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

Mark Scheme

Introduction

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

Level of response marking instructions

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

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

Step 1 Determine a level

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

Step 2 Determine a mark

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

Advice for Examiners

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

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

SECTION A: READING - Assessment Objectives

AO1

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

AO2

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

AO3

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

AO4

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

SECTION B: WRITING - Assessment Objectives

AO5 (Writing: Content and Organisation)

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

AO6

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

Answers

Question 1 - Mark Scheme

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

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

• 1.1 What was the first thing the narrator says the crew did?: trim the yards of that wreck – 1 mark
• 1.2 What does the narrator say about injuries among the crew?: no one was killed or disabled, but everyone was more or less hurt – 1 mark
• 1.3 How does the narrator describe some of the crew’s faces?: black faces, like coal-heavers, like sweeps – 1 mark
• 1.4 According to the narrator, how were others of the watch below awakened?: by being shot out – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

Look in detail at this extract, from lines 1 to 15 of the source:

1 “Yes; that was the first thing we did--trim the yards of that wreck! No one was killed, or even disabled, but everyone was more or less hurt. You should have seen them! Some were in rags, with black faces, like coal-heavers, like sweeps, and had bullet heads that seemed closely cropped, but were in fact singed to the skin. Others, of the watch below, awakened by being shot out

6 from their collapsing bunks, shivered incessantly, and kept on groaning even as we went about our work. But they all worked. That crew of Liverpool hard cases had in them the right stuff. It’s my experience they always have. It is the sea that gives it--the vastness, the loneliness surrounding their dark stolid souls. Ah! Well! we stumbled, we crept, we fell, we barked our shins on

11 the wreckage, we hauled. The masts stood, but we did not know how much they might be charred down below. It was nearly calm, but a long swell ran from the west and made her roll. They might go at any moment. We looked at them with apprehension. One could not foresee which way they would fall.

How does the writer use language here to show the crew’s suffering and the danger on board? 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 perceptively analyses how visceral imagery, aspect, and syntax convey both suffering and danger: the repeated similes in "in rags, with black faces, like coal-heavers, like sweeps" and violent metaphor "shot out from their collapsing bunks" dehumanise the crew, while the progressive "shivered incessantly" and "kept on groaning" show ongoing pain, countered by the stoic bluntness "But they all worked." Danger is heightened through anaphoric, cumulative movement and clipped sentences—the rhythmic list "we stumbled, we crept, we fell, we barked our shins on the wreckage, we hauled" builds precarious effort, and the terse warnings "They might go at any moment." and "One could not foresee which way they would fall." stress imminent, unpredictable collapse.

The writer uses visceral similes and sensory detail to render the crew’s suffering. "Black faces, like coal-heavers, like sweeps" places them in a semantic field of grime and toil, as if smoke were ground into their skin. The metaphor "bullet heads," corrected by "singed to the skin," conjures heat and violence. The progressive construction "kept on groaning" and the adverb "incessantly" after "shivered" foreground ongoing pain, and the antithesis "No one was killed... but everyone was... hurt" concedes survival yet stresses the universality of injury.

Furthermore, the writer deploys parataxis and anaphora to show relentless toil despite injury: "we stumbled, we crept, we fell, we barked our shins... we hauled." The asyndetic listing of dynamic verbs creates a breathless rhythm, and "barked our shins" gives a jolt. The repeated "we" emphasises collective endurance. The short, simple sentence "But they all worked" acts as a stoic refrain, while "that crew... had in them the right stuff" valorises their resilience.

Additionally, danger saturates the description through adversatives and modality. The clause "The masts stood, but we did not know how much they might be charred" juxtaposes apparent stability with concealed threat. Modal verbs heighten uncertainty: "They might go at any moment" and "One could not foresee which way they would fall" evoke unpredictability. Personification and abstraction deepen the mood: the sea "gives" them toughness, with "loneliness surrounding their dark stolid souls," while the "long swell... made her roll," so even calm seas become dangerous and the crew wait in "apprehension."

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 explain that the writer conveys the crew’s suffering with vivid similes and harsh imagery—such as 'in rags, with black faces, like coal-heavers, like sweeps' and 'singed to the skin'—and with violent, ongoing actions like 'shot out', 'shivered incessantly' and 'kept on groaning', showing pain alongside perseverance. It would also note how danger is built through the asyndetic list and repetition in 'we stumbled, we crept, we fell... we hauled', the short, terse sentence 'They might go at any moment.', the uncertainty of 'One could not foresee which way they would fall', and the unstable setting where 'a long swell... made her roll'.

The writer uses vivid similes and gritty description to show the crew’s suffering. The men are “in rags, with black faces, like coal-heavers, like sweeps,” and their “bullet heads” are “singed to the skin.” The similes compare them to filthy labourers, while the adjective “singed” suggests burns, so the reader pictures real physical damage and humiliation.

Furthermore, sensory verbs emphasise ongoing pain and effort: men “shivered incessantly” and “kept on groaning,” yet “they all worked.” The asyndetic list of dynamic verbs—“we stumbled, we crept, we fell, we barked our shins… we hauled”—with repeated “we” creates rhythm and persistence, highlighting collective hardship and clumsy, painful movement through wreckage.

Moreover, language choices present constant danger on board. The ship “was nearly calm,” but a “long swell… made her roll,” a contrast that shows hidden threat. Modal verbs and short sentences—“They might go at any moment. One could not foresee which way they would fall.”—stress uncertainty about the “masts,” while “apprehension” names their fear. The personification of the sea that “gives” men the “right stuff” also suggests a powerful force they must endure.

Thus, through simile, listing, contrast and sentence structure, the writer conveys both the crew’s suffering and the peril surrounding them.

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 similes and descriptive phrases like "in rags, with black faces, like coal-heavers, like sweeps" to show the crew’s suffering, and the repeated action verbs "we stumbled, we crept, we fell" make their struggle clear. Short, warning sentences such as "They might go at any moment" and "We looked at them with apprehension" highlight the danger and uncertainty on board.

Firstly, the writer uses vivid description to show suffering. The similes "black faces, like coal-heavers, like sweeps" and the phrase "singed to the skin" make the crew seem burned and filthy, so the reader sees their pain. The verbs "shivered incessantly" and "kept on groaning" emphasise ongoing hurt. The exclamation "You should have seen them!" adds urgency.

Moreover, the list of actions "we stumbled, we crept, we fell, we barked our shins" shows how difficult and painful the work was. The dynamic phrase "shot out from their collapsing bunks" suggests violence and shock, adding to the sense of injury.

Finally, danger is shown through short, fearful sentences: "They might go at any moment." and "One could not foresee which way they would fall." This uncertainty, plus "charred down below" and the swell that "made her roll," creates tension and shows the risk on board.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 1 response would pick out simple phrases like in rags, shivered incessantly, and the simile like coal-heavers, like sweeps to show the crew are hurt and dirty. It would also notice the list of verbs we stumbled, we crept, we fell and the short sentence They might go at any moment to show the danger on board.

The writer uses similes to show suffering, like "black faces, like coal-heavers, like sweeps." This makes the crew seem hurt. The words "in rags" and "singed to the skin" show pain.

Furthermore, the writer uses verbs in a list: "we stumbled, we crept, we fell." This shows they are struggling.

Additionally, danger is shown by phrases like "masts... charred" and "They might go at any moment." This makes the reader worry, and "could not foresee which way they would fall" shows uncertainty. Therefore, the language makes the crew's pain and the risk on board clear.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Contrast between survival and injury sets gritty mood: relief undercut by widespread pain (more or less hurt).
• Exclamatory direct address involves the reader, intensifying shock at their condition (You should have seen them!).
• Dehumanising similes emphasise grime and exhaustion: men reduced to soot-blackened labourers (like coal-heavers, like sweeps).
• Metaphor of cropped, burned scalps conveys violence and dehumanisation (bullet heads).
• Explosive passive verb captures sudden, uncontrollable peril: bodies flung from sleep by impact (shot out).
• Continuous aspect and adverb stress ongoing suffering: pain that persists as they work (shivered incessantly).
• Concessive pivot foregrounds resilience amid pain: collective duty overrides discomfort (But they all worked).
• Personification of the sea as shaper of character explains their endurance under hardship (the sea that gives it).
• Accumulative action verbs with anaphora create relentless rhythm and shared strain (we stumbled, we crept, we fell).
• Modal uncertainty and short sentences heighten imminent, unpredictable danger (at any moment).

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 story.

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

You could write about:

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

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

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

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Analyses effects of structural choices; judicious examples; sophisticated terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would trace an arc from claustrophobic chaos to emerging hope, noting how the writer juxtaposes cumulative, debris-choked description ('tangle of planks', 'poisonous thick mist') with a symbolic glimpse of relief ('patch of glorious blue'), and uses temporal pivots ('Then', 'Suddenly') to shift mood. Hope intensifies structurally through accelerated pacing and closing distance: the flag dialogue ('On fire. Want immediate assistance.' / 'I am coming to your assistance.'), the steamer’s approach ('grew bigger rapidly', 'within hail'), and a future-oriented plan ('tow us to Anjer or Batavia', 'then proceed on our voyage--to Bankok!') culminating in the defiant 'We will do it yet'.

One way in which the writer structures the passage to build hope is through a shift in focus from devastation to possibility. The opening dwells on chaos—‘a tangle of planks,’ ‘invisible fire’—before the viewpoint ‘retreated aft and looked about us,’ widening perspective. Within this bleakness, the inserted glimpse ‘the sky made a patch of glorious blue’ foreshadows recovery. Meanwhile, the cumulative anaphora, ‘we stumbled, we crept, we fell... we hauled,’ and the stabilising simple sentence, ‘But they all worked,’ create momentum that seeds hope.

In addition, a turning point is signalled by the adverbial ‘Suddenly,’ as Mahon sights a steamer ‘far astern.’ This initiates an escalating call-and-response—flags hoisted, ‘On fire. Want immediate assistance,’ answered by ‘I am coming to your assistance’—which converts dread into assurance. Spatial progression compresses distance from ‘far astern’ to ‘abreast... within hail’ and finally ‘alongside,’ so hope literally draws nearer. Simultaneously, ‘smiled’ and ‘soothing motions’ temper the mood, easing panic and consolidating the sense of imminent rescue.

A further structural choice is a controlled dip before resolution. The mate’s imperative, ‘you had better quit,’ briefly halts the upward trajectory. The plan is withheld while the captain departs, delaying resolution and heightening anticipation, before an expository summary—‘the agreement was she should tow us...’—offers a practical path to safety. Positioning the captain’s exclamative, ‘We will do it yet,’ as the final beat, and the silence that follows, foregrounds resolve; the first-person aside, ‘O youth!’, implies survival. By the end, hope is heightened and grounded in action.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would explain how the writer builds hope through a clear shift in focus and mood: from chaotic, threatening images like “tangle of planks…greasy fog” and a “gangway…leading to death” to a turning point marked by “Suddenly” Mahon’s sighting of help and rising anticipation. It would use relevant examples to show how structural stages increase hope, noting the call-and-response signals (“On fire. Want immediate assistance” answered by “I am coming to your assistance”) and the determined closing note (“We will do it yet”) that leaves the extract more optimistic by the end.

One way the writer structures hope is through a shift in focus and pace from devastation to possibility. The opening dwells on damage and exhaustion, using asyndetic listing ('we stumbled, we crept, we fell') to slow the pace and foreground vulnerability; this low point makes later hope more striking. A small uplift occurs when the helmsman is hauled aboard and 'presently he stood amongst us', foreshadowing rescue.

In addition, a turning point is signalled by the temporal marker 'Suddenly' as the viewpoint zooms out to the horizon and a steamer is sighted. Time then compresses with 'by-and-by' and 'In half an hour', quickening the pace so the reader feels hope accelerating. The exchange of flags and reassuring dialogue ('I am coming to your assistance', 'All right!') shift the tone from apprehension to calm.

A further feature is delayed resolution through dialogue and planning. After the mate’s stark 'you had better quit', relief is withheld until the captain returns with a concrete plan to tow and 'extinguish the fire'. Ending on his defiant final line, 'We will do it yet,' positions hope as the last impression, reinforced by the plural perspective ('we'), which constructs collective resolve.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: At Level 2, a response would identify a shift from danger to growing hope, noting early chaos like the tangle of planks and a leading to death image, then time-linked changes (Suddenly Mahon sighted a steamer, In half an hour) and reassuring signals (I am coming to your assistance, the captain’s We will do it yet) that change the mood and build hope by the end.

One way the writer creates hope is by moving from danger at the beginning to help near the end. At first the focus is wreckage and “poisonous thick mist”, which feels hopeless. Then a turning point comes: “Suddenly Mahon sighted a steamer”, and the mood lifts.

In addition, time markers show hope building: “by-and-by”, “In half an hour”, and “presently” make the pace quicker as rescue approaches. Dialogue like “I am coming to your assistance” reassures us.

A further feature is the ending. The captain’s short line, “We will do it yet,” acts like a conclusion and leaves a hopeful tone; the first-person view lets us feel that change.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer moves from danger to hope: early chaos with tangle of planks and poisonous thick mist makes things feel bleak. Hope grows when they sighted a steamer, signal On fire. Want immediate assistance, get I am coming to your assistance, and end with the captain’s We will do it yet.

One way the writer has structured the text to create hope is a shift in focus from wreckage to rescue. At first there is chaos and smoke, but then we see the steamer and the flags: 'I am coming to your assistance.'

In addition, the dialogue adds hope. People say 'Yes! All right!' and 'We may do something with her yet.' The short exclamations change the tone and make the reader feel help is arriving.

A further structural feature is the ending. It finishes with 'We will do it yet,' which is a positive ending and leaves a hopeful mood.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Immediate survival and purposeful action at the start seeds initial hope despite chaos (No one was killed)
• Juxtaposition of injury with collective determination shifts mood from helplessness to resilience (But they all worked)
• Extended catalogue of wreckage intensifies the low point so later relief feels earned, yet a brief visual uplift glimmers (patch of glorious blue)
• After the death-imagery, a strange external call hints at forthcoming rescue, structurally foreshadowing aid (hailing the ship)
• A reflective pause and question create suspenseful downtime that prepares the pivot into hopeful action (What next?)
• Clear turning point marked by abrupt temporal cue and naming of a rescuer focuses the narrative toward salvation (Suddenly Mahon sighted a steamer)
• Step-by-step escalation through reciprocal flag signals provides assurance, steadily converting fear into confidence (I am coming to your assistance)
• Closer physical approach and calming dialogue accelerate pace and soothe nerves, heightening palpable relief (All right! all right!)
• A brief setback via the mate’s blunt warning intensifies tension before a pragmatic rescue plan resets direction toward safety (tow us to Anjer)
• Final emphatic resolve from the captain crowns the arc with defiant optimism, consolidating a collective belief in success (We will do it yet)

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, it is strange when the narrator says the disaster is "great". The writer suggests his youth makes him see the terrifying event as an exciting adventure.

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

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of the narrator and his reaction to the disaster
• comment on the methods the writer uses to present his youthful perspective
• 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 deliberately heightens the strangeness of calling the disaster "This is great." by juxtaposing the narrator’s boyish thrill and the retrospective rebuke "O youth!" with hellish imagery ("poisonous thick mist", a gangway "leading to death"), showing youth reframing terror as adventure. It would also weigh countervailing viewpoints—"the captain ... gazed at the sea wistfully", the mate’s "O boys--you had better quit", and the ironic patch of "glorious blue" on "ignobly soiled canvas"—to judge that the excitement is naively incongruous, reinforcing the writer’s critical stance on his younger self.

I largely agree that it feels strange when the narrator calls the disaster “great”, and the writer deliberately uses his youthful perspective to recast a terrifying scene as exhilarating. What makes it especially odd is how the boy’s thrill sits against a relentless catalogue of devastation.

From the outset, the description constructs danger through a dense, cumulative list: “a tangle of planks on edge, of planks on end, of splinters, of ruined woodwork”. This anaphoric patterning and the tactile imagery of “whitish, sluggish, stirring” matter create a sense of something almost alive and malign. The smoke is likened to “a poisonous thick mist” and a “greasy fog”, while a board becomes “a gangway leading over the deep sea, leading to death”—a stark, theatrical metaphor that explicitly names mortality. Yet even here the writer seeds the boy’s aestheticising impulse: the sky makes “a patch of glorious blue in the ignobly soiled canvas”, an antithesis that frames peril as picturesque. The personification of “the air, the sky—a ghost…hailing the ship” turns threat into a perverse summons; significantly, it reads like an invitation to adventure. That he later calls this “great” is strange, but thematically consistent with the way danger is romanticised.

The pivot is the sudden interior monologue: “Now, this is something like. This is great. I wonder what will happen. O youth!” The deictic “Now” and present-tense thought inject immediacy, while the exclamative and curious rhetorical musing reveal appetite rather than fear. Crucially, the authorial aside “O youth!” is a retrospective intrusion: the older narrator coolly acknowledges the naïveté of his younger self, reinforcing the strangeness and confirming that immaturity fuels the excitement.

When rescue appears, that adolescent energy persists. “We lost our composure, and yelled all together with excitement, ‘We’ve been blown up,’” a line whose bathos and hyperbole undercut the horror. Others see them as “a lot of frightened children” and the Malay seamen’s “unconcern” (the bowman “did not deign to lift his head”) is juxtaposed with the boy’s wounded vanity: he thinks people “deserved more attention”. This contrast sharpens our impression of a juvenile, self-dramatising outlook.

There is nuance: even the “old man” is “excited,” shaking “his fist at the sky” in a defiant, almost mythic gesture, which suggests shared adrenaline. However, the dominant effect is that the writer filters catastrophe through youthful focalisation, turning terror into spectacle. Overall, I strongly agree: the scene’s imagery makes the danger real, but the narrative voice—self-consciously youthful and retrospectively ironised—recasts it as an “exciting adventure,” hence the startling claim that the disaster is “great.”

Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would mostly agree, showing how the narrator’s youth turns danger into adventure through exclamations and questions like “This is great”, “O youth!”, “What next?”, “I wonder what will happen”, while contrasting this with others’ reactions—being treated as “frightened children”, told “you had better quit”, and admitting they “lost our composure”—to evaluate the writer’s viewpoint.

I largely agree; calling the disaster "great" is strange, and the writer links it to his youth. The scene is clearly terrifying: the deck is "a tangle of planks... splinters, of ruined woodwork," while smoke trails "like a poisonous thick mist." Broken boards even form "a gangway... leading to death," the ship seemingly "inviting us to walk the plank"—a grim personification. Against such morbid images, the narrator’s "This is great" jars, suggesting naive exhilaration rather than a measured response.

The voice itself signals immaturity. His interior monologue snaps into short, exclamative sentences: "Now, this is something like. This is great. I wonder what will happen." The staccato syntax conveys breathless excitement, while the reflective aside "O youth!" signals a retrospective first-person narrator judging his younger self, creating irony. Even amid wreckage, he notices a "patch of glorious blue" in "ignobly soiled canvas": this contrast implies he frames the crisis as spectacle, picking out beauty rather than danger.

During the rescue, that excitement continues, but is challenged. The crew "yelled all together with excitement," and the man on the bridge calms them "as though at a lot of frightened children," a simile that infantilises them. He is affronted by the Malay seamen’s "unconcern," insisting people "deserved more attention"—a revealingly self-centred reaction. Yet the mate’s blunt "you had better quit," the skipper who "shook his fist at the sky," and the final "Nobody else said a word" create a tonal shift to sobriety, reminding us the peril is real.

Overall, I agree to a great extent: through imagery, exclamatives, contrast and irony, the writer shows youth turning terror into adventure, while exposing how strange and naive it is.

Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 2 response would mostly agree, noting the narrator’s youth makes him treat the disaster like an adventure because he says “This is great. I wonder what will happen. O youth!”, while simple references to danger such as “poisonous thick mist”, the simile “leading to death”, and being handled like “frightened children” show it is still terrifying.

I mostly agree with the statement. It is strange that the narrator calls the disaster “great,” and the writer presents this as a youthful, excited reaction to real danger.

First, the setting is clearly frightening. The writer uses strong imagery to show chaos: “The deck was a tangle of planks… splinters,” and a “whitish, sluggish” “greasy fog” of smoke. The simile “like a poisonous thick mist” and the repeated phrase “leading to death” make the danger feel immediate. Because the description is so threatening, the narrator’s comment “This is great” seems odd.

However, his thoughts sound like a boy enjoying an adventure. The short sentences and exclamations, “Now, this is something like. This is great. I wonder what will happen,” create an excited tone. The aside “O youth!” suggests he knows his reaction comes from being young. When the steamer appears, they “yelled all together with excitement,” while the officer “made soothing motions… as though at a lot of frightened children.” This simile shows their childish behaviour.

There is also contrast with other people. The helmsman returns “very crestfallen,” the Malay seamen are “unconcern,” but the narrator thinks people “blown up deserved more attention,” which sounds immature and self-centred.

By the end, the captain’s defiance—“We will do it yet,” and he “shook his fist at the sky”—meets silence: “Nobody else said a word.” This reminds us it is still serious. Overall, I agree to a large extent: the writer uses imagery, similes, and contrast to show that the narrator’s youth makes him see a terrifying event as an exciting adventure, which is why calling it “great” feels strange.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response will mostly agree, pointing out the narrator’s excitement and youth with simple quotes like "This is great." and "O youth!", while also noticing basic signs of danger such as "leading to death" and "poisonous thick mist".

I mostly agree with the statement. It does feel strange that he calls the disaster “great”, because the writer describes a very dangerous scene. The imagery is scary: the deck is “a tangle” and the smoke is “like a poisonous thick mist”, and a plank looks “like a gangway…leading to death”. These similes make the danger clear, so his line “This is great. I wonder what will happen” shows a youthful, excited tone.

When the rescue steamer appears, they “yelled all together with excitement”. The man on the bridge calms them “like a lot of frightened children”, which makes them seem young. The mate even says, “O boys—you had better quit.” Also the narrator focuses on details like the “glorious blue” patch in the torn sail, which sounds oddly admiring. He even complains, “I thought people who had been blown up deserved more attention,” which comes across as childish.

There is also contrast with the captain, who is quiet and serious, while the narrator thinks it is an adventure. Overall, I agree that the narrator’s youth makes him treat the terrifying event as exciting. The writer uses similes, adjectives and contrast to show this youthful point of view.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward. Note: Reference to methods and explicit “I agree/I disagree” may be implicit and still credited according to quality.

AO4 content may include the evaluation of ideas and methods such as:

• Juxtaposition of lethal imagery with an exultant aside makes the claim feel naively thrilling and thus strange: This is great
• Retrospective narrator intrudes to critique his younger self, steering readers to see the excitement as youthful folly: O youth!
• Personification of the threat adds uncanny, adventure-like allure that could entice a young mind even as it alarms us: a ghost
• Aestheticising ruin—beauty amid damage—captures a romantic gaze that finds wonder in peril: glorious blue
• Dismissive diction trivialises danger, aligning with adolescent bravado and excitement: ridiculous troubles
• Direct thought foregrounds curiosity over fear, reinforcing the adventure-frame: I wonder what will happen
• Collective, excited reaction suggests adrenaline-fuelled spectacle rather than sober crisis management: yelled all together
• Humorous simile turns near-disaster into a storybook scene, flattering a youthful taste for drama: like a merman
• Rescuers’ comparison infantilises the crew, undercutting the narrator’s thrill and supporting the ‘youthful’ reading: frightened children
• Sober external judgment counters the excitement, highlighting how reckless the youthful lens can be: you had better quit

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

Your English class has been set a creative writing task inspired by the city's past and present.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Describe a Victorian street market from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about arriving in a big city for the first time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Model Answers

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

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

Option A:

The morning did not so much begin as thicken: a pearly, coal-flecked fog sagged over the cobbles, and the gas lamps glowed like tired moons above striped awnings being tugged, shaken, finally tamed into place. Barrows shouldered into position; wheels jolted and jarred between stones; iron rims rasped; dray horses stamped, their breath a pale, impatient lace. The market took a breath of its own and exhaled steam.

Under canvases beaded with last night’s rain, colour assembled with almost military exactitude: pyramids of blush apples; pears with freckled skins; oranges netted like captured suns; green cabbages, crinkled and damp; mackerel with opalescent flanks laid on ice; a tin bath where eels scribbled silver signatures in murky water. There were wheels of cheese fenced with straw, loaves scored like old maps, cones of sugar wrapped in blue, and stout jars of treacle, viscous and treacherous. The smells braided themselves—coal smoke, brine and tallow; horse-sweat, warm bread, the faint medicinal tang of carbolic—until the air became a mephitic stew both repellent and irresistible. Who could resist the siren hiss of a brazier where chestnuts blistered and spat?

Here, sound was currency. Cries rose and fell, call and counter-call, a rough fugue that swelled the alleyway: “Fine apples! Two a penny!” “Watercress, fresh—penny a bunch, fresh as the dew!” “Eels alive-o!” “Hot chestnuts—keep the frost off, love!” The click of a scale’s brass pan, the clack of a tally board, the thud of a sack against a shoulder; a butcher’s knife flashing like a metronome, its rhythm steady, his apron a glossy rubric. A constable, blue and broad, threaded the river of people; a banker’s bowler bobbed past in fastidious haste; a seamstress in a faded shawl thumbed pale cotton, then chose the cheaper spool (the cheap ones, specked but sweet). Meanwhile, a boy with soot-bright eyes warmed his palms over the brazier and pretended not to think of hunger.

Beyond the fishmonger, beneath a lamplit pallor, hung a palimpsest of handbills: lectures on electricity, a benefit for a widow, a lurid penny dreadful promising “Blood and Mystery”—their edges furred with damp. Ribbons poured in chromatic rivers from a haberdasher’s crate; a milliner’s feathers nodded ridiculously in the gloom; a crockery stall chimed, thinly, whenever a sleeve brushed porcelain. At the far end, a man in a stained waistcoat plucked a concertina; its reedy wheeze stitched together stalls and strangers and the sharp, quick laughter of a girl with a basket of matches. By contrast, a woman with a baby at her breast haggled with a firmness that was almost tender: the arithmetic of survival, done in whispers.

Nevertheless, there was an odd gentility to the disorder. The awnings made a canvas cathedral; the puddles kept small, wavering altars of light; the fog drifted like incense, blessing the trade beneath. A gull—surely lost so far from the river—sliced the air with a plaintive note. And still the commerce beat on: the clap, the cry, the clang. Perhaps the imagery gilds it; in truth, some faces were simply tired, a sea of grey among the scarlet and gold.

By noon the fog thinned slightly, and the lamps blinked, embarrassed, into pallid day. The market did not notice. It turned its old, reliable gears—back and forth, back and forth—until coins were counted, shutters thudded, and the last chestnuts cooled like embers on a hearth no one would claim.

Option B:

The city rose before her like a mirage made of stone and steam. Under the station’s glass vault, daylight fractured into jagged panes by the iron ribs; announcements surged and ebbed with a briny metallic echo. Maya stood on the threshold of the carriage and felt the whole building breathe—doors sighed, brakes hissed, the floor thrummed with a subterranean heart. Her suitcase, obstinate and one-wheeled, refused to glide and instead dragged behind her with a petulant squeak.

She had imagined the city as a picture—curated, static, safely contained in a glossy brochure. What unfurled before her was anything but. The concourse was a river, and she was a leaf—carried, turned, eddied—past a palimpsest of postered pillars, past a barista whose machine exhaled milk-clouds, past a violinist whose bow drew out a thread of something golden and aching. The air tasted of coffee, diesel and anticipation. Above her, pigeons tilted their iridescent necks like living stained glass; below her, the tessellated floor shone with the scuffed footprints of millions who had come and gone and come again.

“Mind your bag, love,” a woman with a sunburnt nose called, not unkindly, as a tide of briefcases shouldered past. Maya clutched the handle more tightly. She realised—late, laughable—that she had packed for an expedition: books (unnecessary), two thick jumpers (in June), a small framed photo wrapped in a sock. The strap pretended to be leather and burned her palm faithfully. She glanced up at the departure board as if it might tell her where to put her feet next.

Outside, the city threw its weather at her without apology. A gust, sharp as a reprimand, tugged a paper crown of napkins into flight; buses wheezed and lurched; a taxi splashed a lace of water across her shins. Horns stitched a ragged seam through the air. Neon signs blinked awake in the pallid afternoon, their consonants flickering—EAT, LET, MET—like a private code she wasn’t sure she was ready to read. Even the buildings seemed to rearrange themselves when she looked away: glass stacked upon glass; soot-coloured brick shouldering a cathedral of steel; something old holding its breath beside something brand-new and indecently shiny.

She had imagined feeling smaller than she did. That was the strangest part. Beneath the vertiginous facades, she felt—no, not large—anchored. In the village, silence had pressed around her like wool; here, the noise made space. Nevertheless, the map in her coat pocket flapped comically when she tried to unfold it, threatening origami rather than clarity. She fought it anyway, laughing (a little too loudly), before letting it fold itself back into a sullen rectangle.

Keep moving, she told herself. Keep moving. She followed a painted arrow towards “Way Out,” which felt, paradoxically, like a way in. The pavement was a conveyor belt of stories: a courier with incandescent trainers; a child dragging a helium balloon like a tame planet; an elderly man in an immaculate trilby who nodded at her as if she had arrived on time. Somewhere above and beyond, sirens executed their practiced counterpoint; somewhere hidden, something roasted, sugared, promising.

By the time she reached the corner, rain began—tentative, then insistent, then gleeful. Maya raised her face to it and closed her eyes. The city was no longer an idea; it had weight, temperature, a pulse that pressed against her wrists. She opened her eyes, chose a street—at random, deliberately—and felt the wheel on her suitcase catch, stutter, then finally decide to turn.

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

Option A:

Gaslight clings to the morning vapour, a faint amber halo along the slick cobbles. Above, chimney-stacks exhale; the street seems to breathe back. Awnings unfurl with a tired flap, striped canvas beading with last night’s rain; trestles take root; ropes creak through cold hands. The market stirs—slowly at first, then all at once.

Crates thud open; cabbages tumble, green and severe, while plums roll away like lost coins. Eels writhe in tin baths, unspooling silver; a fishmonger, sleeves shiny with scales, slaps down a skate that blinks lamely. Steam veils a baker’s cart; the smell of new bread cuts through harsher notes. The morning is an argument of scents: coal-smoke, brine, vinegar, hot chestnuts, horse, tallow and peppermint. Somewhere a pan hisses.

Voices rise and overlap. "Mackerel! Fresh as the dawn!" "Hot chestnuts, mind your fingers!" Each cry snags the air; each is answered by the clink of coins. Harness-bells ring; a bay mare shivers and stamps, sending up a spatter from the gutter. A boy in a flattened cap skates the pavement on wooden clogs, shepherding a paper boat through a river of rainwater—back and forth, back and forth—until it is swallowed by a drain.

Faces crowd the day. A flower-seller balances violets and damp rosemary, her fingers stained a stubborn purple; a seamstress haggles for thread and finds only frayed ends. A gentleman with a waxed moustache studies the prices with cool disdain; his boots are mirror-bright, his stick carved like ivy. Near the brazier a one-armed umbrella-mender files a new ferrule (a patient trade, considering the drizzle), while a policeman strolls by, wholly unsurprised. Nearby, a thin girl counts three pennies twice and buys an apple.

Textiles hang like flags: coarse sacking, calico in skittish colours, a bolt of velvet that drinks the little light. A spice-seller pinches nutmeg to release its clean woodsmoke tang; the air briefly clears, then sinks again under soot. Coins rattle; knives are honed; the whole street shivers alive.

By late morning the lamps are ghosts; the sun, pale as milk, finds the alley and lays it open. The market is a living machine now—gears of barter and gossip turning, turning—polished by use and warmed by breath. Smoke climbs, voices thin, and somewhere a church bell counts the hour. For a moment the city seems almost generous; then a gust lifts the canvas, a cloud rolls in, and the calls begin again.

Option B:

The coach doors exhaled; the city inhaled me. Air like a recipe: diesel, roasted coffee, hot metal, something sweet from a bakery I couldn't see. Glass-shouldered buildings leaned into the pale morning, windows catching light like fish scales. Sound poured everywhere: sirens, the percussion of wheels, a hundred conversations I could not untangle. I stood on the lip of the pavement and felt it under my trainers, faintly vibrating, as if a great engine worked beneath the slabs, a hidden heart. This is it: my beginning, or something close.

My suitcase, valiant and unathletic, clattered behind me. Its tiny wheels complained; the handle trembled, telescopic and stubborn. I gripped it anyway, because gripping meant I was doing something, not just standing there being small. My mouth was dry; my palms, slick. My thoughts - busy, unruly - tried to make a map of streets that didn't care for my idea of a map. Left? Right? Forward felt both obvious and impossible. I laughed, a short, private noise, because even my laugh sounded wrong in this scale of sound.

People swarmed but not chaotically; there was a choreography I could almost see. A courier on a bike skimmed past - fluorescent, urgent. Two men argued about oranges, unbothered. Above them, screens unfurled advertisements like flags; below them, the pavement was a palimpsest of chewing-gum constellations, old rain drying in patchwork dark. A bus sighed and confessed, Not in Service. A taxi beeped; pigeons flustered; somewhere, a drill chewed into stone. The city spoke several languages at once and expected me to keep up.

Home was simple and square in my mind - hedges clipped, a sky unruffled by cranes. Our church bell stuttered on Sundays and the postman knew where to leave parcels so the dog wouldn't bark. On my last night, Mum wrapped sandwiches (cheese and chutney) and tucked a lucky pound coin into my purse; she told me to phone, and I promised. Those sentences hovered as I crossed my first real crossroads - so many lights, each one a small authority. I missed the old clock that coughed the hour; here, the hour leapt, already busy.

I unfolded a map on my phone; the blue dot spun. Somewhere between here and a hostel with a forgettable name was the person I would be after today. The thought was grand, maybe too dramatic, but it steadied me. A dented street sign offered a direction I recognised; I followed it. My suitcase kept up. The pavement's engine still trembled, and I - finally - walked in time.

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

Option A:

The fog hangs low over the narrow street, smudged with soot and breath, while gas lamps hem the edges with tired gold. Cobbles shine from the night’s drizzle; wheels jolt in the ruts and fling thin fans of brown water. The morning refuses to be quiet. It begins with a rattle, a whinny, a brisk cry—then swells into a crowded chorus that presses against the brickwork. Steam lifts from kettles at a tea stall and mingles with the sting of vinegar, the brine of fish, the sweetness of hot chestnuts: a muddled perfume that makes the tongue prickle.

At the fishmonger’s table, silver bellies glimmer like a spill of coins; scales catch the lamplight and blink. He slaps down a cod with an almost theatrical thud. Next door, apples are heaped in pyramids, polished until they shine as if varnished. Cabbages huddle like crumpled green hats. The butcher is all elbows and stained apron; his hooks carry their dull red burdens, and the sawdust drinks what must be drunk, over and over. “Eels alive!” someone sings, his voice thin but persistent. “Tuppence a bunch!” another counters. The calls loop and return, back and forth, back and forth, until they become the market’s pulse.

Meanwhile, people braid the scene together. A coster girl, slight and steady, pushes a barrow with rope-burned hands; the wood creaks, the iron rim complains. A boy darts between skirts and hooves—quick as a sparrow—and vanishes with a grin (someone swears softly). Across the way, a gentleman in a tall hat navigates the throng, careful not to smear his glove on anyone’s sleeve; his gaze is polite, distant, a little spoiled. A maid follows with a parcel tied in string; her boots slap; her breath smokes.

Above them, washing lines stretch like pale banners, and a church bell counts nine. It begins to spit, a fine, mean rain—just enough to pin freckles of wet to shawls and caps—but nobody retreats. Stalls are nudged nearer; tarpaulins ripple; the usual hustle and bustle thickens rather than thins. The market keeps talking: with clinks and cries, with steam and laughter, with the shuffle of thousands of small decisions. By noon the fog will lift; for now it clings, and the street beats on.

Option B:

Morning. The time of first steps; shutters rattling up, buses yawning awake, a thin ribbon of sun threading between buildings. The city waited, not quite patient, humming a low metallic tune from rails and grates. Towers held up the sky like glass cliffs; every window caught a pale slice of light. Air smelt of coffee and diesel, of bakery heat and wet stone—mixed, new. I stared through the bus window, forehead on cool glass, watching words I did not yet know—Holborn, Barbican, Aldwych—slide by like stations on a map I hadn’t learned.

As the coach hissed to a stop, I stood and reached for my scuffed suitcase. It felt heavier than at home. The doors opened; heat climbed in, and the city’s breath met my own. Pavement rose in a tide of shoes: heels, trainers, polished leather. I stepped down and the sound hit me—horns, voices, a rhythm of footsteps quicker than the town I had left. For a moment I was rooted. Do I go left? Right? My phone blinked: 7% battery and a blue dot that wobbled more than I liked. A cyclist skimmed past, a taxi shuddered, and a pigeon marched towards me with the confidence of a landlord.

A woman in a fluorescent vest swept around me, then looked up. ‘You alright, love?’ she said, not unkindly. ‘First time?’ I nodded, words a beat late. She smiled, small but real, and gestured with her brush. ‘Mind the kerb.’ I did.

I had planned it, but the plan dissolved the moment my feet hit the crossing. Still, the map in my pocket whispered from home: turn north, find the river, follow the grey line. I wheeled the case—its tiny wheels protested every crack—and moved with the tide, past a bakery coughing out warm sugar, past a man shouting into a headphone like the air was an argument. The city did not slow for me; it carried on, indifferent and enormous, but not cruel. At the corner, sunlight spilled across a square and, for the first time, the fear thinned. I breathed in, properly. Then I took my first real step.

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

Option A:

Morning drags its feet across the cobbles, making them shine like wet pennies. Smoke threads out of narrow chimneys and hangs low, a grey shawl over the street. Gas lamps blink behind their grimy glass, even though the day is up. From doorways, the market unfurls. Canvas awnings flap, ropes creak, wooden barrows bump and shiver; it is waking, slowly but certainly.

Cry follows cry as costermongers bawl: “Hot chestnuts!” “Fresh eels!” “Fine ribbons, cheapest in Whitechapel!” The clatter of hooves and iron rims stitches itself into the stones. The clink of coins answers; scales tick and tip back and forth, back and forth. A bell on a baker’s barrow rings a small, eager note; footsteps mingle, skirts toss, a dog yaps.

The air is a stew of smells: coal dust, horse-sweat, and brine from a pail of slippery fish. Steam puffs from a copper urn and carries tea and sugar with it. Spices lift from a draper’s chest—aniseed, pepper—while, nearby, soap shavings crumple under a boy’s hand. Eel skins glisten, iridescent; an apple cart gives out a bruised, sweet breath.

Faces, lean and wide, are all intent. A woman tugs her shawl tighter and bargains, her voice thin but fierce. A man with a waxed moustache counts out farthings, his gloved thumb slow; opposite him a girl, bare-handed, keeps her bread close. Children thread through legs, quick as minnows, and vanish. A constable passes—blue coat, steady tread—and the chatter dims for a moment, then rises again.

Above, the sky never fully clears; soot floats, fine as flour, and settles on hat brims. Puddles hold upside-down stalls and faces, broken by wheels. The market does not mind; it heaves, argues, laughs, and keeps on selling, as if the street itself were a long, patient mouth. By noon the cobbles are stained and shining, and the day feels even louder.

Option B:

Doors sighed open and the station breathed out heat and voices. My glasses fogged for a second, then cleared, and the city introduced itself: coffee and diesel; screens blinking; footsteps thudding like rain. I stood at the lip of the carriage with my daffodil suitcase bumping my calf, my name written on a paper label that felt suddenly small. People flowed past me as if I were a post in a river. A guard whistled; the platform clapped back, echoes stacking under the curved roof. I took one step. It felt like the first step onto a narrow bridge — shaky, necessary. I inhaled. I tasted metal and sugar. Above, an announcement stuttered, and my heart stuttered with it.

Outside the station, the city rose immediate and tall, glass and brick like cliffs that had grown overnight. Buses sighed; brakes squealed; a siren painted a line through the afternoon. The pavements were a restless skin. It was huge. Where do I even begin? My hometown had one high street; here, streets plaited into tunnels and opened suddenly into a square where pigeons strutted like tiny officials. The air was busy with smells I couldn’t separate: hot bread, exhaust, damp stone. I gripped the handle, the case wobbled behind me. A drop of rain hit my cheek and the city shrugged, as if to say, keep up.

I checked the address on a creased note, traced the ink as if it might point the way: 19 River Lane. My phone’s map spun, then righted itself; north became south, then north again. A cyclist hissed by — sorry! — and a van belched a cough of grey. “First left, then straight on,” someone said, not unkindly. I swallowed. The traffic light blinked to green. So I crossed, dragging the suitcase over the striped road, a small sound in the huge noise, and I began to let the city in.

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

Option A:

The street is narrow and old, the cobbles shine with last night's rain and black soot presses into every crack. Gas lamps lean over like tired faces; they blink in the grey morning and throw dull beads of light. A thin fog—coal smoke mixed with breath—drifts low across the market.

Stalls crowd the edges: apples in pyramids, fish spread on wet slate, bolts of cloth folded like fat books. "Fresh herrings! Hot chestnuts!" voices tangle and rise, again and again, up and down the lane. The smell is everywhere: sweet toffee, sharp vinegar, horse sweat, onions frying. It is thick, it clings.

Men in stiff hats push through; women carry baskets tucked into elbows. A ragged boy slips between legs like a fish, his quick fingers testing pockets. At the far end a butcher wipes his blade, red water runs to the gutter. Wheels rattle over the stones; a hansom jolts past and the driver swears at a slow barrow—then laughs.

Meanwhile a stall of ribbons shines, satin in loud colours, and a girl presses her nose to the glass. Blue-and-white cups sit like lakes. A dog noses a pile of peel, is shooed, noses back. Coins click. Someone coughs and coughs.

As afternoon thins, the light turns brass and the lamps glow warmer. The market does not stop, it just softens; voices grow rougher, sellers call and call. Smoke trails upward; chimneys loom; the street keeps going, clatter and chatter, clatter and chatter.

Option B:

The city rises up like a wall of glass and noise. When I step off the coach, a gust of air hits me; it isn’t fresh, it tastes like exhaust and hot metal. Horns needle the air. The pavements shiver with footsteps, a drum I can feel in my knees. Buildings lean over me, tall and shiny, like they are curious.

I clutch my suitcase handle and try to breath—breathe—normally. My phone buzzes with directions, a blue line zig-zagging across streets I can’t pronounce. Welcome to Northgate City, the sign says, friendly and huge at the same time. Neon advertises everything: food, flats, phones. Even the puddles flash. I think of home, one shop and two buses a day, and my stomach flips. But I have a plan; I have an address and a key. One step, then another.

I roll the suitcase into the stream of people; it bumps and rattles, a stubborn animal I’m dragging. A woman brushes past without looking; a cyclist hisses by. The traffic growls at the kerb, impatient; the city feels alive, breathing around me. For a second I want to turn back. The coach is gone, though, so I straighten my shoulders and walk under the shadow of a skyscraper—my new street somewhere ahead, waiting.

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

Option A:

Morning fog sits low on the cobbles, and the gas lamps still flicker, tired eyes above the street. The market wakes slowly. Traders tug at canvas and rope, pulling up awnings with stiff fingers; the barrows creak, the horses snort, steam pouring from there nostrils. Crates bang. Fish scales shine like coins, apples glow like little lanterns. Smells argue: smoke, vinegar, oranges, damp wool, something meaty. A bell tings. Voices rise and fall — rough music in the narrow space. Fresh herrings! Hot pies! Coal! The calls echo off the walls, bouncing back again and again.

Meanwhile, people push through in a slow river. Women in shawls haggle, men in flat caps count shillings, a boy weaves between legs with a bundle of news papers under his arm. A lady in a bonnet stands careful at the edge; her shoes are not made for this wet street. Under a striped awning the butcher lifts a cleaver, and he laughs as if the cold cannot touch him. At the far end a costermonger flips a copper coin, he clatters it on his teeth, he grins. Up and down, up and down, the barrow wheels rattle over the broken stones.

Who can hear a single voice in this noise?

Option B:

The coach hissed and it's doors folded out; I stepped onto the pavement and the city came at me like a wave. Sound hit me: horns, voices, brakes, a siren far away. The air smelt of hot oil, sweet dough, wet stone. Buildings leaned over the street, glass glittering, windows like eyes. People streamed past, shoes clicking. My suitcase bumped my leg — too heavy already — and the handle cut into my palm.

At first I just stood there, trying to look like I belonged. Then I saw my reflection in a dark shop door, small and unsure. The buildings were taller then I imagined. Above me a screen flashed an advert that made the clouds look brighter than real; below me the map on my phone spun, as if it was dizzy too. I tried a smile at a passer-by, but she slipped away like water.

I took a breath and counted the steps to the crossing. Left, right, left. My heart was loud, but my feet moved. The lights changed. I rolled the suitcase forward and the city swallowed me. I didn’t know the names of the streets yet, but I knew this: if I kept walking, it would show me where to go.

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

Option A:

The street is narrow and wet. The cobbles shine in a pale light and there is smoke from chimneys, it hangs like a grey sheet over heads. Stalls are set out, rough wood and cloth sagging, baskets piled high with vegatables and apples and bread.

There is a fish stall, it stinks of salt and old water, silver fish glare with little eyes. A horse and cart clop on the stones, mud splashes and the wheels creak.

Womens hands hold coins tight.

A barrow carrys loaves, the man pushes and he grunts, childrens voices scrape the air. I hear bells and cries and coughs. People was busy, the market is crowded like bees in a hive, everyone pushing close. I see a man in a tall hat, he tips it polite to a lady. Smoke goes back and forward, back and forward. The day dont end, the street market goes on and on.

Option B:

The bus door opened and the city was there. Big buildings, big roads, big noise. It was my first time here. My heart was thumping like a small drum and my suitcase bumped my leg.

I stepped down slow, I looked up, cranes and glass and clouds. The air smelt like chips and smoke. Cars was beeping and buses hissed, the street was talking at me.

So big!

I was stood on the pavement and I didn't know which way. Left, right, forward. Everywhere was people, they moved fast, like river water. I tried to smile but my mouth felt dry.

I thought of home. Quiet. Here the lights blinked and a sign shouted Welcome but I wasnt sure if it meant me. I held the handle tighter. I started to walk, just a little bit. The map on my phone spun and then froze, like it was scared too.

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

Option A:

The Victorian market is busy and loud on the cobbled street. Stalls lean together, wood creaks, cloth flaps. The air is wet and cold. I see gas lamps glow in the mist, they look tired. A man shouts fish, fish, fish and the smell is sharp like knifes. A horse drags a cart and hoofs splash in water. Children run with bare feet and they laugh but they cough to. Bread steam comes from a basket, warm, then smoke from chimneys bites my eyes. A woman holds a baby and calls her price it goes up and down, again and again.

Option B:

I step off the coach and the city is big, so big and loud you cant hear yourself think. Cars beep and people push by me and the air smells like smoke and chips, I feel small like a ant. I look up at the tall buildings, they look like they are watching me. I dont know where to go so I hold my bag tight, my hands are shaking a bit. The signs shout names I dont know. My phone is nearly dead which isnt good and I remember I forgot my sandwich. A siren goes on and on. Welcome I say to myself, or maybe I should go back?