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 According to the narrator, what specific work does Clyde expect to be called upon to do at this institution?: Carry drinks on trays or packages to rooms upstairs – 1 mark
- 1.2 Where were the items being taken?: to one of the rooms above – 1 mark
- 1.3 According to the narrator, what work should be done?: carrying drinks on trays or packages to rooms above – 1 mark
- 1.4 What does the narrator call the place?: such an institution as this – 1 mark
Question 2 - Mark Scheme
Look in detail at this extract, from lines 6 to 15 of the source:
6 And it was all so brisk and enlivening that he wished that he might be so fortunate as to secure a position here. But would he be? And where was Mr. Squires? He approached the youth at the small desk: "Do you know where I will find Mr. Squires?" he asked.
11 "Here he comes now," replied the youth, looking up and examining Clyde with keen, gray eyes. Clyde gazed in the direction indicated, and saw approaching a brisk and dapper
How does the writer use language here to show Clyde’s excitement and nerves in the hotel lobby? 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 trace how energetic lexis and repetition create excitement, noting the motif of pace and polish in "brisk and enlivening" echoed by "brisk and dapper", and the aspirational intensity of "wished that he might be so fortunate as to secure a position here". It would also analyse how syntax externalizes his nerves: the fractured interrogatives "But would he be? And where was Mr. Squires?" quicken the rhythm to mirror anxious thought, the scrutinising "keen, gray eyes" heighten pressure, and the immediacy of direct speech, alongside verbs like "gazed", conveys tentative anticipation.
The writer uses evaluative adjectives and intensifiers to convey Clyde’s excitement. "So brisk and enlivening" employs the intensifier "so" and the positive participle "enlivening" to capture an energising lobby, which immediately sparks ambition: "that he wished… to secure a position here." The result clause "that..." shows instant cause and effect, while the modal "might" and deferential "be so fortunate" hedge his desire, blending eagerness with the tremor of nerves.
Furthermore, the rapid-fire interrogatives "But would he be? And where was Mr. Squires?" create a staccato rhythm that mirrors a quickened pulse. The coordinating conjunction "And" opening the second question and the brevity of each sentence exemplify parataxis, conveying darting, anxious thoughts. The proper noun "Mr. Squires" is repeated, signalling fixation on authority and the high stakes of the moment; the reader senses both ambition and insecurity as his internal questioning undercuts his excitement.
Moreover, direct speech and sharp description heighten his nervous vigilance. The politely formal "Do you know where I will find Mr. Squires?" suggests self-conscious deference, as if he is managing impressions. Additionally, the colon before dialogue snaps the shift from thought to action, while the synecdoche "keen, gray eyes" foregrounds scrutiny over person. "Examining Clyde" implies appraisal, intensifying self-awareness, yet "Here he comes now" uses deictic immediacy to quicken pace. Finally, the dynamic "gazed" and the lexical echo "brisk and dapper" (repeating "brisk") transfer the lobby’s lively efficiency onto Mr. Squires, sustaining excitement even as anticipation keeps his nerves taut.
Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer conveys Clyde’s excitement through positive adjectives and repetition, describing the lobby as “brisk and enlivening” and Squires as “brisk and dapper”, with the intensifier “so” heightening the energy, while short rhetorical questions like “But would he be?” and “And where was Mr. Squires?” reveal his nerves. Dynamic verbs “approached” and “gazed” show restless anticipation, and the youth’s “keen, gray eyes” suggest scrutiny that increases Clyde’s anxiety.
The writer uses positive adjectives and a semantic field of energy to show Clyde’s excitement: “brisk and enlivening” makes the lobby feel lively and new. His wish that he “might be so fortunate” uses a modal verb to imply possibility, but also uncertainty, so his excitement is edged with nerves.
Furthermore, the rhetorical questions “But would he be? And where was Mr. Squires?” are short interrogative sentences that quicken the rhythm and mirror his anxious, darting thoughts. Additionally, the use of direct speech, “Do you know where I will find Mr. Squires?”, presents a polite, tentative tone; the reporting verb “asked” suggests deference.
Moreover, the clerk’s gaze, “examining Clyde with keen, gray eyes”, uses a present participle and precise adjectives to make him feel scrutinised, which heightens his nervousness. When he “gazed in the direction indicated”, the verb “gazed” implies eager focus. Finally, the paired adjectives “brisk and dapper” echo “brisk” earlier, a lexical repetition that reinforces the fast, exciting atmosphere and Clyde’s anticipation.
Therefore, through adjectives, rhetorical questions and dialogue, the writer conveys Clyde’s mixture of excitement and nerves in the lobby.
Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment on effects; some appropriate detail; some use of terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses positive adjectives like "brisk and enlivening" and "brisk and dapper" to show Clyde’s excitement about the lively setting, while the short rhetorical questions "But would he be?" and "Where was Mr. Squires?" and the scrutiny of "keen, gray eyes" suggest his nerves and uncertainty.
Firstly, the writer uses positive adjectives to show Clyde’s excitement. The phrase “brisk and enlivening” suggests the lobby feels lively. He “wished that he might be so fortunate as to secure a position here,” which shows strong desire and hope.
Furthermore, the writer uses rhetorical questions to show nerves. “But would he be? And where was Mr. Squires?” are short, sharp questions that make his thoughts seem jumpy. The direct speech “Do you know where I will find Mr. Squires?” shows eagerness to find Squires quickly.
Additionally, descriptive detail adds to tension. The youth is “examining Clyde with keen, gray eyes,” and the adjective “keen” suggests a sharp, judging look, making Clyde more uneasy. When he sees a “brisk and dapper” man, the neat, quick image keeps his excitement high, while the careful verbs like “approached” and “gazed” suggest controlled, nervous movement in the busy lobby.
Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses positive adjectives like "brisk and enlivening" and "brisk and dapper" to make the place lively, showing Clyde’s excitement about getting a job. Short questions like "But would he be?" and "Where was Mr. Squires?", plus the description "keen, gray eyes," show his nerves and uncertainty.
The writer uses adjectives to show the lively mood in the hotel lobby, like “brisk and enlivening,” which makes Clyde excited about the job. The phrase “wished that he might be so fortunate” shows hope. Furthermore, the short questions “But would he be?” and “Where was Mr. Squires?” are question sentences that show his nerves and uncertainty. Moreover, the direct speech “Do you know where I will find Mr. Squires?” shows his urgency. Additionally, the description “keen, gray eyes” suggests he feels watched, and “brisk and dapper” makes the scene fast and exciting.
Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.
AO2 content may include the effects of language features such as:
- Positive adjectives set an energetic tone that feeds Clyde’s excitement: brisk and enlivening
- Aspirational phrasing shows eager ambition and hopefulness about employment: secure a position
- Short interrogative sentence form exposes uncertainty and nerves: But would he be?
- Repeated questioning fixates on his goal, suggesting impatience and anxious focus: And where was Mr. Squires?
- Dynamic verb choice conveys nervous urgency in his movements: approached the youth
- Polite, tentative direct speech reveals self-consciousness in the exchange: Do you know
- Forensic eye detail makes him feel scrutinized, heightening anxiety: keen, gray eyes
- Focused gaze underscores anticipatory tension as he waits: gazed
- Present-tense immediacy in the announcement quickens pace and excitement: Here he comes now
- Lively description of the approaching figure amplifies the energised atmosphere and anticipation: brisk and dapper
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 anticipation?
You could write about:
- how anticipation builds 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 anticipation is structured from the lively, aspirational opening (Clyde’s wish to be "so fortunate") and questioning signposts ("But would he be? And where was Mr. Squires?") through a deliberate delay—the social aside about "the Earl of Landreil" and Squires briefly "paying no attention"—to a shift into interiority ("flustered and disturbed", "thrilling from head to toe") before a deferred outcome ("Come around Monday") and a final cliffhanger ("Could it really be?") that sustains suspense and propels the narrative forward.
One way the writer structures the opening to generate anticipation is by narrowing the focus from a bustling panorama to a single impending encounter. We begin with a wide shot of movement (“others who disappeared and returned”) before the lens tightens onto Clyde’s desire (“he wished that he might be so fortunate”) and the explicit signpost, “Here he comes now.” The rhetorical questions (“But would he be? And where was Mr. Squires?”) foreground uncertainty and set up a narrative hook. This sequencing—panoramic scene, articulated longing, then announced arrival—controls pace and expectation, priming the reader for the pivotal exchange.
In addition, anticipation is sustained through strategic delay: a descriptive zoom-in and a digressive aside interrupt the expected interview. Mr. Squires is anatomised (“brisk and dapper… hatchet-faced”), which slows the narrative to intensify Clyde’s awe. The sudden detour into hotel gossip about “the Earl of Landreil” is a deliberate digression that defers the outcome. Meanwhile, Squires “paying no attention” to Clyde and the juxtaposition of grandeur with Clyde’s “none-too-good clothes” heighten stakes. The narratorial characterisation of Squires as “the soul of craft and self-acquisitiveness” foreshadows a transactional test, extending suspense over whether Clyde will be deemed suitable.
A further structural technique is the shift into interior focalisation and the use of interrupted syntax to mirror rising anticipation. Clyde’s broken speech (“he said you might—that is—he thought…”) and the paratactic beat (“He turned on his heel and walked away”) modulate pace. Crucially, the temporal projection—“Come around Monday afternoon”—defers resolution beyond the extract. The closing crescendo of exclamatives and iterative rhetorical questions (“Could it be possible… Could it really be?”), coupled with “thrilling from head to toe,” leaves the trajectory open, so anticipation remains unresolved and compelling.
Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 3 response would explain that anticipation is built by a steady focus shift: from the bustling hotel and Clyde’s wish to be 'so fortunate as to secure a position', to a delayed meeting with Mr. Squires (interrupted by the aside about 'the Earl of Landreil'), and then an uncertain outcome in 'Come around Monday afternoon' and the final questions—'But would he be?', 'Gee! what would that mean?'—so the structural delays and rhetorical questions make readers wait with Clyde. It would also note the mood change from overawed description to excitement—ending with 'thrilling from head to toe'—to heighten expectation.
One way the writer structures the opening to create anticipation is by beginning in a bustling scene and immediately setting Clyde’s goal. The exposition shows workers who ‘disappeared and returned’ with trays, then narrows to Clyde wishing to ‘secure a position here’. This shift of focus sets up a clear objective and makes us expect the meeting with Mr. Squires.
In addition, focus and pace are manipulated to delay the answer. After ‘Here he comes now,’ the narrative pauses to zoom in on Squires’ ‘hatchet‑faced’ look, then digresses into gossip about the ‘Earl of Landreil’. This interruption withholds the outcome and builds suspense. The contrast between Squires’ ‘decidedly sophisticated’ style and Clyde’s ‘none‑too‑good clothes’ heightens tension.
A further structural feature is close third‑person focalisation leading to an open ending. We move from external activity to Clyde’s inner state—‘flustered,’ then ‘thrilling from head to toe’—so the mood shifts from nerves to hope. The temporal reference ‘Come around Monday afternoon’ defers resolution, and the final questions—‘Gee!… Could it really be?’—create a small cliff‑hanger.
Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 2 response might say the writer builds anticipation by starting with a busy scene—“others who disappeared and returned”—then moving to dialogue and delay (“Here he comes now”), before shifting into Clyde’s questioning thoughts (“But would he be?”) and finishing with an unresolved ending (“Could it really be?” about “Monday”) that makes the reader want to know if he gets the job.
One way the writer creates anticipation is by beginning with Clyde’s hope and delaying the meeting. The opening shows a busy hotel (“disappeared and returned”) and Clyde asking, “Do you know where I will find Mr. Squires?” The question and the wait make us wonder if he will get the job.
In addition, in the middle the focus shifts and slows. We get a detailed description of Mr Squires (“brisk and dapper”) and even a side conversation about “the Earl of Landreil.” This extra description and dialogue hold up the action, so the outcome is postponed and tension builds.
A further structural feature is at the end, where a clear time reference (“Come around Monday afternoon”) and a change in mood create anticipation. Clyde leaves “thrilling,” and the repeated questions (“Could it be possible…?”) act like a mini cliff-hanger, making the reader wait for Monday.
Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer builds anticipation by delaying Mr. Squires with questions like "But would he be? And where was Mr. Squires?", then introducing him with "Here he comes now", and ending on delay and uncertainty ("Come around Monday", "Could it really be?") so the reader wants to know what happens next.
One way the writer creates anticipation is by starting with a busy hotel while Clyde waits for Mr Squires, so the focus is on waiting until “Here he comes now.”
In addition, dialogue delays the answer: Mr Squires chats about the “Earl” and ignores Clyde. This pause in the middle keeps us wondering if he will get a place.
A further structural feature is the ending with the time reference “Monday” and unanswered questions. This unresolved finish makes anticipation for whether Clyde will get the job.
Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.
AO2 content may include the effect of structural features such as:
- Opening with bustling staff activity establishes a lively setting and foreshadows the role Clyde seeks, priming expectation (carrying drinks on trays)
- Early rhetorical questions inject uncertainty and forward drive, cueing readers to await an outcome (But would he be?)
- Signposted entrance of the decision-maker sets up a beat before contact, heightening suspense (Here he comes now)
- Prolonged pre-dialogue description of Squires delays action and amplifies his intimidating status, intensifying tension (decidedly sophisticated-looking)
- A digressive gossip sequence about an elite guest inserts glamour and postpones the interview, stretching anticipation through delay (the Earl of Landreil)
- Squires initially ignores Clyde and needs prompting, extending the wait and stressing the power imbalance (paying no attention)
- Obstacle within the exchange (lack of experience) creates a setback that sustains uncertainty about the outcome (you haven't had any training)
- Decision deferred to a future meeting functions as a mini cliff-hanger, postponing resolution beyond the extract (Come around Monday)
- Final rush of interior questions and exclamations accelerates pace into a hopeful crescendo, leaving the result tantalisingly open (Could it really be?)
- Repetition of the fortune motif threads desire through the piece, reinforcing hopes and building anticipation (so fortunate)
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, the detailed description of Mr. Squires’s sharp features and smart clothes makes him seem very powerful. The writer suggests how intimidated and out of place Clyde feels in a world where appearance is so important.
To what extent do you agree and/or disagree with this statement?
In your response, you could:
- consider your impressions of how the hyena behaves
- comment on the methods the writer uses to portray Mr Squires's sophisticated and shrewd appearance
- support your response with references to the text. [20 marks]
Question 4 (AO4) – Critical Evaluation (20 marks)
Evaluate texts critically and support with appropriate textual references.
Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed evaluation) – 16–20 marks Perceptive ideas; perceptive methods; critical detail on impact; judicious detail. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would largely agree, evaluating how the writer constructs Squires’s authority through precise physical and social cues—his "so very slender, keen, hatchet-faced and well-dressed" appearance, the status marker "captain of the bell-hops", the assistant’s "deferentially", and his dismissive "looked at him coldly" and "turned on his heel"—while also noting the limiting qualifier "in a petty way." It would trace Clyde’s intimidation and exclusion via the classed gaze of "cool, examining eyes", his "none-too-good clothes", the self-effacing "eager, ingratiating smile", and the breathless rhetorical questions "Could it be possible" about a "grand world," offering a nuanced evaluation supported by precise, embedded evidence.
I largely agree with the statement. The writer crafts Mr Squires as a figure of surface-driven power through a precise, cutting portrait and his command of the hotel’s hierarchy; at the same time, Clyde’s faltering speech and bodily reactions reveal how exposed he feels in a milieu where appearance is currency. Yet there is nuance: the narrator also hints that Squires’s authority is petty and performative, even as its effects on Clyde are undeniable.
From the outset, the asyndetic listing “slender, keen, hatchet-faced and well-dressed” builds a semantic field of sharpness. Metaphors like “hatchet-faced” and modifiers such as “keen” and “sharp” carry connotations of severity and penetration, as if Squires can cut and appraise. The staccato catalogue—“nose…long and thin,” “eyes…sharp,” “lips thin,” “chin pointed”—zooms in on edges and angles, reinforcing an image of someone honed and dangerous. Even the label “sophisticated-looking” foregrounds the visual, signalling a world in which seeming matters as much as being. Structurally, his status is ratified by role (“captain of the bell-hops”) and by the assistant’s “deferential” echo—“You said it!”—which stages a mini court around him. His gossip about the “Earl of Landreil” and the ability to “lay on the class” further exposes his fluency in status spectacle; the ironic alias “Mr. Blunt” set against all this “sharpness” underlines a culture of masks.
The encounter with Clyde intensifies the power imbalance. Squires “glimps[es] Clyde, but [pays] no attention,” a structural sidelining that renders Clyde momentarily invisible. When he does look, it is with “cool, examining eyes” and a “comprehensive study” of Clyde’s “none-too-good clothes”—a synecdochic reduction of the boy to fabric. Clyde’s dialogue is syntactically broken—self-corrections and dashes (“that is—he said that I might ask…”)—mirroring his intimidation. The physical reaction—“flustered,” “swallowed hard”—shows the gaze’s coercive force.
Yet the narrator’s authorial aside—Squires as “the soul of craft and self-acquisitiveness in a petty way”—subtly punctures his grandeur: he is a gatekeeper whose power is small but sharp. His brusque, clipped control—“Come around Monday… He turned on his heel”—reinforces his authority. Crucially, the writer also traces Clyde’s social awakening: “for the first time… insinuate himself into the good graces,” and he “contrive[s] an eager, ingratiating smile.” This performative pivot shows Clyde recognising the primacy of appearance. The closing free indirect discourse—exclamatives (“The idea!” “Gee!”) and anaphoric rhetorical questions (“Could it be possible… Could it really be?”)—captures breathless awe, “thrilling from head to toe,” suggesting he feels both out of place and irresistibly drawn to this “grand world.”
Overall, I agree to a great extent: Squires’s sharpened image and clipped authority project power rooted in appearances, and the writer deftly shows Clyde’s intimidation within that regime—while also exposing its shallowness and its seductive pull.
Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: Level 3 would mostly agree, clearly explaining that the writer uses precise description and social cues—hatchet-faced, well-dressed, a shrewd and cunning-looking figure to whom others respond deferentially—alongside showy detail like fourteen trunks and four servants to present Mr Squires as powerful in a world ruled by appearances. It would also identify Clyde’s intimidation and outsider status through his none-too-good clothes, being overawed and flustered under Squires’s cool, examining eyes, showing he feels out of place.
I agree to a large extent that Mr Squires is presented as powerful through his sharp appearance, and that the writer shows Clyde feeling intimidated and out of place in a world ruled by looks and status. From the outset, the detailed physical description creates an impression of cutting authority: he is “very slender, keen, hatchet-faced and well-dressed.” The listing of sharp, angular features—“nose… long and thin,” “eyes… sharp,” “chin pointed”—builds a semantic field of blades. The metaphorical adjective “hatchet‑faced” suggests someone who is severe and capable of “cutting down” others. His clothes and “sophisticated-looking” air signal status, while his title, “captain of the bell-hops,” gives him institutional power in this setting.
Dialogue further emphasises his command and his preoccupation with appearance. He chats knowingly about “the Earl of Landreil” and how “they can certainly lay on the class,” and his assistant replies “deferentially,” which shows hierarchy. His behaviour towards Clyde—“glimpsing” him but “paying no attention”—demonstrates social superiority. When he does turn, he makes a “comprehensive study” of Clyde’s “none-too-good clothes,” judging him by appearance.
Clyde’s intimidation is clear. The writer uses internal focalisation to show he is “flustered,” “disturbed” by Squires’s “cool, examining eyes,” and that he “could scarcely get his breath.” Clyde’s attempt to fit into this appearance-conscious world is shown by his “eager, ingratiating smile” and his desire to “insinuate himself into the good graces” of others—language that suggests performance and self-presentation. Squires’s cold control—he “merely looked at him coldly,” then “turned on his heel”—keeps Clyde on the back foot. Structurally, the ending shifts to exclamatives and rhetorical questions—“Gee!,” “Could it really be?”—to capture Clyde’s thrilled yet outsider awe at “the very finest hotel.”
Overall, I largely agree: Squires’s sharp looks and polished dress make him seem powerful in a status-driven environment, and Clyde is shown as overawed and marginal. However, the narrator’s phrase “self-acquisitiveness in a petty way” also hints that Squires’s power is narrow and rooted in image rather than true substance.
Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: I mostly agree: the writer uses adjectives like 'hatchet-faced and well-dressed' and 'very shrewd and cunning-looking' to present Mr Squires as powerful, while Clyde’s 'none-too-good clothes' and being 'flustered and disturbed' by Squires’s 'cool, examining eyes' show he feels intimidated and out of place in this 'grand world' where looks matter.
I mostly agree. At the start of this section, Mr Squires is made to seem powerful by the sharp, precise description, and Clyde is shown as intimidated and out of place. The piled-up adjectives “slender, keen, hatchet-faced and well-dressed” and the list of features—“nose… long and thin”, “eyes… sharp”, “lips thin”, “chin pointed”—create a hard, cutting image. His title “captain of the bell-hops” and the assistant’s “deferential” reply also indicate status, while he “glimps[es] Clyde, but [pays] no attention”, which feels commanding.
The dialogue about the “Earl of Landreil” with “fourteen trunks and four servants” builds a sense that display matters here; “They can certainly lay on the class” underlines the importance of appearance. Squires then makes a “comprehensive study” of Clyde’s “none-too-good clothes”, so he judges him by looks. This makes Clyde nervous: he is “flustered”, “could scarcely get his breath”, and “swallowed hard”. The narrator’s verbs and physical detail show he feels smaller than this smart, shrewd man.
Clyde even tries to fit in, contriving an “eager, ingratiating smile”, while Squires “looked at him coldly” and “turned on his heel”—body language that keeps the power with Squires. At the end, Clyde longs to be “admitted to such a grand world”, proving he feels outside it. I would add a slight disagreement: the phrase “in a petty way” hints Squires’s power is narrow. Overall, I agree the writer emphasises power through appearance and Clyde’s intimidation.
Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: I agree: Mr Squires seems powerful because he is described as "well-dressed" and "shrewd and cunning-looking", while Clyde is "overawed" and "flustered" with "none-too-good clothes" and faces "cool, examining eyes", showing he feels out of place.
I mostly agree with the statement. The writer uses detailed description of Mr Squires and shows Clyde as nervous and out of place in a world where looks matter.
The adjectives “slender”, “keen” and “hatchet-faced”, plus “well-dressed”, make Mr Squires seem sharp and important. The list of features (“nose… long and thin”, “eyes… sharp”, “lips thin”) adds to his power and a very controlled look. The assistant speaks “deferentially”, and through dialogue about an earl and “class”, Squires seems part of a smart world. He even ignores Clyde at first, “paying no attention”, which shows control. His title, “captain of the bell-hops”, also sounds strong and powerful.
Clyde seems intimidated. He notices his “none-too-good clothes” and Squires makes a “comprehensive study” of him, so appearance matters. His speech is hesitant with “that is”, and he gives an “eager, ingratiating smile”, showing he tries to fit in. The adverb “coldly” for how Squires looks at him makes him feel smaller. He is “flustered”, “swallowed hard” and can “scarcely get his breath”.
Overall, I agree to a large extent: the detailed appearance makes Mr Squires look powerful, and the writer suggests Clyde feels out of place, though the final questions (“Could it be possible?”) show excitement too.
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:
- Largely agree that Squires reads as powerful and Clyde as intimidated, but disagree with the claim about “smart clothes”: the text builds power through cold appraisal and status, not attire (looked at him coldly)
- Role/title establishes authority and gatekeeping; being the hotel's selector positions Squires above Clyde, shaping a clear power imbalance (captain of the bell-hops)
- Others’ deference amplifies Squires’s status; the assistant’s submissive tone frames Squires as someone to impress or obey (deferentially)
- Initial disregard underscores hierarchy and Clyde’s smallness; Squires glimpses him yet withholds recognition, increasing Clyde’s discomfort (paying no attention)
- Dismissive body language conveys command and finality, leaving Clyde uncertain and dependent on Squires’s will (turned on his heel)
- Appearance-driven judgment is explicit; Squires sizes Clyde up by his outfit, confirming a world where looks decide worth (none-too-good clothes)
- Power is rooted in shrewdness, not sharp features; the narration casts Squires as calculating and self-serving, which feels more potent than clothing (soul of craft)
- Gatekeeping through delay keeps control with Squires and hope with Clyde, intensifying the asymmetry of power (Come around Monday afternoon)
- The elite spectacle foregrounds a culture of display; the hotel glorifies class performance, heightening Clyde’s sense of exclusion (fourteen trunks and four servants)
- Focalised excitement and self-doubt show intimidation and outsider yearning; Clyde’s rapture exposes how out of place he feels (thrilling from head to toe)
Question 5 - Mark Scheme
Your town’s animal shelter is preparing a winter newsletter and has invited students to send in creative writing.
Choose one of the options below for your entry.
- Option A: Describe a devoted pet from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:
- Option B: Write the opening of a story about earning an animal’s trust.
(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:
He curls himself against the back door as if the threshold were a hearth. The hall is narrow; amber light lays itself in planks across the tiles. His coat—fawn peppered with grey like frost on hedgerows—collects the day: burrs, dust, the perfume of rain. When he breathes, it is an unhurried tide; when he sighs, the tag on his collar taps the floor—once, twice—and is still. Those boots, still ragged with field, stand like monuments; he presses his flank to them with the seriousness of a sentry. Devotion looks ordinary here. It looks like patience.
He hears everything: the scratch of bicycles, the interrogative clatter of the letterbox. At each disturbance, one ear rises (ever vigilant), then sinks again; his tail gives a polite tap, a metronome keeping time with a life he predicts. He understands the choreography of the house: kettle click; keys lifted; scarf shaken. In the morning he ferries what he can—a glove, a sock, sometimes a single muddied lace—brought ceremoniously, as if he were carrying answers. And then he waits. Again and again, his breath combs the silence, stitching you back into the evening.
And when the latch lifts, joy arrives in a collision. Not wild—he is too considerate for that—but abundant: a dog articulated by one sweeping arc of tail, his body curved around your shins. He smiles with his whole face; he presses a paw, testing, as if confirming you are not another dream. He leans—pouring his small gravity into you until the weight becomes a sentence you can read: I stayed; I kept the door; I kept us. He offers his tribute—the least respectable slipper—then stands aside, forgiving the mud you track.
On rain-snarled nights he smells of earth and biscuits; in that weather he is anchor, hush, a warm syllable at your ankle. When illness presses the rooms flat, he keeps vigil—eating only when persuaded, drinking when your hand moves, sleeping in alert dozes that end at the whisper of your name. Thunder sends the windows into fretful tremors; he does not flinch. Instead, he edges closer, nose tucked beneath your wrist, his pulse matching yours until the world remembers to be quiet. To call him loyal feels thin; there is a deeper economy at work, an uncomplicated covenant.
He is not perfect—he chews the post, snores, excavates the lawn as if the centre of the earth concealed an errant ball. Still, in the ledger of his heart, all accounts balance. He is devotion without spectacle: steadfast, solicitous, ordinary and extraordinary. When you leave, he waits; when you return, he blooms. In the amber hush by the door, beside the boots that wear your days, he is there. Waiting.
Option B:
Morning. The kind that frost-caps the stubble and writes a thin silver line along every fence post; the kind that slims sound and makes breath visible—tentative ribbons in the air. The fields glitter; the barn smells of sweet iron and hay and damp wood. A crow caws, once, and quiet folds back over the yard like a pressed blanket.
As the yard stilled, I cupped apple slices in my glove and pushed open the door; hinges groaned their old complaint. He was there: Bracken—black with dust like spilled sugar on his flank—watching from the far corner, all angles and apprehension. New from the rescue, his halter lay unused on the rail; he wore distance as armour, and silence like a bridle.
I had read the manuals and listened to the volunteers with patience (don't crowd, don't square your shoulders, blink slowly), but books only get you so far. Trust is not a trick; it is small and stubborn: it will not be dragged or bought. How do you tell a creature who speaks in ears and hooves that your hands will not hurt; that your intentions are not knives but balm?
I stood sideways, a respectful silhouette; I kept the line of my body soft; I turned my face so that my eyes met his only as water meets stone. Then, inch by inch, I stepped into the liminal space between us. My heartbeat tapped out a metronome against my ribs. Bracken's nostrils widened—dark velvet, damp—and his breath came to me warm, green with hay, threaded with fear.
The apple lay open on my palm like an offering. Time dilated. He shifted his weight—the whisper of hoof on straw almost imaginary; a tremor ran along his neck; an ear flicked to catalogue the soughing hedge. We stood—statues trying not to be statues. When a bucket in the next stall skated, he jolted; instinct is implacable. I did not step forward. I did not chase. I became stillness.
Again, the yard breathed. Again, thin light pooled in the doorway. I spoke, finally, with ordinary words that carried no demand at all: good lad. No rush. It's only me. My voice sounded small and exactly right. He lowered his head by a fraction; the tension slackened like a knot grudgingly loosening. Then—a lean, a brush—the briefest graze of muzzle against my lifeline. He tasted the edge of the apple and snorted, suspicious yet curious.
It wasn't triumph; nothing cinematic occurred. A flake of trust, no more, had come loose from the hard rock years had accreted around him. It was enough to begin. Outside, morning lifted, colour seeping back into hedgerow and sky; inside, another breath unwound between us, and the next slow step waited—patient, possible.
- Level 4 Lower (19-21 marks for AO5, 13-16 marks for AO6, 32-37 marks total)
Option A:
In the hush of late afternoon, he is a comma of warmth curled against your boots, a pause at the threshold of your day. The boots, crusted with a mosaic of field-mud and city grit, lean like tired sentries; he noses their seams, inhaling puddles and hedges and the faint metallic tang of trains. A pale wedge of winter light lays itself along his back, outlining each hair in soft silver. He sighs, long and theatrical, as if waiting required stamina.
He is stitched from ordinary colours—russet, ash, soot—yet his eyes, bright as melted amber, hold a glint from the brass doorknob and make it significant. One ear is nicked; both swivel at the smallest rumour of you: the sigh of the gate; the polite throat-clearing of the letterbox. The tail thuds—one, two, three—then stills. His devotion is not loud; it is patient: a steady vigil; a reflex of rising when the floorboards sigh; a careful arranging of himself so his ribcage brushes leather.
On mornings when alarms fail and tempers fray, he performs small rescues. He finds the sulking glove beneath the chair and ferries it, damp-jawed, to your feet; he balances it on the boot toe and looks up, earnest. In winter squalls he leans his weight against your shins to anchor you; in July’s fireworks he buries his panic in your sleeve and becomes brave because you are. When you were ill, he learned the geography of quiet—how to pad soft as dust, how to lie near without asking.
Devotion, with him, is composed of minor, luminous habits. He will not eat until you sit; he drinks only after you lift the cup; he patrols the hallway as if it were coastline, checking boots, door, window, boots again. Who else reads the tilt of your shoulders, the hush of your voice, and translates the day from its smells—printer ink, rain, rosemary on your fingers?
And yet the instant the key grates, the world contracts to the rectangle of the mat. He rises as if unwound from a spring; age loosens its grip; the old joy combusts in him and lights the room. He presses his forehead to your shin—an old pledge renewed—and you are briefly, gloriously claimed. The tail metronomes; the boots wobble; he steadies them with a deliberate nose, embarrassed by his celebration, and settles again, a sentinel by the door, the faithful punctuation in the margin of your life.
Option B:
Dawn. The hour when hedges whispered and mist clung low over the paddock like a secret not yet told. He stood at the far fence—black against a whitening sky—ears swivelling, eyes like wet glass. The wind combed his mane into narrow banners; his ribs rose and fell, a bellows. Even from here I felt the static of his fear humming between us.
I had been coming for a week with the same ritual: apple quarters in my pocket; words folded small in my mouth; my gaze lowered. I walked the track slowly—deliberate, unthreatening—counting to five between each step as if I could pace out his worry. He watched. When I moved, he shifted; when I stopped, he snatched at grass he did not swallow.
The woman at the yard said he’d been “moved around.” A gentle phrase for a harsher story. The slim scars on his shoulder spoke more precisely: pale punctuation; commas where hands had paused and pressed. I wanted to be a full stop to that sentence. Or something quieter—water, shadow, the harness of regularity.
On the eighth morning, frost held the grass in brittle glitter; every step snapped. So I didn’t step. I sat. I made myself smaller than the fence post and tried to become uninteresting, which is harder than it sounds. Time puddled. Birds stitched and unstitched the hedge with their chatter.
He came. Not in a straight line—never that—but in a slow, sidelong drift, hoof then hoof, neck lifting and lowering like a tide. Each movement was a question; I kept answering with stillness. When his breath reached me—warm, sweet, edged with hay—I turned my palm upward. My hand trembled; I let it.
The apple smelt like September. He took it in a snatch, lips quick, teeth bumping skin. A pinprick of pain; a bloom of heat. I didn’t flinch. He did—muscle flickering, head high—then paused, uncertain, as if listening for something he could not name.
“You’re all right,” I said, softly, so the words barely left. My voice was a thread I dared not tug. He pressed his nose, brief as a blink, against the heel of my hand and left a damp crescent, a signature. We stood—skittish creature and patient stranger—breathing the same pale air, not perfectly in time, but closer; close enough for the wire between us to loosen, for the day to begin again.
- Level 3 Upper (16-18 marks for AO5, 9-12 marks for AO6, 25-30 marks total)
Option A:
He waits by the back door, a quiet comma in the kitchen; nose tucked to tail, chin resting against my muddied boots. The leather is damp and scarred, salt-white where old walks dried; he presses his whiskered muzzle to it as if reading a map. His ears tilt at small sounds—the clock’s tick, the fridge’s low hum, the wind fingering the hedge—and then settle again. When I shift in my chair, his eyes lift. They are weak-tea brown, patient, expectant, kind.
At six, he calibrates himself to the day. The tail gives one hopeful thud; paws flex and unclasp. He does not bark or dance; he simply waits, a shadow that has learnt my habits. He knows the language of laces and the scrape of the chair that means it is time. He is devoted, not needy: if I delay, he lies still, watching with that steady, almost human attention. Water rattles in the gutters; he sighs, and I feel the small, warm weight of his trust like a shawl.
Once, when a fever anchored me to the sofa, he became the most faithful of nurses. He set himself at the crook of my knees, chest rising in a slow, metronomic answer to my ragged breath. Each cough drew his nose to my wrist; each restless turn—he adjusted, wordless, present. He trembles at thunder, yet if I cross the yard he will shoulder the rain to follow; his devotion is stubborn and slightly foolish, which makes it more real.
Sometimes he is ridiculous. He steals a glove and parades it with comic pride; he tracks brown commas of mud across the tiles—an eager, messy signature. He tests my patience, I suppose, but mends it at once with that sideways look, ears folding like wet paper. And then, as always, he returns to the boots.
Guarding them, he guards my day. When the leather lifts, he springs up; when it sleeps, he sleeps. It is a promise he keeps without fuss: stay. In the hush before we go, I touch his head and he leans into my palm, as if to anchor me too.
Option B:
Winter. The time when breath writes pale messages on the air; when ponds stiffen to glass and the allotments smell faintly of smoke and wet soil.
As frost threaded over the chain-link fences, I shuffled along the path with a tin of sardines knocking in my pocket—a ridiculous offering, maybe, but it was what I had.
He lived under the blue shack: a knot of cat, tattered-eared, eyes lit like bottle-green glass. The first day he was all angles and exit routes. The second, he stayed long enough to stare.
On Monday I spoke softly about nothing: the bus timetable, the neighbour’s wind chimes that clanged like spoons, the weather, as if small talk could translate. I tried to smile in a way that didn’t show teeth, which felt a bit silly, but I kept at it.
I learned the rules—no looming, no reaching, no noise beyond a whisper. Sit sideways; scatter the fish; wait.
Waiting is a skill and a sort of apology. I wasn’t here to trap him or fix him; I just wanted him not to flinch at my footsteps. How do you tell an animal that your hands are safe?
At first he watched me from the shadow, tail coiled, whiskers trembling, his fur a map of old skirmishes. Meanwhile a robin hopped behind me, greedy for crumbs, and the world moved on: a train, a siren, somebody laughing on the estate.
He blinked.
He blinked slowly—cat-language that is almost a handshake. I set a piece of sardine on the concrete between us; the brine was sharp; my fingers smelled like the sea and metal. He edged forward, paw-paw. He paused, the fish glistened. My heart kept time—too fast.
Eventually his nose touched the silver. He didn’t bolt. He didn’t thank me, either; he simply ate, eyes on me, ready to vanish. It was enough for then.
Later that week, he traced the edge of light like a tide, inching closer. I learned to breathe quieter, to be a place rather than a person, the way benches are places. On the third morning, the frost softened. The shack dripped, the world smelled of thaw and tinned fish. I put the tin down and, without meaning to, said, Hi.
A tail-tip flick, a step closer; a whisper of fur against air; a sound like a tiny engine starting somewhere under the floorboards.
I stayed as still as a post, because trust, I was learning, is less like a key in a lock and more like snow—layer by layer, almost invisibly—until suddenly there is weight.
- Level 3 Lower (13-15 marks for AO5, 9-12 marks for AO6, 22-27 marks total)
Option A:
He lies curled beside the muddy boots, a comma of fur against the mat. Rain taps the window; the hall smells of damp leather and soap. His ears twitch at small noises: the lift of the latch he imagines. His coat is tawny and black, a soft, steady warmth seeping into the floor. One paw rests on a bootlace, as if to hold the day in place. His eyes, amber and wet, follow the door even when nothing moves.
He is devoted in the quiet way. Waiting, waiting, not whining. The clock ticks; his tail thuds—slow, careful. When footsteps pass outside, his eyes rise, hopeful, then settle. Boots are his beacon, a promise of fields and voices. He knows the pattern of her return; he has learned the turning of the key, the sigh of the door, the breath before her hello.
Once, he was all bones and burrs by a hedgerow; she lifted him, a rain-soaked bundle, and carried him home. That memory sits somewhere behind his ribs, beating with his heart. So he keeps watch. He guards the boots as if they are gold. He presses his nose to leather, inhales mud, salt, the faint sweetness of polish. In the scent there is her, and in her there is the world.
The key turns; a ribbon of light spills along the hall. He stands and almost dances, but he remembers his manners—he sits, quivering, eyes shining. She laughs. Hands on his ears, a blessing. His tail finds its metronome again, faster now. Later, he curls by her feet, a warm weight, breath moving like a tide. He has no language for loyalty: he is simply there, always there.
Option B:
Morning. The yard held its breath; thin light slid over the frost-bitten concrete, turning puddles into dull mirrors. Metal buckets clanked somewhere and a robin hopped along the fence like a small guard. The air smelt of hay and wet wood. I tucked my scarf under my chin and stood by the stable door. Inside, the mare stood deep in shadow. Her name was Willow, but she did not come to me when I called it.
They told me she had been found with a rope buried in her coat, rain-sore and hungry; rescue had been hard, and hands had not always been kind. No wonder she kept her distance. Every time a boot scraped or a gate banged, her ears flicked and that smooth neck tightened. Trust, I had learned, is not a trick; it is a slow path. You walk it step by step, and you do not drag.
I held out my hand, palm open, an apple resting in the centre like a promise. I kept my eyes on the straw, not on her, and spoke in a voice that was hardly louder than the robin’s wing. No sudden movements. Just breath. The cold bit my fingers but I did not close them. Willow shifted, one cautious step, then a pause. Her nostrils flared. Warm, white breath drifted and vanished in the chilly light.
She stretched her neck, then flinched at the rasp of leather from the next stall. A tremor ran through her, through me too. I wanted to reach and stroke the star on her forehead, to rush the moment, but I held still. A minute passed, or many. At last her nose touched my skin—softer than I had thought, damp and real. I did not move. In that small contact something loosened, not finished yet, but beginning.
- Level 2 Upper (10-12 marks for AO5, 5-8 marks for AO6, 15-20 marks total)
Option A:
He waits by the door, curled into the cave of my muddy boots. The laces hang like wet worms and the boots stand like tired soldiers. His eyes, two warm buttons of brown, follow the hallway light, and his tail thumps a slow rhythm against the skirting. He is small, but his loyalty feels huge. When I open the door, the whole house seems to breathe out; he lifts his head, stretches, and leans his gentle weight on my shin.
He is a devoted shadow. If I climb the stairs, he pads behind, nails clicking softly; if I sit, he folds beside me, a crescent of warmth. He loves my footsteps, my old blanket, the squeak of the gate. Sometimes he waits for hours, chin parked on the boot like a guard on soft duty. I wonder: how does he know when I am due? He seems to read my breath. His ears prick at the smallest murmur, his muzzle—peppered with grey—nudges my palm until my thoughts slow down.
Once I came home late and shivering, rain stitching the evening into a dull sheet; he met me with a quiet whine and a wag. Not perfect, no. He chews laces, leaves muddy commas on the mat, and steals a sock if I forget. But there is a steady patience in him, a definate promise that he will be there next to the boots tomorrow. In morning light his wet-leaf smell and silhouette curl by the door—faithful, simple, still—and the day starts easier.
Option B:
Autumn. The time of falling leaves; puddles with skimmed ice; breath that lifts like smoke. Evenings shrank; buses hummed into drizzle. Everything slowing, everything careful.
Under the cracked billboard by the depot waited the dog. Grey-brown, ribs like shadows, eyes the colour of strong tea. It watched from the rectangle of darkness between bins and nettles, it's tail twitching. Somebody had told me not to bother, strays don't forget; they remember hands. Still I brought a plastic box of roasted chicken and a patience I wasn’t sure I had.
Day one: I sat on the kerb. I didn’t look straight at him, I know that can be rude in their language, so I stared at my shoes and counted to one hundred. Rain ticked on the lid; vans splashed past. I placed the food and slid back, inch by stubborn inch.
Day three, the dog was closer — a careful shadow with ears pricked like flags. My fingers shook but I kept them open, my palm a small boat. He sniffed; I didn't speak; just breathed. The smell of wet fur mixed with diesel and something like fear, maybe mine. There was a pause that seemed to stretch as long as a queue. Then a tongue, quick and surprisingly warm, touched my skin.
It wasn’t much. Not a trick, not a growly promise that everything would be fine. But it was a start, and I felt the cold evening lift a little, as if the street lights leaned in to see what would happen next.
- Level 2 Lower (7-9 marks for AO5, 5-8 marks for AO6, 12-17 marks total)
Option A:
Curled by the muddy boots, my dog waits. His fur is the colour of toast, rough on top but soft underneath; it catches the dust from the floor. His ears tilt like small sails at any sound: the fridge humming. There is a damp, warm smell coming from his coat, like wet leaves after rain. He blinks slowly, brown eyes shining, then he sighs, a patient cloud that floats out and fades.
When I stand, he stands. If I step towards the door, he is already there, nose pressed to the leather, tail beating a low drum. Sometimes he nudges a boot, as if to say hurry. Even when the weather turns mean and the wind stings, he follows. He watches my steps; he reads my mood. On nights I am ill, he curls by the bed and listens, he listens again and again.
Of course, he can be silly—mud on the carpet, a sock stolen, a bark at nothing. But his loyality shows in small things: the way he waits, the way he returns. By the dim lamp, his chest lifts and falls, regular as a clock. Outside, the boots dry and harden, inside, he keeps watch. A quiet shadow. A faithful friend.
Option B:
Evening. The park had gone quiet and the grass smelled damp after thin rain. Beneath the broken bench, a thin dog watched me. Its ribs showed like pale lines under a muddy coat; its ears twitched at every rustle of leaves. I sat on the path, not too close. I put my bag down gently so the zip wouldn't hiss like a snake.
At first, we only looked. Its tail was tucked and its eyes were watchful, like two dark buttons. I kept my hand low and flat, my fingers still, although my bravery trembled. "Hey, it's okay," I whispered, not sure if the dog understood or if I did. I didn't move, I just breathed, and from my pocket I took a small piece of chicken. The smell floated between us. When the bag rustled, the dog flinched; when I stilled, it breathed again. Slowly, slowly, I slid the scrap across the ground.
The dog shifted. One paw, then another, cautious as frost. It stretched its neck, sniffed the air, and the tiny black nose touched my skin - just a tap. Would it bite? No. Only a warm breath, a soft lick, a step nearer. Trust didn't arrive loud, it came like a whisper.
- Level 1 Upper (4-6 marks for AO5, 1-4 marks for AO6, 5-10 marks total)
Option A:
The dog is curled by the door. His fur is a bit muddy and it sticks on the edges. The boots are there, big and brown, they smell like wet field and old leather. His nose rests on them and he sighs, a small warm sound. The hallway light is dull, rain taps at the window, little drips, drip, drip. He turns his ear to the noise but he don’t move.
He waits and waits.
When the key turns he jumps but still gentle, tail thumping the wall. He trots beside every step, like a small shadow, he even sits on the mat if you stop, he won’t go far. If you are sad he nudges your hand, warm nose, wet. He would carry your heart - he is mine, and I am his.
Option B:
Morning. The field was wet and cold. The sky was grey like dirty wool. I walked to the gate with bread in my pocket.
He was there again, the small brown dog under the broken fence. He stared at me with big eyes. He didn't come. I didn't move. We both was quiet. The grass stuck to my shoes and my breath was white in the air. I said, hello, soft.
I put the bread on my open hand. My arm felt heavy and slow. I held it out for a long time, it felt like a hour and my shoulder hurt but I keep it there. I wanted him to know I wont hurt him. I was careful to not look big. I bent down, lower, like a stone.
I waited. I wait. A step. Another. His nose touched my fingers, quick, like rain.
- Level 1 Lower (1-3 marks for AO5, 1-4 marks for AO6, 2-7 marks total)
Option A:
My dog is curled by my muddy boots. His fur is warm and he keeps still. He waits by the door. Every day. He knows my steps. He puts his head on my shoe, heavy like a stone. He looks up with big brown eyes, he dont need words, just a wag. When it rains he smells like wet wool and his breath is soft. At night he sleeps by my bed and listens, again and again. One time he chased a leaf and I laughed. I go out and he waits on the mat, tail tap tap, he is definatly my shadow alot
Option B:
It was morning and cold. The grass was wet, it touched my socks and I hated that. Under the broken shed there was a small dog, brown and thin, it stared and didn't blink. I said soft, come on! it's ok, and I put down food. I dont step close I just stand. My hands shake a bit, I were nervous. At the bus stop I had dropped my ticket, I think about that for no reason. The dog sniffed the air. It dont trust me yet. I wait, I wait and my knees hurt and the wind goes in my coat.