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.
- Refer constantly to the mark scheme and standardising scripts throughout the marking period.
- Always credit accurate, relevant and appropriate responses that are not necessarily covered by the mark scheme or the standardising scripts.
- Use the full range of marks. Do not hesitate to give full marks if the response merits it.
- Remember the key to accurate and fair marking is consistency.
- 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).
| Assessment Objective | Section A | Section B |
|---|---|---|
| AO1 | ✓ | |
| AO2 | ✓ | |
| AO3 | N/A | |
| AO4 | ✓ | |
| AO5 | ✓ | |
| AO6 | ✓ |
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 Which statement best describes Dunstan Cass's feelings and the immediate outcome after Dunstan Cass knocks?: Dunstan Cass is pleased by the idea of frightening the old fellow, and Dunstan Cass hears no movement in reply. – 1 mark
- 1.2 What reaction is linked to the words ‘the old fellow’?: would be frightened – 1 mark
- 1.3 After Dunstan knocks loudly, what does Dunstan hear in reply?: No movement; only silence – 1 mark
- 1.4 After Dunstan Cass knocked loudly, what immediate response followed?: No movement and complete silence – 1 mark
Question 2 - Mark Scheme
Look in detail at this extract, from lines 6 to 15 of the source:
6 cottage. Was the weaver gone to bed, then? If so, why had he left a light? That was a strange forgetfulness in a miser. Dunstan knocked still more loudly, and, without pausing for a reply, pushed his fingers through the
11 latch-hole, intending to shake the door and pull the latch-string up and down, not doubting that the door was fastened. But, to his surprise, at this double motion the door opened, and he found
How does the writer use language here to build tension and show Dunstan’s expectations? You could include the writer’s choice of:
- words and phrases
- language features and techniques
- sentence forms.
[8 marks]
Question 2 (AO2) – Language Analysis (8 marks)
Explain, comment on and analyse how writers use language and structure to achieve effects and influence readers, using relevant subject terminology to support their views. This question assesses language (words, phrases, features, techniques, sentence forms).
Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Shows perceptive and detailed understanding of language: analyses effects of choices; selects judicious detail; sophisticated and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would perceptively show how the internalised rhetorical questions 'Was the weaver gone to bed, then?' and 'why had he left a light?', alongside the judgmental phrase 'strange forgetfulness in a miser', establish Dunstan’s assumptions, while cumulative participial phrasing and dynamic verbs 'knocked still more loudly, without pausing for a reply, not doubting that the door was fastened' quicken pace and reveal overconfidence, so the adversative pivot 'But, to his surprise' and the suspended close 'the door opened, and he found' subvert expectation to heighten tension.
The writer opens with interrogatives that channel Dunstan’s thinking, using focalised narration to expose his assumptions. The rhetorical questions “Was the weaver gone to bed, then? If so, why had he left a light?” create a speculative, uneasy tone. The phrase “a strange forgetfulness in a miser” uses evaluative lexis: “miser” connotes vigilance, so pairing it with “forgetfulness” feels incongruous. This clash signals Dunstan’s fixed expectations and hints that something is amiss, thereby building tension.
Moreover, the cumulative syntax of the long, multi‑clausal sentence accelerates the pace and heightens suspense. Non‑finite clauses—“without pausing for a reply,” “intending to shake the door,” “not doubting that the door was fastened”—layer purpose and presumption, showing his confidence. Dynamic verbs and syndetic pairing, “shake the door and pull the latch‑string,” create a procedural sequence, while the comparative adverbial “still more loudly” signals escalation. The archaic lexis “latch‑hole” and “latch‑string” lends tactile vulnerability to the setting.
Additionally, the adversative conjunction “But” pivots the scene, and the aside “to his surprise” foregrounds the collapse of his expectations. The understated clause “at this double motion the door opened” delivers a quiet shock: after noisy preparation, the simple intransitive “opened” feels anticlimactic and eerie. This reversal undermines his certainty and sharpens tension, because an unfastened door implies exposure and the unknown. Thus, through interrogatives, accumulative structure and a decisive tonal shift, the writer builds tension and reveals Dunstan’s presumptions.
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 identify how the rhetorical questions 'Was the weaver gone to bed, then?' and 'why had he left a light?', plus the judgement 'a strange forgetfulness in a miser', show Dunstan’s expectation of a careful, locked house, while dynamic, escalating actions like 'knocked still more loudly', 'without pausing for a reply', and 'pushed his fingers through the latch-hole, intending to shake the door' build tension. It would also explain how the long, cumulative sentence and the contrastive conjunction 'But, to his surprise,' overturn his certainty 'not doubting that the door was fastened' when 'the door opened', creating a sudden, tense shift.
The writer begins with rhetorical questions—“Was the weaver gone to bed, then? If so, why had he left a light?”—which mirror Dunstan’s thoughts and immediately build tension by introducing uncertainty. The pejorative noun “miser” in “a strange forgetfulness in a miser” shows Dunstan’s expectations: he assumes the weaver is cautious, so a burning light feels wrong and suspicious.
Furthermore, the long, complex sentence “Dunstan knocked still more loudly, and, without pausing for a reply, pushed his fingers through the latch-hole, intending to…” uses dynamic verbs and precise, technical lexis (“latch-hole,” “latch-string”) to create a careful, step-by-step sequence that heightens suspense. The intensifier “still more loudly” escalates his intrusion, while the subordinate clause “without pausing for a reply” suggests impatience and confidence. The aside “not doubting that the door was fastened” clearly reveals his expectation that it will be locked, making the reader anticipate resistance.
However, the contrastive conjunction “But” and the fronted adverbials “to his surprise” and “at this double motion” delay the main clause “the door opened,” increasing the impact of the reveal. Ending the extract with “and he found” acts as a cliffhanger, overturning his expectations and leaving the reader in suspense about what he will discover next.
Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment on effects; some appropriate detail; some use of terminology. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 2 answer might say the writer uses rhetorical questions like "Was the weaver gone to bed, then?" and "why had he left a light?" and the phrase "a strange forgetfulness in a miser" to build tension by hinting something is wrong. It would also notice the long action sentence "without pausing for a reply, pushed his fingers through the latch-hole, intending to..." and the contrast "But, to his surprise" with "not doubting that the door was fastened" to show his expectations before they’re overturned when "the door opened."
The writer uses rhetorical questions to build tension and show doubt: “Was the weaver gone to bed, then?” and “why had he left a light?” These make the reader share Dunstan’s suspicion. The phrase “a strange forgetfulness in a miser” shows his expectation that a miser would not be careless, so something feels wrong.
Furthermore, strong verbs and adverbs show urgency: he “knocked still more loudly” and acts “without pausing,” while he “pushed his fingers through the latch-hole.” The phrase “not doubting” shows his expectation that the door was “fastened.”
Additionally, the conjunction “But” and “to his surprise” show his expectations are overturned. The long sentence listing his actions builds up the moment, and then the short clause “the door opened” feels sudden, which increases the tension for the reader.
Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response might simply point out that the writer uses questions like "Was the weaver gone to bed, then?" and "If so, why had he left a light?" and action such as "knocked still more loudly" and "pushed his fingers through the latch-hole" to build tension. It would also note that "not doubting that the door was fastened" shows Dunstan’s expectation, while "But, to his surprise," and "the door opened" show the unexpected result.
The writer uses questions to build tension. The questions 'Was the weaver gone to bed?' and 'why had he left a light?' make the reader wonder what is happening. Moreover, strong verbs like 'knocked still more loudly' and 'pushed his fingers through the latch-hole' show Dunstan’s sneaky actions. This creates suspense. Furthermore, the phrase 'not doubting that the door was fastened' shows his expectation that it is locked. Finally, the conjunction 'But' and the phrase 'to his surprise' show a sudden change, which shocks the reader and adds tension.
Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.
AO2 content may include the effects of language features such as:
- Rhetorical questions voice Dunstan’s assumptions and draw the reader into his reasoning, building tension through uncertainty (why had he left a light)
- The evaluative label sets expectations about frugality, making the lit room feel suspicious (strange forgetfulness in a miser)
- Intensifier signals escalation and impatience, increasing pressure before the entry (still more loudly)
- Parenthetical aside shows disregard for protocol and an expectation of silence, sharpening unease (without pausing for a reply)
- Precise, tactile action renders the intrusion vivid and invasive, heightening physical tension (through the latch-hole)
- Explicit certainty reveals his assumption about the situation, priming irony when it is overturned (the door was fastened)
- Contrastive pivot marks the moment expectations are upended, spiking suspense (to his surprise)
- After a long, clause-heavy build-up, a short, simple result delivers the shock of access (the door opened)
- Withheld outcome creates a cliffhanger, sustaining tension at the point of discovery (and he found)
Question 3 - Mark Scheme
You now need to think about the structure of the source as a whole. This text is from the middle of a novel.
How has the writer structured the text to create suspense?
You could write about:
- how suspense intensifies 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: Level 4 responses would analyse the whole-text arc, showing how the writer moves from absence and stillness — "all was silence", the surprise that "the door opened", and "Marner was not there" — into escalating interiority via rhetorical questions ("Who would know where his money was hidden?", "Where is the money?") and ironic narratorial intrusion ("A dull mind"). They would then trace the tightening focus and pace ("one spot, and one only", "In an instant") and manipulation of time to leave tension unresolved ("Hardly more than five minutes had passed... like a long while", "undefinable dread"), explaining how these structural shifts intensify suspense.
One way the writer structures the extract to build suspense is through a shift in focus from the threshold to an unnervingly vacant interior. After “all was silence” and, “to his surprise, the door opened”, the “bright fire” and “hot meat” sit beside the statement “Marner was not there”. Dunstan’s initial swagger dissolves into unease; this juxtaposition withholds the expected figure and plants a mystery, unsettling the reader.
In addition, suspense intensifies via sustained internal focalisation (free indirect discourse) and a chain of rhetorical questions shaping Dunstan’s thought. The anaphora “Who… Who…” and italicised “Where is the money?” form a tricolon that accelerates his cupidity while eclipsing caution. The brief authorial intrusion—“A dull mind…”—creates dramatic irony: we know his premise is “problematic” and foresee that Marner “might re-enter” at any moment.
A further structural technique is narrative zoom and incremental revelation. Spatial tracking from bed to floor to “the treddles of the loom” combines with the enumeration of hiding places (“thatch, the bed, and a hole in the floor”), narrowing to “one spot, and one only”—a patterned clue inviting reader inference. Kinetic verbs (“darted”, “swept”, “lifted”) quicken the pace, while temporal dilation—“five minutes… seemed… a long while”—externalises rising anxiety.
Finally, the passage resolves the search yet withholds safety, closing on a cliff-hanger. Even as he “rose… with the bags in his hand”, an “undefinable dread” and the phrase “at any moment” keep the possibility of sudden return immediate. This delayed resolution sustains suspense beyond the extract, propelling the reader onward.
Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would clearly explain how suspense escalates through structural shifts: 'knocked loudly' is followed by 'all was silence', then the unexpected 'the door opened' and unanswered questions like 'Where is the money?' move focus from scene-setting to Dunstan’s intentions. It would also identify how the listing of hiding places ('the thatch, the bed, and a hole in the floor') narrows to 'one spot... quite covered with sand', the pace accelerates with 'darted', 'swept', 'In haste', and the close on 'undefinable dread' that Marner 'might re-enter... at any moment' sustains tension.
One way the writer structures suspense is by opening in medias res with Dunstan’s loud knock, immediately contrasted with “all was silence” and unanswered questions (“Was the weaver gone to bed?”). The sudden reveal that “the door opened” yet the room is empty sets up an enigma; the lit fire and unlocked door keep uncertainty alive.
In addition, the writer manipulates focus and pace. A slow, detailed description of the “bright fire” and half-cooked pork delays action and implies the owner’s imminent return, heightening tension. Then the narrative shifts to Dunstan’s internal questioning, signalled by italics, before a step-by-step sequence and list (“thatch, the bed… hole”) lead to a zoom-in on the “one spot” of sand.
A further structural choice is the accelerated climax followed by delay. Dynamic verbs (“darted”, “in haste”, “swept”) quicken the pace towards the reveal, but the closing line halts on “undefinable dread”, like a cliffhanger. Temporal distortion (“five minutes… seemed… a long while”) and sustained third-person perspective keep the possibility of Marner’s return unresolved.
Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: The suspense grows as it goes from the unanswered ‘knocked loudly’ and ‘all was silence’, to the surprise ‘the door opened’ and an empty cottage, then uses questions like ‘Where is the money?’ and the detail of the ‘one spot… covered with sand’, so time ‘seemed… like a long while’ and it ends with ‘an undefinable dread’, making us think he ‘might re-enter the cottage at any moment’.
One way the writer has structured the text to create suspense is the opening focus and delay. It begins with knocking and silence, then the question, 'Was the weaver gone to bed?' These rhetorical questions and the unlocked door, 'to his surprise', keep us uncertain and waiting to find Marner.
In addition, in the middle the writer slows the pace with description before the search. We get the fire and pork on the 'kettle-hanger', which delays action. Then there is a shift: listing 'three hiding-places' and a zoom-in on the floor and 'sand' marks. 'In an instant' speeds up.
A further feature is the focus on Dunstan’s perspective and repeated questions. His thoughts—'Who would know…?' and 'Where is the money?'—intensify suspense. At the ending, the mood shifts from greed to 'an undefinable dread', leaving it open and making readers worry Marner could return any moment.
Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response would simply notice the sequence: it starts with "He knocked loudly" but "all was silence", then the surprise when "the door opened", and questions like "Who would know that anybody had come to take it away?" make the reader worried. It ends with "undefinable dread", so the structure moves from quiet uncertainty to a tense finish.
One way the writer creates suspense is by opening with knocking and silence. Dunstan “knocked loudly” but “all was silence”, then the door opens and the weaver is absent. This beginning makes the reader uneasy.
In addition, questions and a shift in focus add tension. Questions like “Where is the money?” make us wonder. The focus moves from the fire, to the bed, to the sandy floor.
A further feature is the ending, which feels like a cliff-hanger. The mood changes to “dread” as he holds the bags, so we think he could be caught, keeping suspense.
Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.
AO2 content may include the effect of structural features such as:
- Immediate contrast between loud knocking and unanswered silence heightens unease and expectation (no movement in reply).
- An abrupt structural turn occurs when the supposedly fastened door unexpectedly yields, shifting from outside tension to intrusion (the door opened).
- A panoramic sweep of the lit room itemises space before confirming the owner’s absence, prolonging the question of where he is (Marner was not there).
- Incongruous domestic detail left mid-cooking implies a sudden, unexplained departure, deepening the sense that something is wrong (hot meat for his supper).
- A chain of speculative questions funnels curiosity into opportunistic intent, sharpening suspense around a single goal (Where is the money?).
- Free indirect focus on Dunstan’s desire-driven reasoning tightens the narrative lens even as key facts remain uncertain (took such entire possession).
- The ordered enumeration of possible hoards structures a methodical hunt that invites reader anticipation of discovery (the thatch, the bed).
- A spatial zoom isolates a tampered spot as a visual clue, converting suspicion into near-certainty (one spot, and one only).
- A burst of swift actions accelerates pace at the point of discovery, releasing and yet sustaining tension (In an instant).
- Perceived time stretch and a lingering, unnamed fear keep danger present, withholding resolution (like a long while).
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, Dunstan gets completely focused on finding the hidden money. The writer suggests his greed is so powerful that it makes him forget the obvious danger that the weaver could return.
To what extent do you agree and/or disagree with this statement?
In your response, you could:
- consider your impressions of Dunstan's focused search for the money
- comment on the methods the writer uses to suggest his powerful greed
- 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 Dunstan’s greed as eclipsing caution, citing narratorial judgement and pace to show 'the pressing question ... took such entire possession of him' and 'make him quite forget that the weaver’s death was not a certainty'. It would analyse urgent diction ('darted', 'In haste', 'stimulus of cupidity') while acknowledging the lingering 'undefinable dread' that complicates, but does not overturn, the claim.
I largely agree that Dunstan becomes so fixated on the hoard that his greed blanks out the obvious danger of Marner’s return. Eliot establishes this through a careful progression from idle comfort to rapacious focus. At first, the “bright fire” and “small bit of pork” are described as “inviting,” a domestic tableau that in itself signals an imminent return: an unfastened door and supper “in this stage of preparation” are clear warning signs. Yet Dunstan instantly sits by the fire, and when he notices the unlocked door, he does not infer risk; instead, he seizes on the “interesting idea” that the weaver has “slipped into the Stone-pit,” because it carries “consequences of entire novelty.” Here, free indirect discourse reveals how desire reinterprets the evidence to suit itself.
The writer amplifies Dunstan’s moral and cognitive slide through a chain of rhetorical questions: “If the weaver was dead, who had a right to his money? Who would know where his money was hidden? Who would know that anybody had come to take it away?” The anaphoric “Who would know” and the typographical emphasis create a drumbeat of imagined impunity, dramatising how temptation intensifies. This culminates in the explicit statement that the “pressing question, ‘Where is the money?’… took such entire possession of him” that he “forget[s] that the weaver’s death was not a certainty.” The omniscient narrator’s aphoristic intrusion—“A dull mind, once arriving at an inference that flatters a desire…”—and the latinate “cupidity” frame greed as a distorting force that disables judgment.
Structurally, the search sequence showcases his tunnel vision. The tricolon of likely hiding-places—“the thatch, the bed, and a hole in the floor”—presents a methodical, almost professional focus. Dynamic verbs and adverbs—his eyes “travelled eagerly,” he “darted,” “swept away” the sand “in haste”—accelerate the pace, mirroring his mounting avarice. Forensic details—“sand showing the marks of fingers”—signal an “obvious” cache; ironically, such clarity should also prompt caution about a practised owner who might return, yet Dunstan never pauses. Time is bent by desire: “Hardly more than five minutes had passed… but it seemed… a long while,” showing an altered, inwardly heightened perception that crowds out prudence.
Eliot does, however, register a residual response to danger. Even while he is “without any distinct recognition” that Marner “might re-enter… at any moment,” an “undefinable dread” “lay[s] hold on him.” His tidying—replacing bricks, smoothing sand—suggests procedural caution serving theft, not safety. Overall, I agree to a great extent: the writer presents greed as a powerful, narrowing force that makes him forget the obvious risk, leaving only a vague bodily tremor where rational fear should be.
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 presents greed overwhelming caution through phrases like 'the pressing question, "Where is the money?"' which 'took such entire possession of him', the narrator’s comment 'train of thought made rapid by the stimulus of cupidity', and the urgent verb 'In an instant Dunstan darted', showing a focused, hasty search. It would also note a faint awareness of danger in 'undefinable dread', yet he is made to 'quite forget that the weaver’s death was not a certainty', so greed mostly eclipses fear of the weaver’s return.
I largely agree: the writer presents Dunstan as becoming single-mindedly focused on the money, his greed blotting out the risk of the weaver returning, though a flicker of unease surfaces at the end.
On entering, though tempted by the "bright fire" and the pork, he quickly speculates that the weaver "had slipped into the Stone-pit"—"an interesting idea... carrying consequences of entire novelty." The triple rhetorical questions ("Who would know...?") turn his thoughts to secrecy and profit rather than safety. The narrator's evaluative aside that a "dull mind" is "flattered" by desire shows how greed narrows his reasoning.
The statement is directly supported when the "pressing question, 'Where is the money?,' took such entire possession of him" that he "forget[s]" the death "was not a certainty." The personification "took... possession" and the elevated noun "cupidity" present greed as an overpowering force that seizes control.
Structurally, the pace accelerates into a focused search. Listing likely hoards—"the thatch, the bed, and a hole in the floor"—and the dynamic verbs "darted," "swept," and "in haste" create tunnel vision. He spots "sand showing the marks of fingers" and "in an instant" acts on it. His "eyes travelled eagerly" and, once he finds the "leathern bags," he "hastily" hides the evidence: this stealth shows some awareness of consequence, but not a reasoned fear of the weaver. Even the time shift—"Hardly more than five minutes... seemed... a long while"—and the final "undefinable dread" suggest only vague, instinctive anxiety; explicitly he is "without any distinct recognition" that Marner might return.
Therefore I agree to a large extent: Eliot uses rhetorical questions, authorial commentary and rapid pacing to show greed dominating Dunstan’s thoughts, with only a late, blurry fear intruding on his otherwise reckless focus.
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, noting the writer shows greed overruling caution with 'the pressing question, "Where is the money?"' that 'took such entire possession of him' to 'make him quite forget', and energetic verbs like 'eyes travelled eagerly' and 'darted'. They might add a simple caveat by spotting 'an undefinable dread' and that Marner 'might re-enter the cottage at any moment', showing some basic awareness.
I mostly agree with the statement. In this part of the text, Dunstan becomes fixated on the money, and his greed makes him ignore the clear risk that Marner might return, although there is a slight hint of fear at the end.
At first, the setting makes him careless. The “bright fire” that “lit up every corner” reassures him that the weaver is not there, and he “seated himself by it at once.” The writer then shows greed taking over through Dunstan’s thoughts. The rhetorical questions “Who would know where his money was hidden? Who would know that anybody had come to take it away?” build his excitement. The repetition of “Who would know” and the phrase “the pressing question, ‘Where is the money?’ now took such entire possession of him” suggest obsession. This personification shows the idea of money controlling him. The narrator’s comment about “the stimulus of cupidity” and a “dull mind” also criticises how greed drives his reasoning.
The pace then quickens to show his focus. Verbs like “darted,” “swept,” and “inserting” create urgency. He looks “eagerly” over the floor and notices “sand showing the marks of fingers,” a detail that guides him to the hiding place. The listing of common hiding spots (“the thatch, the bed, and a hole in the floor”) shows his methodical search, but it also shows he is thinking only about the money, not safety. The line that he “quite forget[s] that the weaver’s death was not a certainty” proves he ignores the danger.
However, at the end he feels an “undefinable dread,” and time “seemed… like a long while,” which hints that some fear still remains. Overall, I agree that his greed largely overwhelms him and makes him forget the obvious risk, despite a faint, late worry.
Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 1 response would agree simply, pointing to Dunstan’s fixation on "Where is the money?" which "took such entire possession of him" so he "quite forget" the danger of Marner returning, and might briefly note action words like "darted" to show his greed.
I mostly agree that Dunstan becomes fixed on the money and forgets the danger of the weaver returning. He first notices the “bright fire” and food, but quickly shifts to money, asking himself questions: “Who had a right to his money? … Who would know…?” The writer uses rhetorical questions to show his greedy thoughts. The narrator states the question “Where is the money?” took “entire possession of him,” which shows his greed controls him and he “forget” the death was not certain. His focused search is shown by action verbs: he “darted,” swept the sand, and lifted bricks “in haste.” This creates a sense of speed and shows he is not thinking about being caught. He assumes the bags “must be filled with guineas,” which adds to the impression of desire. At the end he feels “undefinable dread,” but he has no “distinct recognition” that Marner could return, so the danger is pushed aside. Overall, I agree to a large extent: the writer presents Dunstan’s greed as strong enough to block out the obvious risk.
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:
- Narrator’s explicit judgement makes greed the dominant force, eclipsing caution and strongly supporting the claim (bold quote: took such entire possession of him)
- Rhetorical questions rationalise the theft and diminish perceived risk, implying he feels safely unobserved (Who would know)
- The lexis of desire presents greed as a physical driver of thought and action, intensifying his focus on money (stimulus of cupidity)
- Adverbs of immediacy convey urgent, tunnel-visioned action, suggesting danger-awareness is sidelined (In an instant)
- Structured listing of likely hiding places shows a cool, methodical focus on the hoard rather than on interruption (the thatch, the bed)
- Forensic noticing of clues (the sand and floor) highlights purposeful fixation on the stash over any watchfulness (marks of fingers)
- Setting details imply the owner’s imminent return, yet he ignores these signs, reinforcing his greed-blindness (hot meat for his supper)
- Authorial characterisation as limited and criminally minded shows desire flattering and disabling his critical judgement (dull mind)
- Psychology at the end shows only vague, unacknowledged risk-awareness, indicating near-total forgetting of the obvious (without any distinct recognition)
- Time distortion underlines anxious absorption in theft, ironically exposing the very danger he refuses to consider (like a long while)
Question 5 - Mark Scheme
A city aquarium's youth newsletter is inviting short creative pieces for its next issue.
Choose one of the options below for your entry.
- Option A: Describe an underwater tunnel at an aquarium from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:
- Option B: Write the opening of a story about a sudden act of bravery.
(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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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Level 1 (1–4): Occasional demarcation; some evidence of conscious punctuation; simple sentence forms; occasional Standard English; accurate basic spelling; simple vocabulary.
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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 tunnel breathes in a cool, blue hush, light sifted through tonnage of water that drifts like gauze and smooths the edges of everything. The air smells of iodine and damp metal; a conditioned breeze slides along my wrists, tasting faintly of salt. Somewhere beyond the glass a pump purrs—industrious, unobtrusive—so the place seems to rest on a steady heart. Condensation beads along the arch, gathers, releases: a patient metronome of drops that creep along the curve where the ocean begins.
The corridor is a ribbed ellipse, a vitreous bow held to the tension of blue. Steel spines rise and vanish into the reef-blue; their shadows crosshatch the floor in wavering grids. Lift a hand; it wavers into a pale fish. Faces become masks; sleeves turn into ribbons. The glass is thick enough to turn outside pressure into calm; it hums—almost—with held weight, yet looks fragile, as if a fingertip could tap and the whole sea would pour in.
They arrive with the patience of tide: a shark glides past, slate hide starred with scars, mouth an unending parenthesis of teeth. Rays follow like melancholy kites, undersides nacreous, bodies tilting to the grammar of unseen currents. A confetti of anchovies shivers—one body, many hearts—turning in synchronicity so precise it seems choreographed. Jellyfish hang as if meditating: lanterns that pulse, contract, release; their threads are fine handwriting trailing into dark.
Between their world and ours, we walk the seam. A child flattens his face to the glass until his breath blossoms and slides; his laugh ricochets, then softens into the damp. A woman lifts her phone—obedient rectangle—and frames a ray that obligingly hovers for the shutter. A guide with a low, trained voice names, dates, reassures: sand tiger; sawtooth; harmless; older than bones. An elderly couple barely speak; they stand together at the rail while the ocean rehearses itself above their weathered hands.
And yet it is not spectacle that holds me but the silence pooling in its hollows: the disciplined hush, the kind artifice. I slow without noticing. Blue settles around my shoulders like a shawl; my pulse answers its rhythm—pulse and hush, pulse and hush—and the usual chatter unthreads. At the far end, light unspools into something whiter, less forgiving. We step into air that feels louder, warmer, human. Behind us, the water resumes, effortless, as if we had never been.
Option B:
Seven-fifty-two. The platform breathed—a long, damp exhale that smelt of coffee, iron and rain-polished coats. Fluorescent lights hummed; rails glinted like tightened strings under a sky that refused, yet, to brighten. Advertisements glared in primary colours. Somewhere, a tannoy cleared its throat. The city’s pulse flickered in the reflected glass: hurried, hungry, habitual.
Maya nudged her toe against the yellow line and retreated, as she always did. She preferred edges with rules—painted boundaries, clear instructions, neat arrows directing obedient feet. She counted her breaths—four in, hold; four out, release—because numbers felt like handrails when the morning surged and packed itself into tight carriages. She was not the sort who stepped into stories; she kept her head down, her coffee up, and moved through crowds like water around a stone.
It began with a glove. Red, small, a bright moth of a thing fluttering from a child’s wrist to the air and then, traitorously, down. “No—stay with me,” the mother said, already stretching, already missing him as he tottered, fascinated, away from her fingers. The boy’s boots slid on the gloss of rain that slicked the platform. He wobbled, corrected, wobbled again; the springy bobble on his hat bounced as though encouraging him. A murmur. A shuffle. The rails hissed quietly—like a snake in a pocket—somewhere past the bend. The train was due in a minute. Maybe less.
Then the child fell.
It is remarkable, the space that can open inside a single second. Time thinned; sound blinked out. Maya was aware, absurdly, of the taste of cinnamon on the rim of her cup, of the grit stippled into the yellow paint, of the mother’s mouth shaped into an O so huge you could cup it in your hands. She didn’t think—she moved. One step, two, a vault; the drop jolted her ankles. Cold air pooled by the track and smelled of metal, of old thunder. She dragged the boy away from the slick, live rail—she didn’t look, she felt the warning in the hairs lifting on her arms—and found his coat at the scruff, his small breath hot against her wrist.
“Push him up!” someone shouted, a ragged chorus of strangers. Maya planted her feet in the oil-black stones and lifted. He was heavier than panic had promised; for a heartbeat he hung between her and the reaching arms above. Then—taken. The mother’s sob cracked across the platform; hands flowered, hauling, helping. A horn tore the air; brakes screamed somewhere they could not see. The rails trembled; the platform shook back the tremor like a drum.
For a moment she saw her reflection in the steel, fractured into a dozen Mayas—one who ran, one who froze, one who made a choice—and chose. She felt the shadow of the train arriving, a gust before the body, a hot breath roaring. Hands reached again, down this time. She jumped, they clutched, and she was up, knees raw, coffee gone (ridiculous, later), heart battering her ribs as if to break free.
The platform breathed out. People spoke in soft, astonished voices as if in a church. The mother held the boy, counting him with her hands. Maya stood, the world reassembling itself around her; she was shaking and smiling and suddenly aware of the silence inside her head, a clear lake after storm. Only then did she notice her palms—scarlet with scraped skin—and the red glove, mud-smeared, lying by her shoe like a tiny, defiant flag.
- Level 4 Lower (19-21 marks for AO5, 13-16 marks for AO6, 32-37 marks total)
Option A:
The tunnel bends and holds me, a glossy rib of glass knitting floor to ceiling while water presses its weightless weight beyond. Blue leans into everything; it stains my hands, my collar, even the white of my eyes. Overhead, light fractures into ripples and lattices, a restless embroidery that keeps walking across the tiles. Shadows pass—sleek, deliberate, silent—and the ceiling becomes a river turned sideways. It is almost a chapel.
Sound changes first. The chatter thins to a hush; footsteps click and then blur; the distant machinery hums like a steady note behind glass. I hear a pram wheel tick, a small laugh jump and vanish, the soft tap of a fingertip on the pane. The air tastes faintly of salt and metal—clean, deliberate—and the smell of damp rubber rises from the mats.
Creatures move as if they invented grace. A ray slips overhead like an unfurling banner; its mouth is a little question, its underside milk-pale, its back tattooed with dusk. Schools of silver fish shear past in a tight, coordinated shiver; they split the light into coins and scatter it. Farther out, a shark draws a pale ellipse through the water, unhurried, purposeful, every fin a metronome.
I keep thinking about the glass. It looks thin when it catches a stripe of light, but it is thick, bowed, anchored by bolts the size of fists: the only membrane between our dry chatter and that dense, rolling world. Little hands bloom against it, five-petalled prints that fade; adults hover, speaking softly, as if volume might crack it. What holds all that heavy blue back? Only engineering, and trust, and the careful arithmetic of pumps.
Then the great body passes above me and everything pauses. The shark’s belly is the colour of unripe pearl; its eye is a polished pebble; its teeth are a row of small, pale commas, not yet a sentence. A child gasps, another laughs. For a breath, I feel time slow—my own pulse tapping in my throat—as the shadow slides on and dissolves into light.
Leaving feels abrupt. The tunnel opens into a brighter corridor; white light, ordinary voices, the squeak of shoes. The blue recedes but does not go; it lingers at the edges of things, a calm penumbra that seems to quiet the mind. I turn once, because I want the hush again, the careful gait of fish, the disciplined drift. I carry a small, moving sea inside me.
Option B:
Rain. Not the apocalyptic kind; a fine, needling drizzle that stitched the morning together, sewing mist to metal and breath to glass. The station yawned awake; gulls argued on the roof; the tannoy coughed out its stuttering, officious timetable. Platform 3 glistened. People formed a damp procession—hunched coats, lopsided umbrellas, the choreography of late commuters. The yellow line ran like a stern mouth near the edge, an ordinary warning in highlighter ink: mind the gap, mind yourself. Steam rose from the coffee cart in pale ribbons that smelled of burnt sugar and hope.
Maya pulled her hood tighter and counted, a small ritual to steady the metronome of her heart. She did not call herself brave; she preferred order, lists, the safety of waiting her turn. At school she had coloured inside the lines (even the sky stayed obediently blue). Now she watched for trains with the alertness of someone who had once been late and hated it. Around her the city kept its pulse—footsteps, ringtones, the faint hum of the rails—predictable, manageable, almost gentle.
The cry came thin and urgent, slicing the drizzle. A wheel twitched; a buggy—unlatched, mischievous as a shopping trolley—nudged forward. The mother’s hand was on a ticket; the baby’s sock, a small comet, had fallen. The pram rolled, unbelieving, and nosed across the yellow line.
Maya’s mind assembled options; her body had already moved. She lunged—one, two, three strides—and caught the handle as the metal lip kissed the edge. Momentum dragged her; her boots skated on slick tiles, the world narrowing to the fierce rubber grip and the bratty weight of the pram. Down the track, a light trembled into view. The rails began to sing. “Stop!” someone shouted. She dug her heels in, a graceless anchor; something in her wrist protested. She tasted rain and a flash of fear that was hot, then cold again.
For a breathless second she hung between sense and instinct—above the dark mouth of the gap, the wheels juddering, the baby folding into a wet howl. Then the buggy shifted backward—an inch, stubborn but possible. Strangers’ hands appeared, galvanised; another pressed at her shoulder like a blessing; together they pulled. The pram thunked onto safe ground. The mother sobbed thank you, the words tumbling with relief.
The light grew brighter; the train shouldered through the last veil of rain, wind punching faces on the platform to prove the danger had been exact, not imagined. Maya stepped back, hands smarting, heart trying to leave her ribs. Everything seemed amplified—the click of the board, the baby’s snuffle, her own breath. She had not intended to be brave. Yet as heads turned, something unfamiliar settled in her chest: not pride—more like the quiet after thunder.
- Level 3 Upper (16-18 marks for AO5, 9-12 marks for AO6, 25-30 marks total)
Option A:
The tunnel bends beneath a borrowed ocean. Blue light drips and wobbles across the curved glass, as though painted on and then shaken loose. There is a soft, patient thrum, a heartbeat that belongs to motors and distant pumps; the air smells faintly of salt and something sterile, like freshly unwrapped bandages. My steps are muffled on the rubbery floor; the ceiling breathes. Behind me a door hushes closed, and the world becomes aquarium—cooler, slower, pressed in by water that does not break, only flexes.
Above, a shark passes like a deliberate thought, its belly pale, its eye a small button of night. Rays follow, flying without hurry, their wings rolling the light; a silver rain of minnows scatters and reforms, a sentence unspooling and knitting itself again. Shadows cross the tunnel and cross back, back and forth, back and forth; each sweep redraws us—faces lifted, mouths parting, a child's palm flattening to the glass, fingers splayed like a starfish. The water behaves like a lens, widening everything and making it strangely intimate.
Somewhere, filters exhale: a ribbon of bubbles climbs with tiny bells of sound, tender and almost silly. The hum fills the gaps between voices. Parents murmur, tourists point, trainers squeak; the blue hush edits every noise until even laughter seems careful. A turtle appears—astonishingly old and ordinary—its carapace scraped and patterned like a map, and it looks at us sideways, as if we were the exhibit. For a moment, no one moves. The tunnel feels held in the same breath.
Deeper in, the glass seems thicker, the light a shade darker, as if the day outside has stepped back. Here the sea performs: scales flicker like coins; stripes slip and vanish; a mouth opens to a red cave and closes again. I think of nights under a duvet, of listening to rain; it is kind of like that—contained, safe, and yet enormous. The exit glows ahead, a rectangle of ordinary white. When we step into it, the air is brighter and busier, but the floor still rocks a little, and the blue stays with me.
Option B:
Rain. The kind that stitches the sky to the ground in quick, silver threads, needling into collars and pooling in the chipped tiles of Platform 3. The station hunched its shoulders beneath it; announcements crackled and stuttered, a coffee machine sighed, and somewhere a gull laughed like it knew a secret. My ticket curled at the edges in my damp glove. I was thinking about nothing much—just the interview, just the empty space of the afternoon—when the rails began their quiet humming, like a throat clearing before a speech.
At first, it was ordinary: a child in a mustard-yellow coat, his mother rummaging for something in a bag that seemed to have everything but what she needed; a paper boat folded with clumsy care and launched across the slick platform by a small, proud hand. The boat skittered, flirting with the edge. The boy reached. The mother said, “Wait,” but her voice was lost in the general murmur and the whispering rain. One boot slipped on the painted yellow line.
Everything slowed. The rail sang more definitely. The wind changed—an intake, as if the station itself had taken a breath. That was when people noticed, when faces turned, when a single hysterical syllable tore from the mother’s throat, that raw, glass-bright “No!”
I didn’t think, I moved.
I stepped over the line, the world narrowing to the small, startled oval of his face and the dark mouth of the track. Stones bit my palms; oil crept its slick perfume into my nose. I got an arm around him, the bulk of his coat dragging at me, and he was heavier than he looked. “Up you go,” I said, my voice strange, too calm, and hands—so many hands—reached down: a man with a red scarf, a woman in a suit, the mother’s shaking fingers. They lifted him. He squealed, alive, outraged.
The rails were humming properly now. Headlights carved the rain into rigid knives. There was no time for elegance. I flung myself sideways into the narrow shadow under the lip of the platform—an impossible pocket of brick and cold—and flattened, breath crushed flat with me. The train arrived like weather: inevitable, roaring, a white wall that swallowed the world and threw it back again in a shuddering wave.
In that roar, my thoughts froze and scattered like birds. For a heartbeat, or a century, I stared at the blackened bricks inches from my nose and tasted grit. Then the thunder thinned; wheels screamed, then whined, then whispered.
Later, I would say I chose. But honestly, it felt like the choice was made somewhere between the hum of the rails and the first cry.
- Level 3 Lower (13-15 marks for AO5, 9-12 marks for AO6, 22-27 marks total)
Option A:
Blue light gathers as I step into the tunnel, glass arching over my head like the inside of a seashell. The world narrows to water and the soft hum of filters. It feels calm and a bit strange. The floor glints, polished by the tide. The air smells of salt and clean metal. Condensation beads on the curve above, slipping down in slow threads. My footsteps change, muffled, cautious, as though the blue has thickened and I am wading through it.
Fish appear as if conjured. A shoal rushes past as one, scales flashing like thrown coins; then a stingray drifts, its white belly a pale moon. When a shark coasts by, its eye is a small, dark bead, and its shadow spills across us, a cool, brief night. Light moves constantly, shifting bands that cross the floor and our faces. The tunnel holds it all steady, and yet everything is moving: tails, fins, bubbles rising, a quiet storm contained.
People slow down here. Children press their hands to the glass—five small stars—and squeal when the shark returns. A pram rattles; the sound seems embarrassed by the water. A couple walk with phones held up, catching the blue and their silhouettes. Everything is softened: voices, footsteps, even the scrape of a buggy wheel becomes hush. I see my face in the pane, then a turtle glides through it and I am replaced.
The deeper I go, the longer the tunnel feels, a curve leading to a brighter mouth ahead. Overhead, strands of kelp stroke the glass as if testing it; the ocean presses gently, like a hand over a drum. I am aware of the barrier, grateful for it, and still a little thrilled. The water hums; the air vibrates. At the end, yellow light waits, warm, but I turn once more to watch the blue world pass by. It keeps moving, and I keep moving, drawn along.
Option B:
Monday mornings are supposed to be dull. The station smelled of rain and burnt coffee; pale light pressed against the high glass roof. Commuters shuffled and sighed. My phone buzzed, but my eyes snagged on a little boy in a yellow coat, a scribble of sunshine. He hopped along the white line while his dad wrestled a suitcase. At the far end the train blinked its headlights like tired eyes.
A whistle sliced the chatter. The boy edged closer; the platform shifted beneath him like a trick, and he dropped - a flash of yellow on dark stone. The rails hummed: the train had started to move. For a heartbeat I froze - strapped to the spot. Someone should do something, I thought. Someone else.
I didn't decide. My body did. My bag hit the floor and my legs were already over the edge. The drop wasn't far, but the stones bit my palms and the air tasted metallic. There was no time; there was only the child. I grabbed his hood, the slippery fabric, his tremble like a trapped bird. "Stay still," I said, though my voice shook. The horn blasted - too close. I heaved. He was heavier than I expected. A man above reached down, hands like hooks, and together we lifted. The boy slid up, scraped and sobbing, into his father's arms. The ground vibrated under my knees.
A shout, a whistle, a red sleeve waving. Someone hauled me up and my legs went from under me for a second. People were talking, clapping, crying. The word brave floated near me like a paper boat. I wanted to say I wasn't, that I had moved because there was no choice, but the words wouldn't come. My hands shook. The train slid by, a silver storm, and the morning wasn't dull anymore.
- Level 2 Upper (10-12 marks for AO5, 5-8 marks for AO6, 15-20 marks total)
Option A:
At first, the blue light wraps around me, like a sheet of water pulled thin. The tunnel curves ahead, a glass rib, and the floor is smooth and dark. The hum of hidden pumps trembles in the walls; the air tastes clean, faintly salty. Footsteps click and echo, then go quiet, as if the sea presses a finger to its lips. Shadows swim across faces. Above, a grey fin slides by, calm as a moon, and the surface ripples in wavering bands that move over coats and hair.
Stingrays drift like slow kites, their edges flicking. A cloud of silver fish turns at once, coins scattering and then joining again, back and forth, back and forth. Kelp leans in a green bow. The glass seems to breath; I press my palm to the acrylic and feel only cool, no give. They all move; we stay. A shark's eye looks sideways and glides on—old, unreadable. Light here is different: it folds and paints the floor in broken shapes.
Meanwhile, voices are small. A guide is talking about gills and pressure, his words float and pop like bubbles. Children crowd the rail, noses to the glass; fingerprints bloom and fade when water flashes. Somewhere a camera clicks. I hear a low drip, drip that is not there. Are we visitors, or the display? For a long minute, time slows. Then the tunnel lifts us to the bright exit, and I blink hard. Outside, noise rushes back. Inside, the blue path keeps going, quiet, patient, waiting.
Option B:
Rain. The kind that needles the skin; puddles swelling like shallow lakes, streetlights blinking tiredly as if they'd been up all night. The town smelled of damp leaves and diesel. Ben hunched his shoulders; his rucksack slapped against his back, and he watched the bus crawl up the hill like an enormous beetle.
At the crossing, a pram slipped from a woman's hands and began to roll, slow at first, then quicker, gaining momentum; the zebra crossing slick like glass. She shouted, high and sharp. A lorry's horn answered, long and low. Ben's stomach plummeted.
He didn't plan. He moved. Shoes skidding, he darted off the kerb, rain slapping his face. Don't think—move. The pram's tiny wheels rattled; he lunged and caught the handle. It twisted and scraped his palm. Pain flared. A blast of air, of noise; the lorry was closer and he could see the driver's white knuckles. He dragged the pram sideways, muscles straining; his knee hit the road. The smell of rubber and wet metal filled his mouth.
Then, a squeal, a shuddering stop. Inches. Silence, but not silence; the rain, the crying baby, the woman sobbing thank you over and over. Ben stood, shaking, soaked to the bones. He felt both huge and small. He hadn't thought, he hadn't even breathed, he'd just done it. The bus sighed behind him, late as usual. The driver lifted a hand in a slow salute. Ben stared at his grazed palm and laughed, a shocked laugh that sounded like someone else.
- Level 2 Lower (7-9 marks for AO5, 5-8 marks for AO6, 12-17 marks total)
Option A:
At first, stepping into the tunnel is like stepping into a long blue mouth. The glass curves above and beside me; water presses on the other side. Everything is blue. The lights are cool and soft, making the floor shimmer. I can hear small echoes of shoes and the quiet hum of pumps. There is a faint salt smell in the air. Tiny bubbles climb the ceiling, again and again, like silver seeds. The tunnel bends a little, and the world outside feels far away.
Then the sharks arrive. One slides over my head, slow and certain, its belly pale like chalk and scratched with faint lines. Its eye looks past me, cold and calm. Rays sweep by like kites, their wings rippling. A shoal flashes, all at once, a quick coin-bright glitter. A child laughs, someone whispers, a camera clicks - then it is hush again. The water moves but it is steady; the same rhythm keeps going.
Finally, at the end, the tunnel opens to a bright circle of daylight. My hands touch the rail, damp and smooth. I feel small but safe, as if the sea has held its breath so we can pass through.
Option B:
Morning. Grey and slow; puddles stitched along the curb. The bus was late, people shuffled, gloves tugged, breath like smoke. I was thinking about homework, not heroics. I watched a woman juggle a phone and a buggy, her toddler whining, and I felt a little sorry for her.
Then the buggy moved.
At first it was tiny, a tilt, a nudge from the wind. It rolled, a small wheel bumping the curb; it rolled again, away from her hand; it rolled towards the road. The woman didn’t see—she bent to pick up a dropped mitten. Someone laughed at a text. No one looked.
I did. I wish I could say I planned it, but I didn't. My feet kicked off the slick ground and I ran. I didn’t think; my body did. The world narrowed to the black handle and the white line on the tarmac. Brakes screamed like a furious bird. The bus’s face came at me, huge and metal and hot.
I grabbed the buggy—fingers burning on the cold bar—and yanked. My shoulder snapped with pain, but it tipped back, tiny shoes wiggling under the blanket. The bus thundered by, spraying dirty water.
For a heartbeat everything was silent, except my heart, banging like a drum.
- Level 1 Upper (4-6 marks for AO5, 1-4 marks for AO6, 5-10 marks total)
Option A:
The aquariam tunnel is long and blue. Glass is over my head, the water is thick and it moves slow. Lights flicker and make shaddows on the floor. Bubbles go up and up.
There is fishes above me. They turn and turn, like they don't care if i am here.
A shark comes and it looks huge, like a bus, I cant beleive it. I can see its teeth like white stones. The water whispers on the glass and makes a swish swish noise over and over. The floor feels cold and my shoes make a little squeek.
Children press there hands on the glass and laugh, a man just tuts. It smells salty and kind of like metal and chips. I press my nose and it fogs the clear bit. The light is blue like a night light. I feel small under it, the tunnel goes on and on and I want to go but I also stay.
Option B:
Morning. A new day, buses puffing, cold air on my face. I held my bag, it felt heavy like a brick. The wind pushed at my coat.
I wasnt thinking about anything big, just my lunch, just the bell. Then a shout, then a horn, then a small boy stepping off the edge into the road. He looked like a statue, the car was coming, the sound kept getting bigger and bigger.
I didnt think I just moved.
My bag dropped and slid, I ran and I jumped at him, my heart banging like a drum. My hands caught his sleeve, we fell on the hard ground, my elbows stung and the car screamed and stopped.
People started talking, Are you ok, what are you doing, you daft. I was shaking. I werent a hero. I just did it, and then the morning was different.
- Level 1 Lower (1-3 marks for AO5, 1-4 marks for AO6, 2-7 marks total)
Option A:
I walk in the tunnel under the water at the aquarium. The glass is over me like a pipe. There is big fishes and small ones. Fish go past slow, and sharks over my head, I think they look at me. Lights make the blue water shine and wobble, the floor is wet, I step careful. It smells like salt and a wet towel. I hear kids shouting, the sound is soft like under a blanket. I see bubbles, I see rocks, I see a stingray, it was big. My phone is nearly dead. It is nice but a bit scary, I go on.
Option B:
Morning was grey and wet, I am late for school and my laces are wrong. The road shine and cars hiss by. I think about my lunch, crisps and a banana, it is nothing speical. Then a little kid steps off the curb, like a small bird, he just goes. A horn screams, every body freezes I dont. I run, my bag banging, I grab his coat and pull hard but my knees slip, we fall, the car skids. My heart is loud, my hands shake like jelly, I was scared but I did it, I were brave, I think.