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 sound was in the narrator's ears?: a clap of thunder – 1 mark
• 1.2 What was hissing round the narrator?: a pitiless hail – 1 mark
• 1.3 Where was the narrator sitting?: on soft turf in front of the overset machine – 1 mark
• 1.4 What change does the narrator notice in the narrator's hearing a moment later?: The confusion in the narrator's ears clears. – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

Look in detail at this extract, from lines 16 to 25 of the source:

16 “My sensations would be hard to describe. As the columns of hail grew thinner, I saw the white figure more distinctly. It was very large, for a silver birch- tree touched its shoulder. It was of white marble, in shape something like a winged sphinx, but the wings, instead of being carried vertically at the

21 sides, were spread so that it seemed to hover. The pedestal, it appeared to me, was of bronze, and was thick with verdigris. It chanced that the face was towards me; the sightless eyes seemed to watch me; there was the faint shadow of a smile on the lips. It was greatly weather-worn, and that imparted an unpleasant suggestion of disease. I stood looking at it for a little

How does the writer use language here to present the white figure and the narrator’s feelings? 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 typically analyse how the simile "like a winged sphinx" and verb choice "hover" mythologise the "white marble" figure as monumental yet uncanny (reinforced by scale: "a silver birch-tree touched its shoulder"), while the oxymoronic personification "sightless eyes seemed to watch me" and the ambiguous "faint shadow of a smile" create an eerie, almost sentient presence. It would also explore the contrast of purity and decay in "weather-worn", "verdigris", and the "unpleasant suggestion of disease" to show the narrator’s unease, and note how the tentative opener "hard to describe" and long, semicolon-linked sentences mirror his cautious, scrutinising gaze.

The writer initially foregrounds the narrator’s uncertainty through the blunt declarative “My sensations would be hard to describe”, signalling inarticulacy born of awe. The metaphorical “columns of hail” aligns with the emerging semantic field of architecture; as they “grew thinner”, he “saw the white figure more distinctly”, a cinematic unveiling that heightens anticipation.

Moreover, simile and classical allusion construct the figure as monumental and uncanny: “in shape something like a winged sphinx”, with the “wings… spread so that it seemed to hover”. The dynamic verb “hover” grants a statue the potential for movement, creating a liminal, almost supernatural presence. Scale is reinforced when “a silver birch-tree touched its shoulder”, a personifying detail that humanises the statue and stresses its vastness.

Furthermore, personification and paradox animate the inanimate: “the sightless eyes seemed to watch me”. The oxymoronic pull between “sightless” and “watch” produces the uncanny sensation of being observed by stone. Likewise, the “faint shadow of a smile” is a metaphor that intimates life within deathly marble, simultaneously inviting and menacing, which unsettles the narrator.

Additionally, the lexis of decay—“weather-worn”, the pedestal “thick with verdigris”—introduces colour and texture imagery that connotes time’s corrosion. The medical metaphor in “an unpleasant suggestion of disease” contaminates the purity of “white marble”, a disturbing juxtaposition that feeds disgust. Finally, tentative, hedging modality—“it appeared to me”, “It chanced”, “seemed”—and long, semi-coloned sentences enact his wary, meticulous scrutiny, before the quiet clause “I stood looking at it for a little” crystallises his conflicted fascination and dread.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses clear imagery and comparison to make the statue imposing and eerie: the simile "something like a winged sphinx" and the detail that the wings "were spread so that it seemed to hover" make the "white figure" feel supernatural, while material/colour words like "white marble", "bronze" and "thick with verdigris" suggest age and decay. Personification and emotive description—"sightless eyes seemed to watch me", the "faint shadow of a smile", and "weather-worn" giving an "unpleasant suggestion of disease"—with the short, uncertain opener "My sensations would be hard to describe" show the narrator’s uneasy fascination and fear.

The writer first uses the first-person voice to reveal uncertainty: “My sensations would be hard to describe”, which presents the narrator as unsettled. The metaphor “columns of hail” and the phrase “grew thinner” create a lifting veil, building suspense as the “white figure” comes “more distinctly” into view.

Moreover, the simile “in shape something like a winged sphinx” casts the figure as mythic and intimidating. Scale is stressed when “a silver birch-tree touched its shoulder”. The verb “hover” makes the statue feel unnaturally alive. Precise noun phrases—“white marble”, “bronze”, “verdigris”—use colour imagery to suggest age and corrosion, presenting the figure as ancient.

Furthermore, personification in “the sightless eyes seemed to watch me” creates a disturbing paradox; although the eyes are blind, they still “watch”, intensifying the narrator’s anxiety. The metaphor “faint shadow of a smile” is ambiguous, hinting at menace rather than warmth. The adjective “weather-worn” and the phrase “unpleasant suggestion of disease” carry negative connotations, shaping his disgust.

Additionally, the semi-coloned sentence layers observations, while the short sentence “I stood looking at it for a little” slows the pace, showing his transfixed fear. Thus, language presents the figure as eerie and imposing, and the narrator as awed yet uneasy.

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 simple description and clear techniques to show the statue as impressive but eerie, calling it very large, of white marble, and like a winged sphinx, while the personification the sightless eyes seemed to watch me shows the narrator feels uneasy. The short sentence My sensations would be hard to describe. and negative phrases like weather-worn and unpleasant suggestion of disease suggest his confusion and discomfort, and seemed to hover adds a mysterious effect.

The writer uses a simile to present the white figure as strange and impressive: it is “in shape something like a winged sphinx,” which helps the reader picture it and shows its power and mystery. The verb “hover” also makes it seem almost alive or supernatural. Furthermore, the adjectives “white marble” and “thick with verdigris” suggest age and coldness, so the statue feels ancient and decayed. The personification in “sightless eyes seemed to watch me” creates a creepy effect, as if the figure is aware. Moreover, the “faint shadow of a smile” makes the mood uneasy, and “an unpleasant suggestion of disease” shows his discomfort. The narrator’s feelings are shown in the simple sentence “My sensations would be hard to describe,” which shows confusion and awe. Additionally, “I stood looking at it for a little” suggests he is fixed in place, emphasising his uneasy fascination.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses descriptive words and a simile like 'very large', 'of white marble' and 'something like a winged sphinx' to show what the figure looks like and make it seem unusual. Phrases such as 'the sightless eyes seemed to watch me' and 'unpleasant suggestion of disease' make it creepy and show the narrator feels uneasy, with 'My sensations would be hard to describe.' hinting he is confused.

The writer uses a simile "something like a winged sphinx" to show the white figure is strange and statue-like, so the reader can picture it. Furthermore, personification in "the sightless eyes seemed to watch me" makes the figure feel alive and creepy, showing the narrator feels uneasy. Additionally, the adjectives "large" and "white marble" suggest coldness, while "weather-worn" and "verdigris" make it seem old and diseased. Moreover, the short sentence "My sensations would be hard to describe" shows his confusion. Therefore, the language makes the figure eerie and shows his mixed feelings.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Opening metacomment expresses inexpressible emotion, setting an uncertain, awed tone (hard to describe)
• Gradual reveal structures tension as visibility increases, sharpening focus on the figure (more distinctly)
• Scale through natural reference suggests monumental, intimidating presence (very large)
• Classical simile evokes mystery and enigma, distancing the figure from the everyday (winged sphinx)
• Kinetic illusion animates a statue, blending stillness and motion to unsettle (seemed to hover)
• Colour/material lexis implies cold purity and lifelessness, emphasising inhumanity (white marble)
• Decay imagery conveys age and neglect, undercutting ideal beauty with corrosion (thick with verdigris)
• Paradoxical personification creates an uncanny gaze, heightening the narrator’s unease (sightless eyes)
• Ambiguous facial detail hints at concealed intent, generating eeriness and distrust (faint shadow of a smile)
• Hedging and pausing suggest tentative perception and a lingering, mesmerised scrutiny (it appeared to me)

Question 3 - Mark Scheme

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

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

You could write about:

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

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

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

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Analyses effects of structural choices; judicious examples; sophisticated terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would trace the structural arc from disorientation ('clap of thunder', 'Everything still seemed grey') to delayed revelation as the narrator fixates on the 'white figure' ('I stood looking at it for a little space', 'As the columns of hail grew thinner', 'the hail curtain had worn threadbare'), widening the enigma through rhetorical questions ('What might appear', 'What might not have happened to men?') before a partial unveiling ('the grey downpour was swept aside') and the tease of contact ('Then I heard voices approaching me') to intensify curiosity. It would also highlight how temporal markers ('Presently', 'At last'), shifts in scale—from 'the overset machine' to 'huge buildings' to 'a group of figures'—and a tonal pivot ('I looked more curiously and less fearfully') control pace and perspective, strategically withholding and releasing detail to sustain curiosity.

One way in which the writer structures the opening to arouse curiosity is by plunging us in medias res into sensory confusion and then orchestrating a gradual reveal. The narrative begins with disorientation—“a clap of thunder,” “everything… grey”—and the crucial noun “overset machine” is initially unexplained, withholding context. The weather functions as a visual veil; the “hail curtain” that “wore threadbare” stages the unveiling of the scene. As the veil lifts, focus is foregrounded on the uncanny White Sphinx, whose “sightless eyes seemed to watch me,” a paradox that unsettles and makes the reader peer alongside the narrator, heightening curiosity about where—and when—he has arrived.

In addition, the writer engineers purposeful shifts in focus and pace to escalate curiosity. A structural pivot occurs with the volley of rhetorical questions—“What might appear…? What might not have happened to men?”—which proleptically invites speculation about this world’s history. The camera then “zooms” from emblem (the statue) to landscape (“huge buildings”) to partial human glimpses (“heads and shoulders”), maintaining a drip-feed of information. Pace accelerates with urgent parataxis as he grapples “fiercely” with the machine, before decelerating—“I looked more curiously”—to allow scrutiny of the “slight creature” in the “purple tunic.” Even here, indeterminacy (“I could not clearly distinguish”) sustains the enigma.

A further structural feature is the sustained first-person perspective, reinforced by temporal markers (“presently,” “in a moment”) and a refrain (“I looked round me”), which control disclosure. This restricted viewpoint, alongside the mood shift from panic to poise, aligns us with his curiosity. The extract ends on a structural hook—“I took my hands from the machine”—a poised, threshold moment that withholds his next move and compels the reader to read on.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer builds curiosity through focus shifts and a gradual reveal: from initial disorientation ('clap of thunder', 'grey', 'hail curtain') the viewpoint moves from the 'overset machine' to the 'White Sphinx', then 'huge buildings', and finally 'voices approaching me' and a 'slight creature', each new detail withholding full answers. Time and mood markers ('Presently', 'At last', 'Then') and a pivot into fearful rhetorical questions ('What might', 'What if') drive a change from 'panic fear' to looking 'more curiously', sustaining the reader’s desire to discover what this future world holds.

One way the writer structures the text to create curiosity is by opening in medias res with a tight sensory focus that gradually widens. We begin amid a “clap of thunder” and “grey” confusion around an “overset machine”. The writer drip-feeds setting details—“little lawn”, the looming “White Sphinx”, then “huge buildings”—a zoom-out that withholds context and makes the reader ask where and when we are.

In addition, the focus shifts from external description to interior speculation through interrogatives. As the hail “curtain” lifts, the narrator asks, “What might appear…? What might not have happened to men?”, foregrounding uncertainty and escalating the stakes to provoke curiosity about this future world.

A further structural choice is the change in pace and the delayed introduction of people. After frantic action (“grappled… turned over”), the mood steadies and the focus narrows from a distant “group of figures” to a single “slight creature” approaching. The sustained first-person viewpoint limits knowledge to his perceptions, and the ending—“I took my hands from the machine”—acts as a hook, withholding answers and inviting us to read on.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer creates curiosity by starting with confusion — "Everything still seemed grey" — then gradually revealing more as the storm thins ("As the columns of hail grew thinner") and using a question like "What might appear when that hazy curtain was altogether withdrawn?" to make the reader wonder. By the end, new sights and people appear ("Already I saw other vast shapes", "voices approaching me") and the narrator says "I looked more curiously and less fearfully", so we want to know what will happen next.

One way the writer has structured the text to create curiosity is at the beginning by starting in action. The opening 'clap of thunder' and the 'overset machine' throw us into a strange scene. The first-person viewpoint shares his confusion, so we want to know where and when he is.

In addition, in the middle the focus slowly widens. As the hail clears, we move from the 'White Sphinx' to 'huge buildings'. This step-by-step reveal changes the pace and tone, shifting from panic to 'more curiously', which makes the reader want to see what comes next.

A further structural feature is how new characters appear at the end. The distant 'figures' become 'voices approaching me' and a small man in a 'purple tunic'. Ending on this meeting and 'I took my hands from the machine' acts like a hook and builds curiosity.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: At first the focus is on disorienting setting and weather ('clap of thunder', 'pitiless hail', 'little lawn'), then it shifts to a mysterious object ('White Sphinx') and finally to people ('group of figures', 'voices approaching me'), which makes the reader curious about who they are and what will happen next. As the storm clears ('the sky was lightening') and more is revealed ('huge buildings'), the mood moves to 'more curiously and less fearfully', giving small clues that build curiosity.

One way in which the writer has structured the text to create curiosity is by starting suddenly. The beginning drops us into thunder and hail: 'clap of thunder' and 'I looked round me.' This makes the reader wonder where he is and what has happened.

In addition, the writer uses questions. The narrator asks 'What might appear?' and 'What if...?' These make the reader wonder about the strange future.

A further structural feature is a change of focus: machine, 'White Sphinx', buildings, then 'voices approaching' and a small person at the end, making us want to know what happens next.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• In medias res disorientation delays context and provokes questions about time/place and cause (clap of thunder).
• Obstructed viewpoint and gradual thinning of the storm drip-feed setting details, inviting scrutiny as the veil lifts (worn threadbare).
• Prolonged focus on a single enigmatic landmark centres mystery and purpose, making readers speculate on its role (White Sphinx).
• Oscillation in perception as the hail shifts makes the statue seem unstable, keeping us unsure what we’re seeing (advance and to recede).
• A barrage of rhetorical questions opens unsettling possibilities about humanity, widening the unknowns that demand answers (What if cruelty).
• Structural pivot from gloom to clarity reveals a new scale of world, deepening curiosity about its function and history (stood out clear).
• An action interruption (attempting escape) delays exposition, sustaining curiosity by postponing exploration of the scene (grappled fiercely).
• Tonal shift from fear to inquiry signals a new investigative phase, encouraging us to watch closely alongside the narrator (more curiously).
• Staged entrance of inhabitants—distant watchers to partial glimpses to one figure—keeps identities withheld and questions alive (heads and shoulders).
• Sensory contrast from pelting cold to unexpected warmth hints at the strangeness of this world, prompting curiosity about its environment (warm the air).

Question 4 - Mark Scheme

For this question focus on the second part of the source, from line 31 to the end.

In this part of the source, the White Sphinx statue is described as unsettling and diseased. The writer suggests there is something secretly wrong or threatening hiding in this new world.

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

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of the White Sphinx statue
• comment on the methods the writer uses to suggest a hidden threat
• 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 largely agree that the writer crafts a viewpoint of latent menace, analysing how the White Sphinx is figured as a predatory, uncanny presence—a "crouching white shape" behind a "hazy curtain"—and how rhetorical questions ("What if cruelty had grown into a common passion?", "inhuman, unsympathetic, and overwhelmingly powerful") and the simile "I felt as perhaps a bird... knowing the hawk wings above" imply a hidden threat, while perceptively qualifying the “diseased” claim by redirecting it to the future people’s "consumptive" "hectic beauty" and "indescribably frail" bodies rather than the statue itself.

I largely agree with the statement: the White Sphinx is framed as an unsettling, almost diseased emblem, and the writer threads a persistent sense of latent threat through the description of this future world.

From the outset, the statue is introduced in ominously zoomorphic terms as a “crouching white shape”, a phrase that strips it of human artistry and gives it a predatory readiness. The colour “white” suggests pallor rather than purity—an anaemic, unhealthy hue—so the statue’s stillness feels like a sickly vigilance. This unease is intensified by the narrator’s anaphoric barrage of rhetorical questions—“What might…? What might…? What if…?”—which constructs a spiralling paranoia. The movement from speculative cruelty to the fear of an “inhuman, unsympathetic, and overwhelmingly powerful” race escalates the stakes, and the narrator’s fear of being viewed as “a foul creature to be incontinently slain” reverses the predator–prey relationship, positioning him as vulnerable prey beneath a watchful sentinel.

Even when the weather clears, the writer’s pathetic fallacy undercuts any comfort. The storm dissolves “like the trailing garments of a ghost,” an eerie simile that keeps the Gothic, haunting register alive. The personified sun that “smote” the scene with its “shafts” carries violent, biblical connotations; light does not reassure but strikes. The world sharpens into “intense blue,” yet the narrator “felt naked,” his simile of the bird “knowing the hawk wings above” making the threat explicitly aerial and unseen. This is key to the sense of something “secretly wrong”: menace is atmospherically present but not yet visible, the Sphinx functioning as a symbolic riddle whose answer is withheld.

Structurally, the writer cleverly juxtaposes splendour and sickness to imply concealed decay. The “huge buildings” glitter “picked out in white,” while the inhabitants’ first appearance is partial—“heads and shoulders… running”—which keeps them uncanny. Although one figure appears “very beautiful and graceful,” he is “indescribably frail,” his “flushed face” likened to a “consumptive.” This oxymoronic “hectic beauty” communicates a surface loveliness masking disease. The effect is that the future’s allure—“rich soft robes,” summer sky—is a veneer over physiological decline. In that light, the White Sphinx’s “crouching” whiteness reads as emblematic of a civilisation whose poise hides pallor, and whose watchfulness conceals a riddle of predation.

Overall, I agree to a great extent: through symbolism (the Sphinx), Gothic imagery, and structural contrasts, the writer crafts an atmosphere of covert menace and sickly splendour, suggesting that beneath this bright new world something is indeed wrong, waiting, and watching.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 3 response would largely agree with the writer’s viewpoint that something is secretly wrong or threatening, explaining how ominous detail like the crouching white shape, the narrator’s panic fear and the predatory metaphor hawk wings above, alongside anxious questions (What if cruelty had grown into a common passion?), imply hidden danger. It would also note diseased or weakened imagery in the people (indescribably frail, like a consumptive) while briefly acknowledging a softening contrast in their very beautiful and graceful appearance.

I largely agree that the White Sphinx is unsettling and that the writer hints at a concealed threat. When the narrator looks at the “crouching white shape,” the noun phrase and the adjective “crouching” give the statue an animalistic, predatory posture. Its “white” pallor and namelessness (“shape”) feel lifeless and uncanny. The noun “temerity” signals he has overstepped, and a barrage of rhetorical questions (“What might …? What if …?”) builds paranoia that humanity has become “inhuman” and “overwhelmingly powerful.” This method implies a hidden corruption.

The diction of the clearing weather uses personification and gothic imagery (“the sun smote,” “like the trailing garments of a ghost”), keeping the scene uncanny even as the sky turns “intense blue.” The simile “as … a bird … knowing the hawk wings above” makes the threat invisible but imminent. His reactions—“panic fear,” “frenzy,” grappling—show he feels hunted even when the storm lifts.

Even when people appear “by the White Sphinx” and run towards him, the initial impression seems threatening, but the first figure is “beautiful … frail.” However, the simile comparing his face to “the more beautiful kind of consumptive” and the phrase “hectic beauty” introduce a lexical field of illness. This supports the idea of something “diseased”: the future looks elegant yet sickly, and the frailty hints at degeneration beneath the surface. Structurally, the shift from panic to “confidence” briefly challenges the statement, but the sickness imagery and recurring focus on the Sphinx maintain an undertone of wrongness.

Overall, I agree to a large extent. Through symbolism in the White Sphinx, unsettling rhetorical questions, and contrasting weather and similes, the writer builds a bright, enticing surface that conceals something predatory and decayed, so the new world feels secretly threatening even when it looks beautiful.

Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 2 response would mostly agree, pointing to the hidden threat through the unsettling 'crouching white shape', the narrator’s 'panic fear' and feeling 'naked in a strange world', and the hawk image ('hawk wings above'). It would briefly mention simple methods like rhetorical questions—'inhuman, unsympathetic, and overwhelmingly powerful?'—and unhealthy hints such as 'consumptive' to support this view.

I mostly agree with the statement. The White Sphinx is presented as unsettling, and the writer hints that something hidden and dangerous may be in this future world.

At the start of the section, the narrator looks up at the “crouching white shape,” which makes the statue feel predatory. The word “crouching” suggests it could pounce, and the colour “white” can feel cold and lifeless. The narrator then fires off a series of rhetorical questions: “What if cruelty had grown into a common passion?... What if… the race had… developed into something inhuman…?” These questions show rising anxiety and imply a secret change for the worse. The metaphor of the “hazy curtain” being withdrawn suggests things are being hidden from him.

As the storm clears, the ghostly imagery adds to the unease: the rain vanishes “like the trailing garments of a ghost.” This simile makes the scene feel haunted. He says, “I felt naked in a strange world,” and compares himself to a bird with “the hawk wings above,” which suggests a hidden predator ready to strike. His “panic fear” and “frenzy” show how threatened he feels.

Although his courage begins to return, the world still seems suspicious. Figures watch him from a “circular opening… high up,” which feels secretive. The first small man is “beautiful and graceful,” but also “indescribably frail,” and the comparison to a “consumptive” brings in disease imagery, hinting that this future is damaged beneath the surface.

Overall, I agree to a large extent: the statue and setting are unsettling, and the writer uses imagery, similes and rhetorical questions to suggest a hidden threat, even if brief moments of calm slightly challenge this.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 1 response would simply agree that the writer senses a hidden threat, pointing to basic phrases like 'panic fear', 'My fear grew to frenzy', the 'crouching white shape', and worry about 'something inhuman'.

I mostly agree with the statement. The White Sphinx and the new world feel unsettling and hint at a hidden threat. The narrator looks at the “crouching white shape,” and the adjective “crouching” makes it seem animal-like. The writer uses rhetorical questions like “What if cruelty had grown…?” and the “hazy curtain” image to show fear and suggest something hidden is wrong. There is also strong fear imagery: “I was seized with a panic fear” and “my fear grew to frenzy.” The simile “like the trailing garments of a ghost” feels haunted, and the “hawk” simile makes the world feel threatening. The illness idea appears when the small man’s face is “consumptive” and “indescribably frail.” This sounds diseased and weak. However, there are moments that are calmer: the storm clears, the sky is “intense blue,” the buildings are “clear and distinct,” and the creature is “very beautiful,” so the narrator “regained confidence.” Overall, I agree to a large extent that the description presents the statue as unsettling and suggests a hidden threat in this new world.

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:

• Disease imagery makes the statue feel physically corrupted and unsettling, implying a world tainted or ill: unpleasant suggestion of disease.
• Paradox of perception (sightless yet watching) creates uncanny surveillance and a hidden agency: sightless eyes seemed to watch.
• The ambiguous, almost human expression hints at deceitful calm masking threat: faint shadow of a smile.
• Predatory posture presents latent menace in the landscape: crouching white shape.
• Shifting, hallucinatory movement under the hail destabilises reality, heightening unease about unseen forces: advance and to recede.
• Veil metaphor and the narrator’s questions foreground fear of what lies behind appearances: hazy curtain was altogether withdrawn.
• Speculative degeneration amplifies the sense of a concealed, hostile power in this future: inhuman, unsympathetic, and overwhelmingly powerful.
• Predator–prey simile casts the traveller as vulnerable quarry under threat: hawk wings above.
• Monumental scale and complexity imply dominance and potential for hidden dangers within the built world: huge buildings with intricate parapets.
• Counterpoint: the arrivals appear beautiful and graceful yet indescribably frail, so immediate menace is challenged even as unease about what’s hidden persists.

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

A local vet surgery is celebrating fifty years and wants creative entries for a memory book.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Describe an old and much-loved pet from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about a difficult farewell.

(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:

Sunlight slants across the kitchen tiles, puddling in pale rectangles that warm his paws. He lies in that brightness like a late ember, a soft, patient hearth of a dog. His coat is a faded tapestry—earth-brown threaded with silver—while his muzzle wears the dignified frost of years. There is the faint, familiar perfume of him in the room: rain-damp wool, crushed grass, biscuits, and the comforting musk of old leather; when he sighs, the collar tag gives a neat, apologetic chime.

Time has written itself upon him in careful script. The nose is cracked like a dry riverbed, yet still cool and inquisitive; the whiskers are white quills, fanned and finicky; those clouded eyes—amber coins filmed with a soft fog—hold the steady flame of recognition. His ears, frayed like velvet cuffs, twitch at invisible news. Under the fur, the scaffolding of him shows: pronounced knuckles of bone, pads thick as cork. Even the fur along his spine has its own geography, whorls and eddies, a palimpsest of seasons.

And yet—because love makes exceptions to arithmetic—in sleep he is young. One paw pulses, then another, then the faint paddling begins: the old sailor turning, rounding an imagined headland. You can see the dream gather, see it tip him into the surge—fields unspooling, the bright delirium of beach wind, gulls thrown like paper into the blue. Once, he sprinted like weather; once, he outran your laughter. Now the running exists in the delicate tremor of toes, and it is enough, or almost enough.

When he wakes, he does so ceremoniously, a slow unfurling that suggests both gravitas and stubborn joints. He heaves, adjusts, rotates by inches; he folds himself down again with the particular choreography of elders, as if preparing the floor for rest. The room accommodates him without question. Chairs are nudged to the side; the rug is worn to a soft oval where his ribs rise and settle. He leans—oh, that lean—shoulder first, into your shins with the quiet insistence of tide on rock, and you feel steadied by his gravity.

His smile, because there is one, tucks itself into the corners of his mouth. When you call, the tail answers before anything else—measured, metronomic, an old clock keeping reliable time. He still pads after you, shadowing your footsteps with an almost comic solemnity, a little old soldier of a dog: faithful, faintly creaky, indomitably present. He asks for little—a cool tile, a hand, a slice of sunlight—and gives a room back to itself, gentler than he found it.

Outside, the afternoon thins to gold. Inside, he shifts and releases a contented breath, the kind that drifts and settles like dust motes in a church. You smooth the fur along his neck—coarser now, sprinkled with ash—and your palm comes away with a fine constellation. It glitters on your sleeve. He opens one eye, and the fog recedes just enough to find you, to know you, to name home without a sound. For a heartbeat, the years forget their pace; for a heartbeat, everything holds.

Option B:

Autumn. The season of letting go; trees unfasten their leaves, and the air curdles to apple-sweetness. The house held its breath. Iris folded her life into increments: a scarf wound into a tight coil; a stack of books belted with twine; a box daubed FRAGILE as if paint could ward off fate. The suitcase waited by the door, navy and scuffed, its wheels tattling about departure. Outside, wind rehearsed farewells against the letterbox. She tightened the zip; the sound was a small, serrated sentence.

He hovered in the doorway with two mugs, steam braiding upwards. "You could stay another week," he said, almost lightly, as if postponement were an implement you could fetch from a drawer. Iris smiled, then stored it. "The tenancy starts Monday." He nodded. On the table, circles of tea-stains made a palimpsest of breakfasts; a photograph leaned against the fruit bowl. The house had been elastic around their grief; now the elasticity was gone, and the leaving was ineluctable.

By the time they reached the station, afternoon had begun its retreat. Platform 3 was a liminal strip—concrete, yellow line, rail; then the dark mouth of elsewhere. The board stuttered with cities. Coffee steamed; pigeons paraded like officials. The tannoy cleared its throat and issued instructions. Her father took the suitcase handle. "Change at Grantham. Keep your bag close." Advice came from him like rain—measured, trying not to drench.

The train announced itself before it arrived: a vibration underfoot, a breath of metal on the tongue. Iris looked at her father's hands—hands that had fixed taps, made pancakes, held on when holding on was impossible. What can language do at the edge of a parting? She tried to stack the essentials: gratitude, apology, an I love you too large for a narrow exit. He got there first. "Text me when you get in. Eat something decent. Sleep." Small words; ballast.

"Go on," he murmured.

She climbed aboard. The aisle yawned; a suitcase knocked her shin; she found a seat and pressed her palm to the glass as if she could suture the distance before it split. Outside, her father lifted a hand. The window made him two things at once—solid figure on the platform, ghost in her reflection. She wanted to run back, to un-ask the future; instead, she mouthed the obvious. He mouthed it back. The vowels fogged and cleared.

With a shudder, the train began to move. The platform slipped, the yellow line unspooled, the station peeled away. Iris watched until her father's shape was gathered into the crowd, then the city, then the idea of him. Autumn is the season of letting go; still, as the rails stitched their relentless seam, the lesson pricked.

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

Option A:

The afternoon light spills across the rug, warming the patch where he has settled, chin on paws, eyes half-mooned and heavy. His muzzle is wintered with silver; each whisker a fine thread of frost, a quiet testimony to long years. He is old. Not broken, not diminished—simply slowed and softened. His breathing is a small tide: in and out, in and out, in and out. The house seems to breathe with him; clock and kettle fall into his rhythm, as if he were the metronome.

If you lean close, he smells faintly of biscuits and rain and warm wool. The leather of his collar has a pale oval worn by my thumb; the tag thrums against it with a soft tick when he shifts. His ears—once pricked like flags—fold now like tired leaves, yet when the cupboard door sighs open, they lift (not much, but enough). The fur along his spine is a soft, mottled map, and under my palm his warmth gathers, steady as embers held in ash.

When he decides to rise, it is a ceremony; forelegs slide forward, back lengthens, a sigh unspools from deep in his chest. He stands, thoughtful; the click of his claws on tile is delicate. Once he sailed across fields; now he charts the geography of the kitchen, table leg to mat to water bowl, tracing familiar routes carefully. His eyes are clouded glass, but they still find what matters: my face, my hand, the door that means return. Dignity sits on him like an old coat, worn but fitting.

There is a constellation of tiny scars on his nose, the cartography of mischief long outgrown. He has a vocabulary of looks: a questioning tilt, a sideways glance, a blink that somehow says please. On winter evenings he presses his weight against my shins—an anchor, a promise unspoken. He knows our house the way a gardener knows soil: by feel, by weather, by patience. He wakes before the kettle sings; he sleeps when the TV murmurs nonsense, and still he waits by the door at five.

Sometimes he dreams. Paws twitching, cheeks puffing—little barks caught, then let go—as if the puppy he once was is galloping in place. We laugh, then quiet: watching him is like reading our history; he is the archive that keeps it safe. I lay my hand on that wintered muzzle, and the tide of his breath meets the tide of mine; steady, steady, steady.

Option B:

The station clock was honest; it did not slow for shaking hands or for my mother's eyelids trembling like moths. Frost clung to the platform, and the loudspeaker cleared its throat—polite, metallic. This was the morning we had practised naming but could not make behave: the morning Ali left in a uniform too new. The rails hummed, a thin music; I inhaled it, sharp as coin, and tried to organise my heart.

Ali's boots looked like decisions—lacings pulled tight, polish catching the pale light. He smiled, or tried to; the smile snagged on the scar by his lip. "It's only basic," he said, as if the word could soften edges. Mum nodded too quickly, worrying the bobble on her hat. I wanted to be useful, brave. How do you pack a childhood into a rucksack? Lego rivers, nettle stings, the jokes that landed late: it all seemed untransportable.

We had built forts from sofa cushions and declared the living room a country. He used to knot my laces with a flourish; now he was knotting something else—promises to strangers, to a flag sewn by people we did not know. "Mind the gap," the announcement chimed, thinnish and absurd, as if the gap was only between platform and train.

"Here," I said, and pressed into his palm the smooth river stone we’d carried back the summer the bridge flooded. It was foolish to give a stone to a soldier; I knew that. But it was heavy with the ordinary—chips, graffiti, my thumbprint ghosted on it. He closed his fingers (warmer than mine), and for a second we were conspirators again.

The train’s nose slid into the station with a tidal shudder; windows flashed blank. People surged—elbows, apologies. Mum clung and then let go too soon. I hugged him harder than I meant to, smelling polish and winter and the faint citrus of borrowed foam. "Be safe," I said. "I’ll text," he promised, which was both everything and nothing.

The doors blinked; the doors warned; the doors began to close. "Please mind the gap," the voice returned. I did. I minded it with all the might I had. Between hush and hiss, between what I wanted and what he wanted, lay that neat, painted warning, bright as a bruise. The train slid forward, and in the glass I caught a double of us—his face layered on mine, then drifting.

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

Option A:

The afternoon sun pools on the kitchen tiles, and he has found it again. He lies with his grey muzzle slightly open, breath whistling; a snore like cloth on wood. Dust drifts in the beam; his ribs lift and lower, regular as an old clock: in, out, in, out. The fur along his back has faded to the colour of toast, worn thin where hands have stroked him for years. His paws twitch at nothing in particular, though I imagine him chasing the same stubborn pigeon that taunted him.

For all his age, the details are still him: one ear tip frayed like a leaf, the red collar bleached to pink. The brass tag reads Bramble, though the letters have softened. When I cross the room he opens one eye—amber, clouded like tea left too long—and his tail ticks once, twice against the tiles. He heaves himself up with a careful grunt; joints murmur; he circles, then settles with a sigh, as if the show alone tired him.

In the mornings he used to shepherd me to the gate, nose nudging my knees; at night he stationed himself by the back door like a guard. He knows the house like a map: the cool cave under the table, the warm hollow by the radiator, the slick patch at the threshold. Sometimes he will canter across the grass, ears flapping like flags; afterwards he sleeps the afternoon away, unashamed, content.

Age has edited him, but not erased him. His breath is sweet-sour, his gums pale, his eyes milky; yet his gentleness has grown, too. He leans his head against my knee and stays, heavier than I remember—or perhaps I finally feel all of him. He still startles at thunder, still shuffles to the door at the sound of keys. There are things he loves: sunshine, gravy, my hand, being near.

Now the room hushes itself around his breathing. The light slides, slow as a yawn, across the floor. In, out, in, out. Old, yes; and much loved.

Option B:

Goodbyes are heavier than luggage; they sit on the tongue like coins, cold and oddly bright. The station breathed around us—coffee, rain, yesterday’s news. Above our heads the clock blinked; it didn’t slow. People threaded past with suitcases and set faces, as if moving could soften it. My mother held my ticket between two fingers, like it might rip or fly, and the paper trembled although the air was still.

I had packed in the middle of the night, folding the soft life of my room into corners: a scarf that smelt of the garden, a book I hadn’t finished. Each zip sounded final. The suitcase—sunflower yellow, too cheerful—looked wrong against the dark platform. In my pocket the key to our front door pressed a bruise into my palm; I didn’t open my hand.

You’ll be fine, she said, and her smile tried to stay. She had braided her hair too tightly, as if tidiness could hold her together. We had planned sensible things to say: don’t forget to ring, eat properly, keep your money safe. However, the words jammed, knocked off balance by the train’s warning hum. I nodded too much. She fussed with my collar, then stopped, as if her hands remembered they were hers.

The train came in like a decision. Brakes squealed; damp wind rolled along the carriages; doors gaped in rhythm. The crowd lifted and shifted. Our hug was awkward, then fierce; her coat smelt of washing powder and a hint of last night’s smoke. For a second I was seven again. Farewell sat between us, determined not to be said. Yet the timetable ticked; one more breath and it would be too late.

I stepped back. She looked older; or maybe it was the lighting. We didn’t wave. Then she pressed the ticket into my hand, pinning me to my choice, and I climbed on. The window’s reflection layered our faces and then separated them. When the train eased out, she lifted her hand. At last, I managed a smile that didn’t fit. The world moved, but the coin on my tongue did not.

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

Option A:

His muzzle is silvered, a frost that spreads over brown fur. Under the lamplight he sleeps on the rug, ribs rising in a careful rhythm—up, down, up, down—like a slow tide. One ear tilts, then relaxes. The nose is cracked a little at the edges; the whiskers sit like soft wires, slightly crooked. When he sighs, a small cloud of warmth drifts, and his paws twitch as if following a memory. The tag on his collar, oval and thin with scratches, nudges the floor with a gentle tap.

We call him Barney. Once he raced the wind, tearing along the field. Now he shuffles to the door and waits, patient, determined. His hips click sometimes; his nails tick against the kitchen tiles. He smells of rain and old wool, with a hint of biscuit in his bed. There is medicine in the cupboard—a brown bottle; he eyes it with a tired look.

When I kneel beside him, his eyelid lifts, cloudy but kind, and the thready tail taps twice. The fur beneath my hand is both rough and soft, a worn blanket that someone has carried for years. On winter mornings we walk slowly, counting the hedges. He sniffs every story the pavement offers: leaf mould, last night’s barbecue smoke, a fox that passed like a rumour. He leans into me at crossings, trusting, and I lead him over as if I am the one learning.

He is not a king or a hero; he is simply ours. In the quiet, his snore is gentle and funny, a wheezy harmonica that settles the room. The lamp hums, the clock ticks, and the house breathes with him. I trace the letters on his tag and hope his dream is a field, bright and cool. Old, yes, and a little fragile—but loved beyond measure.

Option B:

Morning. The platform held its breath, and the sky was the colour of unpolished cutlery. A speaker crackled with announcements; the syllables came brisk and sharp. Somewhere a coffee machine hissed; steam slid across the cold air, blurring everything. Goodbye was suddenly a heavy object in my mouth—I could turn it over, but I couldn't quite lift it.

Tom stood with his rucksack and the stiff new uniform that still smelt like a shop. His boots were glossy; he'd polished them twice. He tried to grin. It wobbled. I counted the pale stones between the tracks, as if numbers could keep time still. My heart pattered like a small bird indoors.

Last night we packed in silence, mostly. He folded the old football shirt he never wore anymore and paused over small treasures: a rubber shark, a ticket stub, Dad's broken watch. We remembered our summer map—the one we planned to fill with red pins: the lighthouse, the ruined mill, the lookout hill. We ran out of weekends, or courage, or both.

"Don't look like that," he said, not unkindly. "It's just a year." His voice had a brave shape, but a tremor ran underneath, like a thread pulled too tight. I wanted to say everything at once and also nothing; I wanted him to stay. The guard's whistle lifted; metal shivered along the rails.

We hugged, clumsy and strong. The buttons on his coat were cold against my cheek. "Be careful," I said, which was ridiculous and the only thing I could manage. He stepped up; he turned back; he lifted a hand. The doors closed with a click. As the train slid away, my reflection stretched in the window and then broke into pieces.

The platform exhaled. I stood with empty hands and tried to swallow the word at last.

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

Option A:

His grey muzzle rests on my shoe, warm and a little damp, and the soft snore slides in and out like a small tide. His whiskers tremble at some lazy dream; one paw twitches, then settles. In the afternoon light his coat looks peppered with frost, brown and silver, old but still clean. There is a smell to him: biscuits, blankets, the garden after rain. The tag on his red collar hangs thin as a coin rubbed for luck. He lies by the back door, I leave it open for the cool air; the house seems to breathe with him.

Once he ran like a spark. Across the field, down to the stream, through yellow leaves; he flew. Sticks were ships, puddles were oceans, every path a story he had to follow. I remember his wet nose in my palm and that burst of barks. The same paws now are cracked and careful, the nails blunt; his legs lift with a little ache, like an old gate. He still makes for the door when I say walk, even if the walk is shorter, slower, more deliberate.

Now his eyes are cloudy at the edges, but when I rustle the tin they shine, still bright, still greedy. Sometimes he nudges my knee, asking for that scratch under the ear. Thump, thump, goes his tail against the rug, again and again. We have been through winters, loud fireworks, quiet Sunday mornings. He is my old friend—soft, stubborn, a little broken maybe, and still mine.

Option B:

Autumn. The time of endings; leaves letting go of their tight grip, an orange sigh across the street. It felt appropriate, and yet unfair, that our goodbye had to happen now.

The station smelt of grease and coffee. The tannoy crackled and muttered names of places I had never been. His suitcase was scuffed at the corners. He checked his watch, then the ticket, then me - like there might be an answer hiding in my face. How do you say goodbye to someone who has been your map? I tried to think of something brave. I managed a smile; it wobbled.

We spoke about nothing: the weather; the delay; the way the pigeons strutted between boots. Small words, light as crumbs, because heavier ones would have sunk us. He said, "You'll be fine," and the sentence bumped into me, clumsy but kind. I wanted to believe it, I almost did.

When the train rolled in, the platform shivered. Doors yawned. People surged, a tide pulling at our ankles. He pulled me into a hug, tight and ordinary, like the last page of a book you don't want to finish. His coat smelt of soap and the faint smoke from our old fireplace. "Let go," I told myself, but my hands didn't listen; they stayed.

Then the whistle. A step back; another. He climbed aboard. He waved, I waved, and in that thin strip of glass our faces looked the same - brave, and not. The train tugged away, and leaves skated after it, letting go, letting go.

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

Option A:

He lies curled on the rug, nose buried in his peppery fur. The grey around his muzzle is like frost on grass, untidy. Each breath is a small wave, in and out, and his whiskers tremble. There is the warm, biscuit smell of his collar and the old blanket we never wash properly. His paws twitch as if he chases something far away. A sigh slips out—old. His tail taps the floor once, twice, a quiet thud that makes me smile.

He is slower now; but the stubborn heart inside him keeps going. Once he flew across fields, ears bouncing like flags. Now he shuffles; he pauses, he thinks. Still, he meets me at the door, leaning his weight into my knees as if to say, I was waiting. His eyes are cloudy, marbled almost, yet there is a glint there, a joke we still share. I hear the click-clack of his nails on the tiles, it sounds like a small clock. His trophies: a chewed lead, a frayed rope, a fading photo of us at the sea. Who could not love this tired, faithful face?

I stroke his grizzled head and he leans into my palm; his breath goes in, goes out, and I stay.

Option B:

Autumn. The time when the town breathes out; leaves let go, cold sits on my shoulders, and the light feels thinner. It should be simple, but saying goodbye never is.

The platform was damp and shining. My small case kept bumping my leg and the handle squeaked. Mum stood next to me, hands hiding in her sleeves, eyes shining like wet glass. I tried a smile - it wobbled. The clock over us ticked loudly, like it wanted to shove us forward.

At first we talked about nothing. Tickets. Lunch. Whether I packed my charger and the old scarf. Then the loudspeaker coughed and called my train. Something in my chest moved, a bird that did not want to fly.

"You’ll be fine," she said, too quick. "You will, you’re brave." I wanted to say, don’t be brave, just come with me. She looked at me, I looked away. I am sixteen and my words feel small.

Finally, the guard raised his whistle; a thin sound cut the morning. People shuffled. Doors sighed. Mum pulled me in. She smelled like coffee and the washing powder she always used. My face pressed into her shoulder and the world got quiet.

It was time.

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

Option A:

His grey muzzle rests on my knee. His breath is slow and warm. He smells of old blanket and rain. His fur is rough at the back, soft like cotton at his ears. His eyes are cloudy, like shallow water, but still kind. He sighs and the whole room seems to sigh. The clock ticks. Buster blinks and sleeps again, a small snore, snore, snore.

He used to be fast like a little storm.

Now he shuffles to the door and sits. The tail thumps, back and forth, back and forth on the floor. He looks at me, I look at him. We don’t need words. I remember the beach and him chasing my hat and the wind but now he just watches the light move across the rug, and that is ok. He isn’t young, he ain’t, but he is mine! Good dog, always. I stroke his old head and he smiles a tiny bit

Option B:

Morning. The platform was cold and wet. Steam came like breath from the train. The metal smell was in my nose and my hands felt numb. Mum held the old suitcase. It looked heavy, the wheels squeaked.

She said, I will call you, I will be back soon. Her voice was small. I nodded but I didnt believe it. I wanted to say dont go, I wanted to say stay, I wanted to say nothing at all, so I just looked at her shoes. They were brown and scuffed like stones on the road.

It was time - the whistle blew and the doors beeped and people moved, too many elbows and bags, everyone saying goodby in a rush.

She hugged me and I stood stiff, like a post. I seen her step in, the doors shut, and the train slid away. I waved but your hand feels empty after.

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

Option A:

My dog is old. He lays on the mat by the door and sleeps in the day. His fur is grey round his mouth, his eyes are cloudy and kind. When he snores its soft and slow. I touch his ear and it is warm, it flops. He dont run now, he walks slow, but I still throw the ball and he looks and the tail moves. The blanket smells like him, like grass and rain. I remember the first day he came home, I laughed and he barked loud. He is sleeping and the house feels safe. I love him.

Option B:

Spring is here but the wind is sharp and the road is wet, I stand by the gate with my small case. Mum is on the step and she says goodby, she says it again, little and quiet. I feel shaky like a lamb and my hands wont stop, I cant tie the zip right. The case is yellow like a flower. The bus will come soon, I think, it always does. I hug her and she shakes and I say I will be okay but I dont know. I remember the park and chips. My phone buzz, hurry, and I step away.