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

Mark Scheme

Introduction

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

Level of response marking instructions

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

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

Step 1 Determine a level

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

Step 2 Determine a mark

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

Advice for Examiners

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

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

SECTION A: READING - Assessment Objectives

AO1

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

AO2

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

AO3

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

AO4

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

SECTION B: WRITING - Assessment Objectives

AO5 (Writing: Content and Organisation)

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

AO6

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

Answers

Question 1 - Mark Scheme

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

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

• 1.1 What does the speaker do with his cap?: Doffs his cap – 1 mark
• 1.2 What does the speaker do and say when first addressing Thenichka?: Removes his cap, bows politely, and says he is Arkady's friend who means no harm. – 1 mark
• 1.3 What physical gesture accompanies the speaker’s introduction?: A polite bow – 1 mark
• 1.4 Which best describes the speaker's initial manner towards Thenichka?: Courteous and reassuring towards Thenichka, with a formal introduction. – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

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

6 Rising from her seat, Thenichka gazed at him in silence. "Oh, and what a fine baby!" he continued. "Pray do not disturb yourself. Never yet have I cast upon a child an evil spell. But why are his cheeks so red? Is he cutting teeth?"

11 "Yes," replied Thenichka. "He has now cut four of them, and the gums are a little swelled." "Then let me see them. Do not be afraid. I am a doctor."

How does the writer use language here to show the visitor’s manner and the way the baby’s condition is discussed? 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: Using exclamatives and courteous imperatives like "what a fine baby!", "Pray do not disturb yourself" and "Do not be afraid. I am a doctor.", alongside playful hyperbole "Never yet have I cast upon a child an evil spell", the visitor blends genial reassurance with authority, while brisk interrogatives ("Why are his cheeks so red? Is he cutting teeth?") shift into a clinical register that Thenichka mirrors with precise, medicalised detail ("He has now cut four of them", "the gums are a little swelled"), presenting the baby’s condition in measured, diagnostic terms.

The writer immediately establishes the visitor’s genial, reassuring manner through sentence form and register. The participial opener "Rising from her seat" and "gazed... in silence" suggest wary deference, which he dissolves with the exclamative "Oh, and what a fine baby!" and the ceremonious archaism "Pray do not disturb yourself." His playful hyperbole, "Never yet have I cast upon a child an evil spell," alludes to folk fears and, through the inversion "Never yet have I," lends his reassurance oratorical authority.

Furthermore, his diagnostic attentiveness is shaped through interrogatives and precise lexis. The paired questions "why are his cheeks so red? Is he cutting teeth?" move from observation to hypothesis, modelling clinical reasoning; the anatomical "cheeks" and evaluative "so red" frame the baby’s state as symptomatic rather than alarming.

Moreover, the baby’s condition is discussed in measured, domestic-medical idiom. Thenichka’s "He has now cut four of them" uses the idiom "cut" and the quantifier "four" to normalise teething as progressive; her hedge in "the gums are a little swelled" blends technical vocabulary with understatement to soothe.

Additionally, the visitor’s authority is balanced with tact through imperatives and plain declaratives. The mitigated directive "Let me see them," the calming negative command "Do not be afraid," and the crisp "I am a doctor" form a tricolon of short clauses whose steady cadence projects competence while continuing to reassure. In this way, the writer’s choices simultaneously construct the visitor’s courteous, confident manner and present the baby’s condition as manageable and ordinary.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer presents the visitor as politely authoritative through formal, reassuring language and imperatives—e.g. "Pray do not disturb yourself", "Do not be afraid"—and the exclamation "Oh, and what a fine baby!", while the joking reassurance "Never yet have I cast upon a child an evil spell" helps to calm Thenichka. His diagnostic manner is shown by interrogatives and short declaratives—"But why are his cheeks so red? Is he cutting teeth?", "I am a doctor"—and the baby’s condition is discussed with precise detail like "He has now cut four of them" and "the gums are a little swelled", with "in silence" hinting at her deference.

The writer establishes the visitor’s courteous yet confident manner through exclamatives and a formal register. The exclamation "what a fine baby!" creates a warm, approving tone, while the polite imperative "Pray do not disturb yourself" sounds ceremonious and soothing. His humorous exaggeration, "Never yet have I cast upon a child an evil spell," nods to local superstition and works to put Thenichka at ease.

Furthermore, the sequence of interrogatives—"why are his cheeks so red? Is he cutting teeth?"—shows a brisk, diagnostic approach. The present progressive "is... cutting" suggests an ongoing process, and the quick questions demonstrate professional curiosity.

Moreover, his imperatives and blunt declaratives assert authority: "Then let me see them. Do not be afraid. I am a doctor." The imperative "let me see" is softened by reassurance, while the short declarative and the first-person pronoun "I" underline his expertise.

Additionally, the baby’s condition is discussed in precise, measured language. Thenichka states, "He has now cut four of them," using a clear quantifier, and adds the modifier "a little" in "the gums are a little swelled," minimising alarm. Even the narrative verb "gazed at him in silence" hints at initial unease, which the visitor’s confident, reassuring tone steadily calms.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment on effects; some appropriate detail; some use of terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response typically spots sentence forms like exclamations and questions, "Oh, and what a fine baby!" and "Is he cutting teeth?", to show the visitor’s friendly, curious manner, and notes reassuring imperatives/declaratives such as "Pray do not disturb yourself", "Do not be afraid" and "I am a doctor" to present calm authority. It may also mention the dramatic reassurance "Never yet have I cast upon a child an evil spell", while "gazed at him in silence" and the plain detail "the gums are a little swelled" show the baby’s condition is discussed simply.

The writer presents the visitor as polite and reassuring through exclamatives and formal diction. He says, “Oh, and what a fine baby!” and “Pray do not disturb yourself,” which makes his manner sound warm and respectful. The humorous hyperbole, “Never yet have I cast upon a child an evil spell,” helps to calm any worry.

Furthermore, the interrogative sentences — “why are his cheeks so red? Is he cutting teeth?” — show a professional curiosity. This suggests he is carefully investigating the baby’s condition.

Additionally, imperatives and a firm declarative signal authority and comfort: “Then let me see them. Do not be afraid. I am a doctor.” This mix of command and reassurance makes him seem confident but kind.

Finally, Thenichka’s response uses a quantifier and softening phrase, “cut four… a little swelled,” so the condition is discussed as specific but minor.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response might notice the visitor sounds polite and reassuring, using an exclamation and questions like "what a fine baby!" and "Why are his cheeks so red? Is he cutting teeth?" to show interest, and calming phrases like "Pray do not disturb yourself" and "Do not be afraid. I am a doctor.". It might also point out the baby’s condition is described simply and factually with "cut four of them" and "the gums are a little swelled".

The writer uses positive adjectives to show the visitor’s manner: “fine baby” makes him sound kind and polite. Moreover, “Pray do not disturb yourself” shows he reassures her. The image “evil spell” is exaggeration to calm her. Furthermore, the questions “why are his cheeks so red?” and “Is he cutting teeth?” show a curious tone. Additionally, the baby’s condition is simple and factual: “cut four,” “gums… swelled.” Imperatives like “Do not be afraid” and the phrase “I am a doctor” show authority. Therefore, the language makes him gentle while the condition is discussed plainly.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Exclamatory praise presents an effusive, ingratiating manner that sounds warmly reassuring (what a fine baby!)
• Polite, formal imperative offers calm reassurance while subtly directing her behaviour (Pray do not disturb yourself.)
• Playful hyperbole lightens the mood and dispels any fear of harm (an evil spell)
• Contrastive pivot from flattery to observation signals alert, diagnostic focus (cheeks so red)
• Probing interrogative frames the talk as clinical inquiry into the baby’s condition (Is he cutting teeth?)
• Reassuring imperative reduces anxiety even as he takes control of the situation (Do not be afraid.)
• Directive imperative asserts confident authority to examine the symptoms (let me see them)
• Precise quantification makes the condition sound measured and routine (cut four of them)
• Minimising phrase downplays severity, normalising the discomfort of teething (a little swelled)
• Short declarative identity claim builds credibility and justifies his requests (I am a doctor.)

Question 3 - Mark Scheme

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

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

You could write about:

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

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

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

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Analyses effects of structural choices; judicious examples; sophisticated terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would trace how alienation is structured through staging and contrast: Bazarov leads while Arkady is standing in the background, the baby soothed by Bazarov’s Always children are quiet with me but, with Arkady, started to cry, isolating the son in his own home. It would then analyse deepening estrangement via structural shifts: after the two friends departed, Bazarov’s listing critique—the cattle look poor... the buildings have a tipsy air—and the tonal collision of the voluptuous melody with his burst out laughing at At his age? end as Arkady failed to accomplish even a smile.

One way in which the writer structures the opening to foreground alienation is by staging a formal entrance. Bazarov “doffs his cap” and “introduce[s]” himself, marking him as a self-announced outsider to the domestic arbour. The immediate focus on the baby creates a touchstone of intimacy that excludes others: structurally, Bazarov’s confident handling (“Always children are quiet with me”) is contrasted with Arkady’s failed approach, where the infant “started to cry.” This juxtaposition within the same scene isolates Arkady inside his own home and seeds a fault-line between public politeness and private belonging.

In addition, the writer engineers a shift in focus as “the two friends departed,” moving from the enclosed family space to open path and dialogue. The pace slows with the inserted beat of silence (“For some paces… in silence”), amplifying emotional distance. Bazarov’s interrogatives and clinical reductions (“Two and two make four”) and his cumulative listing of estate defects (“cattle… poor… horses… broken-down… buildings… tipsy”) construct an alienating lens over Arkady’s heritage. The ideological juxtaposition intensifies when Arkady muses on “mottled fields,” only for Bazarov to undercut it with the absolutist “Nature is rubbish,” estranging son from soil, father, and friend.

A further structural pivot arrives with the temporal marker “At this moment” and the intrusion of diegetic sound: the “long-drawn” violoncello. This sensory shift softens tone, yet Bazarov’s incredulous echoing (“At his age?”) and laughter close the extract on discord. The sustained external focalisation largely withholds Arkady’s interiority; the final detail that he “failed to accomplish even a smile” leaves the rift unresolved. Thus, sequencing from social formality to ideological scorn culminates in a public mockery that crystallises alienation.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer structures growing alienation by moving from a formal, socially smooth opening to discord: Bazarov’s assured entry and ease with the child (Allow me to introduce myself, Always children are quiet with me) contrasts with Arkady’s failure (started to cry), then they departed and walked on in silence as focus shifts to a critical list (cattle look poor…) and hard assertions (Two and two make four, Nature is rubbish). Finally, a soft tonal shift to music (long-drawn strains, like honey) is undercut by mockery (should play the 'cello!) and Arkady’s isolation (failed to accomplish even a smile), reinforcing distance between people and values.

One way in which the writer structures alienation is by opening in medias res with direct speech: “Allow me to introduce myself.” This frames Bazarov as an outsider intruding into a household tableau. The focus on the baby foregrounds his clinical assurance (“I am a doctor”), contrasted with Arkady, who emerges “from the background” and makes the child cry. This contrast and the foreground/background shift marginalise Arkady within his own home, while the clipped exchanges quicken the pace to heighten social awkwardness.

In addition, the focus then widens as the friends leave the arbour, and the pace slows with a pause—“For some paces... in silence”—signalling emotional distance. Bazarov’s cumulative listing of defects (“cattle... poor,” “buildings... tipsy”) builds an evaluative tone that alienates him from the estate and the peasants. The debate about marriage further stages ideological and generational separation between Bazarov and Arkady’s family.

A further structural device is tonal juxtaposition when Schubert’s “voluptuous” cello line “like honey” suffuses the air, undercut by Bazarov’s laughter at “a man of forty-four” playing. This abrupt tonal shift acts as a structural pivot from harmony to derision. The third-person viewpoint keeps us observing, so the extract ends on unresolved strain and deepened alienation.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response would typically say the structure moves from early acceptance to growing distance: Bazarov is welcomed by the baby (made no resistance) while Arkady is until now standing in the background, then the two friends departed and walk in silence as Bazarov says Rubbish!, showing separation. Finally, a mood shift from the long-drawn strains and voluptuous melody of the violoncello to Bazarov who burst out laughing while Arkady failed to accomplish even a smile builds a clear sense of alienation.

One way the writer structures the opening to create alienation is by beginning with dialogue around Thenichka and the baby while Arkady is “standing in the background.” The focus shows contrast: the child is calm with Bazarov but cries with Arkady, so the beginning places Arkady outside his own family.

In addition, the focus shifts as the friends leave and walk. The short exchanges and the line “walked on in silence” slow the pace and increase distance. Bazarov’s critical comments about the estate change the tone, making him seem separate from the place and from Arkady.

A further structural feature at the end is the sudden change when the cello music is followed by laughter. The gentle mood is broken as Bazarov “burst out laughing”. This change, and Arkady not smiling, leaves a final feeling of alienation.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: At the beginning, the writer shows distance as Thenichka gazed at him in silence and Arkady is standing in the background, so he seems apart. Later, they walked on in silence, and at the end Bazarov burst out laughing while Arkady failed to accomplish even a smile, which simply makes the alienation clear.

One way the writer structures alienation is at the start, when focus stays on Thenichka and the baby, while Arkady is “in the background.” The baby crying makes him seem excluded.

In addition, there is a change in mood when the friends walk “in silence.” This pause and the critical talk about the estate shift focus to problems, isolating Arkady.

A further feature is the ending with the cello scene, where Bazarov laughs. This contrast with Arkady not smiling shows social distance.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Opening self-introduction positions Bazarov as an outsider entering a settled scene, creating immediate social distance despite courtesy (introduce myself)
• Spatial staging keeps Arkady apart while others connect, signalling early exclusion from his own circle (standing in the background)
• Contrast of effortless bonding (Bazarov) and failed bonding (Arkady) escalates rejection and emotional distance (started to cry)
• Pivot as the visit ends separates domestic warmth from the ensuing male discourse, widening the social gap (the two friends departed)
• Brief, transactional naming sequence reduces Thenichka to labels, reinforcing impersonal detachment (And her patronymic?)
• Ideological clash over marriage fractures unity, shifting from social ease to principled distance (the marriage rite?)
• Inserted pause of silence marks cooling rapport and latent tension after dispute (walked on in silence)
• Cumulative catalogue of estate faults casts Bazarov as a clinical evaluator, isolating him from familial sentiment (the cattle look poor)
• Tonal shift to music interrupts critique with tenderness, heightening the clash between sensibility and scepticism (long-drawn strains)
• Closing emotional misalignment crystallises the rift: mockery meets restraint, fixing their estrangement (failed to accomplish even a smile)

Question 4 - Mark Scheme

For this question focus on the second part of the source, from line 61 to the end.

In this part of the source, where Bazarov laughs at Arkady’s father playing the cello, he comes across as surprisingly cruel. The writer suggests that for all his intelligence, Bazarov lacks kindness and sensitivity towards others.

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

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of Bazarov and his cruel behaviour
• comment on the methods the writer uses to portray Bazarov and his laughter
• 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 perceptively argue that the writer juxtaposes the tender musical imagery—"a sensitive, but inexperienced, hand", "Like honey did the voluptuous melody suffuse the air"—with Bazarov’s derision—"burst out laughing", the sneer of "At his age?... a paterfamilias", and that he "continued laughing"—to endorse the view that, for all his intelligence, he lacks kindness and sensitivity. It would also note how Arkady "failed to accomplish even a smile", aligning the reader with his discomfort and inviting a judgement that Bazarov’s iconoclasm here becomes cruelly dismissive of simple human warmth.

I largely agree that in this moment Bazarov comes across as surprisingly cruel, and the writer uses a clear progression of tone and a sharp clash of registers to suggest that, despite his formidable intellect, he lacks kindness and sensitivity.

Before the music enters, the writer carefully primes us for Bazarov’s coldness through his uncompromising rationalism. His lexis is deliberately reductive and derisive: the repeated exclamation “Rubbish!” and the bald assertion “Two and two make four. Nothing but that matters” compress complex human realities into arithmetic certainty. This absolutist modality, coupled with the utilitarian metaphor “Nature is … not a church, but a workshop,” signals a mindset that privileges function over feeling. Structurally, this prepares the ground for his later reaction: a character who dismisses marriage as a mere “rite” and beauty as “rubbish” is primed to scorn art.

Against that hard-edged register, the narrator introduces the music with a lyrical, sensuous palette: “long-drawn strains,” a “sensitive, but inexperienced” hand, and a “voluptuous melody” that spreads “like honey.” The simile and tactile imagery create a cocoon of warmth and vulnerability around Arkady’s father, while the qualifier “inexperienced” elicits gentle indulgence rather than contempt. The timing marker “At this moment” operates as a tonal pivot, so that the aesthetic tenderness of Schubert’s Erwartung is immediately juxtaposed with Bazarov’s reaction.

It is precisely this juxtaposition that makes his laughter read as cruel. The blunt kinetic verb “burst out laughing” cuts across the soft, elongated musical “strains,” producing bathos. His perfunctory politeness—“Pardon me”—is instantly undercut by persistence: “he continued laughing.” The mock-judicial tricolon “a man of forty-four, a paterfamilias, and a notable in the county” weaponises social roles to shame a private pleasure; the clipped rhetorical question “At his age?” polices what is ‘appropriate,’ suggesting a sly, ageist sneer. Even his earlier “Oh, ho! … quietly” carries a sardonic undertone, a habit of belittling masked by calm delivery.

The writer further frames this as unkind through Arkady’s response: “for all his reverence for his mentor, [he] failed to accomplish even a smile.” That withheld smile signals discomfort and isolates Bazarov ethically as well as emotionally. One might argue that the initial “astonishment” implies surprise more than malice, and his earlier concern that the “muzhik” are “cheating your father” shows a kind of hard-headed care. Yet the dominant effect is of ideological rigidity overriding empathy: where the narration invites us to hear “like honey,” Bazarov hears only an absurd breach of his own creed.

Overall, then, the writer’s structural pivot, lyrical-versus-blunt register, and mocking rhetorical devices combine to present Bazarov as intellectually sharp but emotionally stunted—clever, yes, but conspicuously lacking in kindness and sensitivity.

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 typically agree to a considerable extent, identifying Bazarov’s insensitivity when he burst out laughing at the idea that a man of forty-four... should play the 'cello, and explaining how the writer’s gentle description—Like honey did the voluptuous melody suffuse the air—contrasts with his derision to suggest surprising cruelty, while also noting his stark rationalism—Two and two make four, Nature is rubbish—as context rather than excuse.

I largely agree: in this section Bazarov appears surprisingly cruel, and the writer implies that his sharp intelligence is paired with a lack of kindness. Although he can sound principled—calling Fenitchka “justified”—his reaction to the cello is cold and sneering, showing little regard for other people’s feelings. This cruelty is surprising because the conversation has presented him as clever and clear‑sighted, if “censorious,” about the estate—“the cattle look poor,” “the buildings have a tipsy air.”

The writer first surrounds Nikolai’s music with tenderness. The simile “Like honey did the voluptuous melody suffuse the air” makes the sound feel nourishing and gentle, while the player is described as “a sensitive, but inexperienced, hand,” which invites respect for a sincere amateur. By juxtaposing this delicacy with Bazarov’s response, the laughter feels jarringly inappropriate and ungenerous.

When Bazarov “burst out laughing,” the violent verb breaks the calm. His incredulous “At his age?” and the list “a man of forty-four, a paterfamilias, and a notable” convert a private pleasure into a public absurdity; the tone is contemptuous. He even “continued laughing” though Arkady “failed to accomplish even a smile,” signalling insensitivity to his friend’s discomfort.

The structure also prepares this moment by stressing Bazarov’s utilitarian mindset: “Two and two make four. Nothing but that matters,” and “Nature is rubbish.” Such blunt lexis and aphorisms prioritise utility over feeling. Even his earlier “Oh, ho!… How high and mighty,” delivered “quietly,” carries a sarcastic, belittling note towards Arkady.

Overall, I agree to a great extent: through juxtaposition, dialogue and verb choices, the writer contrasts “voluptuous” music with Bazarov’s scorn, suggesting that, despite his intellect, he lacks the kindness and sensitivity to respect others’ fragile pleasures.

Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response would mostly agree that Bazarov is unkind, noting he ‘burst out laughing’ at a ‘paterfamilias’ playing the ’cello and ‘continued laughing’ even when Arkady ‘failed to accomplish even a smile’. It would make a simple methods point that the gentle music is described as ‘like honey’ and by a ‘sensitive’ hand, which makes his laughter seem cruel.

I mostly agree with the statement. In this section, the writer presents Bazarov as clever but rather harsh, and his laughter at the cello feels surprisingly cruel.

Earlier in the extract, Bazarov already sounds unsympathetic. He dismisses feelings and customs with the blunt repetition of “Rubbish!” and says, “Two and two make four. Nothing but that matters.” This logical tone shows his intelligence, but it also shows a lack of warmth. He criticises Arkady’s father’s estate in a list — “cattle… poor,” “horses… broken-down,” “buildings have a tipsy air” — which makes him seem “censorious,” and not very sensitive to Arkady.

When the music begins, the tone changes. The writer uses a simile and soft imagery: “Like honey did the voluptuous melody suffuse the air.” This creates a gentle, emotional atmosphere, so Bazarov’s reaction jars against it. The verbs “burst out laughing” and “continued laughing” suggest sudden, thoughtless mockery rather than kindness. His rhetorical questions and exclamations — “What? Your father plays the ‘cello? … At his age?” — make his scorn obvious. The list “a man of forty-four, a paterfamilias, and a notable” also sounds sneering, as if such a man should not enjoy music. Meanwhile, Arkady “failed to accomplish even a smile,” which highlights the insensitivity of Bazarov’s laughter towards his friend’s feelings.

Overall, I agree to a large extent that Bazarov appears cruel here. The contrast between the tender music and his mocking laughter, along with his blunt language elsewhere, suggests that although he is intelligent, he lacks kindness and sensitivity.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: Simple agreement with the writer’s view that Bazarov lacks kindness, noting he burst out laughing at Arkady’s father, asks 'At his age?', and continued laughing even when Arkady doesn’t smile.

I mostly agree with the statement. When Bazarov laughs at Arkady’s father playing the cello, he seems cruel and insensitive. The writer shows this with the description and the dialogue between the two friends.

Before the music starts, Bazarov already sounds quite hard. He says, “Two and two make four. Nothing but that matters,” which makes him seem very logical but not caring. He also calls nature “rubbish” and the estate “tipsy,” so his comments feel harsh and blunt. This gives the impression that, although he is clever, he doesn’t think about people’s feelings.

Then the music is described very nicely, with a simile: “Like honey did the voluptuous melody suffuse the air,” and it comes from a “sensitive, but inexperienced, hand.” This makes the father seem gentle. Straight after that, Bazarov “burst out laughing.” The verb “burst” makes it sound sudden and rude. He mocks the father with a kind of list: “a man of forty-four, a paterfamilias, and a notable,” and asks “at his age?”, which sounds sarcastic. Even Arkady “failed to accomplish even a smile,” showing it is not funny. Overall, I agree that Bazarov lacks kindness and sensitivity here, and the writer makes him seem surprisingly cruel.

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 lyrical musical imagery with Bazarov’s harsh reaction frames his response as crude and unfeeling towards beauty and its maker ("voluptuous melody", "burst out laughing")
• Sarcastic listing of age/status intensifies the sneer, attacking dignity rather than the act, which reads as humiliating and cruel ("a paterfamilias")
• The persistence that he "continued" despite the awkwardness signals a stubborn lack of empathy, prolonging the insult ("continued laughing")
• The ageist rhetorical question reduces music to an absurdity at his stage of life, revealing contempt over sensitivity ("At his age?")
• Narrative contrast shows even loyal Arkady recoils, positioning Bazarov’s mirth as socially tone-deaf and unkind ("failed to accomplish even a smile")
• The shift from surprise to ridicule implies a prejudice against sentiment and art in older men, not a momentary joke ("in astonishment")
• Habitual dismissals prime this moment of cruelty; his reductive worldview leaves little room for kindness towards art or people ("Nature is rubbish")
• His absolutist maxim elevates cold logic over feeling, helping explain the insensitivity of his reaction to music ("Nothing but that matters")
• Earlier tolerance is undercut by later derision; claiming the father “is justified” then mocking his harmless pastime feels mean-spirited ("Also is justified")

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

A podcast about exploring Britain is seeking creative writing from listeners for a special episode.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Describe a long and winding road from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about a journey that takes an unexpected turn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Model Answers

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

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

Option A:

The road does not hurry. It uncoils from the hill’s shoulder with a languid, deliberate grace, a graphite ribbon laid over green that keeps breathing under it; curve by careful curve, it writes its own patient handwriting across the valley. Sunlight glances off the tar and ricochets into my eyes; hedgerows, shaggy and wind-stitched, lean in as if eavesdropping; the steady susurrus of grass performs an old, unshowy applause.

Up close, the road has a roughened skin. It is a palimpsest of going and coming: tar scabbed over winter’s wounds, pale stones pressed like constellations into its dark, paint-stripes feathered where countless tyres have kissed. Heat breathes up from it and carries a faint perfume—petrichor, petrol, crushed clover—so that the air tastes both clean and metallic, familiar yet astonishing. Somewhere, invisible, a stream keeps running; somewhere, closer, a bee ricochets between thistles and daisies, its burr of industry threading the quiet.

Beyond the next rise, the road tightens, as if drawing its belt; it slides into a hairpin, retreats, returns, takes another breath—bend after bend after bend—until the hill, pleased with itself, relents. From the crest the valley opens like a held note released. Low drystone walls stitch fields into an irregular quilt; a silver river scribbles and corrects itself; cloud-shadows drift in slow flotillas. The chevrons at the corner are unblinking eyes, stark white on black, urging caution without panic.

Here, the details accrue, small but insistent: a crooked signpost with its names rubbed thin by years of pointing, a foxglove spire buzzing with tongues of bees, a lone glove sunning itself on the verge like something that has remembered a hand. Even the asphalt speaks in different registers—satin-smooth where a council lorry passed last spring, corrugated where frost has had its brittle say—and the white line, interrupted, stutters and resumes, stutters and resumes, as if gathering itself to continue.

And yet the road keeps its own counsel. It refuses the straight line, mistrusts impatience, dares you to follow its logic rather than your own hurry. Wind moves over it in invisible shoals; swallows stitch and unstitch the air; a distant engine hums, then fades, like a sentence trailing into ellipsis. Toward evening the surface cools and turns to graphite again; the hedges blacken into silhouettes; the first star lifts a pinprick above the shoulder of the hill. In the dark—later—the road will be a river of light, cautious and bright, pouring itself around each curve and gathering again at the bottom, but for now it simply asks to be taken as it is: purposeful, capricious, serenely obstinate. It goes on: away, then away again, slowly, assuredly away; and in its meander, it makes the world feel larger than it was a moment ago.

Option B:

Dawn was supposed to be a clean slate: tarmac rinsed by rain, hedges rinsed by dew, minds rinsed by sleep. The road ahead unravelled like a ribbon and my little car hummed compliantly, heater ticking, coffee breathing steam from a reusable cup. Lorries lumbered past—grey whales with tarpaulin skin—and the windscreen wipers performed their slow metronomic bow. In the passenger footwell, my folder lay where I had placed it with ceremonial care; above me, the sky was the colour of diluted milk.

I had planned the journey like a rehearsal. There was a list on the fridge and a smaller copy tucked into my pocket: portfolio, charger, spare tights, three oat biscuits, the letter inviting me to interview. It would be straightforward—motorway, ring road, a left at the roundabout with the horse statue—and then I would arrive, early and composed, breath steady, voice ready. Even the satnav seemed soothed by my orderliness; its robotic optimism promised, in precisely measured minutes, a new chapter.

The radio, however, had other ideas. “Serious incident on the M4 eastbound. All lanes closed between Junctions 15 and 14. Expect delays.” The word delay did not simply sit in my stomach; it burrowed. As if on cue, amber signs blinked into the pre-dawn like startled eyes: DIVERSION. Another blink, another instruction: follow the black square. I glanced at the clock, calculated, recalculated; nevertheless, I indicated and eased off the carriageway, wheels shouldering the kerb with a compliant shudder.

“Take the next left,” the satnav murmured, as if suggesting an extra biscuit, not a deviation. The next left was not a road so much as a suggestion of one—an aperture in the hedgerow, hawthorn embroidered with spider silk, a lane thin as a whisper. Behind me, a van pressed impatience into my rear-view mirror. I took the turn. Mud freckled the paintwork. The lane kinked and coiled (a little like a sleeping python—if roads could sleep), stitching fields together with its narrow, needled thread. Nettles brushed the paint; cow parsley lifted its white lace to the windows; the sibilant susurration of leaves made a private wind from my passing tyres.

It was then I saw the sign: Rookery Lane—1 mile. The name rang not in my ears but in my bones. Rookery Lane was where I had learned to ride a bike and learned, later, to pretend I wasn’t waiting for a letter that never came. It was not on the printed route or the mental map; it belonged to a version of me boxed and labelled, taped shut, stored on a high shelf in the attic of time. Without meaning to—perhaps because I meant to more than I dared admit—I slowed.

Another junction, unsigned except for a leaning fingerpost, paint flaking like winter bark. Rookery Lane left. The satnav insisted: continue for two miles. My hands—traitors, prophets—clicked the indicator anyway. The lane rose, tree boughs leaning in until they met above like a green cathedral; sunlight fractured between leaves into coins I could not spend. A pheasant exploded from the verge, all startled jewels and indignation. Beyond a gap, a smear of river glinted; beyond that, tiled roofs—familiar, once.

What harm could a minute do? A minute, and then I would turn back, rejoin the main road, rejoin my plan. Yet my plan did not know the smell of woodsmoke that reached through the cracked window, nor the way the old iron gate ahead still leaned at its habitual slant. The satnav recalculated with sterile patience; somewhere inside, so did I, messily, hungrily, against the clock and toward the past.

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

Option A:

The road does not simply start; it exhales from the low hills, a dark ribbon unrolled by an unseen hand. It refuses straightness, bending away with a faint, almost shy curve, as if avoiding your gaze. The tarmac is sun-warmed, speckled with mica that flashes when clouds part; along its edges ferns bow and bracken rustles, whispering in the light breeze. The smell of wet earth and crushed thyme lifts after rain; it rises like steam, but cooler, greener. White lines skip across the surface—dashed, cautious—then vanish where the road slides behind a bank of hawthorn.

It snakes between stone walls, those dry, patient ribs stitched into the land. Lichened, silvered, they lean inward as if to eavesdrop on travellers. A puddle pools in a shallow dip, holding a compact sky: mitten-shaped clouds, a bite of blue, the silhouette of a circling kite. Tyres hiss somewhere far away; sheep answer in flat, comic calls. Wind nudges grasses into waves. The verges are pocked with cow parsley and clover; yellow gorse sparks like small fires. Here the road tightens into a thought, thins on the incline, then loosens; it meanders, undecided, yet certain enough to keep going.

Bend after bend—bend after bend—the view changes, shyly and then all at once. The valley unfurls, green upon green, fields stitched with hedgerows, a river flicking silver as it shoulders around boulders. The road is its twin and its opposite: where the river is pulled downhill, the road climbs, coaxing you upward; where the water chatters, the tarmac merely hums. Hairpins appear without announcement (signs brisk, not bossy); the wheel has work here—wrists loosening, tightening; patience required. It seems older than it is—archaic, almost—though poured only recently; the hills do that, making everything feel permanent.

And then the high place. The air thins; the light sharpens; the soundscape falls away until only wind remains, drawing a long, even breath over the heather. The road presses on—persistent, polite—tilting along the spine of the ridge. Ahead, it vanishes into a fold of land, reappears, disappears again, a magician’s scarf. I watch it working through distance: a silver slash, a charcoal stroke, a whisper. Where does it intend to go? Not to the horizon (no road can), but toward a modest gate, a scatter of pines, a promise. It is ordinary, really—tarmac, paint, gravel; yet it carries so much: time, footsteps, engines, intentions. It winds because the world does.

Option B:

Morning unspooled itself like pale thread across the rooftops; a thin seam of light stitched the station into day. On Platform 3, Maya tilted her suitcase to avoid a crack in the concrete, its small wheels clattering an impatient tattoo. Pigeons strutted like inspectors, and announcements fluttered up to the iron ribs of the roof. The Day. She had a ticket, a timetable, and a plan as neat as squared paper. The rails, dark and gleaming, promised momentum; a clean departure; a straight line towards the life she had been sketching in pencil for months.

In the carriage, the air was warm and woolly with coats and quiet conversation. She catalogued the world: the rasp of a newspaper; the tinny leak of someone’s music; a child lining up raisins on the tray table. Maya checked her phone—mother’s message bright: 'Proud of you. Send a photo when you arrive.' She rehearsed answers (strengths, weaknesses, the paperclip story), and felt the weight of a plan resting—tidy, obedient—in her lap.

Five minutes out, the city peeled away faster than she expected; warehouses surrendered to hedgerows, to fields stippled with frost. The river should have been on the left; pylons should have marched towards the coast, not dwindled behind them. The train leaned into a curve she didn’t know; the rails sang a hard metallic note. Through the glass, an unfamiliar horizon assembled itself: dull water and a derelict signal box. The chime sounded—bright, incongruous: 'Due to an earlier incident, this service will be diverted via the Old Quarry Line. We will not be stopping at Sedgewick. Next stop: Hallow Ridge.'

Her stomach dipped.

Hallow Ridge wasn’t on her itinerary. The plan—tight, precise—loosened. A man opposite exhaled a flat 'Brilliant' and folded his paper. Maya opened the rail app; the little wheel spun—no service. She checked the time: 08:22; the 10:00 interview had once seemed a spacious horizon. Now the horizon closed, like a fist. The train wheezed to a halt beside a wind-gnawed platform and the doors opened with a rehearsed sigh, cold shouldering into the aisle. A whiteboard announced in squeaky handwriting: Hallow Ridge (Temporary). Replacement bus from car park.

She stood. Outside, the air tasted clean and sharp. A guard in an orange vest pointed to a narrow path beyond the station’s edge—a rough ribbon of gravel unspooling into trees. People flowed that way, a murmuring current. Maya followed, her suitcase bumping her ankle. She had planned a straight line; the day had found a bend.

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

Option A:

The road unspools from the hills like a charcoal ribbon, slipping behind folds of bottle‑green. Edged with low stone walls, it glints where the late light finds it; elsewhere it is dull, rain‑darkened, patched and scarred like old skin. Cow parsley leans in while yellow gorse flares along the bank. The smell of wet earth rises—the kind that clings to boots—and a faint tang of diesel hangs, as if a lorry passed and left its breath behind. Beyond, sheep pull at the grass with mechanical patience, heads down, as though the world is wider than this road.

Up close, the surface is a geography of its own: tar freckles, a seam of chalk, cat’s eyes that wink when clouds pass. A white line jitters through each bend, faltering, then straightening. Where the hedges thin, the wind gathers speed and threads itself along the camber; it whispers, then shoves, tasting of rain. The road lifts, dips, lifts again—each turn offering a promise: one more corner, one more view. Around one hairpin the valley opens like a door flung wide; around the next, only moor and a lone telegraph post ticking.

It remembers, this road. It has carried tractors layered with mud, bicycles with whirring spokes, a funeral car moving slowly. It has held the hurried and the lost; it has rocked babies to sleep in back seats and made teenagers brave with speed. In summer it melts and smells like liquorice, in winter it glitters and is treacherous—there is black ice somewhere, they say, somewhere invisible. Even the crows know the curve where the air lifts them into an easy glide.

Far off, a scrap of sea is stitched to the sky’s edge, silver where the sun breaks through. The road points, then refuses, meanders into a copse of ash and out again, skimming a brook that talks under a grate. Yet it goes on and on, undaunted, a question mark laid over the land. Follow it long enough—past the bend after the last bend—and you reach not an ending but a softer beginning: another valley, the same wind, the same quiet pull forward.

Option B:

Morning. The crisp hour when roads wake up; buses yawn; coffee fumes lift as pale light unrolls along pavements like silver paper. Plans feel clean and easy. A good time to begin.

As the city shook the dew off, Leila tightened the straps on her backpack. Her plan was precise: train to Bristol, bus to the coast, walk the cliff path to the lighthouse by noon. The map—re-folded until the corners softened—sat in the side pocket; she checked Mum's text again (Be safe), then slipped her phone away.

At the station the tannoy murmured in that sleepy voice which makes every announcement sound sorry. The 08:12 stood sighing. Leila found a window seat. She loved the first pull as the carriages eased out, the city loosening brick by brick, graffiti surrendering to hedges and fields, as if someone slid scenery across a stage.

Rain began—fine at first, then determined. Leila traced the spine of the hills with a finger and let the train carry her forward. Then the speaker crackled: “Due to a fallen tree we cannot proceed to Weston. We will call at Beckford Halt for a replacement bus.”

Beckford Halt was not on her map. It sounded small—temporary, almost. Passengers glanced around; someone laughed without humour. She had time; she would make it up later.

The halt was a narrow platform with weeds and a wooden shelter with peeling paint. Rain grew confident; it drummed on the roof in quick silver ropes. A bus waited, but it wasn’t the neat blue of the company: it was cream, old, its paint blistered. The driver leaned out, grinning. “For the coast,” he called, waving them on.

Leila climbed aboard; seats sagged a little and the air smelt of damp wool and diesel. The engine rattled—friendly—as if telling a story. The bus turned left, then left again—left three times. A hand-painted sign slid past: Lighthouse this way, arrow right. The driver smiled and took the lane to the left. Her stomach dipped; she checked her phone (No Service). Her careful journey had started to take a turn of its own.

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

Option A:

The road unspools like a grey ribbon through the green, a narrow line that refuses to go straight. It curls around knuckles of hill, slips under the cool shade of trees, then rises where the sun lies on the grass like warm paint. It twists. Bend after bend it keeps moving, shoulder to shoulder with dry stone walls and patient slopes. There’s a soft shine, as though morning has polished it; a mirage wobbles and vanishes when the breeze passes.

On either side, hedgerows are busy with life: hawthorn, nettle, dog-rose; small insects glitter for a second and are gone. White petals brush the air like curious faces. Now there is only wind in the grass and dry tick of seeds; sometimes the road hums when a far car comes. It smells of damp earth and warm tar after a light shower, a clean, low smell. Birds stitch thin songs from post to post — the valley listens.

As it climbs, the view loosens and spreads. Fields lie like a patchwork blanket; a thin river slides between them and throws a glimmer when it meets the light. A lone farmhouse sits pale against the slope. Sheep are scattered like torn paper. Even the clouds take part, casting slow shadows that sail over the road and over me — cool then warm, cool then warm.

Sometimes the road seems to hesitate, narrowing to a single lane, then choosing a curve and committing to it — hugging the hill, skirting a hollow, whispering past silver birch. The far bend disappears into a pale collar of mist at the lip of the moor, and I feel a small pull in my chest. It is inviting, a little unknown. I don’t need to see the end to know: I would keep going.

Option B:

Morning. The station yawned under a thin veil of mist, the clock hands trembling towards eight. I hugged my rucksack to my chest; it was heavier than it looked, filled with forms, a jar of jam for Gran, and a brave face I wasn't sure I could carry. One plan: get to Eastford before lunch, smile, don't mention the job, not yet. The rails lay dark and straight like ruled lines, promising a clean way out.

When the train slid in, it sighed as if it, too, was tired of the same route. I found a window seat and pressed my forehead to the cool glass. A boy opposite chewed his sleeve; a woman cradled a bouquet wrapped in cellophane that crackled like rain. The carriage shuddered; then we were moving—rooftops bobbing, back gardens blurring, washing lines lifting their pale flags. The rails began to sing; a thin, hopeful sound.

At first, it was ordinary. Then the tannoy clicked, and a calm voice folded itself over us. Due to an incident on the main line, this service will now be diverted via the coastal branch. Delays are expected. I sat up, a small shock running through me. Coastal? I hadn't seen the sea in years. My map in my head jerked left, like a compass disturbed.

The town thinned to fields; the fields opened into sky. A smear of blue appeared on the horizon, then widened until it was a sheet of hammered silver. Windows filled with light; someone laughed. So did my heart, stumbling as I remembered salt on my lips, my dad's rough hand, a promise we never kept. The train snaked along tracks, close enough to see white foam snagging on rocks, gulls tossed like scraps of paper. We shouldn't be here; yet here we were, carried sideways into a memory I wasn't ready for.

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

Option A:

The road snakes away from the village, a pale ribbon laid across the green, and it feels like it was built by the wind. It curves and then curls, up a small hill, down into a generous dip, on and on—pulling the eye along its back. Fresh grass leans in at the edges; daisies and nettles brush the gravel. There is a smell of rain that hasn't fallen yet, a damp promise on the air, and the quiet buzz of insects stitches the afternoon together.

From here, the tarmac shines in patches where last week’s storm left shallow mirrors. A leaning fence keeps company with a march of crooked posts; beyond them the valley rolls out, fields like folded blankets. Tyre marks spiral where tractors turned, and small stones pop under your boots. The road pretends to end at the next bend, it vanishes and then returns, bolder; a single white line flutters and breaks, like a heartbeat, guiding you round the corners.

When the sun slides lower, the edges glow, and shadows pool in the hollows. The wind picks up and the road whispers, go, go. Somewhere ahead there’s a bridge, maybe a pine wood, maybe just more valley; it doesn’t tell you everything. It is ordinary, cracked in places and patched, but it carries secrets: the name carved in a post, the lost glove, a feather caught on a thorn. I feel as if the road knows where I’m going, even if I dont. It winds, patient and persistant, and it keeps going, and so do you.

Option B:

Morning yawned over the station. Buses hissed like tired dragons; pigeons fussed along the cracked tiles, pecking at crumbs. My ticket was warm in my palm and my bag dug into my shoulder; it was meant to be a simple journey to the sea, a straight line and chips at the end.

Mum had hugged me at the door, quick and tight. 'Message me when you get there,' she said, even though I was nearly sixteen. I took the window seat so I could watch our town slide by: the terraced houses, the corner shop with its faded oranges, as the coach eased onto the road.

At first everything felt ordinary - the engine humming, the indicator clicking. Then the sign appeared: ROAD CLOSED AHEAD, yellow letters bossing the morning. We slowed and took a left I didn't recognise; hedges rose on both sides, the lane narrowed until brambles scraped the paint.

I pressed my face to the window. Mud flicked up and the smell of damp, green things leaked in through a crack I hadn't noticed. 'Is this still the A17?' someone asked, but no one replied. We jolted over a pothole so deep my teeth knocked; the driver swore under his breath and the coach swung around a bend straight into fog, fog like smoke that forgot how to move. That was when everything went quiet, even a baby stopped; in that silence a pale shape stepped into the road, one hand raised, and the journey took a turn I hadn't planned.

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

Option A:

The road coils through the valley like a slow ribbon. It is long, and it is patient. The tarmac is a dull grey, but in places it glimmers, as if it remembers rain. Sometimes the tarmac looks tired, it shows tiny cracks that catch the light. On both sides the hills are a soft green, with darker bushes and pale dots of sheep. The road bends; it bends again; it keeps on bending, round and round. I can smell damp earth and wild flowers, faint but there.

Further ahead, it disappears behind a mound, then comes back, shy and narrow. It leans towards a stone wall, then pulls away, like it changes its mind. The sky hangs low with pale light; edges blur. Sometimes a fence runs beside me, neat posts counting the way. Other times there is only grass and the drop, a slow slope into the valley.

After a while the turns feel steady, almost like a rhythm I can hum. One thing is clear: it does not rush. The road just goes, meandering between the shoulders of the hills, leading somewhere I cannot see — not yet. The future seems tucked around the next curve, and the next, and the next.

Option B:

Morning smelled like wet pavement and coffee. The coach station hummed, lights flickering as if they were nervous too. I tightened the strap of my backpack and checked my ticket again; 7:15 to the coast, simple, straight. Seat after seat thudded as people sat down, and I slid into one by the window. The glass trembled when the engine woke. I planned my day in my head, like a neat list: bus, sea, aunt's tiny house, hot chocolate. Outside, the sky was a pale sheet and the road shone like steel.

At first, everything was ordinary. Mile after mile of estates and fields, a blur of hedges, a tractor crawling. Then the sat-nav voice crackled and the driver frowned. "Roadworks ahead," he said, and he swung the wheel left. The main road peeled away; we were on a narrow lane I didn't recognise. Trees stood close, tall and still like guards. My stomach buzzed. Another sign flashed past - Diversion - then another that said No Through Road, but we had already committed. A mist drifted up from the ditch and the bus slowed.

Suddenly the coach shuddered and stopped. A fallen tree blocked the lane, and behind us floodwater rose. The door hissed. We filed out, shivering, plans washed thin.

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

Option A:

The road is long and it bends and bends. It goes round the green hills like a slow snake. The road is grey and in the sun it shines, then it turns dull when a cloud moves. I stand by a fence and I look, and it still goes on.

The road keeps turning, like it dont want to be straight.

Grass on the sides is wet and tall. It brushes my legs and make them cold. I hear the wind and a far car, a quiet hum.

There is small stones and puddles that show the sky, broken blue, and when my boot steps it splashes and the water smell is clean.

Up ahead the road climbs a little hill and drops again, again and again, and I think maybe it never ends.

At the horison it is thin and wiggly and I follow, I just follow because it pulls me like a string.

Option B:

It was meant to be a normal trip to Nans. I had my small blue bag and a half squashed sandwich. The morning was pale. Mum said, text me when you get there, so I nodded and climbed on the bus.

The windows fogged. People breathed slow. I watched the town slide by like a slow river. We always go straight, we always pass the bakery and the red post box.

We turned left.

No one turns left on this route, the driver didnt look back, he just did it. The lane was thin and bent, trees leaned in and scratched the glass. A yellow sign said DIVERSION. I had never seen it there before.

My phone buzzed but there was no bars, just a small x, the signal was gone.

Then the road ended. It just stoped, like a drawer pulled out to far, and the bus rolled on anyway.

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

Option A:

The road is long and winding, it bends all the time. It goes left then right then left, I keep looking and it does not stop, it keeps going, so long! The valley is green around it and the hills are like big lumps, the road is grey. The sky is pale and there is a wind, I hear sounds, a car far away. My feet ache on the rough stones, I think of dinner. I think the road is tired to, it sags. I walk and walk and the turn is there again, again and again, and I dont know where it ends

Option B:

It was early and I got on the bus with my bag. The bag is yellow like the sun and it bumps on my leg. I am going to the airport, I think it will be easy and fine. The bus hums, seats shake. I look out and see houses and then fields, then a fork in the road. The driver turns left but we was meant to go right. People mumble, I dont say nothing. I wish I had my charger. The road gets narrow and muddy, the sky goes dark. The bus stops by a gate and smoke comes out, I seen it first.