the seafront and stare, the wall is high but the sea is higher. Wind pushes my back, rain starts to slap and the first drops sting.
The wave hits like a big fist and bursts over the wall. White foam runs down the steps, it slides into the road and into our shoes. Shops bang their doors, a bell rings somewhere and some one shouts. We was told to go inside but we dont.
The wind howls, the sea keeps coming, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards. I can taste salt, it is sour and my hair sticks to my face. The houses look small and scared. Another wave comes, bigger, it smashes the rail and the street is all spray.
It goes on and on, the town just hold on.
Option B:
Morning. The hill was big and dark at the top. I stood at the bottom with my old rucksack and a bottle of water. No one came with me. The town behind me felt far and small. I had to go up by myself.
I put one foot then the next. The path was narrow, the stones slid under my boots and the wind kept saying no. My breath came out white like smoke and my hands was cold. I said I can do this, I can do this. Alone. Alone.
Half way I slipped, my knee hit mud and it hurt, I wanted to call out but there was nobody, not even a bird would answer me. I looked down and the houses was like little blocks, my head swam. I nearly turned back.
But I gripped the rock. I breathe out, steam. I aint got anyone, so I go on.
- Level 1 Lower (1-3 marks for AO5, 1-4 marks for AO6, 2-7 marks total)
Option A:
The sky is dark and the wind is loud. It comes fast from the sea and water hits the wall. Big waves jump the sea wall like a train, it bangs and splashes. Salt gets in my mouth and it taste sharp. The rain is like small stones and it hurts. A seagul screams and flies side ways. The chip shop sign shakes and the light’s flicker, I think about warm chips but the shop is shut. The wind shouts, boom boom, dont stop. Lighning cracks and the beach looks white. The town feels like it moves back and forward, back and forward.
Option B:
I stand at the bottom of the bridge. The wind is cold on my face and I am alone. I have to cross it, you know when you just have to, no one is here to help. My hands shake like a little lamb and my bag is too heavy. Mum would hold my hand but she is at work, the bus was late and my phone is nearly dead. The steps look like teeth. I say I can do it! I take one step, then another, then I stop because a dog barked, I hate dogs, I go on, my legs was shaking, it smells like metal.