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

Mark Scheme

Introduction

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

Level of response marking instructions

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

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

Step 1 Determine a level

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

Step 2 Determine a mark

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

Advice for Examiners

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

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

SECTION A: READING - Assessment Objectives

AO1

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

AO2

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

AO3

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

AO4

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

SECTION B: WRITING - Assessment Objectives

AO5 (Writing: Content and Organisation)

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

AO6

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

Answers

Question 1 - Mark Scheme

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

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

• 1.1 After the first offer prompts amusement, what happens when the husband asks for a higher amount?: The crowd falls silent until a woman trader steps in. – 1 mark
• 1.2 After an anonymous low offer prompts laughter, what happens next when the husband asks for a higher amount?: No one responds, and the female dealer in staylaces intervenes – 1 mark
• 1.3 When the husband asks for a guinea, what is the general reaction of the crowd?: The crowd remains silent – 1 mark
• 1.4 After a five-shilling offer draws laughter, what does the husband do next?: The husband rejects the offer and invites a higher bid of a guinea – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

Look in detail at this extract, from lines 51 to 60 of the source:

51 the shillings severally—one, two, three, four, five. The sight of real money in full amount, in answer to a challenge for the same till then deemed slightly hypothetical had a great effect upon the spectators. Their eyes became riveted upon the faces of the chief actors, and then upon

56 the notes as they lay, weighted by the shillings, on the table. Up to this moment it could not positively have been asserted that the man, in spite of his tantalizing declaration, was really in earnest. The spectators had indeed taken the proceedings throughout as a piece of mirthful irony

How does the writer use language here to show the change in mood in the tent? You could include the writer’s choice of:

• words and phrases
• language features and techniques
• sentence forms.

[8 marks]

Question 2 (AO2) – Language Analysis (8 marks)

Explain, comment on and analyse how writers use language and structure to achieve effects and influence readers, using relevant subject terminology to support their views. This question assesses language (words, phrases, features, techniques, sentence forms).

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Shows perceptive and detailed understanding of language: analyses effects of choices; selects judicious detail; sophisticated and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would analyse how the asyndetic enumeration "one, two, three, four, five" and the concrete phrase "The sight of real money in full amount" convert what was "slightly hypothetical" into certainty, with cumulative syntax mirroring the spectators’ narrowing attention. It would interpret the metaphor "Their eyes became riveted" and the double sense of "weighted by the shillings" to suggest mounting gravity, juxtaposed with "mirthful irony" and the shift to "really in earnest," to show the mood turning from playful to tense.

The writer foregrounds the moment the mood turns by using enumeration and a minor sentence: “the shillings severally—one, two, three, four, five.” This asyndetic listing, slowed by commas and the parenthetic dash, creates a ceremonial, measured rhythm that turns playful talk into tangible stakes. The evaluative phrase “real money in full amount” pointedly contrasts with “slightly hypothetical,” a lexical shift from imagined jest to concrete reality; consequently, the atmosphere in the tent hardens from levity to seriousness as attention tightens.

Furthermore, the metaphor “their eyes became riveted” (with metonymy—“eyes” standing for attention) suggests an immobilised, unblinking focus; the industrial verb “riveted” connotes force and fixity, implying a hush that clamps the crowd into silence. The passive, static construction in “the notes as they lay, weighted by the shillings” reinforces stillness; “weighted” operates symbolically, the metal literally pinning the paper as the gravity of the moment presses on the room.

Moreover, a sustained theatrical lexis—“spectators,” “chief actors,” “proceedings,” and the earlier “piece of mirthful irony”—frames the initial mood as performance and fun. The temporal marker “Up to this moment” signals a pivot, while the hedging, cautious syntax of “it could not positively have been asserted” encodes prior uncertainty. This is countered by “really in earnest,” whose adverb intensifier and abstract noun announce seriousness. Additionally, “in answer to a challenge” imports competitive stakes. Thus, through listing, metaphor, and calibrated sentence form, the writer charts the tent’s mood shifting from playful irony to concentrated, weighty suspense.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer shifts the mood from playful to serious through listing and concrete detail: counting—one, two, three, four, five—and the sight of real money in full amount make the challenge tangible, while verbs like became riveted and the image of notes weighted by the shillings show attention tightening and the atmosphere growing heavier. By contrasting the earlier mirthful irony and the uncertainty that it could not positively have been asserted with the realization he is really in earnest, and using longer, complex sentences and dashes to slow the pace, the writer conveys the crowd’s dawning seriousness.

The writer marks the shift from amusement to seriousness through listing and contrast. The enumeration—“one, two, three, four, five”—slows the moment, building suspense in the tent as the coins appear, and the dash introduces the careful counting. The concrete noun phrase “real money in full amount” opposes the earlier “slightly hypothetical” talk, making the stakes tangible and having “a great effect upon the spectators”.

Furthermore, the metaphor “Their eyes became riveted” conveys fixation; the spectators are no longer laughing but held fast. The visual imagery shifts focus “upon the faces of the chief actors, and then upon the notes”, guiding us from people to money. Calling them “chief actors” suggests earlier play, but “weighted by the shillings” gives the scene literal and symbolic weight, intensifying the serious mood.

Additionally, sentence form and temporal markers highlight the turning point. A long, complex sentence with the inserted clause “in answer to a challenge” slows the pace, mirroring realisation. The phrase “Up to this moment” flags the change, while “in earnest” and “tantalizing declaration” show a move from teasing to seriousness; “mirthful irony” names the earlier, lighter mood. Altogether, these choices reveal the crowd’s shift from playful curiosity to tense expectation.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment on effects; some appropriate detail; some use of terminology. Indicative Standard: The listing with a dash, one, two, three, four, five, slows the pace and builds tension, while the contrast between real money and slightly hypothetical shows the mood turning serious. Words like riveted and the notes weighted by the shillings show intense focus, changing from mirthful irony to really in earnest.

The writer shows the mood changing from playful to serious. First, the listing “one, two, three, four, five” and the phrase “real money in full amount” make the bet feel concrete. This suggests the spectators realise it is not “slightly hypothetical” anymore, so the mood in the tent becomes tense.

Furthermore, the metaphor “Their eyes became riveted” shows everyone is fixed with intense focus. The image of the notes “weighted by the shillings” adds a sense of gravity, making the scene feel heavier and more serious.

Additionally, the contrast in phrases “mirthful irony” and “really in earnest” clearly marks the shift from joking to genuine. The time marker “Up to this moment” signals a turning point, and the long, complex sentence builds the change, moving the atmosphere in the tent from light amusement to concentration and suspense.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses simple features to show the mood change: the list "one, two, three, four, five" and "real money" make it feel real so the crowd’s "eyes became riveted", moving from "mirthful irony" to "in earnest".

The writer uses listing to show the mood changing. The list “one, two, three, four, five” and the phrase “real money” make the moment feel definite, so the tent turns from casual to serious. Furthermore, the verb “riveted” is used about their eyes, which shows strong focus and creates tension. Moreover, the phrase “in earnest” suggests the man is serious now. Additionally, “mirthful irony” shows before it felt like a joke, but “weighted by the shillings” makes the scene feel heavy and real, showing the mood has changed.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Enumerative listing with dash builds suspense and concreteness, turning banter into tangible stakes: one, two, three, four, five
• Concrete noun phrase foregrounds tangibility, shifting mood from hypothetical to real: real money in full amount
• Evaluative clause signals immediate emotional impact on the crowd, marking a tonal shift: had a great effect
• Metaphor of fixation shows intense attention replacing levity: eyes became riveted
• Structural refocus from people to objects redirects attention to the stakes rather than performance: then upon the notes
• Physical weight imagery slows the moment and suggests new gravity and seriousness: weighted by the shillings
• Temporal signpost explicitly frames the turning point in the scene: Up to this moment
• Hedging and negation capture prior uncertainty now resolving into certainty: could not positively have been asserted
• Juxtaposition of teasing and sincerity marks the mood hardening into seriousness: really in earnest
• Retrospective labelling of earlier tone heightens contrast with the current seriousness: mirthful irony

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 novel.

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

You could write about:

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

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

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

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Analyses effects of structural choices; judicious examples; sophisticated terminology. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 4 response would track whole-text escalation: from incremental bidding and time-pressure (“in ten seconds,” “going for three guineas!,” “The last time. Yes or no?”) to a delayed disruption at the doorway—“Yes,” said a loud voice—which creates “A dead silence” and shifts the focus. It would analyse the tonal pivot as “the jovial frivolity of the scene departed” and “A lurid colour” fills the tent while “their eyes became riveted,” before suspense peaks through strategic pauses and decisive acts (“breaking the silence,” “pulling off her wedding-ring,” “sobbing bitterly”), showing how shifts in focus, pacing, and a final twist intensify tension by the end.

One way in which the writer has structured the text to create suspense is through incremental bidding and a manufactured deadline to build rising action. The exchange climbs from “five shillings” through “two”, “three”, “four” to the ultimatum “five guineas”, while the auctioneer’s “in ten seconds” and “or she’ll be withdrawn” impose a ticking clock. This patterned escalation tightens pace and focuses attention on whether anyone will break the impasse. By fixing a threshold (“I won’t sell her for less than five”) and withholding response, the writer sustains uncertainty and primes rupture.

In addition, the writer manipulates focus and silence at a pivotal threshold to intensify suspense. The single word “Yes” at the doorway arrests the auction’s rhythm; the collective “All eyes were turned” and “A dead silence” act as a structural pause. The narrative then zooms on proof—“Bank-of-England notes” weighted by “one, two, three, four, five”—slowing time. The narrator’s signpost “Up to this moment” marks a volte-face: mirth drains into “a lurid colour”, transforming playful bravado into high-stakes inevitability.

A further structural feature is delayed resolution through conditional dialogue and a final symbolic gesture. The woman’s intervention—“Now…listen to me”—creates a new barrier, and the antiphonal exchange (“I do”/“Very well”) ratchets the stakes. After “He took the sailor’s notes…with an air of finality” the focus shifts to the doorway: she pauses, then “pulling off her wedding-ring” and stepping out. By resolving it in the last line—“sobbing bitterly”—the writer withholds closure until the end, so suspense crescendos across the whole extract.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 3 response would identify escalating stakes (from 'Five shillings' to 'five guineas' with a 'ten seconds' deadline), a pivotal interruption ('Yes' at the doorway) followed by 'A dead silence', a mood shift from 'mirthful irony' to 'lurid colour', and a slowed pace lingering on 'real money' before the climactic 'pulling off her wedding-ring'. These structural choices build and intensify suspense, delaying the outcome and heightening the shock by the end as the bargain becomes real.

One way in which the writer structures the text to create suspense is through escalation and pacing in the auction. The repeated bids—“two…three…four guineas”—and prompts like “in ten seconds” and “The last time. Yes or no?” quicken the rhythm and raise the stakes. Short interrogatives and the abrupt reply “Yes” punctuate the dialogue, so the outcome stays uncertain and the reader is held in a moment-by-moment build-up.

In addition, the writer shifts focus to intensify tension. When the sailor speaks, “All eyes were turned,” and “A dead silence” creates a structural pause after the hubbub. The focus narrows from the crowd to the “notes…weighted by the shillings”, so we watch proof that makes the ‘joke’ real. This contrast—from “mirthful irony” to “a lurid colour”—marks a turning point and deepens suspense about whether the sale will happen.

A further structural feature is delayed resolution then sudden climax. The woman “breaking the silence” and the conditional “If you touch that money…” prolong uncertainty, while the husband “deliberately folded” the notes, a slow, final movement that tightens anticipation. The pace then accelerates: the imperative “Come along!”, a brief hesitation—“She paused”—and the ring is “flung”. The exit “sobbing” leaves consequences unresolved, so suspense peaks at the end.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: Identifies straightforward structural steps that build suspense: rising bids and a countdown (e.g., “The last time. Yes or no?” and the counted coins “one, two, three, four, five”), the sudden entrance (“Yes, said a loud voice from the doorway”), and a mood shift from “the jovial frivolity…departed” to “A dead silence.” Gives a simple effect, saying these changes make the reader want to see what happens next, intensifying by the end when she is “pulling off her wedding-ring” and leaving.

One way the writer structures the opening to create suspense is through rising bids and a countdown. The price climbs from ‘five shillings’ to ‘five guineas’, and the auctioneer’s short questions, like ‘The last time. Yes or no?’, slow the pace and make us wait for a response.

In addition, in the middle the focus shifts when the sailor appears in the doorway. There is a ‘dead silence’, he ‘hesitated’, and the narration zooms in on the notes ‘weighted by the shillings’. This change in focus and the pause build tension about whether the sale will really happen.

A further structural feature is the change in mood towards the end. The playful tone turns serious, and the writer delays the climax: the woman ‘paused’, then only later throws her wedding-ring and leaves. This delayed ending intensifies suspense right up to the final action.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: At the start the bidding rises from “Two guineas!” to “Five guineas” and the auctioneer says “The last time. Yes or no?”, which makes us wait to see what will happen; then a new person “a sailor” appears and there is “A dead silence” and “All eyes were turned”, adding suspense. By the end she is “pulling off her wedding-ring” and leaves “sobbing bitterly”, so the tension has built to a dramatic moment.

One way the writer creates suspense is by starting with lots of dialogue and rising bids. The repeated prices (“two… three… four… five guineas”) slowly build up, so we wait to see if anyone will answer.

In addition, there is a shift when a new voice says “Yes” and then “A dead silence.” The pause and the counting of coins “one, two, three, four, five” slows the pace and makes us nervous.

A further feature is the ending. The woman speaks, throws her ring, and leaves. This climax changes the mood and makes the suspense stronger about what comes next.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• In medias res opening with a low bid frames a seemingly trivial scene that primes later shock as stakes rise (Five shillings)
• Incremental bidding and a firm reserve create a rising pattern that tightens tension toward a decisive threshold (Five guineas)
• The auctioneer’s ultimatum sets a deadline, sharpening anticipation at the brink of decision (Yes or no?)
• A held beat after the acceptance slows the moment so we wait for proof and consequences (A dead silence)
• Procedural detail in the payment, with counted coins, stretches time and validates the threat, intensifying suspense (one, two, three, four, five)
• Collective mood pivots from jovial to ominous, reframing the scene as perilous rather than comic (lurid colour)
• A decisive interjection from the woman breaks the hush and raises personal stakes, shifting focus to her choice (a joke no longer)
• A consent challenge inserts a final hurdle before action, delaying closure and heightening uncertainty (That you swear?)
• The husband’s deliberate pocketing of the money marks a structural turning point, sealing the bargain (air of finality)
• A climactic gesture and exit deliver resolution with emotional impact, releasing built-up tension at the end (pulling off her wedding-ring)

Question 4 - Mark Scheme

For this question focus on the second part of the source, from line 36 to the end.

In this part of the source, where Susan throws her wedding ring at her husband, it could be seen as her finally taking back some control. The writer suggests that even after being sold, she is not just a helpless victim.

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

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of Susan throwing the ring at her husband
• comment on the methods the writer uses to suggest Susan is taking back control
• support your response with references to the text. [20 marks]

Question 4 (AO4) – Critical Evaluation (20 marks)

Evaluate texts critically and support with appropriate textual references.

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed evaluation) – 16–20 marks Perceptive ideas; perceptive methods; critical detail on impact; judicious detail. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would argue that the writer largely supports the view that Susan reclaims agency through decisive imperatives and symbolic action—listen to me, it is a joke no longer, and the ring flung ... in the hay-trusser’s face. It would also evaluate how the writer tempers this with the transactional context (Bank-of-England notes, weighted by the shillings) and the pathos of sobbing bitterly, concluding that her control is real but constrained.

I largely agree that the moment when Susan throws her ring signals a decisive reclaiming of agency, though the writer complicates this with a persistent sense of constraint and sorrow. Structurally, the scene shifts from “jovial frivolity” to grave seriousness as “a lurid colour seemed to fill the tent,” and it is at this tonal pivot that Susan asserts herself. She “break[s] the silence,” and the paradox that her “low dry voice sounded quite loud” elevates her authority: quiet resilience suddenly commands the room. Her conditional ultimatum—“If you touch that money, I and this girl go with the man. Mind, it is a joke no longer”—uses the imperative and a stark conditional clause to draw a line. Against the men’s bartering over “Bank-of-England notes,” her voice cuts through the transactional lexis, signalling a shift from object to agent.

The writer further suggests agency through the ironic echo of marital ritual. When the sailor asks, “That you swear?” she replies, “I do”—a formulaic vow repurposed to secure her child rather than bind her to a husband. This intertextual inversion reframes her consent as negotiated and strategic. Her decision is not impulsive: “after glancing at her husband’s face and seeing no repentance,” she appraises the moral landscape and chooses accordingly. Even her measured “pause” and “close glance” at the sailor imply scrutiny; she is not merely led but evaluates and selects within the options available to her.

The ring-throw itself is a vivid piece of symbolism. By “pulling off her wedding-ring” and “fl[inging] it…in the hay-trusser’s face,” Susan enacts a public, almost violent severance from a marriage defined by “nothing but temper.” Her direct address—“Mike”—and decisive declaratives, “Now I’m no more to ’ee; I’ll try my luck elsewhere,” foreground self-determination. Dynamic participles—“Seizing the sailor’s arm” and “mounting the little girl”—emphasise that she physically orchestrates the departure. Yet the writer undercuts any simplistic empowerment narrative. The men still control the money—he “deliberately folded” the notes “with an air of finality”—and the sailor’s “Come along!” retains an imperious edge. Most tellingly, Susan exits “sobbing bitterly,” a tonal cue of pathos that acknowledges the cost and coercive context of her choice.

Overall, I agree to a large extent: Susan is not just a helpless victim. Through symbolic rejection, assertive speech, and negotiated consent, the writer shows her taking back some control. However, the surrounding mercantile framework and her visible grief ensure that this is agency under pressure, not unqualified freedom.

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 partly agree, explaining that decisive dialogue and symbolic action—such as 'Mind, it is a joke no longer', 'I do', and 'pulling off her wedding-ring, flung it'—present Susan as asserting agency. However, it would also note methods that temper this, using emotive detail like 'dropping her eyes' and 'sobbing bitterly' to argue she remains constrained rather than fully empowered.

I largely agree that Susan is shown taking back some control, though the writer also reminds us she remains constrained by the sale. A clear tonal shift prepares for her agency: after the money appears, “a lurid colour seemed to fill the tent,” and “a dead silence” falls. This change in tone strips the scene of “jovial frivolity” and frames Susan’s next actions as serious and purposeful rather than comic.

Crucially, the writer foregrounds her voice. Her “low dry voice” that “sounded quite loud” suggests a new authority, and her imperatives—“listen to me” and “Mind, it is a joke no longer”—show a deliberate attempt to set the terms. She even negotiates a condition, insisting she goes with “this girl,” which presents her as protecting Elizabeth-Jane rather than passively obeying. When asked “That you swear?”, her “I do,” coming “after glancing at her husband’s face and seeing no repentance,” indicates a reasoned decision; she assesses Michael’s lack of remorse before consenting. This is not helplessness but judgment.

Structurally, the scene builds to the doorway, where the symbolic act occurs: “pulling off her wedding-ring, [she] flung it… in the hay-trusser’s face.” The violent verb “flung” and the direct address “Mike” dramatise defiance. Her assertive speech—“I’m no more to ’ee; I’ll try my luck elsewhere”—uses the declarative and future-looking phrase to signal independence. The dynamic verbs “Seizing” and “mounting” as she takes the sailor’s arm and lifts the child further emphasise physical agency.

However, the transactional imagery—“five crisp pieces of paper” and “the sailor takes you”—objectifies her, reminding us of the power imbalance. The final “sobbing bitterly” complicates a triumphant reading, showing the emotional cost. Overall, I agree to a large extent: through tonal shift, symbolism, and decisive verbs, the writer presents Susan reclaiming some control, yet he also exposes the social and economic forces that prevent her from being entirely free.

Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: I partly agree: the writer shows Susan taking some control when she is described pulling off her wedding-ring, flung it across the booth in the hay-trusser’s face, and saying Now I’m no more to ’ee; I’ll try my luck elsewhere, but her leaving sobbing bitterly suggests she is still distressed and not completely empowered.

I mostly agree that when Susan throws her ring, the writer shows her taking back some control. At this point the tone changes from fun to serious. The narrator says the “mirthful irony” goes and “a lurid colour seemed to fill the tent”. This creates tension and makes Susan’s choice important. Structurally there is a “dead silence” before “the woman, breaking the silence” speaks, giving her a voice.

She says, “Mind, it is a joke no longer” and sets a condition: “If you touch that money, I and this girl go with the man.” The conditional phrasing shows she is making the terms. She also looks at her husband, “seeing no repentance,” and then decides. The verbs “took up the child” and “flung” the ring show action. The ring is a symbol of marriage, so throwing it in his face shows rejection and control over her future. She also says, “I’m no more to ’ee; I’ll try my luck elsewhere.”

However, the writer also shows limits. The husband “took the sailor’s notes... with an air of finality,” and the sailor says, “Come along!” which still shows male power. “Sobbing bitterly” reminds us she is hurt and not fully free. So she is not just a helpless victim, because she demands to keep the child and chooses to leave, but her control is only partial in a situation made by others. Overall, I agree to a large extent.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: At Level 1, candidates show simple awareness by agreeing that Susan takes some control, pointing to pulling off her wedding-ring, flung it across the booth, I’m no more to ’ee; I’ll try my luck elsewhere, and Seizing the sailor’s arm as basic evidence. They may also briefly note her vulnerability with sobbing bitterly, giving a limited evaluation of the writer’s view that she is not just a helpless victim.

I mostly agree with the statement. In this part, Susan does try to take control. When the money appears, the tone changes and she speaks up: “before you go further, Michael, listen to me.” The imperative “listen” shows she is asserting herself. She also sets a condition, “If you touch that money, I and this girl go with the man,” which makes her sound clear and not helpless. The “not a joke” and “lurid colour” make the scene serious.

Later, she confirms “I do,” and then “took up the child and followed him.” The verbs “took” and “followed” show simple actions that look like her choice. The key moment is the ring: she is “pulling off her wedding-ring” and “flung it… in the hay-trusser’s face.” The strong verb “flung” and the ring as a symbol of marriage suggest she rejects her husband and takes back control. Her words, “Now I’m no more to ’ee… I’ll try my luck elsewhere,” sound firm.

However, she leaves “sobbing bitterly,” which shows she is still hurt and not fully powerful. Overall, I agree to a large extent: she is not just a helpless victim, even if she is upset.

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:

• Symbolic rejection through gesture signals regained agency (flung it across the booth)
• Ultimatum in direct speech sets terms and shifts power dynamic (If you touch that money)
• Her voice breaks the hush and commands attention, marking newfound authority (sounded quite loud)
• Emphasis on consent foregrounds her choice, though within a constrained situation (the young woman is willing)
• She negotiates custody, asserting conditions on the transaction to protect her child (provided she can have the child)
• Direct challenge to her husband articulates independence and a future-oriented decision (I’m no more to ’ee)
• Purposeful exit shows decisive follow-through, but emotion complicates any sense of triumph (sobbing bitterly)
• Contrast from earlier passivity to later assertiveness suggests a turning point in control (absolute indifference)
• Brief hesitation and scrutiny imply deliberate, considered choice rather than impulse (paused for an instant)
• Her agency remains reactive to his unyielding stance, showing limited control within the bargain’s terms (no repentance there)

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

A careers website is inviting creative writing from students about workplaces and the people in them.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Describe a bicycle repair workshop from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about mending what everyone else has given up on.

(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 room breathes in oil and exhales dust. In the slanted light from a high, wire-grilled window, motes drift like slack snow, settling on chrome and corrugated boxes. The air is heady: citrus degreaser, warm rubber, the faint metallic tang of filings tapped from a thread. Listen: the soft-ticking freehub, the irregular clink of a dropped nut, the low murmur of a radio fighting static.

Everything is disciplined and slightly improvised, like military ranks doodled by an artist. On the pegboard, tools hang with priestly patience—the alphabet of mending arranged by silhouette: chain whips; cone spanners; spoke keys and nibbed screwdrivers; a torque wrench that gleams with officious promise. Their shadows make a second, paler workshop; the outlines are faithful yet somehow expectant.

A wheel spins in the truing stand; it seems a halo until a calliper kisses it and says, not yet. The rim rings—bright, bell-like—then settles; a spoke is tightened by a quarter-turn, then another; ping, pause, ping. The rhythm is measured, almost metronomic, yet it holds a kind of suspense, a hush, as if the room leans in. Rubber brushes the concrete floor in soft sighs as tyres are rolled to and fro, to and fro, to and fro.

At the bench, a pair of hands—black crescents of grease under the nails, forearms furred with tiny brass shavings—moves with a watchmaker’s care. A chain is sluiced through a bath and emerges bright as a silver river; the derailleur, jittery and precise, is coaxed into alignment until each shift lands with a click as satisfying as a yes. Bar tape unwraps in pale spirals, then winds back again, tighter, neater; the mechanic's voice (half lullaby, half instruction) hums to an unseen apprentice. There is kindness in the ritual: a squeaky pedal granted silence; a stubborn bottom bracket persuaded with measured force—not brutality, only resolve.

Bikes wait like stories leaning against themselves: a steel frame with lugs the colour of dried blood; a carbon racer lacquered to a beetle’s gloss; a utility hybrid freckled with road-salt. Each bears a private cartography—scratches, sticker ghosts, the shadow where a lock once bit. If you look closely, you can read the routes: rain that wrote itself into the headset; sun that bleached the saddle; nights that left the chain stiff and dreamless. What is this room, then, but an anachronistic chapel to movement? Here, time has a cadence—the patient tick of spokes being true, the breath held while a tyre seats its bead, the small triumphant exhalation when the pump gauge aligns with hope. Outside, the street hurries; inside, the future is tightened with measured torque and set spinning. For a moment, it feels as if time stands still, and then—released—whirrs away.

Option B:

Broken. The town exhaled its refuse — chipped china, laces undone, a once-bright radio stilled mid-song — and Mara unlocked the door to her narrow shop with the patient click of someone who understands what damage can teach. Dust wove in the angled light like confetti postponed; the air smelt of warm wood and the acrid-sweet promise of glue. On the plank tables: hinges with their enthusiasm rusted; a violin with a throatful of splinters; a clock face that had forgotten the arithmetic of hours. Everyone else had decided such things were done, unfixable, beyond redemption; she called them almost. Almost a mug. Almost a lullaby. Almost a heartbeat.

As shutters lifted along the street and the baker let loose his morning steam, she chose the obdurate clock first. It sat — square, stubborn — as if sulking. She prised it open, careful as a surgeon; gears gleamed with old grease, a constellation dulled by neglect. The small screw she needed was the size of a comma; she smiled at that — her days punctuated by tiny salvations. Her hands, scarred in filigree from years of solder and slipped blades, moved steadily. She had not been able to fix the night her brother left, nor the slow crack that wandered through her marriage like frost across glass; perhaps that was why the mechanics of repair felt like prayer. Even so, this was not piety but practice: solvent, cotton buds, patience measured in breaths.

The bell tinkled — a sound cobbled from a teaspoon and string — and a boy edged in, clutching a wooden horse with one leg gone. ‘Mum said throw it away,’ he said. ‘It limps.’

‘So do some heroes,’ Mara said, not glancing up as she reseated the spring. ‘Leave him with me. We’ll see if he wants to run again.’

People brought all manner of ruins: warped frames with their photographs cracked at the corners; a veil scorched at the hem; a bicycle rim buckled into a question mark. ‘It’s not worth it,’ they would say, apologetic at the threshold. Nevertheless, they waited — and left lighter, sometimes. She did not promise miracles. She promised attention: a kind of gold, a lacquer seeping into what had been overlooked to make a seam, visible and proud.

By noon, the stubborn clock conceded — not with a fanfare, but with a shy, decisive tick; then another; then a cascade as if remembering itself. The sound relocated the room: shelves fell into rhythm, the sunbeam marched across the floorboards, her breath synchronised. Inside, she aligned the thin backplate, pressed it home, and turned the hair-fine screws. The face was still scratched, the glass starred; she did not rub the scars away. She preferred them legible, the way healed bones sometimes ache before the weather changes: a quiet forecast, a way of telling what we have survived.

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

Option A:

Light falls in narrow slats through clouded panes, turning dust into glitter that drifts and settles on grease-dark benches. The air is dense with the iron tang of chain oil and the sweet rubber of warm tyres; old coffee lingers underneath. Somewhere, a hub ticks as it cools—small, patient clicks that measure time better than the clock. A draught fingers the hanging aprons so they sway, slow as weeds under water. Listen.

On the back wall, tools hang from a pegboard traced in ghostly marker, each silhouette a promise of order: cone spanners, Allen keys, spoke wrenches. Their jaws are rounded smooth; their handles nicked, familiar—each stamped with use. A magnet strip holds stray bolts, a thin constellation. When a freewheel is spun for testing, the sound lifts in a brief, bright rattle.

The bench itself has a skin of scars. Rings where mugs once rested bloom pale against varnish; shallow cuts cross-hatch the grain; a bright blue vice opens its square jaw like a patient thing. Jars collect—copper-coloured nipples, circlips, bearings that shine like wet seeds. The radio murmurs with news nobody answers. At the stand, a bicycle floats, clamped by its seatpost, a quiet patient; the mechanic turns the wheel and plucks a spoke. Each note almost sings true.

Grease makes dark parentheses beneath their fingernails; the skin on their forearms shows fine scratches like threads. When they work the pump, the hose hisses and the gauge trembles, a tiny dial of weather. A puncture patch cures with a shy smell, chemical and green. They listen for the staccato tick that means misalignment and coax it away with a quarter-turn, then another, again and again, until the rim runs true. It is careful work—delicate, almost fussy—but it brings lightness back into metal.

In the shadows lean the narratives of the street: a courier’s fixie stripped of everything unnecessary; a child’s bike with tassels dulled by dust; a touring frame with a map wedged in its basket, bar tape the colour of tea. Tags dangle from handlebars, names and numbers scribbled in hurried ink. Outside, the road pulls away in long grey lines; inside, time is counted in quarter-turns, in the soft chime of the bell as someone opens the door. A small wind lifts the dust and the room seems to breathe. Every scratch is a coordinate; every dent is a date. What else is a workshop except a promise that broken things can be made to move again?

Option B:

Dust remembers, even when people don't. It gathered in soft constellations across my workbench, silvering the jars of screws and the chipped teacup where I keep bent nails and spare hope. The room smelled of machine oil and orange rind; faintly metallic, faintly sweet. On the wall, three radios stared like tired faces. On the table, the town clock lay on its back, silent as a held breath.

They wheeled it out of the hall last winter—'obsolete', someone declared—and left it at the recycling centre with broken monitors and cracked plant pots. I stood in drizzle, feeling an ache that was not entirely practical. Everyone else had given up on it, on the idea that it could ever sing the hour again; I could not. I brought it home like an injured bird, coat flapping, heart ridiculous.

Before I set to work, I shifted other convalescents: a lopsided chair, a porcelain dog with a starburst fracture. On the shelf waited an unopened envelope in my father's hand (I knew the angle of the R like a scar). That, too, would need attention, but not yet. One mend at a time.

I loosened the brass screws and lifted the back. Inside was a small city: cogs like sunflowers, a harp of springs, filigree wheels that had waited, patient as saints. The escapement had worn unevenly; a tooth had snapped clean away. With the loupe pressed to my eye, I filed a sliver of brass, coaxed it into place, soldered the joint so thin it gleamed like a bead of morning. Time is fussy—time is unforgiving—but it is also surprisingly forgiving when you speak to it gently. I turned the key, once, twice...

Tick.

It began as a question, then settled into certainty: tick-tock, tick-tock. The sound threaded itself through the room, through the dust and the orange peel and the tired radios, and I felt something unclench. Time, ordinary and miraculous, had moved again because someone refused to stop believing.

I reached for the letter.

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

Option A:

The first thing is the smell: warm oil, rubber, the faint tang of metal filings. Light falls in slanted bars through the half-open shutter, slicing bands of gold and shade. Dust hangs and turns in each stripe, as if the room itself is breathing. Along the back wall a pegboard is crowded—spanners, Allen keys, tyre levers, spoke keys—an ordered forest of handles and teeth. Some tools shine; others carry a darkened patina, softened by hands. On the concrete floor, chalk lines and scuffed crescents arc out from stands; a glitter of swarf twinkles near the vice. A red pump leans in the corner, hose curled like a sleeping snake.

At the bench a wheel spins; its thin whisper slices the quiet. The mechanic—grey T‑shirt, oil-creased apron—holds the axle at eye level and squints along the rim. Between his fingers the spoke key flickers, quarter turns measured and careful, a metronome for a private tune. He is part doctor, part tinkerer: diagnosing fidgets and squeaks, prescribing a drop of grease, a new cable, a steady hand. Nothing is rushed, even when the bell jangles at the door, even when someone coughs and points to a buckled frame. His hands are nicked and stained, but they move with a kind of grace; the wheel settles, the ticking slows.

Overhead, tubes and frames hang from hooks like ribs; saddles are lined along a shelf, noses neat and slightly ridiculous. The wall is a vocabulary of metal—Torx stars, blunt-nosed pliers, chain whips whose name says exactly what they do. There is the hiss of a track pump, the soft clink of loose links, the scratch-scratch of wire wool trying to persuade rust to leave. Everything has a place, even the disorder has its map; a kind of ordered chaos.

Outside, the street is noisy and bright; inside, the workshop keeps its cooler weather. A child presses a face to the window, leaves a patchy oval that fades. A bus sighs past; here, time is counted in rotations and tiny clicks. The bell tinkles again—another story rolled in on two thin tyres; another patient. When the door falls shut, the light narrows, and the smell rises once more, familiar, persistent, almost kind.

Option B:

Some things don’t shatter with a scream; they fade, quiet as dust. Our street learned to step around them: loose paving stones, fenced-off gardens, promises that stuck in throats. By the time the house at the end bowed its back and peeled like old paint, everyone called it a hazard, an impossible mess. Weeds braided railings; rain tapped cracked panes.

I arrived with a box of screws and a stubbornness that didn’t know when to stop. They laughed; I was seventeen, slight, and the door stuck like a sulking child. Inside smelt of damp tea and old newspapers; light came in slices through the slats of a blind. Wallpaper hung in tired strips; the staircase coughed when I put my foot on it.

On the mantelpiece sat the clock my mother left, stopped at 3:17, a quiet injury. Everyone else had given up on it, like they had given up on this house. I spread a cloth, eased off the back with a butter knife; tiny screws rolled like seeds. Inside was a city of brass: cogs toothed and tarnished, a spring wound tight and sulky. I breathed on them, watched the fog bloom; I wanted it to breathe back.

Fixing a clock is mostly patience—cotton buds, solvent, the slow lift of grit. Fixing a house is heavier: splinters, weight, tools that feel too big for your hands. Fixing what people say is beyond repair is lonelier. Neighbours wandered past: "It’s unsafe," Ms Patel warned; "It’ll break your back," Mr Jones predicted. Who mends a life with a screwdriver?

But the rhythm of mending is a kind of steadiness. I patched a window; I prised out nails like thorns; I cleaned each gear until my fingerprints came up black. By evening the sun slanted in, revealing what could be saved: a banister under the grime, a pale square where a picture had hung. I set the pendulum swinging, tentative; the clock jerked, hesitated... then fell silent again. Not today, then. Not yet. Even so, I wound it once more, listening for a tremor in that small mechanism. Tomorrow, I would try again.

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

Option A:

Morning light squeezes through a high, dusty window, laying a pale strip across the workbench. Dust floats in that beam. The room smells of rubber and warm metal, a tang of chain oil that sticks to the back of the throat. Pegboard covers the wall; every hook holds a tool and every tool has a drawn outline, like a label made by habit. The bench is scarred and shiny with use; blue-handled pliers, a stubborn vice, a box of spokes that glint like needles.

From the centre, a wheel turns. It spins on the truing stand with a soft whirr, then slows. The spoke key clicks, a small, tidy sound, and the rim shifts—fraction by fraction—towards straight. Somewhere a freewheel makes its lazy ticking; in the corner, a pump exhales a careful sigh. The radio crackles thinly while metal answers metal in clinks that ring in the room.

A frame hangs from a clamp, its paint dulled by a patina of dust. The chain drapes like a dark ribbon; grease gathers at its joints like black honey. The mechanic’s hands move slowly, deliberately—patient, almost delicate. He loosens, tightens, tests, pauses. The whole place seems to work to his rhythm, a metronome of turn and test.

On the far wall are memories: faded posters, a postcard with a mountain road, last year’s calendar pinned by a bent nail. A cup ring marks the bench beside a dented mug that smells of strong tea. Boxes line the floor—inner tubes, cables, stray pedals—each labelled in smudged pen. The concrete bears dark commas where oil has settled; galaxies catch in puddles under the stand.

Outside, the street pushes and rattles, but here time slows. The bikes wait with their thin shadows. It is not grand, yet the workshop keeps a steady heartbeat: spokes, tools, breath.

Option B:

Morning crept into the shed through a window held together with tape. Dust hung in the light like slow snow; jam jars lined the shelf with labels curling at the edges. The bench was cramped with rejects: toasters with burnt hearts, watches stuck at forever o’clock, a radio that hissed every time I breathed near it. People called the place a junk pile. I didn’t argue—there are kinder names, but I liked hearing the word mending in my head.

I keep what other people give up on. It started with the bike I found beside the bins, its chain a knot and its wheels like bent halos. My hands learned patience from small screws and stubborn springs; a good fix is hardly ever fast. I listen, I take things apart, I try again. That is the whole secret, really.

This morning Mrs Kaye brought a music box in a biscuit tin. “It’s done,” she said, but she looked like she wanted me to disagree. The lid had a faded ballerina on it; inside, the gears were dull, the coil slack, the song silent. I laid the tiny pieces on a cloth and breathed slow. Oil; cotton buds; a screwdriver with a point like a needle. The teeth of the smallest wheel were worn smooth, so I turned it a fraction, looking for a new bite. Gently—gently—then a click. The ballerina wobbled, stood, and spun. The tune stumbled, then remembered itself, and flowed.

When she smiled, the shed felt warmer. Outside, the estate bench waits with its back cracked and paint peeling; neighbours pass it like a warning sign. I run my thumb over the flaking wood and think of my brother’s last text, short and sharp. Some things take longer. Tomorrow, I will bring sandpaper and try.

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

Option A:

The air tastes of oil and cold metal. Fluorescent tubes buzz; a soft, steady humming that settles in your ears. The concrete floor is bruised with stains, a map of old spills and hurried footsteps. Wheels hang like low moons, their spokes glinting when the door opens. At the back, a wooden bench stands solid, its surface tattooed with scratches. The lights flicker a little, it isn’t darkness, just a tremble, and the room seems to breathe.

On the pegboard the tools wait in strict lines. Spanners lean in rank; hex keys sit in a fan, smallest to biggest, like a little steel feather. A chain whip—curled like a sleeping snake—rests beside a stubborn vice. There are drawers with taped labels: bearings, cables, washers. A tin of grease is open, its green heart shining. The air smells rubbery and sharp, with a tang of something clean. When the mechanic lifts a wheel he plucks at the spokes: ping, ping, ping, listening for an even note.

He works carefully but quick, talking to the bike under his breath as if it could argue back. The ratchet gives out a confident click-click while the pedal turns, back and forth, back and forth. A pump sighs. Tiny silver filings sparkle on the mat, like salt. Its quiet, then busy again—the strip light hum, the brush of a rag, the soft thud of tyres stacked in a corner. In here the city seems far away. When he spins a fixed wheel, it becomes a coin; balanced, bright, and ready to roll.

Option B:

Evening. The workshop sighed; drawers shut, light thinned, the bell on the door hung still. They had all gone home, and they had given up: on the cracked piano, the peeling chair, the silent silver radio. I stayed.

The radio sat with its back off, a small city of screws and wires, some frayed, some stubborn. It looked like a mouth that had forgotten how to sing. Dust lay in soft fur; when I blew, it lifted and danced. I rolled up my sleeves because this was patient work: careful, slow. My tools were simple - a bent screwdriver, a weak torch, my grandad's tin of parts - but they were enough.

They said it was pointless. New is easier, quicker, shinier. But my hands know a different story. When I nudged the coil back and tightened a stubborn screw; when I soldered a thin line of silver, the radio shivered. One faint crackle, like rain on a far roof. Then another. I pressed the switch and waited, heart knocking like a restless hammer. After a moment, static hissed - a long, empty ocean - and then a voice rose, small and brave, a little broken but there. Hello? Hello, can anyone hear me?

I smiled at the room nobody wanted. You fix one tiny thing and something larger moves; keep going and the silence thins. Maybe mending isn't magic. Maybe it's just time and trying until the light finds it's way back through.

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

Option A:

The workshop breathes a warm smell of chain oil and rubber. Under bright fluorescent bars the benches shine in dull patches, rubbed by years of palms. On the wall a pegboard waits; tools hang like silver fish—spanners, Allen keys, tyre levers—each outline painted. The workbench is cluttered and neat, a tin of spokes, scattered washers, a vice biting a bent pedal like a jaw. The floor is scuffed by tyres. I hear the click-click of a freewheel and the soft hiss of a pump; the radio mutters in the corner.

At the back, a man in a faded apron spins a wheel, searching for wobble. When he touches the key to the nipple, the knife-thin note changes; round and round it goes, steadier. Posters of old races curl on the wall, a chalkboard lists prices and neccessary jobs, a bucket of greese sits underneath. Trays are labelled with strange names—sprocket, caliper, derailleur—some I can spell, some I can't. Who knew a wheel could be so delicate? The aluminium rims glimmer, and dust swims in the light like tiny fish. At the doorway a child waits with a red bike, hopeful. The chain complains, then settles. Outside, traffic rushes; inside it is careful, and slow.

Option B:

Morning smelled of dust and warm wires. On my bench lay a small crowd of tired objects: a radio that only whispered, a brass clock with a crack like a crooked smile. They were the things everyone else had given up on.

The clock had been lifted from the old hall. People said the roof leaked, the floor was warped, just knock it down, it's done. The caretaker carried this to me, wrapped in a scarf. It should have gone in the bin; instead, it came to me. I slid off the back and tiny screws jumped like silver fleas. I breath in and hold it, listening: tick—tick—nothing. So I try again, steady, with a thin screwdriver and needle-nose pliers, easing the stubborn gear. The mechanism was a little city, roads of brass, houses of springs, and everything had stopped. Move, I murmured, as if it could hear me. Then, very faint, there was a tremble; a shy tick.

Outside, a bus sighed and the shop bell clinked. Inside, the clock blinked awake. They call it junk; I call it work. Maybe the hall is finished, maybe not, but I fix what gets left, even when nobody else will.

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

Option A:

The workshop is small and busy. Bikes lean on the wall. Chains hang like black snakes from hooks. The air smells of oil and rubber, it is thick and kind of strong. The floor is dusty with little screws and bits. A yellow light buzz and makes the metal shine.

A man bends over a wheel. He spins it and it goes tick tick tick. The pump sighs. Tools hang like teeth, big and little ones.

I hear clink clink and soft talking, the radio is on but crackly. There is many tools, wrenches and stuff, and a box of old pedals, I like the shapes. I touch a seat, it is cold and smooth. Outside the street is quiet and the door bell rings.

He wipes his hands on a rag and smiles, he says it will be fixed soon. Dust floats in the light like tiny stars.

Option B:

Broken things sit in the shed. Dust on them, dust in the air, like flour. The radio is there, the old one with a bent aerial. Everyone said it was dead, it wont sing again. Dad goes, chuck it, it's just junk.

I don't.

I hold it and it feels cold and sad. The dial is a cracked smile. I got my little tool box, screws, tape, a small screw driver. My hands shake. I turn the back. Wires inside, red and green, like worms. I breathe slow and I say, come on, wake up, please!

The shed is quiet, only rain drip, drip. I twist a wire and push it tight, I tape it, I press the button and wait... nothing.

Everyone else gave up on it. They walked off. But I stay. I listen with my ear close, and I hear a tiny hiss, like a breath.

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

Option A:

Grease is on the floor and the air smells like oil. Tools hang on hooks and they swing a bit, clink clink, the light are dusty and yellow. A wheel spins slow, the chain is black and sticky and it squeeks. You can hear a tiny bell and someone coughs, the radio is low but scratchy, I think it is old. The bench is messy, screws roll and drop, they make a small sound and hide under a mat. My hands are dark like I touched coal, soap dont get it off. I think about riding fast outside, inside the pump goes up and down and up and down

Option B:

Morning. The shop is quiet and dusty. The window is cracked and the bell on the door dont ring right. On the table there is a radio with a missing knob, a watch that wont tick, and a toy car with one wheel. People said throw it, its no use. I pick one up and I listen like it has a small heart. I have a jar of screws and some glue. My hands shake a bit but I try. Outside a bus goes past and a dog barks, the rain starts on the glass. The radio coughs, then a small sound. I mend what everyone give up on.