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 What were the horses doing?: stood perfectly still – 1 mark
- 1.2 What happened to the waggoner’s steps?: sank fainter and fainter – 1 mark
- 1.3 Which container held the cat?: a willow basket – 1 mark
- 1.4 Which plants are mentioned in pots?: geraniums, myrtles, and cactuses – 1 mark
Question 2 - Mark Scheme
Look in detail at this extract, from lines 21 to 30 of the source:
21 It was a fine morning, and the sun lighted up to a scarlet glow the crimson jacket she wore, and painted a soft lustre upon her bright face and dark hair. The myrtles, geraniums, and cactuses packed around her were fresh and green, and at such a leafless season they invested the whole concern of horses, waggon, furniture, and girl with a peculiar vernal charm. What possessed her
26 to indulge in such a performance in the sight of the sparrows, blackbirds, and unperceived farmer who were alone its spectators,—whether the smile began as a factitious one, to test her capacity in that art,—nobody knows; it ended certainly in a real smile. She blushed at herself, and seeing her reflection blush, blushed the more.
How does the writer use language here to present the brightness of the scene and the girl’s changing feelings? 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 explore how vivid colour imagery and personification—the sun lighted up to a scarlet glow her crimson jacket and painted a soft lustre—with the lush listing of myrtles, geraniums, and cactuses and a pointed contrast (fresh and green in a leafless season) create a radiant tableau with vernal charm. It would also analyse the narrator’s rhetorical aside and parenthetical clause (What possessed her, factitious, real smile) and the climactic repetition blushed the more, showing a shift from artifice to authentic feeling.
The writer floods the scene with colour imagery and personification to convey brightness. Opening with “a fine morning”, he immediately establishes genial weather; the chromatic lexis of red—“scarlet glow”, “crimson jacket”—suggests warmth and vitality, while the sun is personified as an artist that “painted a soft lustre” over her “bright face and dark hair”. This artistic metaphor makes the light feel both gentle and vivid, and the antithesis “bright...dark” heightens the radiance by contrast.
Moreover, a botanical tricolon—“myrtles, geraniums, and cactuses... fresh and green”—creates a lexical field of growth which, set against a “leafless season”, forms a striking juxtaposition. The plants “invested the whole concern... with a peculiar vernal charm”: the verb “invested” and the noun “concern” (with their commercial register) recast mundane objects—“horses, waggon, furniture, and girl”—as a single tableau endowed with spring. For the reader, winter is momentarily transfigured into a springlike glow.
Furthermore, the girl’s changing feelings are charted through sentence craft and theatrical metaphor. The rhetorical question “What possessed her to indulge in such a performance...?” frames her smile as self-conscious artifice; it begins “factitious”—“to test her capacity in that art”—but, after the parenthetical dash and a decisive semi-colon, it “ended certainly in a real smile”—the adverb “certainly” confirming sincerity. Finally, the lexical repetition “blushed... blush... blushed the more” (polyptoton) enacts escalation, turning playful self-display into genuine warmth that deepens under her own gaze.
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 typically identify vivid colour imagery and personification ('the sun ... scarlet glow', 'crimson jacket', 'painted a soft lustre'), and the listing of 'myrtles, geraniums, and cactuses' with 'vernal charm' to emphasise the scene’s brightness against the 'leafless season'. It would also comment on how the rhetorical question 'What possessed her', the shift from 'factitious' to 'real smile', and the repetition 'blushed'/'blushed the more' show her feelings moving from artificial to genuine and intensifying.
The writer uses vivid colour imagery and personification to present the brightness of the scene. The sun “lighted up to a scarlet glow the crimson jacket” and “painted a soft lustre” on her face, making the light feel warm and active. The contrast of her “bright face” with “dark hair” sharpens the glow.
Moreover, natural imagery and listing intensify the scene. The “myrtles, geraniums, and cactuses” are “fresh and green” and they “invested… the girl with a peculiar vernal charm.” The verb “invested” personifies the plants as bestowing brightness, and “vernal” suggests spring and new beginnings, creating optimism despite the “leafless season.”
Additionally, the girl’s changing feelings are shaped through sentence form and contrast. The rhetorical question and parenthetical aside—“whether the smile began as a factitious one”—delay the resolution, before “it ended certainly in a real smile.” The shift from “factitious” to “real,” reinforced by the adverb “certainly,” shows a move from performance to genuine happiness. Finally, the repetition in “She blushed… seeing her reflection blush, blushed the more” mirrors her reflection and emphasises her feelings intensifying.
Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment on effects; some appropriate detail; some use of terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response might identify colour imagery and personification like scarlet glow, crimson jacket, and painted a soft lustre, plus the list of plants (myrtles, geraniums, and cactuses) contrasted with the leafless season, to show a bright, fresh scene. It would also notice the rhetorical question What possessed her and the change from a factitious to a real smile, with repetition in blushed the more, suggesting her feelings move from forced to genuine and then embarrassed.
The writer uses colour imagery and adjectives to make the scene bright: “scarlet glow,” “crimson jacket,” and “soft lustre” on her “bright face.” Personification in “the sun… painted” suggests the light actively makes everything shine. The list of plants “myrtles, geraniums, and cactuses” and “fresh and green” adds lively, vernal charm, even in a “leafless season.”
Furthermore, the girl’s feelings change through the smile. The aside with dashes—“whether the smile began as a factitious one… nobody knows”—shows uncertainty, but it “ended… in a real smile,” so her fake performance becomes genuine. Calling the birds and farmer “spectators” makes her self-conscious.
Additionally, repetition shows her emotions growing: “She blushed… seeing her reflection blush, blushed the more.” The comparative “more” suggests embarrassment increasing, which lets the reader see her moving from playful testing to real feeling.
Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses colour words like "scarlet glow" and "crimson jacket" and nature words like "fresh and green" with the list "myrtles, geraniums, and cactuses" to make the scene bright and lively. A simple question "What possessed her" and repetition in "blushed... blushed the more" show her feelings changing from a "factitious" to a "real smile."
The writer uses colour imagery to show brightness: “scarlet glow” and “crimson jacket” make the scene look bright and cheerful. The verb “painted a soft lustre” is personification, as if the sun paints her face and hair, which sounds soft and warm. Moreover, the list “myrtles, geraniums, and cactuses” and “fresh and green” adds to the bright, spring (“vernal”) mood. Furthermore, the girl’s feelings change from a “factitious” smile to “a real smile.” Additionally, the repetition “She blushed… blushed the more” shows her emotion growing and her embarrassment.
Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.
AO2 content may include the effects of language features such as:
- Vivid colour imagery makes the scene radiant and warm, highlighting visual intensity (scarlet glow)
- Metaphor/personification casts the sun as an artist, creating a gentle, flattering sheen (painted a soft lustre)
- Encompassing phrasing shows brightness suffusing everything, binding setting and character together (the whole concern)
- Botanical listing and fresh adjectives inject vitality, enhancing the scene’s luminous life (fresh and green)
- Seasonal contrast heightens the brilliance by setting spring-like liveliness against barrenness (leafless season)
- Rhetorical question invites curiosity about her impulse, signalling an inner shift beginning to surface (What possessed her)
- Parenthetical uncertainty resolves into authenticity, marking movement from artificial to genuine feeling (real smile)
- Punctuation pivot and adverb signal decisiveness, turning doubt into clear emotional conclusion (ended certainly)
- Anaphoric repetition intensifies emotion, showing a growing, uncontrollable response (blushed the more)
- Reflexive mirroring doubles the effect, as self-awareness amplifies her changing feelings (seeing her reflection)
Question 3 - Mark Scheme
You now need to think about the structure of the source as a whole. This text is from the beginning of a novel.
How has the writer structured the text to create curiosity?
You could write about:
- how curiosity develops 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 track how curiosity is engineered by structural withholding and motifs: the 'perfectly still' opening freezes time as the girl 'looked attentively downwards' at the 'oblong package' until the mirror is 'disclosed', while narratorial uncertainty—'nobody knows'—and the echoing 'waggoner’s steps' (first 'sank fainter and fainter', then 'were heard returning') pace the reveal through delay and return. It would also analyse the shift in perspective to 'Gabriel Oak' and the evaluative intrusion 'A cynical inference was irresistible', before the toll-gate threshold elevates trivial stakes via the 'tone of twopence' to 'let the young woman pass', only for her 'carelessly glanced over him' response to undercut resolution and deepen the enigma of their future connection.
One way in which the writer structures the opening to generate curiosity is through a static tableau and delayed revelation. The scene is held in suspension—“perfectly still”—while a catalogue of domestic objects (“tables and chairs… a caged canary… a cat in a willow basket”) builds an enigma about a life “just vacated.” Focus is then methodically narrowed: the girl ignores the animals for “an oblong package tied in paper.” Withholding its contents until “at length” revealing “a small swing looking-glass,” the writer uses delay and zoom to provoke questions about her motives.
In addition, the narrative voice employs intrusive commentary and rhetorical interrogation to complicate meaning and sustain interest. “What possessed her… nobody knows” casts doubt on whether the smile is “factitious” or authentic, positioning the reader as an interpreter of signs. This conjectural mode, together with proleptic hints of “vistas of probable triumphs… hearts… lost and won,” foreshadows romantic trajectories, inviting curiosity about her imagined future.
Moreover, a shift in focalisation and pace intensifies curiosity. Perspective transfers to Gabriel—“as he regarded the scene,” then from his “point of espial”—and the stillness fractures into dialogue at the toll-bar. The micro-conflict over “twopence,” amplified by the narrator’s digression on “threepence,” acts as a structural pivot from observation to social encounter, exposing character while making the reader wonder how these two will intersect.
A further structural choice is the anticlimactic close, which subverts expectation. After his intervention, she “carelessly glanced” and remains unnamed, while Gabriel is identified; this asymmetry and the gnomic intrusion—“we know how women take a favour”—withhold resolution. Thus curiosity, carefully cultivated, is extended into questions about her character and their prospective relationship.
Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 3 answer would explain that curiosity develops through structural shifts: from a static tableau ("perfectly still") to a narrowed, delayed focus on the mysterious "oblong package" whose reveal ("a small swing looking-glass") and the narrator’s speculative aside ("What possessed her") make us question motives. It would also identify a change of viewpoint to Gabriel Oak and a small conflict at the toll ("twopence", "let the young woman pass") that quickens pace, before an unresolved, distancing close ("carelessly glanced", "we know how women take a favour of that kind") sustains curiosity about their relationship.
One way the writer structures the opening to create curiosity is by a slow build and a shift of focus. The static tableau of 'horses...still' and furniture holds the pace, then the narrative 'looks attentively' and, 'At length', zooms to an 'oblong package'. By delaying its reveal, the writer withholds information; when it becomes a 'looking-glass', the unusual context ('change from the customary spot') prompts questions about the girl's motives.
In addition, the perspective moves to Gabriel’s viewpoint, which reframes the scene and deepens intrigue. The narrator names 'Gabriel Oak' and notes his 'espial', then, 'When the waggon had passed on', he follows to the toll-bar. This shift from description to dialogue around 'twopence' quickens the pace and introduces a minor conflict. The label 'mis’ess’s niece' and her travel raise questions about status and destination.
A further structural choice is the ending’s contrast and withholding. After Gabriel’s intervention, the writer dwells on his ordinary looks, then denies closure: the girl 'carelessly glanced' and 'did not speak' thanks. The final intrusive aside—'we know how women take a favour'—changes tone and leaves tensions unresolved. Closing with this ironic comment sustains unanswered questions about their future connection, encouraging the reader to read on.
Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response might say the writer begins with calm stillness (“perfectly still”) and then zooms in on the mysterious “oblong package” as she “looked attentively,” building curiosity until the reveal of “a small swing looking-glass.” It then shifts focus to “Gabriel Oak” and a brief “twopence” dispute, using this new moment and dialogue to change pace and keep us wondering about the characters.
One way in which the writer has structured the text to create curiosity is by starting slowly and zooming in. The still scene narrows to “an oblong package”. The contents are withheld, so we wonder what it is. When it becomes “a small swing looking-glass”, we then ask why she smiles in public.
In addition, there is a change in focus and perspective. The viewpoint shifts to Gabriel Oak watching, and the narrator gives his “cynical inference”. This makes us curious about both characters. Time also moves on with “The waggoner’s steps were heard returning”.
A further structural feature is a change of pace. At the toll-gate, the dispute over “twopence” introduces conflict in the middle. The extract ends with the girl who “carelessly glanced over him”, which is unresolved, so the reader wonders what will happen next.
Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer begins with a calm scene where the horses are 'perfectly still', then moves into the girl's 'oblong package' and 'small swing looking-glass', making us wonder what she is doing. It ends with a 'dispute' over 'twopence', a small problem that keeps us curious about what will happen next.
One way the writer has structured the text to create curiosity is by beginning with stillness and the girl on the wagon. The focus narrows to the 'oblong package' before it's revealed as a mirror, making the reader wonder why she smiles.
In addition, the focus shifts to Gabriel watching, which changes perspective and makes us curious about him.
A further feature is the move to the toll-gate dispute. The tiny row over 'twopence' and her lack of thanks leave questions about their relationship and what comes next.
Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.
AO2 content may include the effect of structural features such as:
- Static opening tableau and stillness delay movement, prompting questions about the pause (sat motionless).
- Detailed inventory of belongings implies a backstory of departure, inviting why/how she left (house just vacated).
- Narrowing focus from scene to a single unknown item builds suspense about its identity (oblong package tied in paper).
- Withheld reveal then anticlimax (a mirror) pivots curiosity from “what is it?” to motive and character (a small swing looking-glass).
- Intrusive narrative question explicitly stirs wonder about intention (What possessed her).
- Perspective shift from an unperceived watcher to a named observer adds tension and judgment (point of espial).
- Narratorial uncertainty maintains ambiguity, keeping readers guessing about motives and future “dramas” (Still, this was but conjecture).
- An aural cue triggers a turn, closing the private episode before resolution and sustaining intrigue (steps were heard returning).
- Sudden dialogue and a petty dispute accelerate pace, creating a new hook for interaction (concerning twopence).
- The encounter subverts expected gratitude, complicating dynamics and inviting further interest in their relationship (told her man to drive on).
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, where the girl argues about the twopence, she might seem stubborn and mean. The writer suggests that she is actually more interested in winning the argument than saving the money.
To what extent do you agree and/or disagree with this statement?
In your response, you could:
- consider your impressions of the girl's behaviour during the argument over twopence
- comment on the methods the writer uses to suggest her interest in winning
- support your response with references to the text. [20 marks]
Question 4 (AO4) – Critical Evaluation (20 marks)
Evaluate texts critically and support with appropriate textual references.
Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed evaluation) – 16–20 marks Perceptive ideas; perceptive methods; critical detail on impact; judicious detail. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would argue the writer frames her as prioritising victory over thrift, noting the minimising of the sum—“twopence” as “remarkably insignificant”—and the intrusive aside “we know how women take a favour of that kind”, culminating in her “did not speak them” thanks after he has “lost her her point.” It would also analyse how the staging—her “won’t pay any more” as the keeper is “closing the gate”—dramatizes stubbornness while inviting readers to question the narrator’s gendered bias.
I largely agree with the statement. Although the girl’s refusal over “twopence” could read as stubborn or even mean-spirited, the writer’s shaping of perspective and tone suggests she is far more invested in the principle of winning than in saving a trivial coin.
The build-up to the dispute primes us to read her as proud and performative rather than parsimonious. Before the gate, she opens a “swing looking-glass” and “proceeded to survey herself attentively,” a moment framed by intrusive narration as “Woman’s prescriptive infirmity” that has “stalked into the sunlight.” This personification and the arch, ironic narrator position her as self-conscious about triumph, not thrift. Colour imagery—her jacket’s “scarlet glow” and “crimson”—carries connotations of boldness and spirited defiance. Most tellingly, the speculative yet suggestive phrase “vistas of probable triumphs—the smiles being of a phase suggesting that hearts were imagined as lost and won” mobilises a metaphor of love and social interaction as a game to be won. Even as the narrator concedes “this was but conjecture,” the lexis of victory plants a motif of competitive pride.
When the scene pivots to the toll, structural contrast sharpens this reading. The narrator notes “There was something in the tone of twopence remarkably insignificant,” and the aposiopesis after “but twopence—” enacts a dismissive shrug. By minimising the sum, the narration displaces money from the centre and foregrounds principle. The waggoner’s reported speech—“she won’t pay any more”—uses the emphatic modal “won’t” to encode determination rather than miserliness. Her labelling the keeper a “great miser” also flips the charge of meanness: she casts him as petty, implying her quarrel is with his petty authority.
Gabriel’s intervention crystallises the issue. His chivalric “stepping forward” resolves the toll, yet the balanced antithesis “in gaining her a passage he had lost her her point” reveals the true currency at stake. The repetition “her…her” and the abstract noun “point” emphasise ownership of the victory. Her response—she “carelessly glanced over him” and offered no thanks—signals not meanness but a refusal to concede rhetorical ground. The gnomic intrusion “we know how women take a favour of that kind” is a gendered generalisation that, while dubious, steers the audience to read her silence as wounded pride.
Overall, then, while she may appear stubborn at the gate, the writer’s ironic narration, strategic focalisation through Oak, and the belittling of the monetary sum collectively suggest she is driven by the need to win the encounter rather than to save twopence.
Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 3 response would partly agree, explaining that the writer minimises the money by calling it twopence remarkably insignificant to imply she is intent on victory—seen when Gabriel’s help lost her her point—and supporting this with her defiance in she won't pay any more and a cool carelessly glanced lack of thanks. It would also evaluate the writer’s viewpoint by noting the sweeping claim we know how women take a favour of that kind, recognising it as a biased generalisation that frames her as competitive rather than thrifty.
I mostly agree. At the toll-gate the girl can seem stubborn and even mean, but the writer suggests pride and the pleasure of winning drive her. Through narrator commentary, value contrasts, and her reactions, twopence matters less than keeping her “point.”
Just before the dispute, the mirror scene foreshadows this. Her thoughts glide to “vistas of probable triumphs” and “hearts… lost and won.” This competitive metaphor and victory lexis hint she relishes conquest. The narrator’s intrusion—“Woman’s prescriptive infirmity”—constructs a self-conscious character who enjoys being admired, which anticipates her later need to come out on top.
At the gate, direct speech—“you great miser” and “she won’t pay any more”—creates a combative, goading tone. Crucially, the narrator downgrades the sum by contrasting “Threepence” as “a definite value” with “twopence” as “remarkably insignificant.” This structural aside frames the quarrel as pride rather than thrift; even the formulation “a difference concerning twopence” makes it sound petty, so our impression is of stubbornness, not frugality.
When Gabriel pays, her reaction confirms it. She only “carelessly glanced” and “did not speak” thanks; the judgement that “more probably she felt none, for… he had lost her her point” foregrounds victory as her goal. The repetition in “lost her her point” and the evaluative diction show wounded pride, not concern for money; the inclusive aside “we know how women take a favour of that kind” generalises her refusal to be beholden.
Overall, I agree to a large extent: through dialogue, contrast, and an intrusive narrator, the writer presents a girl more interested in winning than saving twopence. She may appear stubborn and ungracious, but mainly because she prizes her independence and will not allow someone else to win the argument for her.
Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: I mostly agree: the argument is over just 'twopence', she calls the keeper a 'great miser' and says she 'won’t pay any more', which makes her seem stubborn and more focused on winning than on the money. After Gabriel pays, she 'did not speak them' because he had 'lost her her point', and the narrator’s comment 'we know how women take a favour of that kind' suggests pride and a desire to win.
I mostly agree with the statement. In this section the girl can seem stubborn and mean, but the writer also shows she cares more about the point of the argument than the twopence itself.
Before the toll-gate, the description of her with the mirror sets up her pride. She “survey[s] herself attentively” and even “blushed at herself.” The narrator imagines “vistas of probable triumphs” and “hearts… lost and won,” which suggests she likes the idea of winning. The structure moves from this private moment to a public dispute, highlighting how her pride carries into the argument.
At the gate, the dialogue makes her sound harsh: she calls the keeper “you great miser” and “won’t pay any more.” The insult and the negative tone show stubbornness. However, the narrator undercuts the money issue, saying there was something in the “tone of twopence remarkably insignificant.” By comparing twopence with “threepence” which has a “definite value,” the writer suggests the sum isn’t worth the fuss. When Gabriel pays, her reaction proves it is about winning: she “carelessly glanced over him” and “did not speak” any thanks. The authorial comment that he had “lost her her point,” plus the aside “we know how women take a favour of that kind,” clearly directs the reader to see her pride was hurt more than her purse was helped.
Overall, I agree to a large extent: the girl’s behaviour seems stubborn, but the writer’s viewpoint, dialogue, and commentary show she mainly wanted to win the argument, not save twopence.
Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response would simply agree with the writer that she wants to win more than save money, pointing out that it’s only twopence remarkably insignificant, she won’t pay any more, and after Gabriel pays she had lost her her point, so she seems stubborn.
I mostly agree with the statement about the twopence argument. The girl does seem stubborn and a bit mean because she refuses to pay and calls the keeper “you great miser.” The direct speech, “she… won’t pay any more,” makes her sound firm and unfriendly. However, the writer also shows it isn’t really about money. The narrator says there was something in the “tone of twopence remarkably insignificant,” and adds that “threepence had a definite value.” This comment shows twopence isn’t worth a fight, so she is more interested in winning. When Gabriel gives the twopence, her reaction also shows this. She only “carelessly glanced” at him and “did not speak” thanks. The narrator says he had “lost her her point,” which shows she wanted to keep the argument and be right. The writer uses the narrator and the tone to guide us to this idea. Earlier, she smiles at herself in the glass, which hints at pride too. Overall, I mostly agree: she can look stubborn and mean, but the writer suggests she mainly wants to win, not save the twopence.
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:
- Narratorial framing of the sum as trivial implies it’s about pride rather than thrift (remarkably insignificant).
- Reported speech paints her as obstinate and abrasive, supporting a “stubborn/mean” reading (won’t pay any more).
- Physical escalation by the keeper turns it into a contest of wills, spotlighting the urge to “win” (closing the gate).
- Swift, effortless resolution by a bystander downplays any real financial need, undercutting the “saving money” motive (handing twopence).
- Authorial judgement explicitly prioritises her pride over gratitude, confirming the “winning the point” motive (lost her her point).
- Intrusive generalisation biases us toward a prideful interpretation, nudging agreement with the statement (we know how women).
- Power-positioning (he “looked up,” she “looked down”) hints at hauteur and indifference rather than need (looked down).
- Numerical contrast (threepence vs twopence) frames haggling as unjustified here, reinforcing the idea of principle over pennies (a higgling matter).
- Mediation of her voice through another speaker weakens certainty; her “meanness” may be second-hand colouring (waggoner’s words).
- The keeper’s rigidity shows mutual stubbornness, so her stance isn’t uniquely mean; it’s a two-sided stand-off (can’t pass).
Question 5 - Mark Scheme
An international travel magazine is collecting creative pieces about memorable wildlife encounters.
Choose one of the options below for your entry.
- Option A: Describe an encounter with a powerful animal from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:
- Option B: Write the opening of a story about a difficult journey with an important purpose.
(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:
Heat presses on my back like a damp hand; the jungle exhales instead of moving. Green is not a colour but a noise: a sibilant hush stitched by cicadas. The air tastes of iron and sap; it smells of crushed fern and old rain. Vines hang in chains. Then the hush thickens — the theatre-quiet before a curtain lifts — and the foliage leans in.
At first he is scenery: a boulder that has remembered how to breathe. He steps into the seam of light; silver on his back glows like frost on midnight stone. Shoulders like rafters; forearms braided with rope; domed head held level. His knuckles dimple the loam. He does not roar. He does not need to. Power, unadvertised, makes room; the clearing seems to broaden around him.
His gaze finds me, not as prey, not as friend, but as puzzle. In it: dark glass, patient, faintly irritable. I remember the warning rehearsed on the boat: no staring; make yourself smaller; breathe; do not run. My heart disobeys — thrum-thrum — but I lower my eyes, fold my shoulders inward; I become as unremarkable as a stone.
He rises and beats his chest. The sound is hollow, ancestral; it travels through the ground into my boots, into my teeth, into the thin bones around my ears. Leaves sift down. The forest answers — seed pods clicking, a bird rasping — and yet the dominant note is him. Two strides; a pause; a tilt that reads me like a tedious page. He is not angry. He is demonstrating the grammar of the place.
Then, abruptly, he is ordinary: he turns, sits, and snaps a vine with lazy precision, drawing the tender pith to his mouth. Chewing is a ceremony (and a warning, perhaps). His lips furl and unfurl; his eyes barely blink. The world contracts to the rip of fibre and the slow, deliberate grind of molars. Rain arrives at last — not downpour but stipple — and steam lifts from his shoulders like breath from a horse.
He glances back once, a glance with the weight of weather, and chooses to leave me in one piece. Through ferns and shadow, through patient veils of lianas, he departs without hurry; the green knits shut after him. The silence he leaves is not empty: it thrums with the afterimage of his certainty. I remain kneeling in mulch that prints my skin, understanding — a little late, a little awed — that might is not a roar but a choice, a kind of courtesy held in reserve.
Option B:
Dawn. The hour of clean beginnings and bruised endings; streetlights blink themselves to sleep; the river turns, slow and secret. Breath hangs like pale silk in the air and tyres whisper on the glistening road. It ought to have been a soft morning—tea, toast, the news murmuring from a radio—except the city was already bristling, and my phone was already buzzing with the single word that mattered: urgent.
As buses coughed into life, I buckled the chest strap of the insulated pack; inside, two ruby bags of O-negative nudged the gel packs like sleeping hearts. The printed label was as stark as a verdict: St. Gabriel’s Hospital—Theatre 3—Immediate. My hands, meticulous on ordinary days, fumbled; the strap refused to sit flat, and the clips glanced off my cold fingers. I breathed once, twice—felt the steady metronome of my pulse under my glove—and pulled it tight. The pack hummed faintly, a domestic sound grotesquely out of place on a morning like this.
By the time I reached the street, the wind had decided its direction. It came in slanting sheets, rain needling my cheeks, the kind of bitter drizzle that seems petty and implacable at once. The high street snarled: delivery vans huddled by the kerb, horns skittered, a taxi flashed a miserable orange like a warning. I swung the bike into the gap, conscious of the weight between my shoulder blades and the countdown in my ear—dispatch, clipped and calm: nineteen minutes. Seventeen. Then sixteen.
The cycle lane was a ribbon of grit and reflected sky. I kept my line, breath fogging; I tasted metal and coffee and something astringent from the river. A lorry had shed gravel across the junction; cars shrank back, tyres crunching. I lifted, coasted, threaded through, my front wheel sketching a wavering line that made my stomach lurch. A goose on the towpath hissed, prehistoric and indignant; the canal smelled of brackish tea and old pennies. I took the towpath because the road was impossible, because the map on my bars offered it like a dare, because there wasn’t time to be prudent.
For a second—one heartbeat—I thought of Callum, of winter, of a night when all the phones rang and nothing arrived in time. Not again. The pack thudded against my spine with every rise, a steady reminder, a weight composed of numbers and someone else’s need. Somewhere beyond the warehouses, a theatre light burned; somewhere, a child’s blood pressure sagged like a tired kite and a surgeon paced.
A slick of algae gloved the concrete; I didn’t see it until the bike slewed. The world tilted, a dull impact, the flare of a knee meeting stone. My palm bit the ground—grit embedded, blood blooming in miniature. The first instinct was to curl around the pack; I did, awkward and absolute. I lay there, winded, listening to my breath saw through the morning. Then I was up—because what else was there?—checking the zips, the seals, the heartless, necessary cold.
Back on the road, the city opened in fragments: a bakery exhaling cinnamon, a cat streaking under a car, a woman carrying lilies like flags. The hospital showed itself at last—blocky, beige, unromantic—and beautiful for that. Important isn’t a word; it is a weight you elect to carry. I leaned into the final hill, legs burning, rain stitching itself into my hair, and pedalled toward the bright, stern doors that kept opening and opening.
- Level 4 Lower (19-21 marks for AO5, 13-16 marks for AO6, 32-37 marks total)
Option A:
The jungle breathes, slow and saturated. Heat pours from the canopy in long, green waves; light filters through torn leaves, stippling the path in mottled coins. The smell of wet loam, crushed fern and something faintly rotten presses into me. Drips count time from the branches. My boot sinks; the ground gives and remembers. Vines graze my sleeves - a soft admonition.
He arrives without ceremony, as if the forest had been thinking of him and then made him. Leaves part with a hush and the silver on his back lifts like a tide under shadow. His shoulders are slabs, his arms thick cables of muscle; scarred knuckles rest on the earth with the dignity of old stone. Amber-brown eyes locate me - not surprised, not afraid, simply noticing. A damp, vegetal breath moves through him and out again. The clearing seems to lean his way; even the vines attend.
I freeze. Not because I am prey, but because that word - power - changes shape. I stand small (and suddenly very human) in the green hush. It is not a roar or a leap; it is a pulse that orders the space. He does not advance. He does not need to. When he shifts his weight, the air shifts; when he folds one hand, the forest listens. He beats his chest once, twice - a drum inside a cave. The sound travels into my ribs and answers there. My heart stumbles, then obeys. All the thin metal confidence I carried in zips and clips dilutes.
He watches me watching him: curious, assessing, old. In that wide, deliberate face, there is something of mountains and storms withheld. He chews a stem with slow ceremony; green froth sifts at his lip. He is a monarch, but not the kind that needs a crown - the forest itself is the crown. I think of cities and engines and alarms, and how noisy our versions of strength are, how brittle. Here, authority is muscular yet merciful: a quiet that could become thunder and chooses not to.
When he turns away at last, it is neither dismissal nor fear; it is a decision. Heavy, careful steps, a black-and-silver tide withdrawing into green. I let out the breath I have been holding. The sounds return in layers - the saw of the bird, the soft commentary of insects, the drip that kept count. I carry him with me, a weightless imprint under the skin. The jungle breathes.
Option B:
Night tightened its fist around the city, squeezing from the sky a slow tumble of snow that made every sound small. Streetlights wore haloes; breath unravelled in quick white threads; somewhere a siren wailed and folded into the hush. In my pocket, the watch ticked—stubborn, steady, a metronome I could feel through the wool. Tick. Tick. Time insisting. I pulled my hood close, gripped the rucksack strap, and stepped off the kerb into a road that had forgotten itself.
I was going to the hospital, and it had to be tonight. They said familiar sounds could reach someone in the dark, so I had brought our father's watch, the one Eli used to wind and press to his ear, counting the seconds as if he owned them. Buses were cancelled, trains stalled; the app spun its little wheel like a lie. I had two legs and a purpose; that would be transport enough. What else was there? Visiting ended at midnight. Surgery at dawn if he didn't stir. Instructions, not threats.
The first stretch was east, past the shuttered bakery, past bins wearing peaked hats of snow. My boots found seams of ice between paving slabs; each step had to be tested, weight placed carefully, as if the world might crack. The watch's face was warm against my palm—ridiculous, really—yet it felt like a small heart I was smuggling through hostile weather. Wind feathered flakes into my eyes; they tasted of metal. I kept moving. I counted: forty to the crossing, sixty to the bridge, five breathers in the lee of the viaduct.
Halfway up the bridge, my phone died without ceremony. The screen blacked out, became a mirror for my own pinched mouth. I stood and listened: the clack of a stray branch, the quick patter of snow on metal, and—beneath it—Tick. Tick. He had waited for me before: outside school when I failed; by the park when the chain came off. He had been there, dogged and kind. It was my turn to arrive.
Past the river, the hospital rose like a ship, windows lit in meticulous squares. It looked both welcoming and indifferent. Cars crawled in like beetles; salt hissed under their tyres. My legs shook; I let them. I thought of the last things I had said to him—sharp, throwaway—and felt the words like stones in my throat. The watch ticked, patient and precise. I matched my steps to it and went on.
- Level 3 Upper (16-18 marks for AO5, 9-12 marks for AO6, 25-30 marks total)
Option A:
The forest seemed to hold its breath as I stepped off the path. Light fell in coins through the canopy, dying on the damp earth. Air clung to my skin—warm, green, the smell of crushed fern and soil—while something unseen kept time in the undergrowth, a steady thud felt before it was heard.
A shape unstitched itself from the foliage ahead. Not a trick of shadow, but mass: shoulders like buttresses; a back banded with silver catching what little sun there was. He breathed like a forge. I saw the wet gloss of his nostrils, a hooked scar dragged across one cheek, and the huge hands, knuckles splayed, testing the ground.
My own breath faltered. I remembered what I had read: no eye contact; no sudden movement; make yourself small. He beat his chest—two sharp strikes, then three—hollow and thunderous, a drum rolled inside a cave. Birds broke free; leaves trembled; somewhere water hurried away. He did not move forward; he did not need to. The sound came anyway, through the ribs, through the teeth.
His eyes were not savage, exactly; they were old, ambered, as if the forest had been caught there and kept. A tuft of dandelion seed drifted past his ear. He plucked it from the air with those blunt fingers and tasted it, as if to remind me how easily the world could be handled. I lowered my gaze, let my knees bend; the mud accepted me without argument.
For a long moment nothing happened. Sweat crawled between my shoulder blades; ants stitched a black line across a log. I thought of the path behind me, the ordinary sound of my boots on gravel. Then his breath changed—softer, almost bored. He turned, showed the river of silver again, and pushed into the ferns with the quiet certainty of a tide.
I did not stand straight for a while. When I did, the forest exhaled. The thud of my heart slowed—uneven, then steadier, like rain sorting itself on a roof. As I found the path, his presence stayed with me: enormous and nearer than I had believed.
Option B:
Morning did not rise; it was dragged up, pale and reluctant, by a sky the colour of pewter. Snow had not fallen: it had settled, pressing rooftops flat and muffling the road. Leah breathed into her scarf and shouldered the front door closed. In the pocket of her coat lay a ring and a folded note. She had to reach St Alban’s before midday, before her father went under.
She had forgotten gloves yesterday, so today she wore mismatched ones; the left had a hole that let the cold bite. Before she locked the door, she looked back at the narrow hallway — the boots and the calendar — as if it might say stay. But the compass her father had given her rested against her ribs: a small brass stubbornness. She pushed the letter down deeper. Then she stepped out.
The buses were cancelled. The app glowed red: every route delayed; her phone blinked 9%. How do you cross a city that refuses to be crossed? Leah tried the main road; cars crawled like dull beetles. She cut down to the canal, where the towpath in summer smells of nettles; today it was a slick white corridor. Her toes went numb, then prickled; her breath scratched, shallow, inside the scarf.
Last night, at the kitchen table, he’d taken the ring off with slow fingers. ‘For luck,’ he had joked, though his knuckles trembled a fraction. A brown coffee ring bled on the newspaper, ordinary and important at once. She’d promised to bring the ring before they wheeled him away. Promises matter; they hold you up when the ground is unsure. That was the purpose: simple and enormous.
The footbridge over the lock was sheeted with frost. She tested it — one foot, then the other — and the wood gave a thin creak. Halfway, a gust shoved her; her boots skidded, the letter crinkled, the ring jolted against her thumb. Panic opened like a trapdoor. She caught the rail and kept moving; stopping now would be a kind of surrender. Beyond the trees, the hospital’s green sign glowed — a square of promise.
- Level 3 Lower (13-15 marks for AO5, 9-12 marks for AO6, 22-27 marks total)
Option A:
The canopy stitched the sky into patches of green light; the air hung thick and wet, filled with mist. Leaves pressed against my sleeves, slick with water, and the smell of crushed fern and damp earth rose up like breath. Somewhere a stream ticked against stone. The undergrowth opened; he stepped out: a silverback, shoulders as wide as a door. His fur shimmered in the broken sun, bands of ash and coal. Power moved under his skin the way tide moves under the sea.
He did not roar. He looked. A slow, deliberate gaze, dark and polished, pinned me where I stood. His hands rested like spades on the earth; his chest lifted, fell, lifted, fell. Each breath was a measured engine. I could hear insects buzz and the far, hollow knock of a bird, yet the jungle itself seemed to hold its breath for him. There was only one instruction in my head: be still. My heart argued loudly, battering its cage, but my feet obeyed.
He shifted his weight and the ground noticed. Soil puffed; a fern trembled. He spoke in the language of movement—tilt, huff, pause—which even I could understand. No harm, only warning. When he beat his chest it was not rage, more a drum-roll to show the size of the storm he carried. The sound ran through me, a blunt wave. I tasted iron. The silver on his back caught the light like water and made him look older than mountains, and yet his eyes were young.
I wanted to be bark. I did not move. I did not speak. I did not blink. He turned, finally, with a calm that felt enormous; he folded back into the foliage and became shadow. Leaves sighed, the stream ticked, and my legs remembered how to walk.
Option B:
Morning came thin and pale, the sky a bruise over the estate. In my backpack, an envelope: crisp, official, impossible to lose. I had to get it to St. Mary’s by noon. No buses. No trains. My phone battery limped at twenty-seven percent. I tightened my laces and stepped into air that bit. Breath puffed white; the wind nagged my hood. The road shone with last night’s rain, reflecting tower blocks in broken strips. Mum had left in a rush. “Bring the consent form,” she’d said. That was everything.
The canal path was closed; I followed the ring road instead, a long curve of noise. Trucks made the footbridge tremble, the rail vibrating under my wet fingers. My heel stung where my shoe had rubbed it raw, and my backpack thumped a dull beat. At the crossing a mother dragged a toddler and sirens braided the air. I glanced at the bakery—golden light, warm sugar—and kept walking. My pace quickened.
Rain arrived slowly, like someone turning up a tap; soon it was steady, sewing my sleeves to my skin. I checked the time again: 11:26. St. Mary’s was still two miles away—maybe less—but my route kept changing. I cut through the park, splashing through puddles that swallowed the path. The swings creaked. On the far side the steps rose to the pedestrian bridge above the bypass. Halfway up my breath hooked; I paused, counted to ten, and climbed again.
From the top the city looked frayed and familiar, like a map folded too much. Somewhere in all that mess was a white building and my mother and a doctor with a pen. I ran the last bit. The automatic doors sighed open, and cool, lemon air met me. I dug for the envelope as the clock clicked to 11:59.
- Level 2 Upper (10-12 marks for AO5, 5-8 marks for AO6, 15-20 marks total)
Option A:
The air was thick and green; it clung to my skin. Light fell in shredded bands through the canopy, painting the path in stripes. Leaves shone like wet coins and the smell of crushed fern was sharp in my throat. Insects stitched the silence, then ripped it open again. Then the ground made a low sound, a slow thud, thud, like a drum under my feet.
A shape folded out of the foliage. He was huge, a silver back like spilled moonlight on muscle. Knuckles pressed into the mud, casual, confident, as if the earth belonged under his hands. He exhaled; a deep, resonant huff that tasted of fruit and damp wood on the air. The forest seemed to hold its breath. His eyes were dark, steady, old, and when he looked at me I felt smaller than a leaf.
Meanwhile, my heart kept the beat — thud, thud — answering his. I wanted to run, my legs would not listen. One thought repeated: do not run. I dropped my gaze, I tried to make myself quiet, to be only another bush in the green. He rose; I froze. Time stretched like thin elastic. However, I took one step back, then another, careful not to snap a twig. My mouth was dry, like dust, though everything was wet.
After a long blink, he turned, not angry, not bothered, simply certain. Branches parted for him as if they knew. He went the way kings go, straight into the green, shoulders rolling, calm and powerful.
I breathed again. The jungle returned to noise, a river of sound rushing back. Even now I hear that steady rhythm — thud, thud — still moving through the ground.
Option B:
Night. The hour of thin pavements and tired faces; buses shuddering past, neon smearing into puddles. I tightened the strap of the cool bag cutting across my shoulder. Inside, under ice packs and careful cloth, lay the medicine, small but important. Liam’s name was on the label; his breath had been paper-thin this morning.
The bus drivers were on strike, so I’d have to walk. The map said forty minutes; the sky said otherwise. Rain came sideways—not snow, just stubborn rain tapping my hood like fingers. The pavements shone. My trainers sucked at the ground. I had a purpose: get to the clinic before eight, get the dose checked, get it home. Simple. It definately wasn’t.
Mum pressed the bag into my hands at the door. “You’re fast,” she whispered, “you’re careful.” I nodded, though my stomach was full of tiny stones. Liam coughed in the background, a dry little dog cough. I saw how his eyes followed me. What if I was late? What if the bridge was closed? Questions barked.
Traffic groaned heavier and heavier, I kept walking, counting lampposts, counting breaths. On the river path the wind gnawed and the signs creaked. A cyclist splashed past and nearly clipped my elbow; my heart leaped, then settled. Keep going. Keep going. The words beat time with my feet. I wasn’t a hero; just someone with a bag and a deadline, but sometimes that is enough. For him.
- Level 2 Lower (7-9 marks for AO5, 5-8 marks for AO6, 12-17 marks total)
Option A:
The jungle air pressed on my skin like a warm, damp blanket. Leaves stuck to my sleeves; somewhere a tiny bird clicked like a watch. Then the shadow moved. He stepped out, a silver-backed giant with shoulders rolling like slow waves. His fur was glossy and grey, dusted with mud, and his eyes had a dark glint that felt old. He looked at me, I looked back. My breath snagged. The smell of wet earth and wild fruit wrapped around us. Vines trembled as he pulled them aside with one careful hand; the other hung heavy, like a hammer.
He beat his chest—thud, thud—deep drums that vibrated in my ribs. The ground seemed to breathe; even the light held its breath. I did not run because my legs felt like logs, and because running would be wrong. So I raised my hands, slow, like the ranger on TV said. Minutes stretched: a thin band pulling. He sniffed the air, bristled, and then, as if bored with this small human, turned away. The jungle swallowed him, green and whispering. Who was powerful here? Not me. I walked back along the muddy path, a guest, placing each step like a quiet apology.
Option B:
Rain. Cold, hard rain. The kind that stings your cheeks and sneaks down your collar. I pulled my hood tight and held the blue inhaler in my fist like it might vanish. On the other side of town, my little brother wheezed in the school office; the receptionist's voice on the phone had been calm, but not calm enough. I had to get there before the ambulance, before the panic, before he thought I'd forgot him. He definately needed me. The street hissed with buses and tyres; the pavement shone like glass, unfriendly.
Firstly, I tried to wait, but the bus was late: ten minutes, then fifteen, every tick louder in my head. What if I was too late? My backpack felt heavy—too heavy with my phone, a bottle of water; it was silly to think that, but I did. So I ran. A van tore past and soaked my legs, cold climbing up my jeans. I kept going, past the bakery where warm air puffed out, past the cracked mural of our team. Then the roadworks started like a trap; orange cones, tape, yelling.
One thing mattered: get there.
- Level 1 Upper (4-6 marks for AO5, 1-4 marks for AO6, 5-10 marks total)
Option A:
I step into the trees and the air is warm and wet. Leaves stick to my arm. The ground is soft like old cake. Drip, drip, drip. My breath is loud and my heart is louder, like a drum. I smell mud and sweet rot.
Then he is there. A silver back, huge like a wall, sitting in the green, breathing. His chest rises then falls, slow, slow. He blinks. Hair black and grey, it shines a bit, looks wet. Hands like spades.
I don’t run, my legs forget. He beats his chest, thud, thud, thud - birds jump out, I jump too. The smell gets stronger, like rain and sweat. He looks at me and through me, like I am a small tree. I say sorry in a whisper. After a bit he turns, goes into the dark leaves, and I walk away slow.
I was very small.
Option B:
Morning was dull and cold, the sky like a metal lid. I walked up the road that went out of town. The bag rubbed my shoulder - the strap kept cutting in. Inside was insulin, with ice, I told myself dont drop it. I had to get home before five, before the nurse left.
The hill felt bigger than last time. My feet slid in the brown mud and the wind pushed back at me like a big hand. Cars hissed past, they did not stop, they splashed me. I should of stayed on the bus but the bus broke down and everyone got off and left.
I kept going.
It was not for me, it was for my little brother. The road was long, but the box was my reason.
- Level 1 Lower (1-3 marks for AO5, 1-4 marks for AO6, 2-7 marks total)
Option A:
I walk into the thick trees and the air is wet and heavy. He is there, a silverback gorilla, bigger than a car. It is so big! It beats its chest, thud thud, the leaves shake and the ground kind of moves. His breath comes out like steam and I can smell mud and sweet rot. My phone got no signal and the bus was late. I freeze and you would be scared too, I think. He look at me, then the sky, then me, and I dont blink and I want to run but my legs dont and only the thud and his breath, heavy heavy.
Option B:
The road was long and grey and it went on and on. My bag was heavy. My feet hurt and the wind hit my face like stones, I kept going because I had to. I needed to get to the small house at the end of the town, there was a letter in my pocket for my brother. He needed it now. The bus didn't come, so I walked and I said I was fine but I weren't. It was cold, my hands shook. I am going to get there, I told myself, I ain't turning back! A dog barked. I walked faster.