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 What metal is the knob on the bright polished thing made of?: brass – 1 mark
• 1.2 From which part of the bright polished thing was the fire gleaming?: the lower part – 1 mark
• 1.3 According to the narrator, who understands the Snow Man's strange sensation on seeing the stove?: People who are not men of snow – 1 mark
• 1.4 What did the Snow Man assume about the stove?: The stove was of the female sex – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

Look in detail at this extract, from lines 26 to 40 of the source:

26 "I might as well go," said the Snow Man, "for I think I am breaking up as it is." During the whole day the Snow Man stood looking in through the window, and in the twilight hour the room became still more inviting, for from the stove came

31 a gentle glow, not like the sun or the moon; it was only the kind of radiance that can come from a stove when it has been well fed. When the door of the stove was opened, the flames darted out of its mouth,--as is customary with all stoves,--and the light of the flames fell with a ruddy gleam directly on the face and breast of the Snow Man. "I can endure it no longer," said he.

36 "How beautiful it looks when it stretches out its tongue!" The night was long, but it did not appear so to the Snow Man, who stood there enjoying his own reflections and crackling with the cold. In the morning the window-panes of the housekeeper's room were covered with ice. They were the

How does the writer use language in this section to show the strength of the Snow Man’s desire and the attraction of the stove? 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 perceptively analyse how anthropomorphism and sensuous imagery make the stove a seductive, living presence—its 'mouth' 'stretches out its tongue', it is 'well fed', and it emits a 'gentle glow' and 'ruddy gleam'—while the ironic parenthesis 'as is customary with all stoves' normalises the danger, heightening its allure. It would also show how temporal markers and multi-clause syntax intensify the Snow Man’s desire: the sustained, cumulative movement from 'During the whole day' through 'in the twilight hour' to 'The night was long', contrasted with his 'crackling with the cold', culminates in the exclamatory hyperbole 'I can endure it no longer'.

The writer personifies the stove to heighten its allure. The "gentle glow" suggests soft, intimate light, while "well fed" gives it appetite. When the door is opened, the "flames darted out of its mouth": the dynamic verb "darted" animates it, and the "ruddy gleam" falls "directly on the face and breast" of the Snow Man. This "ruddy" warmth and body lexis imply a caress, as if the stove touches him, intensifying attraction.

Furthermore, direct speech and exclamatives expose the strength of his desire: "I can endure it no longer" is hyperbolic and absolute; "How beautiful it looks when it stretches out its tongue!" The evaluative "beautiful" signals rapture, and the further personification "stretches out its tongue" hints at flirtation; the image suggests licking and kisses, making the pull irresistible.

Moreover, temporal structuring emphasises obsession. "During the whole day" he "stood looking in," and by "the twilight hour" the room becomes "still more inviting"—the comparative intensifier shows desire growing. Although "the night was long, it did not appear so" to him: distortion of time indicates fixation. Barrier imagery of the "window" reinforces longing, while onomatopoeia in "crackling with the cold" foregrounds physical cost of waiting.

Additionally, syntax and contrast sharpen the attraction. The clause "not like the sun or the moon; it was only..." uses contrast and understatement to set homely warmth against distant grandeur, privileging intimacy. "I might as well go... I am breaking up" layers idiom with foreshadowing of melting, revealing a desire powerful and self-destructive.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses personification to make the stove enticing—flames darted out of its mouth, stretches out its tongue, and being well fed—and warm colour imagery like gentle glow and ruddy gleam contrasts with the Snow Man crackling with the cold; the short, desperate declaration I can endure it no longer and the time focus (the whole day, the night was long, but it did not appear so) show the strength and persistence of his desire.

The writer personifies the stove to make it irresistibly attractive. The “gentle glow” is “not like the sun or the moon” but a domestic “radiance” that comes when it is “well fed”, giving it human needs and contentment. This comparison sets the stove apart from natural light, suggesting a homely warmth that pulls the Snow Man closer, especially at the “twilight hour” when the room becomes “still more inviting”.

Moreover, the personification continues as “the flames darted out of its mouth” and it “stretches out its tongue”. These verbs and body imagery make the stove seem playful and enticing. The exclamative “How beautiful it looks!” shows his awe, while the colour imagery of the “ruddy gleam” that “fell … on the face and breast of the Snow Man” suggests an intimate touch, intensifying the allure.

Additionally, the strength of his desire is conveyed through direct speech and hyperbole: “I can endure it no longer” is a short declarative that conveys urgency. Time is distorted — “The night was long, but it did not appear so” — showing obsession. Auditory imagery in “crackling with the cold” reminds us of danger, heightening the tension between his longing and the stove’s attraction.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment on effects; some appropriate detail; some use of terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses warm imagery and personification to make the stove attractive: phrases like "a gentle glow" and "a ruddy gleam" sound inviting, while "the flames darted out of its mouth" and "it stretches out its tongue!" personify the stove so it feels alive and tempting. The Snow Man’s strong desire is shown through dialogue and sentence forms, as "I can endure it no longer" and his waiting "stood looking in through the window" suggest urgency and longing.

The writer uses adjectives to make the stove sound attractive: “gentle glow” and “still more inviting” create warm imagery. The “ruddy gleam” falling on the Snow Man’s “face and breast” makes the heat feel close and tempting.

Furthermore, personification and metaphor present the stove as alive: it has a “mouth” and a “tongue”, and is “well fed”. The dynamic verb “darted” for the flames suggests energy that draws him in.

Moreover, the Snow Man’s direct speech shows strong desire. “I can endure it no longer” is a short, simple sentence, while the exclamatory “How beautiful it looks!” highlights his attraction.

Additionally, “The night was long, but it did not appear so” suggests time passes quickly because he is so focused, and “crackling with the cold” (onomatopoeia) shows he remains despite pain, showing how strong the stove’s pull is.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses simple descriptive words like "gentle glow" and "ruddy gleam" to make the stove seem warm and inviting. The Snow Man’s line "I can endure it no longer" and the image "stretches out its tongue" show his strong desire and how tempting the stove is.

The writer uses personification to show the attraction of the stove. The stove has a ‘mouth’ and ‘tongue’, which makes it seem alive and tempting. This makes the Snow Man want it more. Moreover, strong verbs like ‘flames darted’ and the words ‘ruddy gleam’ suggest warmth, showing why he is drawn to it. ‘I can endure it no longer’ shows his desire is powerful. Furthermore, the comparison ‘not like the sun or the moon’ highlights a special glow. Additionally, the exclamation ‘How beautiful!’ shows his intense longing. Overall, this shows his strong desire for the stove.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Temporal focus on persistence shows obsessive desire as he watches for the whole day.
• Comparative phrasing builds intensity; twilight makes the room still more inviting.
• Warm, domestic personification makes the stove nurturing and desirable when well fed.
• Dynamic verb choice animates the heat; attraction feels urgent as flames darted out.
• Playful personification turns heat into a tempting presence that stretches out its tongue.
• Colour/light imagery suggests rich, bodily warmth; the ruddy gleam falls intimately on him.
• Direct speech of desperation reveals irresistible compulsion: I can endure it no longer.
• Exclamatory admiration foregrounds aesthetic allure: How beautiful it looks.
• Distorted time perception shows fixation; the long night did not appear so.
• Sensory contrast heightens pull of warmth as he is crackling with the cold.

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 yearning?

You could write about:

• how yearning intensifies from beginning to end
• how the writer uses structure to create an effect
• the writer's use of any other structural features, such as changes in mood, tone or perspective. [8 marks]

Question 3 (AO2) – Structural Analysis (8 marks)

Assesses structure (pivotal point, juxtaposition, flashback, focus shifts, mood/tone, contrast, narrative pace, etc.).

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Analyses effects of structural choices; judicious examples; sophisticated terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would perceptively trace how temporal progression and shifts in focus intensify yearning—from the Snow Man’s initial strange sensation and the dog’s reiterated Away, away!, through obstructive concealment as the window-panes were covered with ice and a climax of I can endure it no longer, to the thawing denouement as it began to thaw and he broke and sank down—culminating in the retrospective reveal that he had a stove scraper in his body, which reframes the longing as an inevitable, fatal compulsion.

One way the writer structures the ending to cultivate yearning is by tightening the focalisation on the stove and rapidly recentring after digressions. The piece opens with the Snow Man’s fixed gaze at the “bright polished” stove; although the yard dog’s backstory briefly slows the pace, the narrative snaps back—“the Snow Man was no longer listening.” That shift in focus, paired with free indirect thought (“What a strange crackling I feel within me”) and the anthropomorphic “her,” converts curiosity into desire.

In addition, temporal sequencing escalates the ache. A chain of markers—“During the whole day,” “in the twilight hour,” “The night was long,” “In the morning”—pans across time to build a slow-burn crescendo. As darkness falls, the pace quickens with staccato glimpses of heat—“flames darted… with a ruddy gleam”—prompting, “I can endure it no longer.” Then structural obstruction intensifies desire: ice-flowers “concealed the stove,” forcing yearning inward as he idealises it “as if… a beautiful human being.” Proleptic warning—“The weather is going to change”—sustains tension for the reader.

A further structural choice is the tragic denouement followed by a retrospective reveal. The thaw is the pivot: as warmth increases, he “decreased,” silence replacing speech—a deceleration signalling surrender. The collapse “one morning” supplies closure, but the narrator’s coda—“behold!”—shifts perspective to anagnorisis: the stove-scraper “in his body” explains what “moved him so.” This delayed revelation renders the yearning innate and fatal, deepening pathos and irony, and the piece closes on the yard dog’s cyclical refrain, “Away, away!”

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 3 answer would explain that the writer intensifies yearning through a clear temporal build: sustained fixation 'During the whole day' and 'in the twilight hour' rises to crisis 'I can endure it no longer', then frustration when 'the window-panes... concealed the stove'. It would also identify the turning point and resolution—the tonal shift as 'The weather did change. It began to thaw' leads to collapse ('One morning he broke') and a retrospective reveal ('behold!', 'the shovel', 'stove scraper'), while the dog’s repeated 'Away, away!' punctuates the narrative to underline tragic inevitability.

One way the writer structures the text to create yearning is through a shift in focus. We move from his “look[ing]” at the “fire gleaming” to the yard dog’s flashback, yet the Snow Man “was no longer listening”. The narrative refocuses on his fixation with the stove. Direct speech and the rhetorical “Shall I ever get in there?” foreground desire, while the “window” keeps him apart.

In addition, temporal markers pace and intensify the longing. “During the whole day”, then “in the twilight” and “The night was long”, before “In the morning”, stretch time so the wish endures. Structural withholding heightens it: “ice flowers… concealed the stove”, so he must imagine her. The contrast that he “ought to enjoy” the frost but “did not enjoy it” emphasises yearning against setting. The refrain “Away, away!” creates a pulse of distance.

A further technique is the build to climax and reveal. As “it began to thaw”, the Snow Man “said nothing”, signalling inward collapse before the ending: he “broke and sank down”. The final retrospective explanation—“the stove scraper in his body”—reframes the longing as inevitable. Ending with the dog’s “Away, away!” closes the circle and leaves pathos.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response would note that the writer builds yearning by moving from the Snow Man’s first sight of the bright polished thing to a focus shift—But the Snow Man was no longer listening—so his wish grows from I must go in there to I can endure it no longer, with time markers (During the whole day... The night was long... In the morning) showing it increases. It might also spot the ending change—The weather did change and the reveal Ah, now I understand—which explains his longing and makes it sad for the reader.

One way the writer structures the text to create yearning is by focusing at the beginning on the stove and the Snow Man. He sees a 'bright polished thing' and feels a 'strange sensation', then asks, 'Shall I ever get in there?' This opening sets up his desire and makes the reader expect and sympathise.

In addition, in the middle, time markers show the yearning growing: 'During the whole day', 'in the twilight hour', 'The night was long', and 'In the morning'. The repeated looking through the window and the barrier of 'window-panes... covered with ice' keep him apart, so the longing increases.

A further structural feature is the ending, which shifts mood and explains the longing. The weather changes ('It began to thaw'), he 'broke and sank down altogether', so the yearning is never met. The final reveal, 'stove scraper in his body', comes after, making a sad resolution.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer starts with the Snow Man who 'looked' at the stove and felt 'a strange crackling', then moves through time from 'the twilight hour' to 'The night was long' until he says 'I can endure it no longer', showing the yearning builds. It ends with him melting ('One morning he broke and sank down') and the dog’s reveal ('now I understand' ... 'stove scraper'), which simply explains his longing.

One way the writer structures the text to create yearning is by a shift in focus and time words. At first the dog talks, but then the focus stays on the stove. Phrases like “during the whole day,” “in the twilight,” and “in the morning” show the longing growing.

In addition, the mood changes when the ice covers the window. The “ice flowers” hide the stove, so he can’t see it, which makes the wanting stronger.

A further feature is the ending reveal. The dog explains the shovel and pole inside him, so the reader finally understands his yearning.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• The text opens by fixing the Snow Man’s gaze on the stove, immediately establishing an inexplicable pull that seeds desire (strange sensation).
• A cautionary dialogue frame from the yard dog forbids the goal, using prohibition to intensify the longing (You must never go in there).
• Perspective pivots as the Snow Man stops attending to the dog, narrowing the focus onto his fixation and deepening the craving (no longer listening).
• Time is stretched across day, twilight, night, and morning, showing sustained, growing desire through chronological progression (During the whole day).
• Sensory escalation (glow, flames, “tongue”) rises to a structural climax where the yearning becomes unbearable (I can endure it no longer).
• Structural obstruction arrives when beauty hides the goal; the concealed view forces imagination, amplifying absence-driven longing (they concealed the stove).
• An ironic contrast sets ideal snowman conditions against his emptiness, foregrounding desire overpowering nature and expectation (But he did not enjoy it).
• Foreshadowing through the dog’s warnings and weather signals creates inevitability, aligning rising longing with impending change (The weather did change).
• The thaw sequence works as falling action where the desire culminates in silence and physical collapse, delivering consequence (broke and sank down).
• A final reveal retrospectively explains the yearning, a structural twist that reframes the whole narrative drive (stove scraper).

Question 4 - Mark Scheme

For this question focus on the second part of the source, from line 26 to the end.

In this part of the source, where we find out about the stove scraper, the tragic ending suddenly makes sense. The writer suggests that the Snow Man was drawn to the stove because of what was hidden inside him.

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

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of the Snow Man's longing for the stove
• comment on the methods the writer uses to present the revelation about the stove scraper
• 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 to a great extent that the writer’s viewpoint is convincing, tracing how personification, sensory imagery and dramatic irony foreshadow the cause—his being "stove-sick," entranced by the "gentle glow" and the stove’s "tongue," before the yard dog’s realization that a "stove scraper" inside him "was what moved him so"—so the tragic ending coheres. It would also acknowledge nuance, noting that his attraction is emotionally constructed as he "did not enjoy" the "frosty weather" and imagines the stove as a "beautiful human being," suggesting a figurative yearning for warmth/life alongside the literal cause.

I largely agree that the revelation about the stove scraper makes the tragic ending suddenly make sense, but I would add that the writer has already constructed a deeper, symbolic pull towards the stove through imagery and structure, so the final discovery confirms rather than solely explains his longing.

From the outset of this section, the Snow Man’s attraction is framed as irresistible and self-destructive. The verb phrase ‘I am breaking up’ is a double-edged foreshadowing, hinting both at his emotional disintegration and his literal collapse. The stove is rendered alluring through sensuous personification: its ‘gentle glow’ and being ‘well fed’ create a lexical field of appetite and warmth, while the flames that ‘darted out of its mouth’ and the way it ‘stretches out its tongue’ make it seem almost predatory. This anthropomorphism casts the stove as a seductive, living presence, so when the Snow Man declares ‘I can endure it no longer’, the reader senses an inevitable capitulation. The desire is not merely mechanical; it is narrated as a kind of enchantment.

That enchantment is intensified by thwarted vision. The ‘most beautiful ice flowers’ ‘concealed the stove’: an arresting juxtaposition in which what should delight a Snow Man denies him the object of desire. He projects humanity onto it—‘as if it had been a beautiful human being’—which suggests idealisation. The yard dog’s diagnosis—‘stove-sick’—elevates this yearning into a metaphorical disease; at the same time, his warning that ‘The weather is going to change’ is clear foreshadowing. The balanced construction ‘as the warmth increased, the Snow Man decreased’ reads like a chiasmic inevitability, a neat structural summation of fatal incompatibility.

The anagnorisis comes with the exclamative ‘behold!’ when he ‘broke and sank down’ and the ‘pole’ is exposed. The yard dog’s explanation—‘there’s the shovel… fastened to the pole… The Snow Man had a stove scraper in his body; that was what moved him so’—provides retrospective coherence. The pun on ‘moved’ (both compelling and physically embedded) ties inner cause to outward fate, lending the ending the logic of fable. Yet the fact that this explanation is voiced by the dog, a fallible commentator, and is preceded by the narrator’s wry aside ‘as is customary with all stoves’, reminds us that the writer also wants us to read the longing symbolically: a creature drawn to its antithesis, mistaking destructive heat for love.

Overall, I agree that the tragic end ‘makes sense’ because of what was hidden inside him; structurally and symbolically the writer roots his desire in an internal cause. However, the rich personification, thwarted vision, and foreshadowing suggest his yearning is also an existential pull towards what will undo him, making the explanation both literal and thematically resonant.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would mostly agree, explaining that the late structural reveal—via the yard dog—that the Snow Man had a stove scraper in his body makes his great longing for the stove coherent, foreshadowed by personified imagery like the stove’s gentle glow and when it stretches out its tongue. It would also note he imagines it as a beautiful human being, suggesting an emotional as well as mechanical pull, so the writer’s viewpoint is convincing but partly qualified.

I largely agree that the revelation about the stove scraper makes the tragic ending make sense, because the writer structures the episode so that the Snow Man’s longing is explained from within. However, the pull also feels emotional and symbolic, not only mechanical.

At first, the writer builds the Snow Man’s compulsion through vivid imagery and personification. The stove gives a “gentle glow,” is “well fed,” and has a “mouth” that “stretches out its tongue” in flames. This figurative language animates the stove and makes its warmth seductive. The “ruddy gleam” on the Snow Man’s “face and breast” suggests an almost human blush of attraction, so when he says, “I can endure it no longer,” the reader senses an overwhelming, internal urge. Even the verb “crackling” links him to fire, hinting at what draws him.

The writer then heightens desire through contrast and irony. The “most beautiful ice flowers” are praised, yet they “concealed the stove,” so the very cold a Snow Man “ought to enjoy” denies him what he craves. The metaphor “stove-sick,” reported by the yard dog, reframes longing as a kind of disease, implying an inward cause. The dog’s warning that “the weather is going to change” is clear foreshadowing of the melt and the tragedy to come.

Finally, the structural twist clarifies everything: after he “broke and sank down altogether,” the “broomstick” and the “stove scraper… fastened to the pole” are revealed. The yard dog’s anagnorisis—“that was what moved him so”—offers a retrospective explanation, so the ending “suddenly makes sense.” Yet the quiet detail “he said nothing and made no complaint,” and the brusque “Away, away!” preserve the pathos and suggest his yearning was also for warmth and life he could never possess.

Overall, I agree to a large extent: the hidden stove scraper symbolises the inner pull that drew him to the stove, and the delayed revelation neatly justifies the tragic outcome, even as the language sustains a more human, poignant longing.

Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 2 answer would agree to some extent, pointing to the yard dog’s line 'The Snow Man had a stove scraper in his body; that was what moved him so' as the reason for his 'stove-sick' longing. It would give simple examples like the 'gentle glow' and the stove that 'stretches out its tongue' to show how the ending is explained.

I mostly agree that the tragic ending makes sense once we learn about the stove scraper, because the writer suggests the Snow Man’s longing came from something hidden inside him. However, the language also shows an emotional attraction, not just a physical pull.

At first, the writer builds the Snow Man’s desire through imagery and personification. The “gentle glow” and “ruddy gleam” from the stove make the room “inviting,” and he cries, “How beautiful it looks when it stretches out its tongue!” The metaphor of the stove’s “tongue” makes it seem alive and tempting. There is a clear contrast: although it is the kind of weather “a Snow Man ought to enjoy,” he does not, because he is “stove-sick.” This suggests an unnatural longing. When the ice “concealed the stove,” he imagines it “as if it had been a beautiful human being,” which shows how the writer presents his desire like love.

Structurally, the revelation is delayed until the end for impact. The yard dog’s line, “The weather is going to change,” foreshadows the thaw, and then the Snow Man “broke and sank down.” The exclamative “behold!” signals the twist: the pole with “the shovel…for cleaning out the stove” is found, and the dog explains, “that was what moved him so.” This final reveal directly links his attraction to what was inside him.

Overall, I largely agree. The structural reveal makes the ending logical, but the writer’s imagery and personification also suggest a deeper, tragic longing, so the pull is both symbolic and literal.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response simply agrees, noting the yard dog’s reveal that there was a stove scraper in his body which was what moved him so, so the Snow Man’s great longing for the stove and the ending where he broke and sank down altogether make sense.

I mostly agree with the statement because the stove scraper reveal makes the Snow Man’s longing and the sad ending fit together.

The writer shows his desire with warm imagery: the stove gives a “gentle glow” when it is “well fed.” This makes it seem alive and inviting. The flames even “stretched out its tongue,” which is personification, so we understand why he says, “I can endure it no longer.” He stands all day at the window, and when “ice flowers” hide the view, he becomes “stove-sick.” This word shows he is ill with wanting the stove.

When the weather turns, he “broke and sank down,” so the heat he wanted destroys him, which feels tragic. At the very end, the dog finds “the shovel… for cleaning out the stove” fastened to the pole inside him. The writer saves this twist for the ending, and it explains his pull toward the stove: it was literally in his body.

Overall, I agree to a large extent. The simple clues and the final reveal make the ending make sense and make his fate seem even sadder.

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:

• Structural twist/revelation: the late disclosure of the stove tool inside him retroactively explains his longing and makes the demise feel fated rather than arbitrary (that was what moved him)
• Personification/sensory allure: by casting the stove as alluringly human, the writer builds desire that exceeds mere mechanics, complicating a purely material cause (beautiful human being)
• Foreshadowing via commentary: the yard dog’s diagnostic tone frames the craving as an inner compulsion destined to harm, pre-empting the final reveal (stove-sick)
• Seductive-danger imagery: the stove’s lifelike behavior entices while signalling risk, heightening the pull toward self-destruction (stretches out its tongue)
• Structural delay/concealment: the ice-screened window intensifies obsession and reserves the motive for the end, priming a satisfying causal answer (he could see nothing)
• Irony/juxtaposition: despite perfect frost, his dissatisfaction suggests an internal drive stronger than his nature, supporting an inside-out explanation (did not enjoy it)
• Causal parallelism: the balanced phrasing of melt and growth presents the outcome as a logical consequence of his attraction (as the warmth increased)
• Pathos of resignation: his quiet acceptance makes the tragedy poignant and the final cause feel like the missing key, not a trick (made no complaint)
• Concluding object-reveal: the pole and shovel anchor motive in physical reality, neatly justifying his fixation on the stove (fastened to the pole)
• Refrain/warning: the dog’s repeated command underscores inevitable loss and shows advice powerless against inner compulsion, matching the later cause (Away, away!)

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

A website for backpackers is holding a competition for short creative pieces.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Describe waiting by the side of a lonely road from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about an unexpected encounter.

(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:

The road draws a thin, stubborn line across the plain, a graphite mark against the bleached afternoon. Heat shimmers on its back, a low, liquid mirage; the world seems to quiver, as though it is undecided about staying solid. The mountains ahead are only an idea—those hazy blue ribs on the horizon—folding the light as the sun loosens itself from the day. Tar releases a faint, sweet smell; dust carries its own chalky language. Nothing moves quickly here except the light, sliding west, taking colour with it. In this stubborn quiet, the road is both invitation and refusal, a sentence that refuses its full stop.

I stand where the scrub thins to gravel, where lichen-scribbled stones make a casual audience. Waiting. The verge is a frayed hem: prickly weeds and bottle-green glass. Grasshoppers flicker like dislodged commas; a locust saws at the heat, insistent as a metronome. The air tastes of old coins. Wind worries the roadside tufts and then gives up; a paper scrap makes a reluctant pilgrimage to the ditch. Sound travels strangely—further and thinner—so that the memory of an engine arrives before any engine does, and leaves before I know it was ever there.

But time, beside a road, behaves differently: it stretches like pulled toffee, then puddles. I count things because numbers promise edges—thirty-seven cracks in the near white line; four V-shaped flights of swallows; one cloud almost becoming a ship. My watch is steady, indifferent; my pulse keeps trying to synchronise with the road’s inaudible beat. I try to be still, yet every muscle edits itself: a shoulder twitches, a hand adjusts its own shadow. Waiting makes a body louder. It magnifies the small: the itch under a collar, the sting of sun, the soft dent of earth under heel.

Once, the quiet is abruptly punctuated. A truck lifts from the distance like an answer scribbled in bold—bright chrome, a rectangle of noise, heat shearing off its flanks. It arrives; it passes; it is gone. A ribbon of diesel-thick breath lags behind, then unspools into sky. Dust rises in little, bewildered spirals and settles on my tongue, a bitterness. The road swallows the event without comment, smoothing itself back into stillness, as if nothing had occurred. The echo runs out into the fields and comes back thinner, apologetic.

Even so, the evening makes its soft arguments. The mountains deepen to a bruise; the sky bruises with them, violet stitched to amber. A silver coin of moon nicks the pale edge of the day. Shadows lengthen into something like company—my own doubled, the sign’s broken spine, a bird thinking better of landing. I think, briefly, of walking. For now, I wait. I wait because the horizon, despite itself, suggests a promise; I wait until the road, like a held breath, considers releasing me.

Option B:

Night had slicked the city into a single, shimmering skin; sodium light pooled on the rain-dark platform while trains stitched and unstitched the distance with brief, metallic needles. The loudspeaker cleared its throat and sighed, then listed destinations as if reciting a prayer: Wrenford, Brackenley, Halesford. Coffee steamed from a kiosk; the air smelled of burnt sugar and iron. Newspapers, damp and translucent, thinned underfoot. Somewhere a suitcase clicked; somewhere else, a child laughed in a way that made everyone, briefly, look kinder.

I was not there to be surprised.

By then the week had worn me blunt. My umbrella had surrendered; my shoes kissed water with every step; my bag—overpacked with dutiful documents and a bruised apple—dragged at my shoulder. I wanted only to make the 23:18, to sit in the warm carriage and watch the dark spit itself into fields and fences. If my thoughts were rehearsing anything, it was the small choreography of getting home: key, lock, light switch, kettle. This was a corridor between exertion and rest; the platform, in that moment, felt like a held breath.

My name arrived before he did. Mara. Not loud; not dramatic. Just the syllables, unspooling softly across the wet air with a particular cadence that unclipped something at the base of my ribs. I turned.

He stood beneath the clock’s red digits—older by years I could count and some I couldn’t—hands bare despite the cold, a pewter-coloured coat too thin to be of use. The left eyebrow still bore that pale crescent, the almost-moon where the swing had caught him; his hair, once black and unruly, had yielded to winter. He smelt faintly of tobacco and rain, the remembered amalgam of shed and night-shift. There was the trouble of him in the set of his mouth, the contrition and the stubbornness braided together, familiar as the groove in my own thumbnail.

“Mara?” he said again, testing it, as if names could have perished in the distance between us.

How do you answer a decade? With anger, with performance? With a shrug and a joke? The loudspeaker chimed; a train on the opposite platform arrived with a wind that lifted everyone’s coats and made halos of their hair. I heard the practical part of me inventory what was required—words, probably; distance, possibly; safety, certainly—while another, less disciplined part managed only the visceral arithmetic of recognition. I had constructed a careful life without him; here, abruptly, the past had bought a ticket and stepped onto my platform.

He shifted, reached into his coat, and withdrew a small, dented tin—the blue one that once rattled peppermints in church, the one I had last seen in a drawer that stuck. He held it out, not pleading, not forcing; merely offering, as if the gesture could reconcile ballast and drift.

“I didn’t know if you’d want this,” he said, voice low, almost lost to the wind and the announcing. “Or me.”

The clock flicked; somewhere a laugh turned into a cough. The unexpected, fully arrived, waited to see what I would do.

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

Option A:

The road unspooled ahead like a dulled ribbon, pale grey and blistered, vanishing into the haze that softened the mountains. The centre line peeled to flecks, chalky as bone. A telegraph wire ran beside me, a single notation across an enormous stave; when the wind touched it, it sang a thin metallic whine. The sky held a blanched light that flattened everything. I stood on the rough verge where brittle grasses leaned and seedheads ticked against my trousers. The landscape looked spacious and indifferent; it would not hurry for me.

The smell here was particular: warm dust; the faint chemical sweetness of tar; a hint of herb from something stubborn between stones. Grit in the wind pricked the skin. A bottle rattled in the ditch, shouldering along and then catching; a wrapper flashed and settled; a crow perched on the fencepost. The strap of my bag drew an aching line across my shoulder. I checked my watch, though I knew it would not help; the minutes stretched thinly, like pulled sugar, and refused to snap.

Every sound at the edge of hearing made me lift my head. A swell in the air—engine? Only the breeze, worrying the dry stems. The quiet was not empty; it was stitched with small insistences: the soft drumming of my pulse and the wire’s high complaint. I raised my thumb once, felt foolish, lowered it. Who chooses to be conspicuous on a road this bare, under a sky this enormous? Still, I faced the distance, as if the act itself might coax it closer.

Waiting is a discipline; you practise holding still until your thoughts adopt the pace of light inching across stone. The road became a sentence I could not finish: a clause and another clause—then an ellipsis... The mountains shifted from blue to grey and back again, like a memory rehearsing itself. I could have walked. I could have turned around. Yet the prospect of that single, unwavering line tugged at me—stubborn, austere, almost consoling.

At last a sound grew that did not dart away. Layer on layer—tyres, pistons, a low throb—and a silver car detached itself from the shimmer. It approached; it made my heart step up and then stumble. The driver glanced—friendly or wary, impossible to tell—adjusted his course, gave me a considerate berth, and went by. A scatter of grit tapped my shins. The air closed after him as if he had parted a curtain. I adjusted the strap, pushed my hands deeper into my pockets, and waited again.

Option B:

Tuesday. Rain needled the city into attentiveness; gutters gargle, bus engines mutter, and pigeons take shelter under the eaves like guilty thoughts. An announcement fractures the air—something about delays, leaves, a revised timetable—and the sound hangs there, metallic and indifferent.

I stand at Platform 4 with my coat damp, the hem licking my shins. The coffee from the kiosk rises like a promise I can't quite believe; it smells burnt, sugary, necessary. I am late; I am tired; I have a plan: get on the 08:12, sit by the window, let London unspool backwards. Avoid remembering.

Then he steps out from behind a pillar, and the neat order of the morning tilts. He turns his face to the announcement board; a strand of wet hair clings to his forehead. There is the thin white scar bisecting his left eyebrow, the one he got when we fell from that rusted fence and swore to tell no one. His mouth is set in that same almost-smile, cautious and ironic, as if the world were a joke only he could hear. Five seconds. Ten. An entire summer unfurls between us.

We were seventeen the last time I saw him; the river was swollen, and the air tasted of rain and apologies we were too proud to give. After that: rumours, then nothing—silence louder than any news.

The clock clicks forward with a tidy indifference. Around us: wheelie cases hum; a child negotiates for a pastry; a woman mists her glasses with her breath. I try to arrange my face into the mask of someone unbothered. Do I walk over? Do I pretend I haven't noticed? What are the odds—after years, after all the intricate detours—that he stands two metres away, holding a flimsy paper cup as if nothing has altered?

He glances sideways, just a flick of the eyes; it is enough. Recognition arrives like a flare sent across a black field. His eyebrows lift; mine probably do, too. We share a single, impossible thought: of course it's you.

A train tears through on the fast line, dragging a wind that lifts papers; in its wake, the platform seems newly delicate. He steps closer—just one step—and the smell of rain and coffee touches the air between us. "Sam," he says, my name careful in his mouth, as if it might shatter.

I had rehearsed a hundred versions; none involved Platform 4. What comes out is foolish and sincere. "You kept the scar," I say.

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

Option A:

The road unspools ahead of me, a grey ribbon pulled tight toward the hazed, blue mountains. On either side, scrub and brittle grass crouch low, holding their breath. The paint in the centre is cracked, flaking like old bone; the verge is bare except for a few spindly thistles that throw thin shadows. The sky is so pale it feels used up, a bowl of washwater overturned on everything. My boots make soft, uncertain scuffs on the dust. There is no house, no fence, no face here—just road, and the careful hiss of wind.

I stand by a leaning mile marker, its numbers bleached to near nothing; it points somewhere that might as well be nowhere. Waiting slows the day, and me. Sounds peel out in layers: a fly’s irritated buzz, the static-hum of wires, the dry click of settling stones. Heat rises from the tarmac in delicate tremors, as if the air is breathing. I taste salt and grit. A torn plastic bag snagged in the scrub brushes back and forth, back and forth, like it has decided to stay.

Every so often I look up the long straight, and I think I see movement; it is only shimmer. The mountains smudge into paper, I squint, and the colour changes—blue to grey to something less certain. Minutes stretch, elastic and reluctant. I count them, thumb ticking at my pocket. The bottle in my rucksack glugs a last, ungracious swallow. I imagine the engine note of a truck, a car, even a bicycle; maybe footsteps. Who else is out here, besides the road and me?

The road does not answer; it keeps its own counsel. A hawk loops once overhead, then slides away as if bored. A dust devil lifts, dances, falls apart—nobody claps. I could turn back, but the distance behind is no kinder than the distance ahead. The sign dangles its silence. I wait, and I wonder what I am waiting for: a lift, a reason, a change in the light. Later, an engine growls; it fades. Still, I wait. I wait until the sun leans and the shadows lengthen. I keep waiting.

Option B:

Evening. The hour when shop windows yawn and the sky bruises to purple; when pigeons tidy their quarrels and the city exhales a tired breath. The bus shelter wore a film of drizzle, advertisements peeling at the corners like old labels. I stood beneath its Perspex roof and watched raindrops race down the timetable as if in a quiet competition. I had missed the 6:10, then the 6:25; the 6:40 limped towards me—delayed, delayed.

Earlier, I had been practising answers: strengths, weaknesses, a smile that would not crack. The interview hadn’t been a disaster or a triumph; just fine, that cardboard word. Meanwhile, the street simmered around me—the hiss of tyres on wet tarmac, the faint cinnamon of roasted nuts, someone arguing softly into a phone. I would go home, make pasta, email the manager. Sometimes life folds a corner in your day so you can find it again later; sometimes it tears the page.

However, that was when he arrived.

He didn’t so much arrive as appear, sliding into the plastic seat with the carefulness of someone who has learned to take up less space. Grey at the temples now, jacket slightly too big, hands like maps. Coins sang in his pocket; rain jewelled his shoulders. He turned his face and I saw the pale thread of a scar stitching his eyebrow. I knew it in my chest first, like a dropped stone.

Eight years. The number walked round me slowly, counting.

My father.

He glanced at me and smiled—tentative, apologetic, almost brave. “Is this seat taken?” he asked, ordinary as the weather. I shook my head; my mouth had forgotten its uses. He cleared his throat. “You still bite your cheek when you’re thinking, kiddo.” The name nudged me in the ribs; nobody else says it. Words piled up behind my teeth, too many, too late. The bus growled into view, heavy with its own rain.

Yet as its lights swam toward us, something in me steadied, the way a coin settles after a wobble. I could get on. I could run. Or—unthinkably—I could stay.

Above us, the timetable dripped. Between us, the past sat down and made itself known.

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

Option A:

The road runs like a grey ribbon towards the hazy hills; it looks both close and far. I wait on the verge, my bag at my ankle, grass flattened into a pale fringe. Heat shivers; everything flickers. The white line blinks, marching away. A leaning fence post watches, splintered and patient. The sky feels bleached, a thin bowl. The sun presses down, steady and without pity.

Silence is not empty here. It hums. There is the faint buzz of insects, the creak of a metal sign that turns when the wind decides. Gravel clicks under my shoe when I shift. A smell of warm tar lifts from the road; it is sweet and bitter, like burnt toffee. I taste dust when a gust passes—fine, gritty, familiar. Far above, a small bird threads a thin song, then lets it fall.

I measure time with small things. The shadow of my body crawls across the verge; the fence’s shade moves a finger at a time. There is a rhythm to waiting: look, listen, breathe. I sit; I stand; I pace two steps and come back. My phone shows no bars, so I tuck it away. I picture the car that should appear, engine coughing, paint catching light. Will it come from that pale horizon, or from behind, sudden and loud?

Now and then a sound rises, hopeful. A low growl from the hills is only thunder; a shimmer on the tarmac is only heat pretending to move. Once, a beetle crosses the white line like a tiny pilgrim. A cloud slides over the sun; the road inhales, then brightens again. I wait, not unhappy, just held. The road keeps stretching, calm and stubborn. I straighten my bag, listen for that first rumble—the one meant for me—and stay.

Option B:

Morning carried a thin light; autumn cracked underfoot. Buses hissed; the pavement shone like wet slate.

Every day I walked the same path to the station; left at the florist, past the mural of a blue whale that peeled like old paint. Routine felt safe, like a coat pulled tight around the ribs. I checked the time, adjusted my scarf, and pretended I was early.

That was why I almost missed it: the small flash at ankle level, a silver wing tipping out from the crowd. A locket, oval, with a tiny bird and a scratch shaped like a comma—the same scratch I knew. I lost it on the 42 bus two winters ago; I had searched, posted notices, and woke at night thinking I would hear it scrape the floor.

It hung now on the throat of a woman waiting under the shelter. She wore a sea-green coat and a hat with a frayed ribbon. Her hair, grey and a little wild, stood out in the damp air; her eyes were pale and watchful. She was talking quietly to herself, as if the rain held a reply.

My heartbeat climbed; my feet did not move. I was not ready for this—I was not ready for her. 'Excuse me,' I said, my voice thinner than I wanted. She looked up, and I thought she knew me; her gaze was quick as a bird. 'Do I know you?' she asked. I almost said, 'You have something of mine,' but the words tangled. I pointed instead—the locket—and the bus roared in, spraying water over our shoes. When she clasped it in her fist, tight as if it hurt, I realised this was not a simple mistake; it was a door, half-open, and I had already stepped through.

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

Option A:

I wait by the side of a lonely road. The white line is flaked like dry skin. The road runs straight, tight as a stretched string. Heat shivers above the tarmac; the hills at the horizon blur into pale shapes. It is quiet; the kind that makes your breathing sound rude. No cars, no voices, no footsteps. Only the wind in the brittle grass, hissing. A bent sign creaks, a tired door on a house that isn't here. Dust on my tongue; heat prickles my shoulders.

Time moves oddly out here: slow, then faster, then still. After a while the shadows crawl across the verge like thin animals. The road itself feels awake, a long black river, but it leads to nothing I can see. The mountains lay like sleeping dogs, their backs hazy under the glare. I check my phone; no bars, just my own face in the dark glass. How long am I meant to wait? I listen for an engine—for a rumble—but the world holds its breath.

Meanwhile, the sun slides lower, a copper coin on the edge of the sky. Colours thin; the heat eases, yet the air smells of tar and sage. I think about who I'm waiting for, and the promise they made; words can be light, they blow away on roads like this. Waiting and waiting, the words tick in my head. Eventually, I step back, raise my hand—just in case. The horizon doesn't answer. So I stay, and I keep waiting.

Option B:

Rain stitched thin lines across the bus shelter; my breath fogged the glass. Shops were closing; the kebab sign buzzed; the air smelt of vinegar and damp wool. I counted coins, the metallic smell on my fingers. The sky sulked. I was tired of waiting. What was I even doing here, in this small town that never changed?

The florist bell chimed and a person hurried past with white lilies. Then someone ducked under the shelter, shook water off their hood, and turned. My stomach did a small flip. Maya. We hadn’t spoken for three years, not since the fight behind the sports hall—words tossed like pebbles that bruised. She looked different; sharper cheekbones, a new coat; the same thoughtful eyes. A pale scar still curved by her mouth from when she fell. She smiled, I looked away.

"Didn't expect to see you," she said, her voice careful, like stepping on thin ice. "Neither did I." Rain eased; buses sighed past. I held my bag tighter. Inside was a folded letter I never sent—apologies and explanations scrawled in my messy handwriting. For a moment we just stood, shoulder to shoulder but miles apart. Then, at the same time: "Sorry." "Me too." The old ache loosened, not vanished, but softer. It was strange how an unexpected encounter could do that, in a shelter that smelt of chips and wet cardbord. When our bus finally arrived we let it rumble away. We crossed to the café; its windows steamed like tiny mountains.

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

Option A:

The road runs straight into the pale hills, thin and quiet, like a ribbon left behind. I wait by the crumbling verge with my bag on the ground and my shadow stretching long across the dust. The tarmac seems to breathe with heat; small ripples wobble in the distance. My boots scuff the gravel and it crackles. How long now?

At first I tell myself someone will come soon, any second, and I stand straight. After a while, my shoulders droop and the wind finds me. It pushes at my coat and lifts a hair across my eyes. A lonely sign squeaks on its post, squeaks again. I listen for an engine - nothing. I listen for birds, only a thin whistle. The silence is loud, it presses on my ears. Dust gets on my tongue; it tastes like chalk and tyres.

Finally the light softens and the mountains turn hazy, almost purple. The road waits with me, patient, stretching on and on. I count the cracks, one to five, then again. A paper bag scuds over the ditch, circles, then lies still: like it gave up too. When a far hum starts I hold my breath, it fades, it comes back, it fades.

Option B:

The evening train was late. The platform shivered in a thin wind, and the tannoy crackled a tired apology. I hugged my backpack and stared at the yellow line. Lights blinked like sleepy eyes. I told myself to keep my head down. I told myself to just wait, to be patient, to think about the journey: ticket, seat, quiet. I didn't want surprise. Not tonight.

Then a shape moved at the far end. A man stepped out of the steam from someone's coffee, tall, in a rain-grey coat, with his collar up. Something about the way he held his shoulders tugged at an old memory. That's when I saw him: the scar above his eyebrow, the same careful walk, the same stubborn mouth. My stomach did a tiny flip. What were the chances? My name was a taste on my tongue, bitter and sweet at once.

He turned. The crowd pressed by, their voices a rushing river, I swallowed. He looked straight at me and smiled, small and unsure. 'Leah?' he said. It was my name, and his voice was almost how I imagined it would be. I didn't move – for a second I couldn't.

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

Option A:

The road goes on and on. It is straight like a long ribbon. I stand by the side with my bag and I wait, my feet hurts

The sky is pale and the hills are far, they look hazy and soft like smoke.

I am waiting and waiting, I count the cracks. Dust lifts when my shoe moves.

A metal sign squeeks above me, it makes a tired little cry. It flips and it dont know the wind.

It is quiet: too quiet. No cars come; the silence sits on my shoulders and makes me small.

I hold my phone but there is no bars. I put it back. I look down, then up, then down.

The wind taps my ear like a small finger and then it stops

I kick a stone, it goes nowhere. I think about tea.

The road keeps going to the hills. I wait by it, like a dot.

Option B:

Evening. Cold wind pressed the houses. The street lights hummed and the pavement was wet and shiny like glass.

I walked home from school with a heavy bag, I was tired and my shoes squeeked. It was just a normal day.

At the bus stop there was a man in a old coat, he kept his head down, he looked up and his face was pale. He looked like someone I seen in a photo long ago, my heart was like a drum. I slowed down. The wind pushed me on.

He said my name.

I didnt know him. so how did he know me, I wanted to turn back but my feet stuck to the ground and the bus roared past and splashed my legs and I didnt even move, I just stared.

He smiled, a small smile, and I heard the coins in his pocket shake…

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

Option A:

I stand by the side of a lonely road. The road is long and straight, like a grey snake, it goes to the hills away. The wind pushes my jacket. The sky is pale and the sun hides. It is quiet, only a small car far off and then nothing. There is no cars. Stones crunch under my shoe, crunch and crunch, waiting and waiting... I look at my watch but it is slow, or maybe i am slow. A bird skims the fence, I think about tea at home. I dont move, I watch the white line, it goes on and on.

Option B:

It was just morning and I walk to the shop, the sky looked grey like wet wool and the road was wet from the rain my hands were cold, I keep my hood up and I dont look around much. The bus hissed at the stop and I heard a dog bark somewhere, it made me jump! I thought about chips for lunch for no reason. I dropped my coin and it rolled away under the bench and I bent to grab it. A shoe was there, right in front of me I looked up slow and I knew that face, I didnt want it.