AQA GCSE English Language 8700/1 - Explorations in creative ...

Mark Scheme

Introduction

The information provided for each question is intended to be a guide to the kind of answers anticipated and is neither exhaustive nor prescriptive. All appropriate responses should be given credit.

Level of response marking instructions

Level of response mark schemes are broken down into four levels (where appropriate). Read through the student's answer and annotate it (as instructed) to show the qualities that are being looked for. You can then award a mark.

You should refer to the standardising material throughout your marking. The Indicative Standard is not intended to be a model answer nor a complete response, and it does not exemplify required content. It is an indication of the quality of response that is typical for each level and shows progression from Level 1 to 4.

Step 1 Determine a level

Start at the lowest level of the mark scheme and use it as a ladder to see whether the answer meets the descriptors for that level. If it meets the lowest level then go to the next one and decide if it meets this level, and so on, until you have a match between the level descriptor and the answer. With practice and familiarity you will be able to quickly skip through the lower levels for better answers. The Indicative Standard column in the mark scheme will help you determine the correct level.

Step 2 Determine a mark

Once you have assigned a level you need to decide on the mark. Balance the range of skills achieved; allow strong performance in some aspects to compensate for others only partially fulfilled. Refer to the standardising scripts to compare standards and allocate a mark accordingly. Re-read as needed to assure yourself that the level and mark are appropriate. An answer which contains nothing of relevance must be awarded no marks.

Advice for Examiners

In fairness to students, all examiners must use the same marking methods.

1. Refer constantly to the mark scheme and standardising scripts throughout the marking period.
2. Always credit accurate, relevant and appropriate responses that are not necessarily covered by the mark scheme or the standardising scripts.
3. Use the full range of marks. Do not hesitate to give full marks if the response merits it.
4. Remember the key to accurate and fair marking is consistency.
5. If you have any doubt about how to allocate marks to a response, consult your Team Leader.

SECTION A: READING - Assessment Objectives

AO1

• Identify and interpret explicit and implicit information and ideas.
• Select and synthesise evidence from different texts.

AO2

• Explain, comment on and analyse how writers use language and structure to achieve effects and influence readers, using relevant subject terminology to support their views.

AO3

• Compare writers' ideas and perspectives, as well as how these are conveyed, across two or more texts.

AO4

• Evaluate texts critically and support this with appropriate textual references.

SECTION B: WRITING - Assessment Objectives

AO5 (Writing: Content and Organisation)

• Communicate clearly, effectively and imaginatively, selecting and adapting tone, style and register for different forms, purposes and audiences.
• Organise information and ideas, using structural and grammatical features to support coherence and cohesion of texts.

AO6

• Candidates must use a range of vocabulary and sentence structures for clarity, purpose and effect, with accurate spelling and punctuation. (This requirement must constitute 20% of the marks for each specification as a whole).

Answers

Question 1 - Mark Scheme

Read again the first part of the source, from lines 1 to 9. Answer all parts of this question. Choose one answer for each. [4 marks]

Assessment focus (AO1): Identify and interpret explicit and implicit information and ideas. This assesses bullet point 1 (identify and interpret explicit and implicit information and ideas).

• 1.1 After climbing to the top, what action does Gabriel Oak take to deal with the burning material?: Oak straddles the highest point and uses a crook to knock away burning pieces. – 1 mark
• 1.2 How does Gabriel Oak manage to climb the steep side?: Gabriel Oak digs in his feet and uses his crook for support. – 1 mark
• 1.3 After reaching the top, what does Gabriel Oak use to knock away the burning pieces?: Gabriel Oak's crook – 1 mark
• 1.4 How does Gabriel Oak position himself when he reaches the top?: Gabriel Oak sits straddling the top – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

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

6 bough and a ladder, and some water. Billy Smallbury—one of the men who had been on the waggon—by this time had found a ladder, which Mark Clark ascended, holding on beside Oak upon the thatch. The smoke at this corner was stifling, and Clark, a nimble fellow,

11 having been handed a bucket of water, bathed Oak’s face and sprinkled him generally, whilst Gabriel, now with a long beech-bough in one hand, in addition to his crook in the other, kept sweeping the stack and dislodging all fiery particles.

How does the writer use language here to show the danger and urgency of what is happening on the stack? 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: Hardy heightens danger with sensory and precarious detail: the smoke is stifling as Clark ascended, holding on upon the thatch. Urgency is driven by polysyndetic listing (bough and a ladder, and some water), concrete improvisation (long beech-bough, crook), and a long, multi-clausal sentence packed with participial, dynamic actions (having been handed, bathed, sprinkled, kept sweeping, dislodging all fiery particles).

The writer uses dynamic verbs and participial constructions to convey the breathless urgency and precarious danger on the stack. Clark "ascended" the ladder, "holding on beside Oak upon the thatch": the verb and the prepositional phrase "upon the thatch" foreground height and instability, as if a fall is imminent. Continuous forms—"kept sweeping" and "dislodging"—create a sense of unbroken, strenuous effort. Even the precise noun phrase "fiery particles" multiplies the threat into countless, mobile embers demanding instant action.

Moreover, sensory imagery underlines immediate peril. "The smoke... was stifling" uses suffocating lexis to suggest life-threatening conditions, while "bathed Oak's face" and "sprinkled him generally" present urgent, improvised first aid; "generally" implies haste over care. The epithet "a nimble fellow" frames agility as necessary in crisis. Phonetically, sibilance in "smoke... stifling" and "sweeping the stack", plus clustered plosives in "bucket" and "beech-bough", mimic hiss and thuds, amplifying frantic movement.

Furthermore, structure accelerates pace and heightens risk. The polysyndetic list, "bough and a ladder, and some water", conveys hurried improvisation with scant resources. Parenthesis - "one of the men who had been on the waggon" - drops identification mid-action, creating a breathless aside. Temporal deictics, "by this time" and "now", plus the balancing construction "in one hand... in the other", and the participial clause "having been handed a bucket of water" compress transitions. Together, these choices make the stack's danger feel urgent and immediate to the reader.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer conveys danger and urgency through dynamic, continuous actions such as ascended, holding on, bathed and sprinkled, kept sweeping the stack and dislodging all fiery particles, while the adjective stifling stresses suffocation and risk. The list bough and a ladder, and some water and the long, multi-clause sentence create a piling, breathless pace that shows hurried improvisation and relentless effort to control the blaze.

The writer uses sensory language to stress the danger. The adjective "stifling" for the smoke suggests choking heat and lack of air, making the scene feel life-threatening. The noun phrase "fiery particles" shows even tiny bits are ablaze, while reference to the "thatch" hints how flammable the setting is. Together, these choices make the reader feel the immediate risk.

Furthermore, dynamic verbs and -ing forms create urgency. "Mark Clark ascended," "holding on beside Oak upon the thatch," while Gabriel "kept sweeping the stack": these ongoing actions feel rapid and relentless. The -ing clause "having been handed a bucket" and time adverbials "by this time" and "now" suggest overlapping tasks, as if every second matters.

Additionally, listing and sentence form add a breathless pace. The repeated ands in "a bough and a ladder, and some water" pile up equipment, implying haste. The parenthesis "—one of the men—" and the long, multi-clause structure mimic a scramble. Finally, tactile imagery in "bathed Oak’s face and sprinkled him generally" shows urgent first aid against heat and smoke, underscoring both the immediate danger and the need for rapid action.

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 shows danger with words like "stifling" (hard to breathe) and "fiery particles", and uses action verbs such as "ascended", "holding on" and "kept sweeping" to create urgency as they try to stop the fire. The list of tools ("ladder", "bucket of water", "beech-bough") and the long sentence with "by this time had found a ladder" suggest quick, ongoing action, showing the risky situation on the stack.

The writer uses powerful adjectives and verbs to show danger and urgency. The adjective “stifling” about the smoke suggests it is hard to breathe, showing immediate danger. The verb phrase “holding on beside Oak upon the thatch” shows it is risky and unsteady, so they must act fast.

Furthermore, time markers and simultaneous actions create pace. The phrase “by this time had found a ladder” and the connective “whilst Gabriel… kept sweeping the stack” show things happening quickly at once. The participles “holding” and “having been handed” make action ongoing, and “a nimble fellow” suggests speed is needed.

Additionally, the listing of tools and body parts adds pressure. “A long beech-bough in one hand… his crook in the other” shows he is overloaded, and “dislodging all fiery particles” suggests small sparks could spread, increasing the danger. The long, complex sentence with commas mirrors the rush.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response might spot words showing danger like “stifling” and “fiery particles”, and simple action/listing for urgency such as “a bough and a ladder, and some water”, with verbs like “ascended” and “sweeping” making it feel fast. It may also notice “by this time” and the long, comma-filled sentence to suggest everything is happening quickly.

The writer uses the adjective “stifling” to show the smoke is dangerous and hard to breathe, so there is urgency. Moreover, the verbs “ascended” and “holding on” show they are high up and at risk. Furthermore, the list “bathed… sprinkled… kept sweeping” shows quick, nonstop action. Additionally, the words “fiery particles” show the fire is still active and scary, and “nimble fellow” shows speed. The long sentence makes the moment on the stack feel fast. This makes the reader worry for Oak and Gabriel.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Polysyndetic listing piles up essentials, creating a rushed, breathless scramble to respond (and some water)
• Temporal marker signals rapid progression and time pressure within the unfolding crisis (by this time)
• Parenthetical dashes drop identification mid-action, sustaining a breathless, on-the-spot flow (one of the men)
• Prepositional placement puts them high and exposed, intensifying peril near heat and smoke (upon the thatch)
• Sensory description of airlessness foregrounds immediate physical danger and desperation (was stifling)
• Passive handover shows swift, coordinated responses as items are passed along under pressure (having been handed)
• Caregiving verbs suggest urgent first aid is needed, revealing the severity of heat and smoke (bathed Oak’s face)
• Subordinating conjunction marks simultaneous actions, layering activity to heighten pace and urgency (whilst Gabriel)
• Dual-tool detail shows both hands engaged, conveying relentless, frantic effort against the threat (in one hand)
• Intensifier and vivid noun phrase stress the need to eliminate every ember, underscoring high stakes (all fiery particles)

Question 3 - Mark Scheme

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

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

You could write about:

• how revelation unfolds 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 identify how the writer engineers a delayed revelation through structural shifts—from urgent, impersonal action to a chorus of onlookers whose Q&A withholds identity (Don’t any of you know his name, ’Tisn’t a master; ’tis a mistress), before a literal unveiling (She lifted the wool veil) precipitates the climactic naming (Gabriel and his cold-hearted darling, Bathsheba Everdene, were face to face), transforming suspense into recognition.

One way in which the writer has structured the text to create revelation is through deliberate withholding and staged disclosure. The opening focalises Oak’s strenuous ascent and the fire’s spectacle, then the lens swivels to “a pony, bearing a young woman,” her face veiled by “that black cloth.” Dialogue compounds secrecy: “Don’t any of you know his name?” and “Whose shepherd is he?” create mutual anonymity. This deferral primes the anagnorisis. At the structural climax, action yields to unmasking — “She lifted the wool veil” — and the narrator names her: “Bathsheba Everdene.” The phrasing “face to face” converts public crisis into private revelation.

In addition, the writer modulates narrative pace through temporal sequencing to time the reveal. Urgency (“at once,” “by this time,” “now”) drives the rescue; once “the fire began to get worsted,” the tempo slackens into dialogue. The messenger Maryann operates as a hinge between crowd and encounter. Bathsheba’s “I wish he was shepherd here” proleptically sets up Gabriel’s “Do you happen to want a shepherd?” so the recognition arrives with structural symmetry.

A further structural feature is the orchestration of voices and perspective (focalisation) to guide interpretation. The choric villagers (“that bold shepherd”) elevate Gabriel, while Bathsheba’s “clear voice” and “’Tisn’t a master; ’tis a mistress” prefigure her authority. A narratorial intrusion — “cold-hearted darling” — reframes the reveal, foreshadowing conflict. Finally, ending on Gabriel’s repetition and her silence engineers an expectant pause — a micro-cliffhanger that sustains interest beyond the revelation.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer structures a delayed reveal by shifting from frantic group action to withheld identity and foreshadowing: villagers’ questions like "Don’t any of you know his name" and the hidden rider behind "the wool veil tied round her face", plus the hint "’Tisn’t a master; ’tis a mistress", build suspense. As "The fire began to get worsted" and Gabriel "made as if to descend", the focus narrows to the meeting that culminates when they "were face to face" and the narration names "Bathsheba Everdene", turning public crisis into personal revelation.

One way the writer structures revelation is by withholding identities through focus shifts and dialogue. The young woman is first distant as “a young woman” on a pony, kept veiled, while villagers ask, “Whose shepherd is he?” and answer, “Don’t know.” This enigma, sustained by the veil—‘her face a-covered’—means that when “She lifted the wool veil,” the unveiling lands as the structural reveal.

In addition, the writer manages pace to place the revelation at the end. The extract opens with rapid, action-led description, then, as “the fire began to get worsted,” the tempo slows into dialogue. Maryann’s errand bridges scenes, the intermediate reveal—“’Tisn’t a master; ’tis a mistress”—teases status before identity, and Gabriel’s hesitant repetition, “Do you… want a shepherd, ma’am?” delays the answer, extending the reader’s anticipation until the decisive moment.

A further structural choice is a shift from public spectacle to private recognition, creating a climax. We move from “groups of villagers” to focus on “the slight female form,” then the narrator delivers the reveal: “Gabriel and his cold-hearted darling, Bathsheba Everdene, were face to face.” The epithet signals prior history, changing the tone from communal crisis to intimate encounter and deepening the revelation.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer structures the passage to build suspense then reveal: it starts with urgent action and crowd dialogue that withholds identity through the 'young woman on the pony', lines like 'Nobody at all—I’ve asked ’em. Quite a stranger, they say.', and a 'veil'. The revelation comes at the end when she 'lifted the wool veil', they are 'face to face', naming 'Bathsheba Everdene', and the repeated 'Do you want a shepherd, ma’am?' makes the surprise clear.

One way the writer creates a sense of revelation is by beginning with the fire and leaving people unnamed. The focus is first on “a fine young shepherd,” then shifts to “a young woman” on a pony. Dialogue with questions like “Whose shepherd is he?” delays identity, so the reader expects a reveal. This creates suspense.

In addition, in the middle, the woman stays hidden by the veil, “that black cloth,” and we learn she is “a mistress.” As the fire “began to get worsted,” the pace slows and Gabriel comes down. This change from action to quiet prepares the revelation.

Finally, at the end the reveal happens: she “lifted the wool veil” and the narrator names “Bathsheba Everdene,” putting her “face to face” with Gabriel. The repetition of “Do you want a shepherd, ma’am?” highlights the moment and answers the earlier questions.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer builds to a reveal by shifting from the fire action to questioning that keeps him unknown as a "stranger" with "Whose shepherd is he?", then saves the reveal for the end when "She lifted the wool veil" and they are "face to face", which makes a simple surprise. This change of focus from the crowd and blaze to the final identity moment creates a sense of revelation.

One way the writer structures revelation is by starting with action, not identity. The opening focuses on the fire and the shepherd on the rick, which delays who people are and makes the reader curious.

In addition, the middle uses dialogue and questions like "Whose shepherd is he?". This keeps the identity hidden and builds suspense for the reveal.

A further way is the ending shifts focus to the veiled woman. When "she lifted the wool veil" and he repeats "Do you want a shepherd, ma'am?", the text finally reveals Bathsheba and Gabriel, surprising the reader and changing the mood.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• In medias res firefight launches high stakes immediately, creating suspense that a later identity-reveal can satisfy — clambered up the beetling face
• Elevated positioning makes the hero conspicuous yet unnamed, sharpening curiosity as others watch — the very apex
• Choral dialogue foregrounds uncertainty and keeps identity withheld through repetition — Quite a stranger
• Visual concealment of the rider sustains mystery and foreshadows unmasking — thick woollen veil
• Relay of questions through bystanders slows time and delays answers, heightening anticipation — passing on the question
• A clear structural pivot from crisis to recognition occurs as the danger ebbs — began to get worsted
• Incremental disclosure via dialogue surprises with social-role revelation before the personal one — ’tis a mistress
• Proxemic narrowing as Oak approaches the rider signals the reveal is imminent — stepping close
• The climax lands in a sudden naming that resolves the built-up mystery — Bathsheba Everdene
• Aftershock is amplified by silence and a repeated plea, extending the moment’s impact — did not speak

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 meeting between Gabriel and Bathsheba at the end is a complete shock. The writer suggests their roles have been totally reversed, with him now needing her help.

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

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of the meeting between Gabriel and Bathsheba
• comment on the methods the writer uses to suggest the reversal of their roles
• 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 the encounter is genuinely shocking, showing how the writer withholds identities and stages the reveal—Gabriel is "Quite a stranger" until Bathsheba "lifted the wool veil", "looked all astonishment", and they are "face to face". It would then analyse the extent of role reversal by contrasting Bathsheba’s authority as "a mistress"/"a rich one too" with Gabriel’s reduced status—"humility stern adversity had thrust upon him" and his plea "Do you happen to want a shepherd, ma’am?"—while noting his earlier heroism ("done the most good") tempers the claim of a total reversal.

I largely agree that the closing meeting is presented as startling and that Hardy powerfully inverts their roles, with Gabriel now the supplicant. However, the shock is carefully engineered rather than arbitrary, as the writer plants clues and uses dramatic irony to prepare us.

From the outset, the staging heightens surprise. The scene is lit by the “conflagration”: villagers “tinged orange” and “backed up by shadows” create a theatrical backdrop for an anagnorisis. Hardy withholds identities, referring first to “a pony, bearing a young woman” and “another woman,” and to Gabriel only as “a shepherd” and “a stranger.” This deliberate narrative concealment, alongside Bathsheba’s “clear voice” querying “Whose shepherd is he?”, builds suspense while keeping their recognition apart.

The reversal is foreshadowed yet still dramatic. Gabriel is initially framed as heroic—“that bold shepherd… whizzing his great long arms about like a windmill”—but Hardy engineers a literal and social descent: “Gabriel’s elevated position being no longer required… he made as if to descend.” The structural pivot from elevation to descent prefaces his altered status. The imagery of damage—his “smock-frock… burnt in two holes,” “features smudged, grimy,” and the crook “charred six inches shorter”—acts as synecdoche for diminished fortune. The narrator crystallises this with the personification “humility stern adversity had thrust upon him,” signalling that necessity, not pride, drives him.

Conversely, Bathsheba’s authority is consolidated. The chorus of villagers underlines the gendered reversal: “’Tisn’t a master; ’tis a mistress… a woman farmer… a rich one too!” The accumulation of financial detail—“business in every bank… pitch-and-toss sovereign”—constructs a lexical field of power. Physically, she is “in the saddle,” while he stands “close to her hanging feet,” a tableau of hierarchy. His deferential lexis and syntax—“Do you happen to want a shepherd, ma’am?”—then “mechanically repeated… in an abashed and sad voice”—expose his need for her help.

The moment of recognition itself is theatrically shocking. The veil motif intensifies concealment and revelation: “She lifted the wool veil… and looked all astonishment,” followed by the narratorial intrusion, “Gabriel and his cold-hearted darling, Bathsheba Everdene, were face to face.” The oxymoronic epithet “cold-hearted darling” recalls her earlier rejection and sharpens the sense of reversal. Yet Hardy has primed us: Bathsheba’s line “I wish he was shepherd here” is delicious dramatic irony, anticipating his plea.

Overall, the meeting is crafted as a striking, almost cinematic reveal, and the roles are emphatically reversed, with Gabriel needing Bathsheba’s patronage. Still, because Hardy seeds the encounter through structural delay and irony, the shock feels earned rather than “complete.”

Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: I largely agree: the writer signals a role reversal by presenting Bathsheba as the 'mistress' and 'rich one' on horseback while Gabriel, with 'features smudged' and 'humility stern adversity had thrust upon him', approaches 'stepping close to her hanging feet', now the supplicant. The shock is intensified by the reveal—she 'lifted the wool veil' and 'looked all astonishment'—and his 'mechanically repeated' plea, 'Do you want a shepherd, ma’am?', showing he now needs her help.

I mostly agree that the meeting feels startling and that the writer presents a clear reversal of power, with Gabriel now appealing to Bathsheba. However, it is not a complete shock for the reader because Hardy carefully prepares the reveal.

The build-up uses concealment and structural delay to create surprise. Identity is repeatedly withheld through dialogue: the villagers call him “quite a stranger,” and even Bathsheba asks, “Don’t any of you know his name?” At the same time, both are physically obscured: she is behind a “thick woollen veil,” and his “features [are] smudged, grimy, and undiscoverable.” This concealment heightens the shock when she “lifted the wool veil” and “looked all astonishment,” a clear marker that the encounter jolts the characters. The narrator’s sudden naming—“Gabriel and his cold-hearted darling, Bathsheba Everdene, were face to face”—is a deliberate reveal, creating a dramatic pivot from the public fire scene to a personal confrontation.

I strongly agree that the roles are shown as reversed. Dialogue and contrast emphasise Bathsheba’s authority: “’Tisn’t a master; ’tis a mistress… and a rich one too.” Her position on the pony and the villagers’ gossip about her money foreground her status. By contrast, Gabriel approaches “with the humility stern adversity had thrust upon him,” a phrase that personifies hardship and signals his fall. He is reduced to requesting work—“Do you happen to want a shepherd, ma’am?”—then “mechanically” repeats it “in an abashed and sad voice,” which underscores his dependency. Even the imagery supports this reversal: his “elevated position” on the rick is “no longer required,” and as he descends, his “ash stem… charred six inches shorter” symbolically mirrors his diminished circumstances.

Overall, the writer convinces us that power has shifted decisively to Bathsheba and that Gabriel now needs her help. While the characters experience a shock, for the reader the careful foreshadowing—through concealment, dialogue, and contrast—means the meeting feels dramatically satisfying rather than entirely unexpected.

Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: I mostly agree: the meeting feels sudden and shocking as Bathsheba lifted the wool veil and looked all astonishment, and the role reversal is clear when Gabriel asks for a job, "Do you happen to want a shepherd, ma'am?," in an abashed and sad voice, showing he now depends on her. However, it isn’t completely unexpected since we are told she is a mistress and a rich one too!, hinting she holds the power.

I mostly agree that the meeting is a shock and that their roles have been reversed, with Gabriel now depending on Bathsheba.

At first, the young woman on the pony is kept mysterious, which builds surprise. The writer uses the villagers’ dialogue to praise the “bold shepherd” who is “whizzing his great long arms about like a windmill.” This simile shows his strength and heroism. The rider even says, “I wish he was shepherd here,” which hints she will be in charge. This makes it more striking when Gabriel, who seems capable, ends up asking for work.

The reversal is suggested through contrast. We hear it is “a mistress” and “a rich one too,” while Gabriel is described with “his smock-frock burnt into holes” and with “the humility stern adversity had thrust upon him.” The descriptive language paints him as reduced and in need. The dialogue and repetition of his question, “Do you happen to want a shepherd, ma’am?” and then, “Do you want a shepherd, ma’am?” shows his need and politeness, so he now requires her help.

The shock is created by structure. The writer withholds her identity behind “the wool veil” and only reveals it at the end, when she “looked all astonishment” and they are “face to face.” However, it is not a complete shock because we are given clues earlier about a woman farmer and her authority. Overall, I mostly agree: the ending is surprising and clearly shows their roles reversed.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: I agree because it is a shock when Bathsheba "looked all astonishment" at Gabriel. The roles seem reversed since she is "a mistress" and "a rich one too!" while he needs her, asking "Do you want a shepherd, ma’am?" in an "abashed and sad voice".

I mostly agree that the meeting is a shock and that their roles seem reversed, with Gabriel now needing Bathsheba. The writer builds this up in the fire scene. Bathsheba sits on a pony and speaks in a “clear voice,” while the “bold shepherd” works “like a windmill.” This simile and description make Gabriel look hardworking but unknown, because “Nobody at all” knows his name.

The role reversal is shown when the crowd say “’tis a mistress… and a rich one too!” Bathsheba is the farmer and in charge, and Gabriel is “smudged, grimy,” with his “smock-frock burnt.” This contrast makes him look lower than her. He politely asks, “Do you happen to want a shepherd, ma’am?” which shows he needs her help to get a job.

The shock of the meeting comes when “She lifted the wool veil… and looked all astonishment.” The reveal of her face creates surprise, and “Bathsheba did not speak,” showing she is also shocked. Gabriel repeats the question in an “abashed and sad voice,” which makes him seem humble. Overall, I agree the meeting is a surprise and their positions are swapped, with Gabriel now the one asking for help.

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:

• Sudden reveal heightens the shock of the encounter; the lifted veil makes the recognition abrupt as she "looked all astonishment" (looked all astonishment)
• Dialogue foregrounds a power reversal: she is the employer and authority on the scene, not a male farmer (’Tisn’t a master; ’tis a mistress)
• Repetition underscores Gabriel’s dependency; his plea is said twice, moving from hopeful to abashed, emphasizing need (Do you want a shepherd, ma’am?)
• Harsh physical detail frames his vulnerability and fall in status, making his request for help credible and poignant (smock-frock burnt in two holes)
• Staging signals hierarchy: she sits mounted while he stands below, reinforcing her elevated role and his supplicant position (in the saddle)
• The crowd’s ignorance of his identity primes a twist; the switch from "stranger" to intimate recognition intensifies surprise (Quite a stranger)
• The narrator’s loaded epithet shapes our evaluation of the dynamic, hinting at an unequal emotional past that sharpens the shock now (cold-hearted darling)
• Authorial comment attributes his posture to circumstance, not weakness, suggesting he needs help because adversity humbled him (humility stern adversity)
• Courtesy tempers the reversal; even as a petitioner he retains dignity, so the change is striking but not degrading (not without gallantry)
• His heroism against the fire complicates a “total” reversal: he saved them first, even if he asks for employment after (done the most good)

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

The organisers of a local food festival are creating a booklet for visitors and have invited creative entries.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Describe the sights and sounds of a food festival from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about a competition between two family businesses.

(24 marks for content and organisation, 16 marks for technical accuracy) [40 marks]

(24 marks for content and organisation • 16 marks for technical accuracy) [40 marks]

Question 5 (AO5) – Content & Organisation (24 marks)

Communicate clearly, effectively and imaginatively; organise information and ideas to support coherence and cohesion. Levels and typical features follow AQA’s SAMs grid for descriptive/narrative writing. Use the Level 4 → Level 1 descriptors for content and organisation, distinguishing Upper/Lower bands within Levels 4–3–2.

• Level 4 (19–24 marks) Upper 22–24: Convincing and compelling; assured register; extensive and ambitious vocabulary; varied and inventive structure; compelling ideas; fluent paragraphing with seamless discourse markers.

Lower 19–21: Convincing; extensive vocabulary; varied and effective structure; highly engaging with developed complex ideas; consistently coherent paragraphs.

• Level 3 (13–18 marks) Upper 16–18: Consistently clear; register matched; increasingly sophisticated vocabulary and phrasing; effective structural features; engaging, clear connected ideas; coherent paragraphs with integrated markers.

Lower 13–15: Generally clear; vocabulary chosen for effect; usually effective structure; engaging with connected ideas; usually coherent paragraphs.

• Level 2 (7–12 marks) Upper 10–12: Some sustained success; some sustained matching of register/purpose; conscious vocabulary; some devices; some structural features; increasing variety of linked ideas; some paragraphs and markers.

Lower 7–9: Some success; attempts to match register/purpose; attempts to vary vocabulary; attempts structural features; some linked ideas; attempts at paragraphing with markers.

• Level 1 (1–6 marks) Upper 4–6: Simple communication; simple awareness of register/purpose; simple vocabulary/devices; evidence of simple structural features; one or two relevant ideas; random paragraphing.

Lower 1–3: Limited communication; occasional sense of audience/purpose; limited or no structural features; one or two unlinked ideas; no paragraphs.

Level 0: Nothing to reward. NB: If a candidate does not directly address the focus of the task, cap AO5 at 12 (top of Level 2).

Question 5 (AO6) – Technical Accuracy (16 marks)

Students must use a range of vocabulary and sentence structures for clarity, purpose and effect, with accurate spelling and punctuation.

• Level 4 (13–16): Consistently secure demarcation; wide range of punctuation with high accuracy; full range of sentence forms; secure Standard English and complex grammar; high accuracy in spelling, including ambitious vocabulary; extensive and ambitious vocabulary.

• Level 3 (9–12): Mostly secure demarcation; range of punctuation mostly successful; variety of sentence forms; mostly appropriate Standard English; generally accurate spelling including complex/irregular words; increasingly sophisticated vocabulary.

• Level 2 (5–8): Mostly secure demarcation (sometimes accurate); some control of punctuation range; attempts variety of sentence forms; some use of Standard English; some accurate spelling of more complex words; varied vocabulary.

• Level 1 (1–4): Occasional demarcation; some evidence of conscious punctuation; simple sentence forms; occasional Standard English; accurate basic spelling; simple vocabulary.

• Level 0: Spelling, punctuation, etc., are sufficiently poor to prevent understanding or meaning.

Model Answers

The following model answers demonstrate both AO5 (Content & Organisation) and AO6 (Technical Accuracy) at each level. Each response shows the expected standard for both assessment objectives.

• Level 4 Upper (22-24 marks for AO5, 13-16 marks for AO6, 35-40 marks total)

Option A:

A fringe of bunting trembles above a makeshift avenue of vans and trestle tables, colour beaded to colour, stitching the late-afternoon sky into a kind of patchwork canopy. Light glazes the chrome of hatchbacks and the glossed paint of food trucks; steam scribbles upward in ghostly handwriting. The air is thick with it—ginger-bright and cardamom-warm, vinegar-sharp and sugar-butter soft—an edible weather front that moves through the crowd and turns heads before feet follow.

Sound layers itself in generous portions. Skillets hiss a steady bassline; oil pops like impatient applause; tongs click, clip, click in professional counterpoint. There is the thud of cleavers, synchronised and certain, and the metal-bell chime of a ladle kissing the rim of a giant pot. Somewhere, a speaker trades in cheerful classics, volume turned just low enough that the real music—this living orchestra of trade—deserves the solo.

At the turquoise truck with a chrome grin, the queue serpentines, bracelets flashing, patience shifting from heel to heel. Behind the window, flames lick the edge of a pan, the cook’s forearms spattered with freckles of heat; he tosses strips of marinated meat that gleam as though varnished, flares scattering tiny stars. Coriander confetti rains. Lime halves give up their last bright sighs. “Next!” he calls, and the card reader gives its tiny, decisive beep—permission granted; hunger relieved. The tortilla swallows its colour—charred peppers, purple slaw, a river of molten cheddar—before the paper cradle closes it up like a present.

Across the aisle, a copper pan as wide as a table wears a paella the colour of small suns. Saffron whispers as the paddle stirs; mussels unclamp with meek theatrics; rice ticks quietly against the metal as if counting time. Beyond that, a stall is fogged with sweet smoke, skewers lacquered to a high shine, their juices dripping in slow punctuation. Another the size of a shed serves clouds—dough inflated and blistered, brushed with honey, decorated with sesame; the vendor fans them, gracious and practical, while an impatient child hovers, sugar dust itching to become a moustache.

People become their appetites. A grandmother, lipstick brave, negotiates chilli strength with a diplomat’s composure; two teenagers film their own mouths with reverence, sauces glimmering like stained glass; a tired nurse in creased scrubs leans against a barrel and lets steam wash her face as though from a winter bath. A stubbled busker noodles a tune that wobbles above the chatter; his case yawns, hopeful, and is fed with coins that land with the skitter of cutlery.

Paper rustles; bottles exhale when freed; napkins parachute, disastrously and then comically, before someone pins them under a wrist. The spiky perfume of kimchi collides with the velvet of coconut milk; garlic walks through everything like a forthright relative, and no one objects. It is, frankly, mouth-watering—predictably so, yet who cares; there is a joy in predictability when it tastes like this.

Dusk arrives almost without consent. Fairy lights unspool from poles and rigs, pearled and precise; smoke turns mauve; the crowd’s noise lowers half a note, then rises, then settles, an undulating tide. A final ladle scrapes the bottom of a pot; a final order slips across the counter; a final lemon gives up its pale, perfect rain. And still, the festival goes on, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, in the simple rhythm of hands passing food to other hands. I leave with fingers perfumed by spice, a pocket of warm air captive in my coat, and a memory plated so carefully it gleams all the way home.

Option B:

Saturday did not dawn: it unfurled with bunting and bravado. The High Street stretched itself, yawned—then began to perform. Banners flapped; chalkboards promised specials; steam stitched the air. Behind glass, two windows watched each other as if their panes had pupils. On our side, Barker & Son polished its brass letters; opposite, Patel’s Patisserie marshalled a sugar-dusted display like a parade. Between us, the cobbles held their breath. The prize—an absurdly shiny paddle called the Golden Peel—glinted on a dais.

I plunged my hands into dough warm as a sleeping animal. It sighed when I folded it. Flour drifted up in galaxies; the sourdough starter (a jar of ancient, fizzing temperament christened Mildred by my grandmother) burped like a bossy aunt. Dad moved between ovens with practised economy, forearms floured to the elbow, a general among racks. “No shortcuts, Tom,” he said. “Not today.” My fingers rediscovered the geometry of knots, the fragile mathematics of hydration; there is engineering in a good loaf as much as poetry. Meanwhile, through a window left ajar, Mira Patel laughed—light, confident; victorious already.

I risked a glance. Across the way, Mira brushed apricot glaze over buns until they shone like lacquered moons. Her mother piped pistachio cream with austere elegance: a single twist on each, nothing gratuitous. Their kitchen was choreography; whisks chimed; trays turned. Beneath their awning, a placard: Defending Champions. Ours, more modest, read: Since 1954.

Once—so Dad says—we swapped flour and borrowed sugar; recipes came on the backs of envelopes. Then a glossy article crowned someone best-in-county (not us); tills rang louder; tempers shortened. A civil war of crusts began.

Outside, the mayor’s chain clinked like teaspoons; a judge with a clipboard, serrated smile, and a palate reputedly incorruptible threaded through the crowd. Children pressed noses to glass and left constellations of breath. Our bell jangled as someone swung the door and the bakery inhaled them: their chatter, their minted chewing gum, their expectations.

“Ready, bakers—on my call,” the steward announced, voice amplified and theatrical. What do you do when your family’s pride fits under your palm? You breathe; you wait; you trust the cut, the heat, the clock.

I slid. The oven opened its red mouth and accepted the offering; opposite, Mira did the same with an insolent, effortless flick. Heat closed around our hopes; yeast turned industrious; time, that old adversary, became elastic. The crowd blurred to a hum. We had done this a thousand times, yet today every second felt annotated: Dad’s stare; Grandad’s nod; Mildred’s obstinate bubble. Across the street, a ribbon lifted and wrote a cursive P in the air.

“May the best loaf rise,” she mouthed. I brushed flour from my sleeves and held my nerve.

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

Option A:

The park opens like a canvas; bunting runs between trees in bright zigzags, tugged by a breeze. Food trucks stand in a procession, each a painted promise: turquoise, tangerine, sherbet pink. Sunlight glints off chrome hatches and sticky jars. A low haze trembles above the grills, blurring the air so that faces seem to swim as they pass. Aromas plait together—smoke, citrus, garlic, sugar—sliding through the crowd. People drift, pause, read, drift again, pulled gently by curiosity.

Sound stitches the scene. Oil hisses, sauces bubble, a lid clatters; knives talk a brisk metronome against boards. Laughter skips; a baby squawks; someone cheers as a flame leaps, blue at the edges. From a small stage comes a horn with a sunny lilt, its notes swinging above the steady thump of drums. Vendors call—“Fresh bao! Hot churros!”—and their voices braid with the tinny ping of card machines (a neat, accepting chirp) and the papery whisper of napkins being tugged free, one after another after another.

At the end of the avenue a queue ripples before a truck painted with a comic pineapple wearing sunglasses. The chalkboard menu is a chalk-dusted essay of options; the letters lean and flourish, earnest and inviting. Behind the hatch, the chef tilts a pan, and the spatula beats a syncopated rhythm on the steel—tap, scrape, tap—while a plume of steam uncurls like a genie. The waiting crowd sways almost in unison. A teenager scrolls; a woman in a saffron scarf laughs; a child rises on tiptoe, fingers pleating his father’s coat.

Plates pass from hands to hands, a slow tide. There is rice the colour of turmeric fields; pomegranate seeds like scattered rubies; glossed ribs lacquered to a deep mahogany. A squeeze of lime flashes into droplets; herbs are flung as though confetti—parsley, mint, something aniseed-sweet. Steam fogs brief moons on cold plastic lids. The bleep of a timer cuts through; tongs click; a bell tings; somewhere a blender throbs. Even the air seems edible, saturated and bright, a choir of scents around every corner.

As afternoon tilts towards evening, shadows lengthen and the festival softens. Fairy lights blink awake, dotting each stall with patient stars; the bright trucks turn luminous, their colours deeper, more forgiving. The music slides into something smoother, and conversation settles to a steady murmur. I stand at the edge and watch the whole place breathe in and out—sizzle to quiet, flash to glow—marvelling that a simple hunger can orchestrate such lively, generous noise.

Option B:

Saturday, and the High Street smelled of cinnamon, yeast and competition. Two shopfronts faced each other like stubborn siblings: our modest blue awning at Kaur & Sons, scrubbed and sensible, and Hargreaves Artisan Breads opposite, all gleaming brass and freshly lacquered signage. Bunting strung between lampposts riffled in a skittish breeze; the Harvest Fair bunting did not care who won the Golden Loaf, but everyone else did. Even the pigeons seemed to pace differently—urgent, watchful—as if they had a stake in the outcome.

Inside, heat pressed against my cheeks while the mixers purred and breathed. Baba’s hands moved in their familiar choreography, knuckles whitening, wrists rolling as if he could tame the dough by persuasion alone. “Fold, rest, prove,” he murmured, that mantra he trusted more than luck. I dusted flour like deceptive snow over the bench, the air turning a soft fog around us. The dough gave under my fingers—pliant yet alive—its surface taut as drum skin; in moments, it would push back, rise, surprise us with its private ambitions.

Across the street, Hargreaves spun their theatre. Their window glittered with plaited loaves, lacquered to a high shine; baguettes stood in regimented ranks, bayonets of crust. A new contraption steamed beside their till—an espresso machine sleek as a car bonnet—and a handwritten sign announced: Limited edition malted sourdough: one day only. They did love a flourish. I felt an involuntary prick of admiration, the kind I would never confess at dinner, not even to my brother. Rivalry has its rules.

The Golden Loaf trophy—brass wheat sheaves curling like flames—waited beneath the Town Hall clock, a promise and a dare in one polished glint. Hargreaves won it last year; we won it the year before. Our family talks about it as though bread were a form of history you can hold, slice, butter, then argue over. Baba says craft matters, that the town tastes integrity; Mum says story matters too. She always did have a softer mouth for the sweet parts of the world.

I wiped my hands and leaned on the cool metal of the counter. Through the glass, I caught Tom Hargreaves looking right back at me. We have been looking at each other from opposite pavements since primary school—first as kids swapping stickers, then as rivals swapping glances that meant nothing and everything. He lifted a tray slightly, a salute or a warning; it was hard to tell.

“Timer,” Baba said. I jumped. The oven beeped with brisk finality; heat rolled out when I opened it, fragrant and fierce, like applause you could smell. Our loaves emerged golden, blistered, imperfect in the way that invites a second bite. Outside, the bunting cracked its tiny flags. The judges were due at noon; there was still time—and not much at all.

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

Option A:

Heat ripples above the grills; the air is stitched with smells. Flags and bunting flare like bright scales, tugging at their strings. The queue at the turquoise truck curves into the sun, a ribbon of backpacks, prams and elbows. Chalk letters promise smoky jackfruit, lemon slaw, chilli jam; the dust lifts as if it were steam. Somewhere behind the hatch a generator thrums a note, and over it rise the small theatre sounds of cooking: sizzle, hiss, a polite pop.

The chef works with quick, practised hands. Tongs click; buns are branded with dark stripes; onions collapse into sweetness. He calls orders in a cheerful bark—'Next! Two wraps! One plain!'—and a second voice repeats them back. Oil spits, petty fireworks along the skillet. The sauces stand in a bright parade: tomato like a flag, mustard, dusky barbecue, a green chimichurri I can’t quite place.

Beyond, other tents shoulder together. A wok tosses rattling coins of prawns; steam ghosts the faces of people leaning in. Somewhere there is cinnamon, or maybe cardamom; it threads the air with something warm and old. Children crunch at paper cones of chips; salt dusts their lips, and laughter peels across the square. A speaker blurts a bass line that comes and goes—thin, then suddenly loud; a busker noodles a tune that does not quite match, yet it works.

At the sweet stall, sugar becomes weather. Candyfloss spools into pale clouds that stick to fingers; to tongues; to everything. Popcorn drums in a metal bowl—pop, pop, pop—until a lid jumps and somebody cheers. Chocolate falls in a slow curtain, glossed and steady. It is a little gaudy, but the colours—turmeric yellow, beetroot pink, the green of mint—are joyful.

Meanwhile, the queue inches. People fan themselves with menus; a woman laughs at a smear of sauce on her wrist. Napkins break free and cartwheel along the paving like white moths. When the sun slips behind the town hall, bulbs blink awake around the truck window, and the metal catches a cooler shine. The festival does not quieten; it gathers. Pans still speak, vendors still call, and the street hums—busy, generous, hungry.

Option B:

Saturday. Market day; bunting trembled like thin sails over the high street and the air was already sugared with cinnamon and butter. Shop bells chattered, shutters yawned, and the cobbles kept their cool from the night while sunlight tested the edges of every window. On opposite corners, two shopfronts watched each other like stubborn siblings: Rowan & Daughters Bakery and De Luca Patisserie.

Inside Rowan & Daughters, Leah pressed her palms into dough—turn, fold, knock—each movement a small drum against a rising thrum in her chest. Flour drifted through the lit air like lazy snow and settled on her hairline, pale as frost. Gran’s rolling pin (nicked with stories) leaned against the scales, and the hand-lettered sign above the till declared: Golden Rolling Pin Challenge—today at noon. “Not too dark on the crust,” Mum reminded, pinning up her curls with a floury elbow. “Not too safe either,” Leah replied, though she wasn’t sure if that was brave or foolish.

Meanwhile, across the square, Marco De Luca piped lemon cream along a regiment of éclairs, his whistle a notch too loud for this early hour. His father moved like a general between ovens, tapping trays, tasting glazes, never quite smiling. “Again,” Nonna said, pointing at a swirl that had slumped; her years sat lightly on her shoulders, but her standards never had. “We don’t win by accident, ragazzo,” she murmured, and Marco swallowed, then steadied his hand.

Everyone knew the history—how, when the old mill closed, the Rowans kept bread in the town and hands busy; how the De Lucas arrived with espresso and pastry that flaked like autumn leaves. For years they lent each other sugar and time, until congratulations began to taste brittle. The Golden Rolling Pin drifted between them like a crown; last summer, it had ended in a draw. The town wanted a decision, and it wanted it with jam.

By nine the street swelled. Prams creaked, bicycles rang, and Mr Gallagher’s dog tried to steal a bun wrapper. Leah brushed honey over the rye—walnut, cracked pepper, a shy shine—and felt the idea click, almost audibly. “Too bold?” Mum said, though her eyes were proud. “Bold is the point,” Leah answered, and hoped it was true.

Across the way, Marco lifted a tray of pistachio swirls, emerald and gold. He glanced at the bakery window—just once. The mayor raised a brass bell; its first chime sliced the air, and every breath seemed to hold.

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

Option A:

Bunting shivers above the crowd, bright triangles snapping in a shy breeze. The midday sun warms the tarmac; colours spill from painted vans—turmeric yellow, chilli red, mint green. Somewhere a bell tings as a stall opens. The air is thick with the first smoke of charcoal; it moves in long, soft threads.

At a colourful truck, a chalkboard menu leans, letters dusted with fingerprints. The hatch is lifted like a smile, and the queue draws close. Sizzle, hiss, pop. Spatulas clack against hot plates; onions sigh as they turn. A server calls, “Next!” and bracelets ring. People queue and shuffle; they check their phones, they edge forward.

Meanwhile, the rest of the festival breathes. A busker strums a hopeful chord; a small child answers with a squeal. Laughter bubbles and spills in quick bursts. Paper flags flap like fish trying to leap. Stools scrape; bottles clink. The crowd is a steady murmur, a low tide that never quite goes out—back and forth, back and forth.

Steam fogs a perspex window; dumplings bob in a silver bath. Chilli flakes sparkle like tiny embers, and a fan whirs above with a stubborn hum. Over at the truck, a stack of soft buns waits. A burger is pressed: it crackles, and the lid comes down with a heavy click; melted cheese creeps to the edge. Sauce is zigzagged and a paper napkin flutters away.

As the afternoon slides on, fairy lights blink on above us, tiny moons in a new sky. The music thickens; the chatter keeps rising and falling. We stand with warm plates balanced in our hands—hiss, clap, clink, cheer—and we listen to the festival working. Ordinary, and somehow special, we stay a little longer than planned.

Option B:

Market Row woke early as shutters rattled and posters fluttered. Our bakery window glowed; across the road, Zafira’s family pulled up their blind in one fast, triumphant sweep. Today was the Summer Bake-Off, written in gold on a banner that stretched like a ribbon between lampposts. The air was sweet with cinnamon; it felt like a holiday and a storm.

Our name—Haddon's—curled in careful paint across the glass. Mum said Grandad had taken a whole afternoon to get the letters right. Across the road stood Zafira’s Oven, their neat red sign shining as if polished all night. We had traded bread for thirty years. They had brought croissants, new ideas, and crowds. We were neighbours; we were rivals. Everyone knew it.

Dad rolled dough with steady, stubborn hands. "Keep it simple," he always said. Flour, sugar, patience, time: his recipe. I dusted the trays, brushing flour like snow. Across the road Zafira arranged pastries in rows as precise as soldiers, glazing them until they shone. Her son, Amir, waved a whisk at me in a grin that was almost friendly—almost.

The trophy sat near the fountain, a silver bowl catching light and throwing it back. The mayor would judge at noon; the first bell at ten. People trickled in with paper cups and gossip. I heard whispers about new fillings, about a secret spice. It mattered more than it should: a win meant customers, pride, a story for every family dinner.

The bell rang. Ovens hummed; timers ticked. I set out apple turnovers, the edges crimped like tiny waves, and tried not to stare across the road. Zafira had built a honeyed tower, held by caramel threads, fine as hair. Dad handed me the last sheet of puff and nodded. "You know what to do," he said. I breathed, reached for the apricots, and hoped our simple would beat their shine.

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

Option A:

The square is noisy and bright. Bunting flaps between poles in a light breeze. Sunlight glints on the sides of food vans; steam curls like white ribbons from hatches. A chalkboard menu leans against a red truck, letters smudged by eager fingers. The queue snakes, a slow river of prams and hungry faces. Bottles of sauce stand like soldiers: scarlet ketchup, mellow mustard, a green that promises chilli. A boy stares up at a tower of sugared doughnuts, eyes wide. The smell is a mixture—sweet cinnamon, fried onions, garlic that catches in the throat.

The sound is a busy song. Hiss and spit from the grill, hiss and spit; a pan clatters, a bell dings, someone laughs and then again. Oil pops. A blender whirs into life, then stops, then starts again. A chef shouts an order over the cheerful din. From a tinny speaker—music everyone half knows, a chorus rising and falling like the tide. Coins jingle; a contactless beep answers. Wooden tongs tap metal, tap-tap-tap. Children squeal. The bunting seems to applaud.

I balance a warm tray in my hands. Tacos, bright with lime and confetti-sprinkled coriander; the first bite is messy, crunchy, then soft. The heat blooms; I cough, then grin. Sugar sticks on the air near the doughnut stall, and a coffee machine sighs. As the sun dips, lights wake, and the festival keeps talking, keeps sizzling, keeps breathing. For a moment, under all that noise and colour, it feels like the town is at one long table.

Option B:

Morning slid over Market Street like butter on warm toast. Shutters rattled up, signs squeaked, and the air began to smell of coffee and courage. Opposite each other, two family shops faced off: Petrov’s Bakery, peeling blue door; Spice & Crust, proud red awning. On the town-hall board, a poster trembled: Best Bakery Challenge—today.

Inside Petrov’s, Anya dusted flour until the counter looked like snow. Her father watched the starter as if it were a sleeping baby. “Keep the crust bold,” he said. “Don’t rush the proof.” Tradition filled the warm room. Anya nodded, but her hands shook; she could hear the judges already.

Across the road, Arjun cracked cardamom pods. Nani measured saffron threads like gold. Their oven hummed—patient, steady—while trays lined up like soldiers. “Let them keep kneading the past,” Nani muttered. “We’ll bring something brighter.” Arjun brushed buns with syrup that shone, and the smell was sweet, sharp, different.

It wasn’t merely about pastry. Last year Petrov’s lost by one vote; the year before, Spice & Crust did. The trophy—glimmering and a bit silly—waited in a glass case. Winning meant more customers, a school-canteen contract, maybe a new mixer. There would be no excuses: not for either side. The street, somehow, held its breath.

Somewhere, a clock banged nine. Curtains twitched. A child pressed his nose to Petrov’s window, leaving a foggy oval. “We’ll be ready,” Anya whispered, not sure if it was to the dough or to herself. Arjun lifted the first tray and smiled, and the day felt like it was finally starting.

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

Option A:

At first, the festival looks like a patchwork of colours spread across the grass. Bunting flutters, and chalkboards lean with messy writing about specials: noodles, vegetarian tacos. A bright, colourful truck shines like a toy, its window a grin. Grills cough clouds, and smoke curls and curls above our heads. I can see glossy buns, jars of pickles, a heap of oranges like small suns.

Then the sounds come thick and fast: sizzle, hiss, clatter. Voices weave in and out—laughter, a shout, a child asking for more sauce. The vendor sings the menu in a friendly rhythm, and the card machine bleeps approval. The music lifts, I tap my foot. Oil pops, steam sighs.

Finally, the smells wrap around everything, thick as a blanket. Sweet cinnamon and smoky barbecue drift; sharp lemon, rich garlic. My stomach answers with a low growl. A drop of sauce escapes and runs down a wrist; it's sticky but it's definately worth it. The sun slides behind a cloud and the silver foil glimmers; the queue shuffles forward again. It is busy, a little chaotic, but friendly. For a moment the field feels like a small city of taste; I feel happily lost in it.

Option B:

The bell on our bakery door rings like a tiny alarm clock. Today is the day. The town has painted a bright banner over the square: Taste of Bridge Street, Best Family Business Award. Flour floats through the warm air and settles on my sleeves; it looks like snow that forgot to be cold.

Across the road, Patel & Daughters line up their saffron buns, their sign gleaming. Mum calls it friendly rivalry, but it doesn't feel that friendly when customers hesitate between our window and theirs. Same street. Who will they pick? Last year they beat us by one vote; Dad still talks about it like a bruise.

We stack loaves like bricks, we ice cakes until the frosting shines. I pipe my name on the lemon drizzle because I want them to know I helped, I want it to matter. Meanwhile Mr Patel waves at me, his grin is cheerful and sharp. My cousin, Rafi, lifts a tray like a trophy; I pretend not to see.

When the judge arrives—clip board, serious face—I can hear the mixer whirr and my own breath too. Our two doors open together, as if the street is holding its breath. It is only a little prize, but it feels bigger.

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

Option A:

The street is busy and bright. A long line curl in front of a colourfull truck, people stand with phones and coins, they keep moving a bit, then stopping. The air smell like chips and sugar. Smoke dances up, grey and white, it tickles my face.

Sizzle sizzle, the pans sing. A man shouts orders, his voice is like a bell, sharp. There is music somewhere, a drum beat boom boom, a guitar twang, children laugh and a baby crys. My stomach grones.

I see red flags waveing. Sauce drips down cartons, orange, green, red, it makes little rivers on the table, sticky. The bread is soft and warm, steam puff out, it smells spicy and sweet at the same time!

We was crowded, shoulders touching, but nobody minds, we all look at the food. The sun glare on the metal counter, it is too bright, I blink and the sound rush back, louder and louder, like the sea.

Option B:

Morning. Hot sun on the street outside our shop. The sign says Patels Bakery. Across the road the Lees Deli sign is big, it looks like it is shouting at us. The smell of bread is warm like toast.

To day is the big competion. Our family and there family both make pies. We have done this every year, like a race, the same race again. Dad wipes the counter, Mum ties her apron, me and my brother wait. The dough sits like a soft cloud.

Across the road Mrs Lee waves, but it is not a friendly wave. She smiles and then looks away. Their ovens hum. We was ready, mostly, but my hands shake a bit.

The judge will come at noon? He has a gold badge, I seen it before, and a little book. The sun is high, the street is bright. We watch the door. We wait. We watch again.

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

Option A:

The street is full of people in a long line by a bright food truck. There is loud music and shouting, pans go bang and oil spits. Smoke goes up and smells like meat and spice, it makes my eyes sting. The truck has big lights and a menu with pictures. Red and yellow banners shake in the wind. I see burgers and noodles and sweet cakes, my mouth is water. The beat goes boom boom again and again. A bus honks on the road for no reason, I think about my tea at home it is not like this. I seen a dog sniff chips.

Option B:

Morning. The street is cold and bright. Our family shop opens the red door. Mum wipes the glass. Dad pulls up the shutter. Across the road, Uncle Vik’s shop does the same. They look at us, we look at them. Today is the big day, the town fair and the sales competion, who will sell more pies and tea, it is like a race. I stack buns. My hands shake like a small bird. Posters flap on the pole. Grandma says keep smiling, we was ready. I nod. Clouds drift like flour in the sky and I can taste sugar. The bell rings.