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 According to the narrator, what happens to determination in moments of rest and comfort, as illustrated by the hunter image?: Determination weakens, like a spear losing its sharpness. – 1 mark
• 1.2 In the mind’s eye, what grew blurred?: The dollar-mark – 1 mark
• 1.3 The narrator uses an image of a hunter pausing in the woods. What does this image help to explain about Nancy?: Nancy's drive for money sometimes gives way to valuing truth, honour, and kindness. – 1 mark
• 1.4 The rill is said to babble of what?: Rest and comfort – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

Look in detail at this extract, from lines 11 to 20 of the source:

11 One Thursday evening Nancy left the store and turned across Sixth Avenue westward to the laundry. She was expected to go with Lou and Dan to a musical comedy.

16 Dan was just coming out of the laundry when she arrived. There was a queer, strained look on his face. “I thought I would drop around to see if they had heard from her,” he said.

How does the writer use language here to create tension and show Nancy’s concern when she meets Dan? 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 precise directional detail (e.g., “across Sixth Avenue westward”) and the disrupted expectation (“was expected… to a musical comedy”) signal Nancy’s deviation from normal plans and underlying worry, while clipped declaratives and the adverb “just” create immediacy; it would explore the loaded adjectives in “a queer, strained look” and the ambiguous pronoun in “I thought I would drop around to see if they had heard from her” to show mounting tension around the ominously unspecified “her.”

The writer initially establishes normality through the temporal adverbial “One Thursday evening” and the precise proper noun “Sixth Avenue,” while dynamic movement (“turned… westward”) suggests purposeful routine. This everyday frame is undercut by the passive construction “She was expected to go… to a musical comedy.” The passivity implies obligation pressing on Nancy; the light, playful noun phrase “musical comedy” is then poised to be disrupted, creating anticipatory tension that readies both Nancy and the reader for unease.

Furthermore, the past progressive “Dan was just coming out… when she arrived” compresses their timelines so they collide at the threshold. The adverb “just” heightens immediacy, and the simple declaratives create a clipped, paratactic rhythm, quickening the pace. This sudden, close encounter leaves no space for reassurance, intensifying Nancy’s concern in the moment of contact.

Moreover, the premodified noun phrase “a queer, strained look on his face” foregrounds physiognomy as a barometer of trouble. “Queer” (odd, out of place) and “strained” (stretched to breaking) carry anxious connotations, so Nancy’s first reading of Dan is of visible tension. By focalising the detail of his face, the writer makes Nancy’s alarm both credible and contagious.

Additionally, Dan’s dialogue is hedged and evasive: “I thought I would drop around” uses tentative modality and a casual phrasal verb that jars with his “strained” expression. The purpose clause and conditional subordination “to see if they had heard from her” encode uncertainty; the vague plural “they” and the withheld referent “her” create pronoun ambiguity and end-focus on absence. This lexical vagueness deepens suspense and, crucially, crystallises Nancy’s concern as she confronts the possibility that something has gone wrong.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would clearly explain how the writer juxtaposes Nancy’s routine—she is "expected to go ... to a musical comedy"—with Dan’s "queer, strained look" to build tension, noting simple declaratives like "Dan was just coming out of the laundry when she arrived" for a clipped pace, and how the hesitant direct speech with the modal in "I thought I would drop around" and the ambiguous pronoun in "had heard from her" imply something is wrong, making Nancy (and the reader) concerned.

The writer begins with a routine setting through the time adverbial “One Thursday evening” and mundane nouns like “store” and “laundry”, which lulls the reader, so the later disruption heightens tension. The passive “She was expected to go with Lou and Dan to a musical comedy” suggests fixed plans and a cheerful mood that will be unsettled.

Furthermore, short declaratives — “Dan was just coming out...” and “There was a queer, strained look on his face” — quicken the pace. The adverb “just” and the temporal clause “when she arrived” create immediacy, while the paired adjectives “queer, strained” signal visible worry. Seeing that expression would instantly alarm Nancy, so the reader shares her concern.

Moreover, the dialogue, “I thought I would drop around to see if they had heard from her,” uses hedging and colloquialism. The tentative “I thought I would” shows uncertainty, and the casual phrasal verb “drop around” jars with his “strained” face, implying he is masking fear. Crucially, the vague pronoun “her” withholds identity, creating ambiguity and suspense; because Nancy knows who “her” is, this unnamed concern intensifies her anxiety.

The sentence forms compress the moment, building tension as Nancy meets Dan and senses something is wrong.

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 adjectives in "queer, strained look" to show something is wrong and build tension, while the dialogue "had heard from her" suggests someone is missing, showing Nancy’s concern. Simple, direct sentences and the adverb "just" in "just coming out" add immediacy, and "was expected to go" shows their normal plans are disrupted, increasing the tension.

Firstly, the writer uses adjectives to create tension. Dan has “a queer, strained look”, which suggests something is wrong. This would make Nancy worried as soon as she sees him, and the reader feels uneasy too.

Furthermore, the sentence forms are short and direct. “Dan was just coming out of the laundry when she arrived.” “There was a queer, strained look on his face.” The simple sentences speed up the moment and make the meeting feel sudden, increasing tension and Nancy’s concern.

Additionally, the vague pronoun “her” in “had heard from her” creates mystery. We don’t know who “her” is, so Nancy and the reader are left anxious. The phrase “she was expected to go… to a musical comedy” shows normal plans, which contrasts with the worry. Also, the verb “just coming out” gives immediacy, showing the situation changes quickly.

Therefore, the writer’s language builds tension and shows Nancy’s concern.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: Identifies words like "queer, strained look" and the dialogue "had heard from her" to say this shows worry and creates tension, and notices the short, simple sentence "Dan was just coming out of the laundry". Also mentions the normal plan "expected to go" to a "musical comedy" as a contrast that makes Nancy seem concerned.

The writer uses adjectives to show tension. The phrase “queer, strained look” makes Dan seem worried, so Nancy and the reader feel concern. Furthermore, the adverb “just” in “just coming out” suggests urgency, which adds to the tense mood. Moreover, the direct speech, “I thought I would drop around to see if they had heard from her,” hints at a problem and makes us anxious about “her.” Additionally, the short, simple sentence “There was a queer, strained look on his face” builds suspense. The mention of “musical comedy” contrasts with this worry.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Temporal opener situates a normal routine so the later unease feels like a rupture: One Thursday evening
• Precise, directional movement shows purposeful intent, suggesting Nancy’s focus on finding them: westward to the laundry
• Passive expectation hints at a planned light evening whose disruption heightens tension: was expected to go
• Compressed timing makes the encounter abrupt, increasing suspense as Nancy meets him: just coming out
• Loaded adjectives for Dan’s expression signal immediate worry that would alarm Nancy: queer, strained look
• Hedging modal construction creates uncertainty and a tentative tone that breeds anxiety: I thought I would
• Understated colloquialism downplays his purpose, paradoxically deepening unease: drop around
• Ambiguous pronoun withholds identity, creating mystery and shared concern about absence: heard from her
• Sharp tonal contrast between planned fun and visible distress intensifies tension and Nancy’s concern: musical comedy

Question 3 - Mark Scheme

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

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

You could write about:

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

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

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

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Analyses effects of structural choices; judicious examples; sophisticated terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would track how irony intensifies through structural contrasts and echoes: from Nancy’s ethical revaluation—"dollar-mark grew blurred" into "truth", "honor", "kindness"—and the early motif of "Persian lamb" and "market value", through the delayed reveal of Lou’s apparent "prosperity" (her "costly furs", "flashing gems") set against Nancy’s "biggest catch in the world". It would also analyse the final perspective shift to the detached "Gibsonian cop", who passes "pretending not to notice", as a zoom-out coda crystallizing the ironic reversal (glittering wealth ending in sobs versus plain love bringing joy), showing how contrast, motif-echo, and withheld information shape the effect.

One way in which the writer has structured the text to create irony is by opening with a reflective frame that seeds a motif and then subverts it. The narrator blurs the “dollar-mark” into “truth… honor… kindness” and asks whether “Persian lamb” is “quoted at its market value by the hearts that it covered.” This macro-structural foreshadowing prepares a moral reversal. The hunting simile—“the spear of Nimrod… grows blunt”—signals the chase cooling. When “costly furs” reappear later, the motif returns as ironic mirroring: expensive skins cover a wounded heart.

In addition, temporal shifts and juxtaposition intensify the irony. The scene-setting “One Thursday evening” narrows focus to Lou’s disappearance, and gossip of an “automobile… with one of the millionaires” creates expectation. A decisive ellipsis—“Three months went by”—leads to the reunion, where surfaces are foregrounded: Lou’s “costly furs, flashing gems” versus Nancy’s “shabby” plainness. Dialogue then overturns this: Nancy’s “biggest catch… Dan” flips the hunt lexicon, reframing value as love, not lucre. This reversal establishes situational and dramatic irony: the apparent winner loses peace; the renouncer gains fulfilment.

A further structural feature is the final shift in focalisation to an external observer, crystallising irony in a tableau. The “Gibsonian” policeman sees only “an expensive fur coat… sobbing” beside a “plainly-dressed” girl and “passes on,” an objective camera that stresses appearance versus reality. The slowed, lingering coda fixes the inverted fortunes and universalises the opening moral, making the irony resonate beyond the scene for the reader.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would explain how irony is built through structural contrasts and shifts: from Nancy’s value change—“dollar-mark grew blurred” into “truth”, “honor”, “kindness”—to a time jump and reversal that juxtaposes Lou’s “costly furs” with Nancy’s “something better than prosperity” and her “biggest catch in the world” (Dan). It would also note the final perspective shift to the “Gibsonian cop” seeing the wealthy woman “sobbing turbulently,” which crystallises the ironic outcome that money brings misery while modest love brings joy.

One way the writer structures the ending to create irony is by opening with a reflective narrative aside that reframes values. The slowed pace and shift in focus to Nancy’s outlook — the “dollar-mark” blurring into “truth… honor… kindness,” extended by the Nimrod image — foreshadow a reversal. This frame primes us to read later wealth ironically, as a sign of loss rather than success.

In addition, temporal markers and pace changes build and release the irony. “One Thursday evening” launches brisk dialogue; Dan’s line about “one of the millionaires” plants foreshadowing. The time jump, “Three months went by,” withholds the outcome. At the reunion, the tone softens, and structural juxtaposition—Lou’s “costly furs” against Nancy’s “something better than prosperity” and “I’m… going to be married to Dan”—completes the ironic reversal.

A further structural feature is the final shift in perspective to the “smooth-faced young policeman.” This zoom-out creates dramatic irony: we know why Lou sobs, but he is “pretending not to notice.” Ending with this detached epilogue contrasts appearance and reality, universalising the theme and leaving the irony resonant beyond the pair’s reunion.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: Identifies that irony is built through a shift from Nancy valuing "truth", "honor", "kindness" to a time jump ("Three months went by") and a final contrast where Lou’s "costly furs, flashing gems" sit beside her "sobbing turbulently", while the "slender, plainly-dressed working girl" comforts her. Notes that this end focus (with the policeman observing) makes it ironic that the one who chased wealth is unhappy while Nancy, who chose love, is happy.

One way the writer structures the text to create irony is by how the beginning of this ending sets up a moral idea. The narrator says the “dollar-mark” blurs into “truth” and “kindness.” This opening hints that money may not bring happiness, so the reader expects a twist.

In addition, in the middle there is a time shift and change of focus. The story moves to “One Thursday evening” when Lou vanishes, then jumps “Three months” to a reunion. Putting Lou’s “costly furs” beside Nancy’s “shabby” clothes creates a clear contrast that builds the irony.

A further structural feature is the final image and different viewpoint. The ending zooms out to a policeman who sees the rich woman “sobbing” while the “plainly-dressed” girl comforts her. Ending on this snapshot fixes the irony: wealth weeps, while simple love brings joy.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: Shows simple awareness by noting that the structure builds to an ironic ending: after earlier talk of 'millionaires', a time jump ('Three months went by') leads to Lou’s 'costly furs' alongside 'sobbing', while Nancy is 'going to be married to Dan'.

One way the writer structures the text to create irony is by setting up expectations at the beginning and reversing them. At first there is focus on money and “Persian lamb,” so Lou seems like the one who will win.

In addition, in the middle there is a time shift, “Three months went by,” and contrast in dialogue. Lou returns in “costly furs,” but Nancy says she will marry Dan. This twist shows irony.

A further feature is the sad ending image and change of perspective. The policeman sees the rich woman “sobbing,” which strengthens the irony.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Framing moral shift from money to virtues → sets a values-versus-wealth baseline that primes later ironic reversal → dollar-mark grew blurred
• Inserted extended analogy of the hunter resting → structural pause foreshadows waning appetite for pursuit, cueing later irony → grows blunt
• Motif/foreshadowing that questions luxury’s worth → prepares the ending’s emotional irony over material signs → market value
• Transition from reflective commentary to a timed scene → narrows focus to catalyst events, tightening trajectory toward the twist → One Thursday evening
• Withholding via rumours about disappearance and escape → builds expectations of glamorous ascent that the ending complicates → going to Europe
• Accusatory dialogue naming wealth as the goal → directs reader assumptions the finale will subvert through outcomes → one of the millionaires
• Ellipsis/time jump before the reunion → delays resolution so the coming contrast lands more sharply and ironically → Three months went by
• Mirrored reunion descriptions contrasting externals and internals → structural juxtaposition delivers the riches-vs-happiness reversal → prosperity had descended upon Lou
• Climactic reveal in direct speech → redefines the supposed “big catch” and crystallises who truly “wins,” intensifying irony → to Dan—to Dan!
• Zoom-out to an observing policeman → external tableau underscores the paradox (wealth weeping, plain girl consoling) and social impotence → pretending not to notice

Question 4 - Mark Scheme

For this question focus on the second part of the source, from line 16 to the end.

In this part of the source, Lou is crying uncontrollably despite wearing an expensive fur coat and jewels. The writer suggests that her new wealth has failed to bring her happiness.

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

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of Lou's wealth and sadness
• comment on the methods the writer uses to portray Lou's wealth and misery
• 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 presents wealth as hollow through the stark juxtaposition of 'expensive fur coat' and 'diamond-ringed hands' with 'sobbing turbulently', and through the detached viewpoint of the 'Gibsonian cop' who deems the scene 'beyond help', thereby endorsing the idea that Lou’s riches cannot buy happiness. It would also note the counterpoint that Nancy’s 'something better than prosperity'—love—offers the fulfilment Lou lacks, leading to a nuanced agreement with the writer’s viewpoint to a great extent.

I largely agree that the writer suggests Lou’s new wealth has failed to bring her happiness, though the portrayal is nuanced: it is precisely when she confronts “something better than prosperity” in Nancy that the hollowness of her riches is exposed. The climactic image of an opulently dressed woman “sobbing turbulently” crystallises this irony.

From the outset of the second part, the setting primes us for dissonance. The meeting occurs “at twilight … along the border of a little quiet park,” a liminal time and place that foreshadows emotional ambiguity. Their reunion is edged with unease: after embracing, they draw back “as serpents do, ready to attack or to charm.” This striking simile suggests a brittle, performative intimacy, as if affection and rivalry coil together. Against this tension, the narrator personifies affluence: “prosperity had descended upon Lou, manifesting itself in costly furs, flashing gems, and creations of the tailors’ art.” The passive, almost religious “descended” and the verb “manifesting” stress that Lou’s transformation is external and conspicuous; the tricolon of luxury items foregrounds display over depth, as if her identity has been outsourced to commodities.

Lou’s voice confirms a value system calibrated to surfaces. Her exclamative, “You little fool!” and sneer at Nancy as “shabby” use direct speech to reveal scorn grounded in appearance. Yet the narrative pivots through elegant antithesis: “something better than prosperity had descended upon Nancy.” The syntactic echo of “had descended” creates a deliberate parallel, while the sensuous chain—“shone brighter than gems … redder than a rose … danced like electricity”—deploys comparative imagery, nature and energy metaphors to suggest that love irradiates Nancy from within. The lexical patterning sets a semantic field of light and vitality against Lou’s cold “gems,” implying why wealth cannot compensate for what she lacks.

The final tableau cements the evaluation through external focalisation. A “Gibsonian” policeman observes “a woman with an expensive fur coat, and diamond-ringed hands crouching down … sobbing turbulently, while a slender, plainly-dressed working girl leaned close.” Here, synecdoche reduces Lou to her “fur coat” and “diamond-ringed hands,” before the verbs “crouching” and “sobbing” strip that façade away. The adverb “turbulently” evokes an inner storm, and the “iron fence” she crouches against hints at emotional imprisonment. The cop’s wise refusal to intervene—these matters are “beyond help”—and the cosmic hyperbole of his nightstick’s rap travelling “to the furthermost stars” universalise the moral: institutions (and, by extension, wealth and power) cannot legislate happiness.

Overall, I agree to a great extent: the writer’s careful juxtaposition of glittering surfaces with abject grief shows that Lou’s riches have not brought contentment; confronted by Nancy’s radiant love, their insufficiency is painfully laid bare.

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, explaining that the writer juxtaposes signs of wealth—expensive fur coat, diamond-ringed hands—with misery—sobbing turbulently—to show Lou’s money has not brought happiness. It would also identify the contrast with Nancy’s joy (something better than prosperity, the plainly-dressed girl) and the policeman pretending not to notice that the situation is beyond help, reinforcing the viewpoint.

I largely agree that the writer suggests Lou’s new wealth has not brought her happiness. Although she reappears wrapped in luxury, her emotional state unravels as the scene develops.

At first, the writer foregrounds surface prosperity. The phrase “prosperity had descended upon Lou” personifies wealth as something that arrives from outside, hinting it is external and perhaps fragile. The tricolon “costly furs, flashing gems, and creations of the tailors’ art” emphasises display and showiness rather than substance. Lou’s voice is boastful and belittling—“You little fool!… as shabby as ever”—and her language commodifies love as a “big catch,” aligning with Dan’s earlier, bitter suspicion about “one of the millionaires.” Even their reunion is edged with rivalry: their heads draw back “as serpents do,” a simile suggesting they might “attack or… charm,” which foreshadows the tension between appearance and feeling.

By contrast, Nancy’s joy is rendered through radiant imagery that explicitly outshines wealth: “something better than prosperity had descended upon Nancy—something that shone brighter than gems… and… danced like electricity.” The comparative phrase “brighter than gems” undercuts Lou’s jewels, and the metaphor/personification of “electricity” conveys an authentic, irrepressible happiness. Structurally, the pivot comes when Lou “looked, and saw” this genuine fulfilment; immediately after, she collapses, “sobbing turbulently.” The intensified adverbial choice suggests a loss of control that punctures her earlier swagger.

The final shift to the policeman’s external perspective sharpens the juxtaposition: “a woman with an expensive fur coat, and diamond-ringed hands” is crouched and weeping, while the “slender, plainly-dressed working girl” consoles her. This visual contrast dramatises the idea that wealth does not equal contentment. His decision to pass on, knowing “these matters are beyond help,” implies that inner emptiness cannot be remedied by status or authority.

Overall, I agree to a great extent: through contrast, imagery, and structural shifts, the writer presents Lou’s riches as glittering but hollow, while true happiness belongs to Nancy, not to the fur and jewels.

Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 2 response shows some understanding by broadly agreeing that the writer presents wealth as failing to bring Lou happiness, using basic examples like 'costly furs', 'flashing gems', and an 'expensive fur coat' contrasted with her 'sobbing turbulently' to identify a simple contrast supporting the viewpoint.

I mostly agree that the writer shows Lou’s new wealth has not brought her happiness. Even though she is covered in luxury, her emotions overwhelm her.

When Nancy meets Lou again, “prosperity had descended upon” her. The verb “descended” makes the wealth seem outside and sudden, not something that changes her inside. The writer lists “costly furs, flashing gems, and creations of the tailors’ art,” which builds up the image of money. However, Nancy is described with positive imagery: “something better than prosperity… shone brighter than gems in her eyes and redder than a rose in her cheeks.” This comparison suggests love and real joy are stronger than jewels. Lou’s loud greeting, “You little fool!”, sounds confident, but the contrast between their descriptions shows Nancy has the true happiness.

At the end, the policeman sees a woman with an “expensive fur coat, and diamond-ringed hands… sobbing turbulently.” The adverb “turbulently” and the verb “crouching down” show she is out of control and vulnerable. This is sharply juxtaposed with her riches. The “slender, plainly-dressed working girl” trying to comfort her makes the contrast clear: the poorer girl is actually secure, while the richer one is miserable. Structurally, finishing on this image leaves a strong final impression that money cannot fix emotional pain.

Overall, I agree with the statement. Through contrast, listing, and vivid imagery, the writer suggests Lou’s new wealth has failed to bring her happiness, while Nancy’s love for Dan gives her the real “something better.”

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response would simply agree that Lou’s wealth has failed to bring her happiness, noticing that even with an "expensive fur coat" and "diamond-ringed hands" she is "sobbing turbulently". It would make a basic point that this shows she is rich but still sad.

I mostly agree with the statement that Lou’s new wealth has failed to bring her happiness. When Nancy meets her again, the writer lists her riches: “costly furs, flashing gems, and creations of the tailors’ art.” This gives the impression of success, and Lou even mocks Nancy as “shabby as ever,” so at first she seems proud. However, when Nancy says she will marry Dan, the mood changes. The writer contrasts money with love by saying “something better than prosperity had descended upon Nancy,” which is simple imagery comparing happiness to wealth. It “shone brighter than gems,” suggesting feelings beat jewels.

The final scene makes Lou’s misery clear. The policeman sees the “expensive fur coat, and diamond-ringed hands” but also Lou “crouching... sobbing turbulently.” The strong verb and adverb show she is crying hard, so her riches do not help. The cop “pretending not to notice” and saying such things are “beyond help” suggests money and authority can’t fix her sadness.

Overall, I agree to a large extent. The writer uses contrast and description to show that even with furs and diamonds, Lou is not happy. There is a hint of pride at first, but it turns into tears.

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:

• Juxtaposition of opulence and breakdown underscores that newfound wealth has not secured happiness (sobbing turbulently).
• External observer viewpoint (the policeman) heightens the contradiction and shows limits of intervention, leaving misery unresolved (pretending not to notice).
• Contrast between Nancy’s inner joy and Lou’s material show critiques the idea that money equals happiness (shone brighter than gems).
• Passive phrasing presents wealth as surface-level and tenuous rather than fulfilling (prosperity had descended).
• Irony in Lou’s scornful address reveals bravado masking pain; her assumed superiority quickly collapses (You little fool!).
• Body language against the iron fence conveys vulnerability and confinement despite status (crouching down).
• Luxurious listing foregrounds display over depth, making the ensuing distress more poignant (flashing gems).
• Structural catalyst: Nancy’s engagement exposes what wealth cannot buy, implying love outweighs riches for happiness (biggest catch in the world).
• Authorial aside on institutional limits universalises the point that neither power nor wealth can salve such grief (beyond help).

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

Your youth club’s Saturday bulletin will feature short creative writing about the moments before sport begins.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Describe the touchline just before kick-off from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about turning nerves into focus.

(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:

Beneath the blunt glare of the floodlights, the touchline gleams—an immaculate incision of white, a surgical scar across the damp, night-darkened grass. The paint is chalk-pale and granular, collecting in tiny drifts along the blades like frost; dew beads tremble on the turf and shiver when a stud tests the edge. Boots wait in a disciplined huddle: black leather creased like knuckles, luminous laces drawn tight, studs set to bite. The air is a collage of smells—the antiseptic tang of liniment, the metallic whisper of wet iron from the railings, the hushed sweetness of cut grass. Everything feels charged, as if the field were holding its breath; even the cold seems attentive.

Concurrently, the stadium hums and threshes with a soft, electric murmur you can almost taste. The tannoy clears its throat; an officious cough of announcements. Stewards tilt their heads, earpieces glinting, palms slicing the air with practised gestures. A paper cup skitters along the technical area, then falters and settles at the heel of a trainer. Cameras blink red; cables snake, black on green. The assistant referee cradles his flag—stripes prim, triangular face bright against the swelling dusk—and practises that peculiar semaphore: up and down, up and down, up and down, a metronome for decisions that haven’t yet happened. From the dugouts floats a chorus of reminders—tight, press, watch him—nothing you haven’t heard before, and yet tonight they seem sharper, as if words themselves could mark territory.

Close up, the line is more complicated than its clean distance suggests. The paint feathers into the grass, a soft fray; it clings to socks in chalky kisses and smudges the toes of boots that stray too near. Laces crosshatch and knot; tape bites shins; a scuffed stud reveals a constellation of old matches in a rim of dried mud. Breath ghosts from mouths in tender streamers; somebody slaps a bicep with theatrical certainty. The pitch bristles where heavy footsteps have grazed it; each scuff raises a powder-fine sigh. The touchline, for all its quiet, is tyrannical: it commands without speaking, it defines without debate. Players hover along it like birds on a wire—alert, impatient, tethered.

Beyond, banners twitch and settle; the great banks of seats ripple as a thousand shoulders shrug into place. The fourth official inspects a clipboard he does not need; his board sleeps, blank and watchful. A water bottle exhales with a puck of plastic; a last mouthful is swilled, spat, dark on pale whitewash. The captains have shaken hands; the coin is already in a pocket, warm with verdict. Wingers edge wider, toes flirting with the paint; they measure the run they will make, the breath they will burn. The referee turns the whistle in his fingers—a small, silver instrument, almost delicate—then glances at his watch. For a second that stretches and thins and glows, the stadium becomes a lens: all the noise narrows, all the colour concentrates, all the waiting condenses along that uncompromising stripe. The line is a fuse. The spark hesitates—poised, bright, inevitable.

Option B:

Nerves. The body's quiet alarm; the mind's unruly drummer, beating at the ribcage, calling for flight even as you stand perfectly still. On some days it is a whisper, a gossamer quiver—today it was a storm.

The stadium was a bowl of held breath. Floodlights pooled white on the red track; lane numbers sat like stark instructions; the starter’s pistol slept in the official’s hand. The air smelt of liniment and hot rubber.

Maya crouched beside her blocks and pretended, for a moment, that she wasn’t shaking. Not fear exactly—more a swarm of something with wings, wild and wanting escape. Her spikes tapped a fretful tattoo. She adjusted the blocks again with fastidious fingers, listening for the clean click that meant control.

Remember, Coach had said, nerves are fuel if you light them properly. Don’t drown them. Strike the match. Now, she sifted that sentence through her mind, turning it as you might a coin, looking for its value. How do you light a feeling without being burned?

By attention. By narrowing the world until it fits inside a single, precise circle. Breath, for instance: in for four, hold for two, out for six; again; again. The numbers steadied. The storm, perversely, obeyed counting. Her shoulders settled; the tremor, though present, became useful—like a coiled spring rather than a frayed wire.

She looked down the lane and made it smaller with her eyes. Not four hundred metres—a corridor of red, a ribbon with invisible ticks where her stride should land. She pictured her knees lifting, her arms like metronomes. She found the first bend and labelled it, plainly: do not panic here.

Someone coughed; a seagull cut the sky; a child cried. The world offered distractions; the world always did. Yet, as if twisting a lens, she turned the clicks and coughs into hush. The noise didn’t vanish; it receded, leaving what mattered: the gun, the line, the four beats of her own private drum.

On your marks.

The command snapped across the track, precise as a blade. Maya lowered herself into the blocks and felt the stadium pour into her spine. Hands settled, fingers splayed; feet lodged; head low. An incautious thought surfaced—don’t false start—she caught it and planted something else: go when the sound arrives, not an atom before.

Set.

Everything rose: her hips, the hairs on her arms, the stadium’s heartbeat. Time thickened—almost lazily, like treacle. But inside that second she met her nerves and shook their hand. We run, she told them. We do not scatter.

When the pistol cracked, the noise didn’t frighten; it focused. The drummer inside her ribcage kept perfect time.

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

Option A:

The touchline gleams under the floodlights, a bright seam stitched into the dark-green cloth of the pitch. Dew beads the grass; chalk lies crisp, powdery, a boundary so clean it seems new-born. Everything gathers at its edge—the cones, the neat geometry of the ball, a flurry of boots—and yet nothing crosses. Not yet. The field’s white lip holds its breath, waiting for noise to spill over.

Sound gathers and stretches: a warm-up drum of palms, the tannoy clearing its throat, flags clicking on their poles, a steady buzz from the lights. Somewhere behind, studs tick against concrete in quick, staccato scatters; here, the assistant snaps his fluorescent flag. Coaches trade clipped words that the wind steals. Above them, the scoreboard glows with patient zeroes: 00:00, a frozen promise.

At the white edge, a pair of boots waits, toes testing the line. Black leather, scuffed yet polished; laces crosshatched tight; studs dulled with old turf. The air is menthol from liniment, green with cut grass, a little metallic, like nerves. The ball sits a few feet away, pearled with damp. A player drops it, lets it rebound—thud. Thud. Thud. The sound measures the gap between intention and action.

On the periphery, everything fusses into place. Cables snake along the hoardings; photographers kneel, shutters already pecking. The fourth official checks his board, digits glowing. Substitutes in acid-bright bibs jog the touchline, chewing, spitting, trying not to stare. The manager hovers in the technical area—coat zipped to the chin, watch face winking as he taps it once. The referee waits at halfway, the whistle cold against his knuckles.

And still the line carries the weight. What is a line but a promise designed to be broken? On one side: expectation, hunger, all the loud nouns. On the other: permission. A boy in a replica shirt leans over the barrier, eyes fixed on those boots; his dad says something about formations, but the boy hears only the sea-surge of noise and the thready hush beneath it.

A breeze lifts, and chalk flurries at their ankles like whispered advice. Floodlights hum; a gull wheels above, indifferent. Laces are checked; an armband is straightened; the captain claps once. The assistant raises his flag. Not yet. The referee brings the whistle up; the stadium leans in (as if seats and people have bones that can bend). A boot shaves the line, takes a thin stripe of white, and pauses—caught between held breath and the first note of the game.

Option B:

Morning. The time when edges sharpen; light pries at curtains; breath tastes of mint and nerves. The hall held its breath; floorboards shone like a quiet lake; rows of chairs squared their shoulders, orderly, expectant. Somewhere, a microphone cleared its small throat; the clock at the back bit each second cleanly. My tie felt too tight. My palms were damp, my heart a small drum insisting on its solo.

I had practised in my bedroom until the wallpaper learned my speech; nevertheless, the swarm inside me woke — a busy, insistent buzzing beneath the breastbone. ‘It isn’t an enemy,’ Mr Patel had said, sliding a mug of tea across a desk days ago. ‘It’s electricity. Borrow it; wire it into something.’ A good metaphor, but harder in the fluorescent morning. The smells in the hall were polish and dust and something citrus; the taste in my mouth was penny-metal, bright and thin. I counted: in for four, hold for four, out for six. Again; this time the tremor eased, slightly.

When they called my name, the air moved around me like water around a swimmer. Walk. Shoulders back. Shoes clicked a rhythm I pretended I owned. The lectern was smooth and cool; I set my paper down as if laying a leaf on a pond. Hands steadied—almost. A face in the third row smiled; an anchor, small but real. I lifted my eyes to the back wall, past the exit sign’s green glow, not hiding in the safe middle any more.

The first sentence tried to tangle itself, a knot of syllables at the back of my mouth, but my breath arrived on time. I imagined a camera lens turning, tiny gears aligning, the blur tightening into edge. Nerves were heat; focus was the glass that holds it—sharp, contained. I let the energy run through posture, through pace. Full stop where it should be; comma where it helps, not hinders. The metronome at the back of the hall—the clock—kept time for me; I matched it.

Something shifted. The swarm did not vanish; it flew in formation. My mouth stopped tasting of metal; words found their weight, their light. I chose three faces and moved between them, not letting my gaze skitter. A joke I had rehearsed landed; laughter was a small wave that lifted me rather than knocking me sideways. Even my hands knew what to do, drawing the shape of an idea in the air as if sketching a bridge.

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

Option A:

The touchline is a white stitch sewn into the green cloth, bright as bone under the floodlights. Chalk clings to the nap of the grass, a faint dust that lifts when a stud brushes past and then settles again, like breath falling in cold air. The smell is familiar and oddly clean: cut blades, warm rubber, the sting of liniment. Someone rolls a spare ball along the edge until it taps a heel and stops; it wobbles, settles, waits. Even the flags on the corner seem to lean inwards, attention fixed on this border that holds everything back.

Concurrently, the fourth official smooths a palm down the glowing numbers; they blink, obedient and harsh. The assistant referee bounces on his toes, flag neat as a folded napkin, wrist loose, practising that economical flick only he seems to respect. A coach paces parallel to the white line—two steps up, two steps back—never quite crossing it, eyes narrowed, mouth a thin line to match the paint at his feet. Behind him, a crate of bottles rattles, thin plastic muttering, and a roll of tape lies open, its end stuck to itself like a tongue.

Boots are lined on the turf, pairs nudged heel-to-toe. Laces are retied, then retied again, double knots pressed flat; rituals are performed without words. Someone slaps his calves and exhales; another draws a cross on the leather and kisses his wrist. Stretching legs swing side to side, side to side, a rhythm that steadies and soothes. Steam lifts from shoulders and open mouths—just a little—as the brightness heightens every colour and yet flattens it too. The captain drags his studs through the chalk, leaving small teeth-marks; he looks down, then up, then out.

Beyond the barrier, the crowd swells from murmur to something thicker. Scarves are wound; a drum knocks out a pulse that travels along the stand. Cameras blink red; a commentator murmurs into his mic, practising names that catch. A gust slides along the line, teasing loose threads of grass; the white flares, then seems to dim. For a moment the whole place feels balanced on it: players, coaches, hopes, held by a strip no wider than a palm. The referee lifts his whistle. Sound narrows. The line holds its breath, and so do we; time stretches, thinning, until the first boot skims the chalk and the boundary smudges into motion.

Option B:

The track was a red ribbon stretched under a sky that couldn’t decide between grey and brave. Around me, the stadium moved in pockets: a scatter of murmurs, the crackle of the tannoy, a gull above the stand. My heart rattled a staccato pattern—half drum, half bird beating at a window; my palms prickled, each finger lit with small fires. It wasn’t pain, exactly, more a restless fizzing energy that made my thoughts skitter. I bounced on my toes, tried a smile, failed. Nerves, I told myself, not doom. Nerves that could, maybe, be taught.

Coach always said nerves were not an enemy but a resource: turn them, he told me, like you turn a lens, until blur becomes shape. Breathe in. Breathe out. I catalogued the scene with deliberate care—the rubber’s dusty smell; the clean cut of grass beyond lane eight; the sour-sweet liniment that clung to the warm-up area. The big clock gnawed seconds. My mouth tasted metallic. Could I take the noise and thin it to one note?

Last time, at counties, I had let the fluttering own me. I false-started; stepped forward on a snatch of sound that wasn’t the gun, and watched a white flag lift like a verdict. Afterwards, though, I practised the unglamorous things: counting breaths to four; dropping my shoulders; seeing (calmly) the line ten metres ahead instead of imagining disaster ten metres behind. I learnt my blocks, my stride, my quiet. Slowly, nerves and focus stopped arguing and started to align, not perfectly, but enough.

“On your marks.” The starter’s voice slid across the track. I settled the blocks; the metal teeth bit the track and, in return, the track seemed to hold me. Spikes nudged in; fingers spread; head bowed. The crowd dissolved into a low hush. I let my gaze sit soft on the white lane line—one simple stripe leading forward. Not the girl who flinched. Not the memory. Just now.

I gathered the restless energy and drew it tight, like string pulled to a bow; breath in, slow; breath out, slower. The blur narrowed. The lens clicked.

“Set—”

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

Option A:

The white chalk line lies clean and fierce under the floodlights, a thin boundary between order and noise. It runs arrow-straight along the turf, though there are scuffs where earlier boots nibble at its edge. The grass beads with cold, tiny mirrors that tremble when someone jogs past. The floodlights hum quietly, pouring down hard light that makes every blade shine, every boot simpler and bigger, and the shadows are strangely long. Beyond the stands the sky is bruised purple, a low dome where moths fuss in the light.

Boots wait, black and neon, toes nudging the paint as if daring it; laces coiled like little snakes; tape wound rough around striped socks. A stray ball settles by the assistant referee’s flag. The assistant referee stretches, eyes on their watch; the fourth official clutches the board, numbers ready to glow. Boot bags slump open; shin pads peek like white teeth. On the other side, the coach prowls, a dark silhouette barking soft instructions, then silence, then more. From the stands comes a throb—mumbled chants, a laugh bursting, the rattle of a drum; it rolls and rolls, then pulls back like a tide.

A smell of cut grass, damp earth, and menthol rub mingles in the chilly air. Breath hangs like pale smoke, drifting and breaking. Nerves prickle; even the grass seems to shiver. Studs tap the concrete—clack, clack, clack—then bite into the turf. Gloves are tugged; shirts pulled; captains touch the band on their arms. The touchline seems to lean forward, impatient. It is only paint and chalk, yet it feels like a real gate, a thin door into whatever comes next. For a heartbeat, everything holds: flag steady, whistle poised, crowd tight with wanting. Then a shout, a nod, the smallest tilt of the referee’s head—and the white line lets them loose.

Option B:

The hall smelled of floor polish and dust; the kind of smell that tries to curl up your nose and stay. Chairs were lined like chess pieces, all facing the thin silver microphone. My palms shone with sweat, and my mouth was dry as chalk. Somewhere at the back, the clock ticked, slow and rude. Each click seemed louder than the last. What if I forgot the first line?

My notes trembled in my hands. Letters swam; whole sentences felt like they had forgotten me. Coach Patel’s voice slid into my head: Shrink the room. I pressed my thumb to the paper’s corner until its edge bit my skin. One breath, then another. I counted four in, six out. The wild fluttering in my stomach didn’t vanish; it turned, little by little, like a flock trying to gather. I looked for an anchor: the blue knot in the curtain; the bright shoelaces of a boy in the front row.

Focus. I chose the shoelaces—neon green, a straight line for my eyes. My heartbeat settled into a beat I could use—drum, pause, drum. Words returned, not perfectly, but enough. I heard the soft rustle of programmes, the air conditioner’s sigh; I heard my own name, not as a threat but as a beginning. When they called it, I stood. The microphone looked less like a judge and more like a listener.

I stepped forward. The first sentence wobbled on my tongue, then steadied. I slowed my voice the way you lower a window in rain. In; out; speak. The nervous heat in my veins was still there, yet it was sharper now, like a lens pulled into focus. I didn’t fight it; I aimed it. The hall stopped feeling enormous and became a path, and I followed those green laces through my second sentence, then my third, moving, at last, with purpose.

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

Option A:

Under the sharp floodlights, the touchline looks freshly drawn, a bright slash against the deep green. Boots cluster by it; laces droop like thin snakes, studs nicking the soft turf. The grass is damp and cold against ankles—the chalk is powdery, it rubs onto fingers and leaves white half-moons on skin. Cut grass and hot liniment mix in the air, a sharp, almost sweet sting in the nose. Somewhere a whistle is tested, thin. From the stands a low murmur rolls like the sea; it swells, then falls, then swells again. Shouts ping across the pitch.

Along the edge, the coach paces, then stops, then paces; his shoes scuff a faint line beside the white one. Cones squat by a bag, water bottles sweating under the lights. The assistant referee waits with his small flag, checking his watch, checking the line, checking the watch again. Chalk dust clings to the black boots and smears the heels. The touchline seems strict, a rule made visible: step over too soon and the world will shriek. It looks simple, like a ribbon on a present, but it holds back all that running, all that noise.

Now the players gather. Each players breath is pale in the cold, little ghosts. Studs click, then still. Silence folds the corner—thin, delicate—and the floodlights hum. Before the first kick, everything leans toward that line, held and holding, a bow drawn tight. Don’t cross. Not yet. Then the referee lifts the whistle to his lips, and the touchline waits.

Option B:

Morning. The hall held its breath; rows of blue plastic chairs, a strip of white tape like a scar across the stage. The lights buzzed. It smelled of polish and dust. My palms were damp as I fixed the microphone, again. The clock on the back wall ticked in a slow, steady tut-tut, like it knew I was about to mess up.

At first, my nerves were everywhere. They climbed up my spine and shivered in my teeth. My hands shook like leaves and my mouth was dry. What if my voice cracked? What if I forgot the first line? The rows of faces blurred, I blinked; I swallowed, twice. Breathe in. Breathe out. Again.

So I made a small plan: count to four, plant my feet, look at the back wall. The drone of the lights became a rhythm; the clock a metronome—not my enemy, my guide. I pressed my thumb to the cool metal stand as if it was an anchor. I could hear my own heart, but I listened for the beat under it, steady, simple.

Then the noise in my head changed. Not gone, but turned, like a tap turned down until it only drips. The bright stage wasn't a threat; it was a box I could fill, one word at a time. I lifted my chin. Focus tightened like a lens. The first word sat ready on my tongue. The hall waited with me. I let the breath carry me forward.

I began.

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

Option A:

The floodlights glare down on the touchline, making the chalk look new and bright, almost too clean. Grass blades, clipped short, stand like a small crowd. A pair of boots waits by the line, black and shiny, their studs blotched with old mud. The air has that sharp smell of freshly cut turf and something chemical from the white paint; it tickles the nose. A low thrum of waiting sits under the lights. Breath hangs in the cool evening, small ghosts drifting away.

On the bench, coaches fuss with clipboards. Their voices are low but clipped, now and then a bark flies out across the white. The crowd begins a murmur that swells and dips like the sea. Boots tap on the concrete; click, clack. My fingers feel the damp on my sleeve; the cold prickles the skin and I pull it tight.

The referee checks his watch, the stadium holds its breath. Now players edge to the touchline, toes on the chalk. Waiting, waiting—waiting. The line looks like a rule: do not cross. The whistle rises— not yet.

Option B:

The hall smelled of varnish and wet coats. Rows of desks shone under harsh lights like islands. My hands would not stop shaking; the pen tapped a silly beat. The clock ticked too loud—like it wanted to show off. My stomach did a slow flip, like a washing machine. The paper waited with its seal. Nerves ran under my skin in quick rivers. I swallowed. I wanted to run.

First, I breathed in and out. Count four, hold, count four. It felt silly, but it made a small space in my head, a quiet corner. My heart thumped; the room seemed to thump with it. I pictured a torch beam, narrow and bright. I had one job: start. Name, date, candidate number. The pen steadied, not much, but enough. Questions stared up at me. Which one could I do? Not all at once. One at a time, I told myself.

I underlined the first task and boxed the key words, like my sister said I should of. Plan, then write. The nerves didn’t go, not completly, but they shrank. Focus grew like a small flame. I leaned closer to the page and the room faded.

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

Option A:

The white chalk line sits on the grass like sugar. It is thin and straight and it goes all the way, like a road. Boots stand close to it, black and muddy, some tap the studs and scrape. The lights are big and bright so the grass looks wet, it shines. The air is cold, it bites a bit. The line looks like it is waiting. The ball waits near the line, round and still, it does not move

Voices come from the touchline, short shouts and claps. A coach waves his arms, the flag man holds his flag; it shakes. Breath comes out like smoke in the light. I can smell grass and mud and the paint of the chalk. Thud thud, studs on the ground. The crowd is quiet and loud, like the sea. The whistle is in the ref's hand, it's almost in the air he waits, we was waiting.

So close. Kick off

Option B:

Morning. The time when buses hiss and the air is cold and my mouth is dry. The hall smells like polish and paper. Chairs line up like soldiers. My name is on a list. I swallow and it feels loud.

My hands shake like leaves, my heart is a drum that wont stop. I want to run but I dont, I walk to the desk and sit and the pen feels slippery. Everyone coughs. Everyone seems calm, I am not. The clock ticks and pushes me. I hear my teacher say good luck but it sounds far.

Breathe in, breath out. I stare at one dot on the wood. Just one thing. Not the room. Not the noise. One dot. I say it in my head, I can do it. I can do it again.

The drum gets softer—like its under a pillow. The dot gets bigger, and I write the first line.

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

Option A:

The white line is bright and new and the grass is short and wet, my boots press into it. The floodlights are big and they stare, the air is cold and thin and I breath fast. The whistle is not blown yet. Mud sticks to the studs and chalk rubs on the leather like dust. I smell cut grass, my nose itch. The ball waits and the coach waves and I dont move, I am just waiting and waiting. A shout comes from the stand, then quiet. I think about my bag on the bench, and the sky is black.

Option B:

Spring. The light comes in the window, I feel sick. My hands shake like a little leaf. The test paper will come soon and my name is on the top, I think about running. My heart bang, bang like a drum. I try to breathe slow, in and out, the noise gets small. The clock ticks loud. I look at the first question. One line, then two. I write. The fear turns small and thin. I can see the words. Last week I couldnt do this on the bus, it was too loud, but now I just look and I do it.