Mark Scheme
Introduction
The information provided for each question is intended to be a guide to the kind of answers anticipated and is neither exhaustive nor prescriptive. All appropriate responses should be given credit.
Level of response marking instructions
Level of response mark schemes are broken down into four levels (where appropriate). Read through the student's answer and annotate it (as instructed) to show the qualities that are being looked for. You can then award a mark.
You should refer to the standardising material throughout your marking. The Indicative Standard is not intended to be a model answer nor a complete response, and it does not exemplify required content. It is an indication of the quality of response that is typical for each level and shows progression from Level 1 to 4.
Step 1 Determine a level
Start at the lowest level of the mark scheme and use it as a ladder to see whether the answer meets the descriptors for that level. If it meets the lowest level then go to the next one and decide if it meets this level, and so on, until you have a match between the level descriptor and the answer. With practice and familiarity you will be able to quickly skip through the lower levels for better answers. The Indicative Standard column in the mark scheme will help you determine the correct level.
Step 2 Determine a mark
Once you have assigned a level you need to decide on the mark. Balance the range of skills achieved; allow strong performance in some aspects to compensate for others only partially fulfilled. Refer to the standardising scripts to compare standards and allocate a mark accordingly. Re-read as needed to assure yourself that the level and mark are appropriate. An answer which contains nothing of relevance must be awarded no marks.
Advice for Examiners
In fairness to students, all examiners must use the same marking methods.
- Refer constantly to the mark scheme and standardising scripts throughout the marking period.
- Always credit accurate, relevant and appropriate responses that are not necessarily covered by the mark scheme or the standardising scripts.
- Use the full range of marks. Do not hesitate to give full marks if the response merits it.
- Remember the key to accurate and fair marking is consistency.
- If you have any doubt about how to allocate marks to a response, consult your Team Leader.
SECTION A: READING - Assessment Objectives
AO1
- Identify and interpret explicit and implicit information and ideas.
- Select and synthesise evidence from different texts.
AO2
- Explain, comment on and analyse how writers use language and structure to achieve effects and influence readers, using relevant subject terminology to support their views.
AO3
- Compare writers' ideas and perspectives, as well as how these are conveyed, across two or more texts.
AO4
- Evaluate texts critically and support this with appropriate textual references.
SECTION B: WRITING - Assessment Objectives
AO5 (Writing: Content and Organisation)
- Communicate clearly, effectively and imaginatively, selecting and adapting tone, style and register for different forms, purposes and audiences.
- Organise information and ideas, using structural and grammatical features to support coherence and cohesion of texts.
AO6
- Candidates must use a range of vocabulary and sentence structures for clarity, purpose and effect, with accurate spelling and punctuation. (This requirement must constitute 20% of the marks for each specification as a whole).
| Assessment Objective | Section A | Section B |
|---|---|---|
| AO1 | ✓ | |
| AO2 | ✓ | |
| AO3 | N/A | |
| AO4 | ✓ | |
| AO5 | ✓ | |
| AO6 | ✓ |
Answers
Question 1 - Mark Scheme
Read again the first part of the source, from lines 1 to 9. Answer all parts of this question. Choose one answer for each. [4 marks]
Assessment focus (AO1): Identify and interpret explicit and implicit information and ideas. This assesses bullet point 1 (identify and interpret explicit and implicit information and ideas).
- 1.1 What happens immediately after the flax is pulled up by the roots?: The flax is immersed in water. – 1 mark
- 1.2 After some people pulled the flax up by the roots, what happened next?: The flax is laid in water – 1 mark
- 1.3 Which action is described as "very painful"?: being pulled up by the roots – 1 mark
- 1.4 After the people pull the flax up by the roots, what happens to the flax next?: The flax is put in water – 1 mark
Question 2 - Mark Scheme
Look in detail at this extract, from lines 6 to 15 of the source:
6 "We cannot expect to be happy always," said the flax. "By experiencing evil as well as good we become wise." And certainly there was plenty of evil in store for the flax. It was steeped, and roasted, and broken, and combed; indeed, it scarcely knew what was done to it. At last it was put on the spinning wheel. "Whir, whir," went the wheel, so quickly that the flax could not collect its
11 thoughts. "Well, I have been very happy," it thought in the midst of its pain, "and must be contented with the past." And contented it remained, till it was put on the loom and became a beautiful piece of white linen. All the flax, even to the
How does the writer use language here to present the flax’s painful treatment and its attitude towards it? 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 and aphoristic thought craft a stoic, reflective voice (e.g., "evil as well as good", "must be contented with the past"), while the piling syndetic list "steeped, and roasted, and broken, and combed" and the onomatopoeic, clipped sentence "Whir, whir" with the subordinating clause "so quickly that the flax could not collect its thoughts" render the treatment relentless and disorienting, and the juxtaposition of "in the midst of its pain" with "became a beautiful piece of white linen" presents suffering as purposeful refinement.
The writer personifies the flax, giving it a reflective voice. Its gnomic aphorism “We cannot expect to be happy always” establishes a measured, stoical attitude; the balanced antithesis “evil as well as good” frames suffering as a route to wisdom. Even “in the midst of its pain” the interior monologue “Well, I have been very happy… and must be contented” reveals philosophical acceptance. The repetition of “contented” affirms this resilience, tempering the brutality of what follows.
Furthermore, the flax’s treatment is rendered through a polysyndetic list of past participles: “steeped, and roasted, and broken, and combed.” The iterative “and” elongates the sequence to suggest relentlessness to the reader, while the plosive verbs “broken” and “combed” sound percussive, echoing blows. The predominance of the passive voice—“it was steeped… it was put”—underscores the flax’s powerlessness. After the semicolon, the narratorial aside “indeed, it scarcely knew what was done to it” uses the intensifier “indeed” and the adverb “scarcely” to stress disorientation.
Moreover, sound and pacing highlight pain. The onomatopoeic, minor sentence “Whir, whir” accelerates the scene; the subsequent complex clause “so quickly that the flax could not collect its thoughts” conveys mental fragmentation. Additionally, the final juxtaposition of suffering with reward—“in the midst of its pain” it becomes “a beautiful piece of white linen”—uses evaluative adjective and colour imagery (“beautiful”, “white”) to connote purity and purpose. Thus, through personification, listing, and sound patterns, the writer presents a harsh process which the flax meets with calm, purposeful acceptance.
Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer personifies the flax and uses a listing of harsh verbs — "was steeped, and roasted, and broken, and combed" — plus onomatopoeia "Whir, whir" and the adverbial "so quickly" so it "could not collect its thoughts", to stress relentless, confusing pain. However, through direct speech, repetition of "contented", and the reflective line "By experiencing evil as well as good we become wise", its attitude is calm and accepting.
The writer personifies the flax by giving it direct speech: “We cannot expect to be happy always” and “By experiencing evil as well as good we become wise.” This creates a philosophical tone and reveals its stoic attitude to suffering. The abstract noun “evil” and the narrator’s comment that there was “plenty of evil in store” foreshadow the pain and present it as inevitable.
Furthermore, the polysyndetic list “steeped, and roasted, and broken, and combed” uses harsh, violent verbs to present the treatment as relentless. The repetition of “and” slows the sentence and makes each stage feel drawn out, intensifying the ordeal. The passive construction “it scarcely knew what was done to it” suggests the flax’s lack of agency. The onomatopoeia “Whir, whir” and the adverbial “so quickly” convey speed and overwhelm the flax, which “could not collect its thoughts.”
Additionally, the internal monologue “Well, I have been very happy... and must be contented with the past” juxtaposes “pain” with “contented”, showing acceptance. The simple declarative “And contented it remained” reinforces its resilience, while “beautiful piece of white linen” hints that the suffering leads to transformation. Thus, the language presents both the painful process and the flax’s patient attitude.
Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment on effects; some appropriate detail; some use of terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response would identify the harsh verb list with repetition — "steeped, and roasted, and broken, and combed" — and onomatopoeia "Whir, whir" plus "so quickly that the flax could not collect its thoughts" to show relentless pain and confusion. It would also note personification/direct speech like "We cannot expect to be happy always" and "must be contented with the past", showing calm acceptance "in the midst of its pain" and a hopeful outcome in "beautiful piece of white linen".
The writer uses personification and direct speech to show the flax’s calm attitude. It says, “We cannot expect to be happy always,” and claims suffering makes it “wise,” which presents it as accepting.
Furthermore, the painful treatment is shown through a list of harsh verbs: “steeped, and roasted, and broken, and combed.” The repetition of “and” makes the process feel long and relentless, and the passive “was put” shows the flax has no control.
Moreover, onomatopoeia in “Whir, whir” and the fast pace of the spinning wheel mean it “could not collect its thoughts,” suggesting confusion and pain.
Additionally, there is a contrast between pain and positivity. Even “in the midst of its pain,” it says, “I have been very happy” and remains “contented,” before becoming a “beautiful piece of white linen,” showing resilience and a hopeful attitude.
Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses a list of harsh verbs like "steeped, and roasted, and broken, and combed" and the sound "Whir, whir" so the treatment seems painful and fast, and it "could not collect its thoughts." It makes the flax talk ("said the flax") and uses "contented" even "in the midst of its pain" to show it accepts what happens.
The writer uses personification to present the flax’s attitude. It "said" and "thought", which shows it can speak, and it says "we cannot expect to be happy always", so it accepts pain and is "contented". Furthermore, the list of verbs "steeped, and roasted, and broken, and combed" shows the painful treatment. This makes the reader feel sorry for it. Additionally, the onomatopoeia "Whir, whir" and the adverb "so quickly" show the fast spinning, so it "could not collect its thoughts". Finally, "beautiful piece of white linen" shows a good ending. Overall, the language shows its suffering and calm acceptance.
Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.
AO2 content may include the effects of language features such as:
- Personification through direct speech presents a calm, stoic outlook on suffering: be happy always
- Antithesis in the aphorism reframes pain as instructive, shaping a wise attitude: evil as well as good
- Foreboding idiom suggests inevitability of hardship, priming the reader for harsh treatment: in store
- Passive voice removes agency to stress helplessness under others’ actions: It was
- Polysyndeton in the process list builds a relentless rhythm of punishing treatment: and roasted, and broken
- Semicolon and intensifier shift to inner confusion as cognition falters under strain: it scarcely knew
- Onomatopoeia and repetition mimic the wheel’s frenetic motion, heightening sensory overload: Whir, whir
- Pace marker and result clause show speed overwhelming thought, revealing mental fragmentation: collect its thoughts
- Juxtaposition of suffering with serenity presents resilient acceptance amid pain: in the midst of its pain
- Temporal markers trace endurance towards change, moving from ordeal to outcome: At last
Question 3 - Mark Scheme
You now need to think about the structure of the source as a whole. This text is from the end of a story.
How has the writer structured the text to create a sense of wonder?
You could write about:
- how wonder develops from beginning to end
- how the writer uses structure to create an effect
- the writer's use of any other structural features, such as changes in mood, tone or perspective. [8 marks]
Question 3 (AO2) – Structural Analysis (8 marks)
Assesses structure (pivotal point, juxtaposition, flashback, focus shifts, mood/tone, contrast, narrative pace, etc.).
Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Analyses effects of structural choices; judicious examples; sophisticated terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would trace an escalating transformational arc, signposted by temporal shifts (“At last,” “After some time,” “Years passed away”) and a sudden pivot (“all at once”) that turns the polysyndetic ordeal (“steeped, and roasted, and broken, and combed”) into epiphanic reveals (from a beautiful piece of white linen to “beautiful white paper”), cumulatively building wonder. It would also analyse the refrain-like anticipation (“the song is not ended yet”; “Each time I think that the song is ended, and then something higher and better begins for me”) and the evolving first-person perspective (flax to paper) to show how tonal shifts from suffering to “glorious surprise” sustain awe at the ending.
One way the writer structures wonder is through a linear, escalating sequence of metamorphoses, signposted by temporal adverbials that regulate pace. The repeated "At last", "After some time" and "Years passed away" compress time, whereas the sudden "all at once" pivots rags into "beautiful white paper". This alternation between ellipsis and abruptness heightens surprise. The cumulative listing "steeped, and roasted, and broken, and combed" quickens the narrative before pausing at turning points (linen, garments, paper), so unveilings feel revelatory.
In addition, an iterative refrain sustains and renews wonder. The flax repeatedly declares an ending—"the song is not ended yet"—and later admits, "Each time I think that the song is ended, then something higher and better begins." These patterned false conclusions create mini-resolutions followed by fresh ascent, a structural crescendo from plant to text. Exclamatory codas ("How wonderful...", "This is wonderful luck!") close episodes, cueing amazement. Even the final line—"I suppose now I shall be sent out to journey about the world"—keeps the ending open, prolonging possibility.
A further structural choice is sustained internal focalisation with deliberate shifts in scale. We begin in close-up on ordeal, then the narrative zooms out to communal consequence as the paper becomes a "means of bringing knowledge and joy to men." A brief analeptic glance—"when I was only a little blue flower"—juxtaposes origin and outcome, intensifying wonder at the distance travelled. Alternation between narrator and the object’s voiced thoughts ("Well, now, this is a surprise") punctuates stages, modelling the reader’s astonishment to the end.
Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: Structured as a chronological ascent, signposted by time shifts ('after some time', 'years passed away') and a sudden reveal ('all at once'), the writer moves the personified flax through new stages that prompt repeated awe ('Well, this is quite wonderful', 'This is wonderful luck!') as it becomes 'beautiful white paper', building a sustained sense of wonder. A typical Level 3 response would identify this sequencing, perspective shifts (flax → linen → paper), and the closing motif 'each time I think that the song is ended... something higher and better begins', explaining how these features create and develop wonder.
One way the writer has structured the text to create wonder is by a chronological sequence of transformations with clear shifts in focus. The passage moves from the flax’s painful treatment ('pulled... drowned... roasted') to a turning point signalled by 'at last' when it 'became a beautiful piece of white linen.' This contrast between suffering and elevation generates awe; the persona promptly declares 'this is quite wonderful' and 'I am the luckiest person,' so the reader shares the amazement.
In addition, temporal adverbials control pace to build anticipation and deliver reveals. 'After some time' and 'Years passed away' slow the narrative, while 'all at once they found themselves beautiful white paper' accelerates it into a surprise. This delay-and-release pattern produces a 'glorious surprise' and renews wonder as the object’s purpose expands to carry 'the most beautiful stories and poetry.'
A further structural feature is the sustained first-person viewpoint and recurring refrain about the 'song' not ending. By deferring closure ('each time I think that the song is ended... something higher and better begins'), the writer creates a pattern of ascent, so the final 'I am happier than ever' feels like an uplifting climax, leaving the reader with a heightened, enduring sense of wonder.
Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response would identify the straightforward chronological sequence of changes (from 'flax' to 'linen' to 'twelve garments' to 'beautiful white paper') and the repetition of exclamations like 'Well,', 'How wonderful', and 'surprise' to show growing wonder. It would also briefly note the mood shift from suffering ('steeped, and roasted') to joy ('I am happier than ever') and a simple climax when it bears 'the most beautiful stories and poetry'.
One way the writer creates wonder is through a simple beginning–middle–end sequence. At first there is suffering, then “at last” the flax becomes “a beautiful… linen”, and later “all at once” it turns to paper. These time markers move the story on and make each change feel amazing.
In addition, the writer changes the mood across the middle. After painful processes, the tone shifts to surprise: “this is quite wonderful” and “a glorious surprise”. This change of focus from hardship to reward builds the reader’s sense of wonder.
A further structural feature is the sustained viewpoint and the open ending. We keep hearing the flax/paper’s voice, so wonder grows with each promotion. At the end, the repetition of the “song” idea and “I suppose now I shall be sent out” leaves us wondering what will happen next.
Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses a simple timeline with clear stages like At last, After some time, and Years passed away, moving from early pain (pulled it up by the roots, as if it were to be drowned) to change and improvement (a beautiful piece of white linen, beautiful white paper). This shift from bad to good creates wonder at the end, shown by phrases such as glorious surprise, How wonderful, and I am happier than ever.
One way the writer creates wonder is by starting with pain then moving to change. At the beginning the flax suffers, but “at last” it becomes “a beautiful piece of white linen.”
In addition, the structure uses time markers to build stages. “After some time,” “Years passed away,” and “all at once” move the focus. This adds build-up and a sudden surprise, helping the sense of wonder.
A further feature is the continuous viewpoint. We hear the flax/paper speaking throughout, saying “How wonderful” and “This is a surprise.” Ending with “I am happier than ever” leaves a simple, wondering mood.
Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.
AO2 content may include the effect of structural features such as:
- Sequential metamorphoses (flax → linen → garments → paper) form an ascending arc, each rebirth surpassing the last to heighten wonder (beautiful white paper).
- Juxtaposed phases of ordeal and reward make each elevation feel miraculous, intensifying wonder (steeped, and roasted).
- Sudden transition markers inject surprise, making transformations feel instantaneous and magical (all at once).
- Shifts in speaking subject track evolving identity, refreshing curiosity at each stage (said the paper).
- A recurring song/ending motif promises renewal, structuring expectation toward further marvels (the song is not ended).
- Temporal compression skims long spans to spotlight resilience and return, enhancing awe at endurance (Years passed away).
- Accumulative process lists create rhythmic build-up before each reveal, amplifying anticipation (made into a pulp).
- External recognition functions as a status peak, enlarging the sense of achieved wonder (the best piece of linen).
- Widening scope from self to social impact reframes the journey as meaningful beyond self, deepening wonder (wiser and better).
- Forward-looking close keeps the arc open, sustaining wonder beyond the page (journey about the world).
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, where the flax is put through painful processes like being roasted, it always tries to find a positive outlook. The writer suggests that going through hard times is necessary to become something better.
To what extent do you agree and/or disagree with this statement?
In your response, you could:
- consider your impressions of the flax and its positive outlook
- comment on the methods the writer uses to portray its painful transformation
- 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 critically evaluate the writer’s viewpoint, arguing that while hardship is framed as transformative, it is also mediated by fortune and external agency, contrasting the violent processes—"cut", "torn", "pricked", "shreds", "steeped"—with euphoric lexis—"glorious surprise", "a great blessing", "promoted from one joy and honor to another"—and the refrain "the song is not ended yet" to show resilient optimism. It would analyse how personification lets the flax/paper interpret its journey—"after all I have suffered, I am made something of at last"—yet the admission "Heaven knows that I have done nothing myself" and external validation by the "clergyman's wife" nuance the claim, leading to a balanced judgment on the extent to which suffering is “necessary.”
I agree to a large extent that the writer presents hardship as a necessary stage in becoming “something better,” while also suggesting that the flax’s unwavering optimism and a sense of providence shape how those hardships are understood. From the outset of this section, the personified flax reframes suffering as progress: “after all I have suffered, I am made something of at last!” The exultant tone and hyperbole (“the luckiest person in the world”) foreground a positive outlook, and the recurring refrain that “the song is not ended yet” structurally foreshadows further ascent. Even the domestic imagery of care—“the maid turns me over” and a “shower bath”—casts its new state as cherished and purposeful, reinforced by social validation from “the clergyman’s wife.” This positions adversity as the prelude to recognition.
When the linen is “cut with the scissors and torn into pieces and then pricked with needles,” the violent, triadic sequence of dynamic verbs intensifies the pain. The understated admission that this “was not pleasant” is immediately countered by evaluative lexis—“importance,” “destiny,” “blessing.” The religious diction and teleological phrasing (“it is the only way to be happy”) explicitly assert necessity: usefulness and happiness derive from enduring trials. Even fragmentation is reimagined as unity—“divided into twelve pieces, and yet the whole dozen is all one”—suggesting that suffering can refine identity rather than destroy it.
The structural development “Years passed away” ushers in a darker nadir: “worn,” “rags and tatters,” “torn to shreds and steeped in water and made into a pulp,” a polysyndetic accumulation that conveys relentless unmaking. Yet a decisive volta—“all at once”—reveals “beautiful white paper,” with “glorious surprise” signalling elevation. The colour imagery shifts from the earlier “white and long” linen to “beautiful white paper,” connoting purity and renewal. Crucially, this new form serves others: “the most beautiful stories and poetry” that make people “wiser and better.” The repeated motif—“each time I think that the song is ended, and then something higher and better begins”—cements the pattern of pain preceding promotion. However, the insistence on “luck,” “surprise,” and “Heaven knows” also attributes outcomes to fortune and providence, and the flax’s passivity (“I have done nothing myself”) complicates the idea of necessity by locating agency outside the self.
Overall, I strongly agree that the writer suggests hard times are the route to improvement, using personification, cyclical motifs, and escalating contrasts to dramatise transformation. Yet the text also nuances this by framing progress as both a product of suffering and a gift of luck and care, sustained by the flax’s resolutely positive outlook.
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 with the writer’s viewpoint, showing how the personified flax reframes painful stages—'cut with the scissors', 'torn into pieces', 'pricked with needles', later 'torn to shreds... made into a pulp'—as necessary steps toward becoming 'something of importance' and 'beautiful white paper' that carries 'stories and poetry'. It would also comment on methods, noting upbeat diction like 'quite wonderful', 'a blessing', 'good fortune' and the refrain 'the song is not ended yet', to argue that hardship leads to growth while acknowledging this optimistic voice may idealise suffering.
I largely agree that the flax keeps a positive outlook and that the writer presents hardship as a necessary step toward improvement, though brief doubts remain.
As linen, the personified flax speaks in upbeat dialogue—“favored by fortune”, “the luckiest person in the world”. Exclamatives and superlatives create an effusive tone: “after all I have suffered, I am made something of at last”. The refrain “the song is not ended yet” acts as a structural motif, making the reader expect further progress rather than closure.
When the linen is “cut… torn… pricked”, the harsh dynamic verbs foreground pain. Yet the concessive “This certainly was not pleasant, but at last it was made into twelve garments” pivots to purpose. Declaring itself “something of importance”, the flax moralises that usefulness is “the only way to be happy”, directly supporting the idea that trials lead to a better, more meaningful state.
Later, decay intensifies: “rags and tatters”, “torn to shreds… steeped… made into a pulp” create a semantic field of destruction. However, “all at once” it becomes “beautiful white paper”, a “glorious surprise” and “wonderful luck”. It even makes people “wiser and better”, proving value from suffering. The refrain “Each time I think the song is ended… something higher and better begins” shows cyclical betterment, though “Heaven knows” and “my weak powers” hint at dependence on grace as well as endurance.
Overall, I agree to a great extent: through personification, contrast, and repetition, the writer persuades us that painful change refines the flax into “higher and better” forms.
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 suggests hard times lead to improvement, pointing to the flax’s positive comments like "after all I have suffered", "I am made something of at last" and "glorious surprise". It would briefly note personification ("said the flax") and the painful list "cut with the scissors", "torn into pieces", "pricked with needles" to show the transformation.
I mostly agree with the statement, because the flax keeps finding something positive after each painful stage, and the writer suggests these hardships lead to improvement.
At first, when the flax becomes linen, the writer uses personification and direct speech to show its hopeful attitude: “Well, this is quite wonderful… after all I have suffered, I am made something of at last!” The positive adjectives “wonderful,” “luckiest,” and “strong and fine” create an upbeat tone. This contrasts with the painful actions: it is “cut… torn… and pricked with needles.” The contrast between harsh verbs and cheerful language supports the idea that suffering is part of becoming “something of importance.”
Later, the structure moves on in time: “Years passed away,” and the linen decays. The list of processes—“torn to shreds and steeped in water and made into a pulp and dried”—emphasises the pain. However, the turning point “all at once” shows sudden change into “beautiful white paper.” Again, direct speech and superlatives (“a glorious surprise,” “finer than ever”) present the positive outcome. The repetition of the idea that “the song is not ended” and then “something higher and better begins” reinforces a pattern of growth after trials. The final effect is useful too: the paper carries “beautiful stories” that make people “wiser and better.”
I do notice a small doubt: the flax sometimes feels low (“It must end very soon”) and often calls its progress “good fortune,” so it isn’t only effort. Overall, I mostly agree that the writer shows hard times as necessary steps towards becoming better.
Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response would simply agree that the writer thinks hard times lead to better things, noting that even after being cut, torn, pricked, and torn to shreds, the flax calls it quite wonderful and a blessing. It would also notice that it becomes something of importance and finer than ever, showing the writer’s positive viewpoint.
I mostly agree with the statement. In this part, the flax keeps a positive outlook even when it is hurt, and the writer shows that the hard times lead to something better.
At first the flax becomes linen and says, “Well, this is quite wonderful … I am the luckiest person in the world.” The writer uses personification so the flax can speak, which makes its optimism clear. Positive adjectives like “wonderful,” “best,” and “blessing” show its happy view. There is a contrast with the pain when it is “cut … torn … and then pricked with needles,” a list that sounds harsh, but it still says, “I have become something of importance.”
Later, when the linen wears out and is “torn to shreds and steeped in water and made into a pulp,” it becomes “beautiful white paper.” Again, the paper calls it “a glorious surprise” and “finer than ever.” The repetition of the idea that “the song is not ended yet” and “something higher and better begins” supports the message.
Overall, I agree to a great extent: the writer shows painful processes, but they bring new uses, like “beautiful stories and poetry,” so the flax becomes better through hardship.
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:
- Cyclical “song” framing makes each ending feel like renewal, persuasively linking hardship to growth (only just beginning)
- Personified first-person resilience invites admiration yet risks naivety in its relentless cheer (I am the luckiest)
- Preference for usefulness over former beauty argues that purpose brings happiness, supporting the claim (far better than)
- Nurturing care offsets toil, making pain feel dignified and worthwhile to the reader (watched and cared for)
- Cumulative, violent processes foreground real suffering, so the eventual gains feel earned (torn into pieces)
- Teleological diction sells hardship as necessary and meaningful, though it reduces alternative possibilities (This was my destiny)
- Paradox of division/continuity validates transformation without loss of identity (all one and the same)
- Rebirth imagery turns destruction into elevation, strengthening agreement that breakdown precedes improvement (beautiful white paper)
- Emphasis on communal benefit justifies pain by enlarging its purpose beyond self (wiser and better)
- Idealised outcome with minimal flaws may prompt partial scepticism about such optimism (a blot)
Question 5 - Mark Scheme
For a special edition on local mysteries, your community newsletter is looking for creative submissions.
Choose one of the options below for your entry.
- Option A: Write a description of an empty playground after dark from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:
- Option B: Write the opening of a story about something that seems out of place.
(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 swing moves by itself. Each exhale of wind sets the chains whispering; the seat arcs forward, pauses, returns—back and forth, back and forth—like a tired metronome marking time no one keeps anymore. Moonlight drips through the black lattice of the climbing frame, pooling in rectangles on the rubber matting; the shadows lengthen and thin, a slow-breathing animal stretched across the ground.
The playground is empty, though not silent. The roundabout ticks when the breeze nudges it: a hesitant click, a faint complaint of metal upon metal. The slide, frost-slick, holds a blade of silver along its spine; it gleams under the sodium glare. The see-saw seems to listen, held mid-argument, awaiting a weight that does not arrive.
Smells gather and loiter: damp bark chippings; the rubber’s dull sweetness; a sour tang of old rain caught in the bins. The air tastes metallic, like coins pressed against a tongue. Somewhere beyond the railings, a siren flares and thins; a bus exhales around the corner; a fox scuttles under the hedges (more shadow than animal), tail a pale mark that vanishes.
On the ground, chalk ghosts refuse to fade. A hopscotch grid, smudged to a constellation of numbers, ascends toward the slide: 1, 2, 3... Ten is a blur. Who counted here? Who leapt, breathless, balanced on one foot? The answers lift and disperse with the grit the wind chases in tiny spirals; they are there, then not.
Meanwhile, the noticeboard speaks in polite imperatives: No dogs; no glass; close the gate. Its plastic sleeve shivers though the night is still. The gate wears chipped green paint and a new padlock, bright as a coin. When the wind shifts, it shudders; when it rests, it remembers. Beyond, windows prick alight and curtains yawn shut; the town rehearses sleep.
Graffiti blooms across the shelter’s back wall in layered colours, a palimpsest of names and declarations. Among them, a heart; inside it, initials that might already be over. Someone left a bottle cap, dented; someone else, a mitten—miniature, navy, stiff with cold. These small leavings feel louder than the creak; they suggest a crowd the eye cannot see.
Still, the swing keeps time. Its chains shiver like a nettle when the breeze touches them; its shadow, long and hinge-jointed, climbs the fence and drops again. For a moment, the seat seems to carry a shape, the outline of a child’s weight; then the air slips free and there is nothing but the slow return to centre, the tiny sigh of rubber on frost.
At last, the wind tires. The arc narrows; the whisper thins. Silence reaches out—unhurried, obliging—and steadies the swing with invisible hands. Afterwards, the playground holds its breath. Night, patient and unblinking, takes everything in and gives nothing back.
Option B:
August. Heat draped itself over the street like a heavy velvet curtain; tar softened and shone as if freshly poured; the air above the parade of shuttered shops trembled, a mirage of itself. The smell of hot bread elbowed the fug of petrol; a bus exhaled at the lights and a gull let out a single, lugubrious cry that seemed to melt before it landed.
And on the sun-bitten pavement outside Patel’s newsagent, a snow globe sat neatly beside the gum-spotted curb. It was wrong there—obviously, undeniably wrong: winter trapped under glass in a city morning that sweated. A clear sphere of condensed cold, a tiny season marooned.
Ava almost stepped past it. She was juggling a paper bag of screws, her keys pinched between two knuckles, and an anxious list bristling in her head—ring the locksmith; box up the crockery; don’t cry, not in public, not again. Yet the globe flashed, a hard flicker of blue-white in the syrupy light, and tugged her gaze down.
She crouched. Up close, it seemed even more impossible; beads of condensation stippled the inside of the glass, breath ghosts trapped in miniature. The base was a worn pewter, scuffed as if it had travelled far. Inside: a park encased in winter, precise and improbable—a black iron bench under a swan-necked lamp, a path veined with frost, skeletal trees holding up nothing but air. When she tilted it, flakes loosed themselves from their dormancy and cascaded with a viscous grace. The snow fell in silence. It did not belong to this day.
Who leaves winter on the pavement in August?
The globe was heavier than it looked; its coolness bled into the skin of her palm, an instant reprieve from the city’s breathless heat. It reminded her—without permission—of the frost-laced mornings at Gran’s, when milk froze into domes on the doorstep and the radiator clanked like someone politely coughing. Back then she had understood where she was, and where she was going. Today, nothing sat right. The flat she was clearing didn’t feel like a place she should use the word home for; even her reflection in the newsagent’s window looked borrowed.
A man with a terrier stepped wide to avoid her. “That yours?” he asked, without stopping. Ava shook her head. Which, strictly speaking, was true—though she didn’t put the globe down.
She paused, listening to the city’s metronome—horn, siren, gull, a bicycle bell somewhere jaunty—and read the base. The letters were shallow, almost abraded away: a postcode, two digits mis-struck, and a name that could have been H. Marden or Harden. Vague, but not nothing. It felt like a dare, or a request.
She straightened, the glass resting deliberately against her wrist. The heat pressed in again, thick as soup; the globe cooled only a thumb’s width of it. “You shouldn’t,” she told herself (and could not have said whether she meant taking it or caring). Yet she slipped it into her tote between the bag of screws and a folded tea towel, arranging it as if it were rare fruit.
Besides, the locksmith was late; besides, she had time; besides, it was out of place. And so, disconcertingly, was she.
- Level 4 Lower (19-21 marks for AO5, 13-16 marks for AO6, 32-37 marks total)
Option A:
Night has folded over the playground; the last of the day’s laughter has thinned to almost nothing. Under the sodium lamp’s jaundiced halo, metal catches and releases light in small, reluctant glints. The fence ribs the perimeter like a low cage, its grid humming faintly when the wind threads through. Trees lean over, whispering sibilant remarks, their thin fingers scratching at the sky. It is not exactly quiet; the quiet is busy, attentive, as if the space has cupped its hands around every small sound.
One swing moves. Not much—just an obedient oscillation, a patient pendulum obeying a breath of air. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. The chains tick with a soft, tired chime, and the black rubber seat, rain-polished, gleams like a wet mussel shell. It smells of iron here, and of damp bark, and of something sweet but stale—bubblegum ground into the rubber tiles weeks ago and now almost part of them. You could believe the swing remembers; you could almost hear names spoken into it, fading into the steel.
The other apparatus waits in a neat, silvered patience: the slide a cold ribbon, slick as if the moon had run its thumb along it; the roundabout a clock-face sunk in soil, its spokes pointing nowhere useful; the climbing frame an angular skeleton, geometry laid bare. A lone plastic horse, sprung on a single coil, tilts its head as if listening. Graffiti blooms and peels on the shelter—loops and hearts and initials (unreadable now)—and chalk constellations ghost the tarmac. The gate, chained but not locked, knocks every so often against the post—an irregular heartbeat.
Underfoot, the ground gives a measured bounce, dull and protective. Leaves lie flattened into a mosaic of brown and black, lacquered by mist. A glove—small, red, inside-out—sleeps near the bench, fingers curled like the paw of something that meant to return. On the bench itself, rain has gathered in glassy beads; old gum fossils the underside. From beyond the railings comes a stray thread of city sound: a dog’s bark, a far siren, tyres on wet road. The air carries salt and diesel and the green smell of cut grass long since cut.
By day, this is colour and clatter and electricity; after dark, it is ceremony. The equipment stands like props on an emptied stage, the audience gone, the script paused. Who was the last child to leap? Who will be first tomorrow to crack this hush? The playground does not answer. It holds its shape, it keeps its breath—waiting for the light to loosen it again.
Option B:
Dawn unspooled itself along the shingle; the harbour yawned awake in creaks and whispers. The sea, patient and practical, ironed the night’s rumpled skin flat, each wave smoothing, smoothing. Gulls quarrelled over nothing, loops of rope bled seawater back into the pebbles, and the air smelled of brine, kelp and a faint shadow of diesel. The horizon lifted like a lid to reveal a thin band of lemon light. Boats nudged one another, clucking. It was ordinary, almost tender, and the town—still shuttered, still yawning—seemed to be gathering itself for the day ahead.
It should not have been there. At the tideline, where foam licked and retreated, a grandfather clock stood: tall, mahogany, the kind that belonged in a hallway that remembered weddings and Christmas, not a beach that forgot footprints by noon. The varnish had dulled to a soft sheen, beaded with salt; the brass pendulum swung with quiet resolve, a simple arc that felt indecently calm. Roman numerals glowered from a milk-white face. Six minutes past six—precise, prim, impossible. Seaweed ribboned its carved feet like a careless scarf; the glass was stippled with drops, each one caught as if the clock had walked out of the water and paused to catch its breath.
Maya stopped so abruptly that pebbles avalanched around her boots. She had been on her way to the café (two streets back, blue door, a chalkboard that lied about sunshine), a thermos tucked under her arm and sleep still clinging to her eyelids. She did not like surprises before coffee; she did not like the way the ticking—there was ticking—threaded through the surf. That sound belonged in her grandmother’s narrow hall, where a carpet runner muffled the world and the house hummed with casseroles. Not here—never here. She stepped closer, breath fogging the glass. The wood was salt-cold beneath her fingertips, lacquered and stubborn. Who would drag such a thing across the stones? There were no drag marks. No boot prints. Just the absurd, upright certainty of it, as if the sea had returned a thing it did not want.
Under the clock-face a brass plaque had bloomed with verdigris: Hollis & Son. The name meant nothing; the idea did. She listened. Tick—tock. The pendulum sliced the morning into polite portions; a gull, startled, flapped away with a scold. A chime sounded, a single note, diluted by wind and spray, and then... nothing. Maya held her breath without knowing she had, the thermos weighing her arm down like a reminder. She could go on. She could call someone. The town behind her would wake and shrug. Yet the clock’s presence had shifted the edges of everything. It didn’t belong, and—though she would not have said it aloud—neither, lately, did she.
- Level 3 Upper (16-18 marks for AO5, 9-12 marks for AO6, 25-30 marks total)
Option A:
The swing moves once, then twice, as if nudged by the careful finger of wind. Chains clink in a thin, metallic whisper; the black rubber seat tilts and returns, tilts and returns, carried along by a rhythm too small to see. A sodium lamp spills a forlorn puddle of amber, leaving the rest of the playground drowned in blue-grey hush. Everything holds its breath.
Here the slide rises, a dull spine of aluminium, its sides scribbled with names and hearts; it yawns into the darkness. A damp smell gathers in the mulch beneath, mixed with the iron tang of rust. The roundabout sits slightly skewed, a rusted compass that can no longer find North: its paint is freckled, its bars cold enough to bite. In the corner, the see-saw rests level — neither up nor down — like a truce nobody asked for.
Beyond the fence, traffic sighs, steady and indifferent. Every so often, the gate taps its post with a dull, impatient knock. A fox slides past the bins; a crushed can rattles along the tarmac. Even the wind seems to mind its manners here, polite but insistent.
In the chalky light, faint boundaries appear: a hopscotch grid rubbed to ghosts; a white circle scuffed into a goal; tyre tracks curving where a buggy once spun. In daylight, this place gossips — squeals, arguments, somebody’s mum calling time. Now, it keeps its stories closed. No laughter; no sprinting feet. Only echoes that haven’t realised they should go home.
By the bench, a red ribbon is knotted to the rail, faded to a weary pink. A glove lies open, palm-up, like a question. There is a smell of old sugar, of bubblegum gone to dust. Even the slide’s ladder bears small fingerprints of earth, a reminder of the day shifting just out of reach.
Eventually, the swing slows; the chain stops its tiny complaint. Night folds the place flatter, tucking it beneath a dark coat. Then, as if changing its mind, the wind returns and the seat stirs again — a quiet, stubborn heartbeat. Who will wake it? The playground endures, waiting, patient, empty and not quite asleep.
Option B:
Monday. The hour of routines; kettles rattle, bus doors wheeze, and grey pavements unroll like ribbon. People slot into their usual spaces—newsagents, queues, the tired bench beneath the plane tree—and the morning moves as predictably as a metronome.
Against that rhythm, something is wrong; or rather, strange. Outside Patel's Bakery, where warm butter and sugar braid with diesel and drizzle, a door stands on its own. Seaside-blue paint flakes at the edges, the brass handle dull as a coin, a keyhole gaping like a small mouth. No wall. No frame. Just the door, upright and patient, as if the pavement had grown it overnight.
Finn almost walks past. His backpack drags at one shoulder; his tie skewed; rain freckles his glasses. It's the first mock exam, and his stomach is knotty with half-remembered quotations. But then he sees it truly, and his feet pause. The town flows—heels clicking, a pram squeaking—while Finn stands in a small island of stillness with a door that, frankly, should belong somewhere else.
Who leaves a door here? Why this tired seaside blue, this battered gentleness, as if it has heard years of closing? He inches closer, the bakery window warming his face, the smell of cinnamon coiling around him. Up close he notices pale scratches—initials, perhaps—and one long scar where a hinge used to be. He reaches out, ridiculous, he tells himself, and touches the wood. It is cooler than he expects, faintly damp; under his palm the grain runs in narrow streams he wants to follow.
Someone coughs; a courier laughs; a bus exhales at the kerb. Finn's cheeks heat, because he feels as conspicuous as if he were on stage. Yet curiosity tips him forward. He takes the handle. For a second it sticks, stubborn and ordinary. Then, with a polite click—and a small sigh he might have imagined—it turns.
He doesn't open it. Not yet. Not with the 8:05 due and Ms Reeves's voice telling him to be on time. Instead, he lets his hand fall. Still, the idea hooks inside him: that, in the middle of his town washed in rain and habit, there could be a door that doesn't fit, a doorway to who-knows-where—or nowhere at all.
- Level 3 Lower (13-15 marks for AO5, 9-12 marks for AO6, 22-27 marks total)
Option A:
Night folds itself over the small playground at the end of the cul-de-sac. The sodium lamp hums, washing everything in a tired, yellow skin. Metal rails make a crooked rectangle; paint flakes like scabs. The gate yawns a little; the loose chain taps the post, tap, tap, tap, as if counting. Air smells of damp bark and iron. In the puddles, the moon is not whole, just a broken coin.
A swing moves though no one is touching it. Back and forth, back and forth; the black rubber seat breathes out a small, slow squeak. The chains shiver—quietly, almost politely—and then settle, only to start again when the breeze returns. Its shadow stretches away like long fingers on the spongy ground, reaching the roundabout but never quite holding it.
Every piece waits. The roundabout is a heavy plate; it knows momentum but keeps still. The slide, a dull silver spine, shows a snail trail that glistens in a straight line. The see-saw looks stubborn, stranded at an angle. On the ground: a pale feather, a bottle cap, a lost glove that is stiff with old rain. Someone has left a plastic cup on the bench; it rolls a few inches and stops, then rolls back when the wind changes its mind.
Sometimes the wind carries voices from the road—laughing, then an engine, then nothing—which sounds like the park remembering. In daylight this place is loud and bright and messy, but after dark it turns careful. It watches. It holds its breath. Earlier, children ran here, leaving little dents in the mulch that cling to their trainers; now those imprints are shallow constellations, fading. A fox slips between the rails, pausing like a thin shadow, and a siren far away smears across the sky.
Option B:
July weighed on the town like a heavy quilt. The market square simmered; heat rose from the cobbles in slow, wavy lines. Bins gave off a faint, sour smell and paint peeled from the railings. And there it was: a snowman.
It stood by the fountain as if it had every right. Two buttons for eyes, a crooked carrot nose and a stripy scarf clinging to its icy throat. Water threaded down its sides, making dark halos on the stones; every few seconds a drop fell with a soft tick. In the sun it glistened, stubborn and bright, like a dropped scoop of ice cream. It did not belong.
Jay stopped, a carton of milk sweating in his palm. His hoodie stuck to his back, but a shiver crept along his arms. He had been in this town two weeks, trying to pass without being noticed. Now everyone stared at the same thing, then at each other, waiting for someone to explain.
A dog barked and backed away. A woman pulled her little boy back. A man in a suit took a picture and hurried on. Jay moved closer: the scarf was red and green; the buttons weren’t buttons at all but pennies pressed into a face already sagging. A narrow line of frost led away, slipping under the arch into the lane.
It felt ridiculous—impossible. Yet the cold was real. He had spent days trying to blend in; now the strangest thing in town stood in front of him. Maybe that was why he stepped after the trail, counted to three, and followed the melting line into the shade.
- Level 2 Upper (10-12 marks for AO5, 5-8 marks for AO6, 15-20 marks total)
Option A:
The playground holds its breath. Under a crooked streetlamp, the lone swing moves without a rider; chains whisper, a long creak that taps at the dark. The moon is a thin coin wedged in a smudged sky, so the metal rails glow a faint, cold white. Damp bark chips press a sour, earthy smell into the air. Somewhere, a gate clinks and then settles. Back and forth, back and forth — the seat sways like a slow heartbeat.
In the corner, the slide is a silver spine; steps speckled with rain. The day’s chalk drawings still cling to the tarmac, ghost colours, half washed away. It should be noisy here, it should be full of running feet and breathless shouts, but the quiet spreads over the roundabout and pins it down. The roundabout doesn’t spin, it sulks, and the metal horse on the spring leans as if listening. A crisp packet rasps across the ground, pausing as the wind thinks, then skittering on.
Shadows grow long from the fence, making black ladders the children won’t climb tonight. Graffiti wriggles up the shelter’s roof; names and hearts, brave in daylight, look uncertain now. Even the bench seems tired. I touch the cold bar, and my fingers tingle with old rust and rain; the taste of metal sits at the back of my throat. Far away a siren lifts and falls, a dog barks once. The swing replies with its small, stubborn cry.
The night waits.
Option B:
Monday morning started ordinary; crooked clouds, yawning windows, and the damp sweet smell from the bakery. The bus sighed at the kerb and let us spill out. Then I saw the thing that didn’t belong: a white grand piano, alone in the middle of the school field.
It shone under thin drizzle. Dew beads clung to its lid like sequins; the keys were lined up like small teeth. Its curved side turned from the cold, and its brass wheels had bitten into the muddy grass. It was silent—too silent—like it was holding its breath. In our school, you expect footballs, muddy trainers, shouting. Not this. Not a piano.
At first nobody went near it. The caretaker hovered by the gate with his keys, as if one might fit it. Teachers murmured. Someone laughed, the wrong kind of laugh. Who brings a piano to a field? Who leaves it here overnight? Why here, why us?
I stepped off the path. The wet grass flicked my ankles and my breath made a little cloud in the air. Up close, I saw a faint scratch along the lid, like a map line, and a dusty fingerprint on middle C. I pressed it, gently. The note came out thin but real, sliding into the morning. A blackbird answered from the fence. The sound didn’t cheer me, it just made the strangeness louder. I didn’t know it yet, but that first touch would start something—something awkward, and heavy, and new.
- Level 2 Lower (7-9 marks for AO5, 5-8 marks for AO6, 12-17 marks total)
Option A:
Under a thin coin of moon, the playground looks smaller than in the day. A streetlamp throws a weak, yellow puddle on the tarmac. No children. No noise. Only the wind shuffling litter and the distant hum of traffic.
The swings hang still; one shivers and moves back and forth, back and forth, like it remembers something. Its chains squeak, a soft, unhappy sound, and the seat taps the post, a hollow clap. It creaks—slow and thin—like a door that doesn’t want to open. The see-saw is tipped to one end, as if someone just jumped off.
In the corner, the slide is a silver spine. The roundabout crouches, a dull metal circle, painted once, now scabbed. Benches sit with graffitti names scratched in, like old scars. Sand around the climbing frame is dark and damp; a bottle glints. Shadows are long and joined together, they hide under the equipment like sleeping cats.
The air smells of wet leaves and cold iron. I can taste it: metallic. A dog barks, then nothing. After dark, the playground feels like it is waiting for a story to start, but the page stays blank, and the night just goes on and on, occassionally flickering with the lamp.
Option B:
Morning had a flat colour to it; the sky was a dull blanket and the wind bit cheeks. Although the rain was light, the cold got into everything. The football field was soggy and quiet, nets hung low like tired faces.
Instead, a grand piano stood on the centre spot. Black and shiny, legs sinking, lid half-open like a mouth. Rain ticked on the keys, small taps that made a thin, delicate music. It was beautiful; wrong.
At first I thought it was a trick from the team or from Drama club, some kind of prank. Who would carry a piano here? I looked around; but the field was empty, the car park too.
I shifted my bag to the other shoulder and stepped closer. I could see my reflection in its side, a crooked silhouette; I looked smaller than usual. The keys were pale as teeth. My finger hovered, then pressed one — the sound wobbled out and travelled.
The note faded. Something in me lifted and sank at the same time. It felt like a secret trying to speak, and for a moment I thought the piano had been waiting for me.
- Level 1 Upper (4-6 marks for AO5, 1-4 marks for AO6, 5-10 marks total)
Option A:
The playground is empty and the sky is dark. The air is cold. A weak street light stands by the gate, it hums and buzzes. Shadows lay over the ground like long arms.
One swing moves on its own, back and forth, back and forth. The chain squeaks and it creaks like a slow clock, the seat taps the post.
The slide is wet. A small puddle sits at the bottom, the metal is grey and tired. The roundabout is still, it gives a tiny tick when the wind touch it.
There is a smell of damp wood and old leaves. By the bench there is a lost glove, its stuffed with sand.
The gate is half open like a mouth that forgot to close. It feels like the whole place is waiting, the swing keeps moving. I dont like how quiet it is.
Option B:
Monday morning. Wet and cold. Puddles on the pavement and sky like a dirty sheet.
I walked past the corner shop with the shutter down, past the bus stop with cracked glass, and I stopped because there was a piano.
A piano!
It was big and black and shiny, like a beetle left in the rain. It didn't belong here. Not on our street.
I could smell chips and wet coats. The buses hissed by and the poster was soggy. The keys were yellow and cold when I touched them. When I pressed one it made a small sound, a whisper.
I looked around. No one. Who put it there? Why now.
I never seen a piano that close before and I wanted to sit but I didn't. The bus came, I didn't get on, I watched rain drip off the keys and it felt wrong, and right, at once.
- Level 1 Lower (1-3 marks for AO5, 1-4 marks for AO6, 2-7 marks total)
Option A:
The playground is empty and dark. The swing moves a little by the wind, squeak squeak, back and forward, back and forward. The moon is small behind cloud and the lamp is orange, it makes long shaddows on the wet floor. The slide is cold, and the metal smells funny like rain. I can hear the chains, and my breath. It is quiet, it is kind of scary. A dog bark far away and then nothing again I think of going home but I just look. There is a bottle near the bench, my phone is low, someone was here. The night feels big.
Option B:
The morning was grey and wet, the street had puddles. In the middle of the playground there was a fridge. It was tall and white and it dont belong here. It should be in a kitchen not on the tarmac like a lost dog. I seen it and I walk round it and the wind is in my ears, rain on my face I am late for school but I stop, I just stare. Mum said take the bin out I forgot, the milk tasted funny. I touch the door. It feels cold. The fridge looks at me like it knows my name.