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 How is Mihailo described when opening the door to Mashenka Pavletsky?: Excited and very flushed – 1 mark
• 1.2 Mashenka was returning from a walk to which house?: the Kushkins' house – 1 mark
• 1.3 What state did Mashenka find the household in?: a terrible turmoil – 1 mark
• 1.4 How is Mihailo described when opening the door?: excited and red as a crab – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

Look in detail at this extract, from lines 6 to 10 of the source:

6 Loud voices were heard from upstairs. "Madame Kushkin is in a fit, most likely, or else she has quarrelled with her husband," thought Mashenka.

How does the writer use language here to describe the turmoil in the house and Nikolay Sergeitch’s reaction? 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 show how the blunt simple declarative and passive in "Loud voices were heard from upstairs" use auditory imagery and distance to render turmoil pervasive, while the tagged interior monologue "thought Mashenka" layers modal hedging—"most likely, or else"—and emotive lexis—"in a fit", "quarrelled"—to dramatise domestic conflict. It would also note that by filtering events through Mashenka and withholding Nikolay Sergeitch’s voice at this moment, the writer implies his controlled detachment, his reaction a telling silence against the noise.

The writer uses auditory imagery and an impersonal passive to render the household’s turmoil immediate yet faceless. The clipped simple sentence “Loud voices were heard from upstairs” foregrounds the monosyllabic intensifier “Loud” and the plural “voices,” suggesting a cacophony rather than a single complaint. The passive construction “were heard” deliberately obscures agency, heightening anxiety and implying disorder that spills across rooms. Moreover, the spatial deixis in the prepositional phrase “from upstairs” evokes the upstairs–downstairs divide, so the disturbance seems to seep down through the house’s social and physical hierarchy.

Furthermore, the writer employs direct thought to channel the reaction through Mashenka’s perspective: “Madame Kushkin is in a fit, most likely, or else she has quarrelled with her husband.” The formal honorific “Madame” jars against the raw lexis “fit” and “quarrelled,” a semantic field of crisis that undercuts decorum. The disjunctive conjunction “or else,” coupled with modal hedging in “most likely,” captures Mashenka’s rapid, nervous speculation. Additionally, the balanced, paratactic structure of the two alternatives—present “is in a fit” versus present perfect “has quarrelled”—oscillates between immediate meltdown and an already-brewing conflict, intensifying the sense of unrest.

Crucially, Nikolay Sergeitch’s reaction is presented obliquely. By juxtaposing a stark report with Mashenka’s conjecture, while keeping his voice absent, the narrative implies a controlled, perhaps aloof response: the atmosphere, not an individual, dominates. The impersonal passive and withheld attribution suggest his silence or distance, so the language conveys both the house’s upheaval and his tacit, removed stance toward it.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 3 response would note that the short, simple sentence and passive voice in "Loud voices were heard from upstairs" make the disturbance feel impersonal yet pervasive, with "Loud" stressing turmoil. It would also identify speculative, anxious thought ("most likely, or else"), colloquial hyperbole ("in a fit") and the conflict verb "quarrelled", while Nikolay Sergeitch’s absence suggests a muted or detached reaction.

The writer opens with a short declarative, “Loud voices were heard from upstairs.” The noun phrase “Loud voices” and auditory imagery immediately signal turmoil; the passive construction “were heard” distances the listener, suggesting events out of control and out of sight. The prepositional phrase “from upstairs” spreads the disturbance through the house, creating unease.

Moreover, the direct thought “Madame Kushkin is in a fit, most likely, or else she has quarrelled with her husband” uses modality to show Mashenka’s anxious speculation. The modal adverb “most likely” and the coordinating conjunction “or else” present a binary of possible crises, accelerating her thinking. The idiom “in a fit” hints at hysteria, while the verb “quarrelled” carries aggressive connotations, reinforcing the sense of conflict.

Additionally, Nikolay Sergeitch’s reaction is implied rather than stated. By referring to “her husband” instead of naming him, the writer withholds his voice and perspective, suggesting his involvement in the “loud” dispute but keeping him offstage. The formal title “Madame Kushkin” (a proper noun) also signals social distance, so Mashenka can only infer, not intervene. Thus, language choices both dramatise the household turmoil and make Nikolay’s response feel volatile yet unseen, heightening tension for the reader.

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 the short, simple line 'Loud voices were heard from upstairs' to show noise and turmoil, and pick out emotive words like 'fit' and 'quarrelled.' It might also note the uncertain phrase 'most likely, or else' in 'thought Mashenka' to show a basic, worried reaction, with Nikolay Sergeitch’s response only implied.

The writer uses a short, simple sentence to show turmoil: “Loud voices were heard from upstairs.” The adjective “Loud” and the plural “voices” suggest shouting and confusion, while “from upstairs” spreads the disturbance through the house. Moreover, the passive “were heard” creates distance and uncertainty about who is shouting, which adds tension.

Furthermore, the writer uses Mashenka’s reported thought to show panic and speculation: “most likely, or else.” This hesitant phrasing shows she is worried and trying to make sense of the noise. Additionally, the phrase “in a fit” suggests extreme emotion, and the verb “quarrelled” has angry, hostile connotations.

By saying she has “quarrelled with her husband,” the text hints that Nikolay Sergeitch is part of the row; his reaction is to argue loudly. Therefore, the language presents a chaotic house and a heated response from him.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: Identifies obvious words and phrases like the short sentence "Loud voices were heard" and emotive phrases "in a fit" and "quarrelled with her husband" to show noise and arguments in the house. Notes the use of quoted thought "thought Mashenka" as a simple reaction to the turmoil.

The writer uses the phrase “Loud voices” to show turmoil in the house; it sounds noisy and chaotic. Moreover, the short sentence “Loud voices were heard from upstairs” creates a sudden, tense moment. The words “fit” and “quarrelled” are strong and suggest argument and trouble. Furthermore, the use of thought, “thought Mashenka,” shows a reaction to the noise. Additionally, the passive “were heard” hints that people, including Nikolay Sergeitch, are only listening and worried, not in control, so the house feels disturbed and he seems uneasy.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Sound emphasis → heightens immediate sense of disturbance and conflict (bold quote: Loud voices)
• Passive construction → distances the narrator from the source, suggesting uncertainty and unease (were heard)
• Spatial marker → locates the unrest above, implying it is overheard and indirectly known (from upstairs)
• Naming/title → pinpoints a likely focus of the commotion, sharpening the reader’s attention (Madame Kushkin)
• Idiomatic phrasing → conveys an intense, possibly dramatic emotional state, amplifying turmoil (in a fit)
• Hedging/qualification → shows cautious speculation, revealing a measured, thinking response rather than panic (most likely)
• Disjunctive connector → presents alternative causes in quick succession, mirroring a mind working under tension (or else)
• Conflict lexis → frames the noise as marital strife, foregrounding domestic discord (quarrelled with her husband)
• Thought-tag and direct thought → gives immediate access to the character’s reaction and inference process (thought Mashenka)

Question 3 - Mark Scheme

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

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

You could write about:

• how chaos intensifies from beginning to end
• 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 escalating structure shaped by spatial and focal shifts, moving from the household’s "terrible turmoil" and "Loud voices" through "In the hall and in the corridor" to the invasive "search" of Mashenka’s room, where cumulative listing of disturbed objects—"The whatnot with her books on it", "the things on the table", "the bed"; the "money-box" that "was open" and "scratched the lock all over"—intensifies disorder. It would also analyse how the narration tightens into Mashenka’s viewpoint and accelerates via exclamations ("Oh, how horrible it is!", "How barbarous!"), rhetorical questions ("Why? What had happened?"), and sensational testimony ("They stripped us all naked", "cackles like a hen"), with the delayed cause—the "brooch"—revealed through dialogue to heighten chaos and reader disorientation.

One way in which the writer structures chaos is by opening in medias res, immersing us in “terrible turmoil” before any explanation. The macro-focus on the house—“Loud voices”—fractures through rapid refocusing: the porter “red as a crab,” then Nikolay “running out” past her. His asyndetic exclamations—“How horrible!... Abominable!”—use parataxis to bombard the reader. Simultaneously, through limited focalisation on Mashenka, free indirect discourse (“Madame Kushkin is in a fit, most likely”) substitutes conjecture for exposition. This sequencing lets noise and movement outpace understanding.

In addition, the writer manipulates zoom and pace to intensify disorder. When “Mashenka went into her room,” the focus narrows but detail proliferates: a brief sketch of Fedosya interrupts action, then a cumulative catalogue—“balls of wool, scraps of materials...,” “money-box ... open,” “the whatnot... the bed—”—clutters the scene. A patterned run of interrogatives—“What... Why... Why...” (including “why had Nikolay Sergeitch dashed out of her room”)—maps her rising panic. The generalising aside about “persons in dependent positions” widens the lens mid-scene, a deliberate break that compounds disorientation and foregrounds social chaos.

A further structural choice is delayed revelation through dialogue. Only after the invasive inventory does Liza supply causation: “A brooch has been stolen.” This late clarification reorders earlier fragments while enlarging the scale—“They’ve been searching every one... stripped us all naked”—so private violation becomes communal panic. The alternation between kinetic beats and reported speech, and the closing shift to the bleak aphorism “You are living with strangers,” refuse neat resolution. The source moves from external commotion to systemic disorder, sustaining and intensifying chaos.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would identify how chaos escalates through structural shifts from house-wide disturbance ("terrible turmoil", "Loud voices") to a tight focus on Mashenka’s ransacked space, using exclamatory listing ("Oh, how horrible it is! ... Abominable!") and frantic rhetorical questions ("But what was it for? Why?") to heighten confusion. It would also note the move into dialogue ("They've been searching every one", "stripped us all naked") and Mashenka’s changing state ("turned cold with dismay") to show rising panic and loss of control.

One way in which the writer structures chaos is by opening straight into the action with immediate commotion. Mashenka "found the household in a terrible turmoil" while "Loud voices" and a porter "red as a crab" signal disorder. The master bursts out with a barrage of exclamatives—"Oh, how horrible... barbarous! Abominable!"—which quicken the pace and throw the reader straight into confusion.

In addition, the writer shifts focus, zooming from the noisy hall and corridor into Mashenka’s room. The detailed listing of disturbed objects—the "money-box... open," the "whatnot," "the bed," "her linen-basket"—and repetition of "search" create accumulation. A rapid series of rhetorical questions ("What... Why... Why...") intensifies disorientation. A close third-person perspective tracks her thoughts, so piecemeal evidence builds the sense of chaos.

A further structural choice is the shift into dialogue, introducing competing voices and a delayed revelation. Liza’s fragmented speech and ellipses ("They stripped us all naked...") juxtapose with the mistress’s denial, heightening conflict. Only late does the cause—"a brooch"—emerge, a withheld detail sustaining uncertainty. This progression from uproar to invasive search to testimony crafts mounting chaos and exposes powerlessness.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer starts with "a terrible turmoil" and "Loud voices", then follows Mashenka into her room where there is "a search going on in her room", using a list of disturbed items ("balls of wool, scraps of materials"), panicked exclamations ("How stupid! How barbarous!") and confused questions ("Why? What had happened?") before the shocking claim "They stripped us all naked", so the chaos clearly builds from beginning to end.

One way the writer structures the text to create chaos is by beginning in the middle of action. At the start we move fast from “Loud voices” to the porter, to crying maids, to the master “running out” and “twitching.” This change of focus speeds pace and throws us into turmoil.

In addition, the writer uses dialogue and listing. Short exclamations—“Oh, how horrible… How tactless!… Abominable!”—pile up, while the list “balls of wool, scraps of materials, and bits of paper” shows ransacking. Broken speech with ellipses (“I … I upset it”) adds to a panicky feel in the middle.

A further feature is the shift to Mashenka’s questions and then an explanation at the end. Her repeated questions (“Why… Why… What had happened?”) build confusion, and the talk with Liza reveals “a brooch has been stolen” and “stripped us all naked,” escalating the chaos before the tone turns weary.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: At the start there is terrible turmoil and Loud voices, then the focus shifts to Mashenka’s room where all bore fresh traces of a search. By the end Liza says they stripped us all naked and searched us, so the chaos builds.

One way the writer structures chaos is by starting in turmoil. We hear "loud voices", servants crying, and the master rushing past, making the opening feel confused.

In addition, the focus keeps moving: the hall, corridor, her room, then tiny details. The list of items ("money-box", "whatnot", "bed", "linen-basket") piles up, so the scene feels messy and chaotic.

A further feature is the use of questions and exclamations. Mashenka asks questions and the master shouts "How horrible!", which shows panic. Dialogue about the stolen brooch pushes the chaos to a peak.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• In medias res opening plunges us into disorder, creating instant disorientation (terrible turmoil).
• Offstage noise from upstairs foreshadows and amplifies upheaval across the house (Loud voices were heard).
• Early speculation and withheld cause prolong uncertainty and mimic confusion (in a fit).
• Quick shifts between spaces and figures quicken pace like a flurry of shocks (running out of her room).
• A barrage of exclamations piles intensity, structurally 'stacking' the chaos (How tactless! How stupid!).
• Itemised mess across objects visualises disarray and violation (fresh traces of a search).
• Broken, elliptical excuses fracture rhythm, sounding flustered and disorderly (I ... I upset it).
• Delayed cause revealed through a servant jolts us after suspense, keeping turmoil unstable (A brooch has been stolen).
• Escalating stakes widen the chaos beyond one room to the whole staff (stripped us all naked).
• Conflicting reactions from masters fracture control, heightening disorder (cackles like a hen).

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, Madame Kushkin's clumsy lie and plain appearance could make her seem more foolish than powerful. The writer suggests that having wealth doesn't automatically make a person respectable or intelligent.

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

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of Madame Kushkin
• comment on the methods the writer uses to portray her foolish character
• 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 weigh Kushkin’s coercive wealth—'thorough, most thorough' searches, servants 'stripped us all naked', dependence on 'the bread of the rich and powerful'—against ridicule via satirical description ('uncouth', 'a faintly perceptible moustache'), her clumsy lie 'I ... I upset it accidentally.... My sleeve caught in it', and Nikolay’s 'cackles like a hen'. It would judge that wealth grants force but not respectability or intelligence, so the statement is largely supported.

I largely agree that Madame Kushkin is rendered more foolish than powerful, and that the writer exposes how wealth fails to guarantee respectability or intelligence. From the outset, the exclamatory string—“How tactless! How stupid! How barbarous!”—establishes a critical lens, and the narrator’s generalising aside about those “in dependent positions, who eat the bread of the rich and powerful, and cannot speak their minds” universalises Mashenka’s experience. This omniscient commentary frames the rich as crudely coercive rather than refined or wise.

The physical portrait of Fedosya Vassilyevna is pointedly deglamourising. The asyndetic pile-up of pejorative adjectives—“stout, broad-shouldered, uncouth”—combined with the simile that she is “exactly like a plain, illiterate cook” collapses the social pretensions of the “lady of the house.” Details such as “thick black eyebrows,” a “faintly perceptible moustache,” and “red hands” function as synecdochic markers of coarseness, while “without her cap on” hints at a lapse in decorum. The methodical choice of such tactile, visual specifics constructs an image that is the antithesis of genteel authority, implying that status adornments have not transformed character.

The lie itself is comically inept. Her muttered “Pardon. I … I upset it accidentally … My sleeve caught in it” is riddled with disfluency: ellipses, repetitions and the vagueness of “it” betray panic and a lack of plausibility. The verb “muttered” and the hurried exit—she “rustled her long skirts and went out”—highlight the dissonance between the costume of wealth and the behaviour of a culprit. Structurally, Chekhov then shifts into close focalisation through Mashenka’s interrogative cascade—“Why was one drawer … pulled out?”—inviting the reader to piece together the evidence (the “money-box … scratched all over,” the “fresh traces of a search”). The forensic detail makes the mistress’s deceit look not only immoral but incompetent: they cannot even “shut it,” despite their thoroughness.

Elsewhere, animal imagery further undercuts the household’s authority: Nikolay Sergeitch “cackles like a hen,” an emasculating simile that renders him ridiculous, complicit but ineffectual. The repeated lexeme “rummaging,” culminating in the brutal declarative “They stripped us all naked and searched us,” reveals raw, invasive power—yet it reads as panic rather than principled leadership. Tellingly, the brooch is “worth two thousand,” and the narrative juxtaposes that glittering sum with behaviour that is “vile … insulting.” Liza’s sober reminder—“you are … as it were … a servant”—exposes the social machinery: wealth licenses suspicion, not respect.

Overall, I strongly agree: Chekhov satirises Madame Kushkin as a figure of petty tyranny and foolishness. She wields power, certainly, but it is coercive, tasteless and intellectually shallow. The writer’s descriptive choices, structural sequencing and tonal irony insist that money buys authority and noise, not dignity or intelligence.

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, explaining that the writer’s physical description ('stout, broad-shouldered', 'a plain, illiterate cook', 'red hands') and faltering dialogue ('I... I upset it accidentally... My sleeve caught in it') present Madame Kushkin as foolish rather than powerful, and would use the invasive search and mention of 'the rich and powerful' to argue that wealth does not ensure respectability or intelligence.

I largely agree that Madame Kushkin is presented as more foolish than powerful, and the writer uses this to suggest that wealth does not guarantee respectability or intelligence, even though she can still exercise authority over her dependents.

From the outset, the description of her appearance undermines her status. The loaded adjectives “stout, broad-shouldered, uncouth,” with “thick black eyebrows,” a “faintly perceptible moustache,” and “red hands,” make her seem coarse. The explicit comparison that she is “exactly like a plain, illiterate cook in face and manners” is a deliberate contrast with her role as “the lady of the house.” This juxtaposition between “long skirts” (a marker of class) and such “uncouth” features suggests pretence rather than true refinement, so the reader questions her respectability.

Her lie is presented as clumsy and transparent. The fractured dialogue, “Pardon. I ... I upset it accidentally.... My sleeve caught in it ...” uses ellipses, repetition and the hesitant verb “muttered” to signal guilt and ineptitude. The claim is immediately undercut by the visible “fresh traces of a search,” so the language choices make her look both dishonest and foolish.

Structurally, the narrative focuses on Mashenka’s perspective, piling up rhetorical questions—“What had… Why… Why…”—to emphasise bewilderment and violation. The detailed listing of evidence (“the money-box… open,” “scratched the lock all over,” “linen… carefully folded… not in the same order”) shows a thorough yet bungling search, reinforcing incompetence. Liza’s blunt report—“They’ve searched every one… They stripped us all naked”—exposes Madame Kushkin’s crude misuse of power, while the simile “Nikolay Sergeitch… cackles like a hen” makes the household look ridiculous rather than dignified. Finally, “you are… a servant” reminds us that social hierarchy, not merit, grants her authority.

Overall, I agree to a great extent: through unflattering description, awkward dialogue and structural contrasts, the writer depicts Madame Kushkin as coarse and foolish. She wields power, but it is not the power of intelligence or true respectability.

Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 2 response would broadly agree with the viewpoint, picking out simple description to show Madame Kushkin seems foolish not powerful, e.g. "uncouth" and "exactly like a plain, illiterate cook", so even though she "rustled her long skirts" she doesn’t appear respectable. It would also mention her clumsy lie "My sleeve caught in it" and the humiliating "They stripped us all naked" over a "brooch worth two thousand" to say money doesn’t make her intelligent or worthy of respect.

I mostly agree with the statement. The writer makes Madame Kushkin seem foolish and coarse rather than truly powerful, showing that money does not equal respect or intelligence.

First, her appearance is described with unflattering adjectives: “stout, broad-shouldered, uncouth,” with “thick black eyebrows, a faintly perceptible moustache, and red hands.” The simile “exactly like a plain, illiterate cook” lowers her status and suggests a lack of refinement. This method makes the reader see her as ordinary and crude despite her wealth, supporting the idea that she is not naturally respectable.

Her lie also feels clumsy. In her dialogue, the repetition and ellipses—“Pardon. I … I upset it accidentally… My sleeve caught in it”—show hesitation and panic, which weakens her authority. The verb “rustled” in “rustled her long skirts and went out” suggests she escapes rather than explains. After she leaves, the narrative lists clear signs of a real search: the “money-box… open,” the lock “scratched all over,” and a drawer “pulled out.” This contrast between her excuse and the detailed evidence makes her look silly and dishonest.

She does have power, because “they’ve been searching every one” and even “stripped us all naked,” but the diction “a perfect disgrace” makes her actions seem cruel, not admirable. Even her husband “cackles like a hen,” a simile that makes the household look ridiculous.

Overall, I agree that Madame Kushkin appears more foolish than powerful. The writer’s description, dialogue, and contrast show that wealth does not make her wise or worthy of respect; it only lets her bully others.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response would simply agree, pointing to basic details like the clumsy lie "I ... I upset it accidentally.... My sleeve caught in it" and her heavy-handed "rummaging in everything with her own hands," adding that even with a "brooch worth two thousand" she doesn’t seem respectable.

I mostly agree with the statement that Madame Kushkin seems more foolish than powerful, and that wealth does not make someone respectable or clever. First, the writer describes her with strong adjectives: “stout, broad-shouldered, uncouth,” with “thick black eyebrows,” a “moustache” and “red hands.” This, plus the simile that she is “exactly like a plain, illiterate cook,” makes her seem ordinary and rough, not elegant. Her lie is clumsy too: in the dialogue “I ... I upset it accidentally... My sleeve caught in it,” the repetition and ellipses show she is hesitating, so she looks guilty and silly. Even though she “rustled her long skirts,” which hints at wealth, she quickly “went out,” which seems weak. The search details — the “money-box” they “did not know how to shut” and the lock “scratched all over” — make them look careless rather than clever. She even “searched” the servants “naked,” which shows power but not respect. Overall, I agree that the writer presents her as foolish and cruel, suggesting that money and status do not equal intelligence or true respect.

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:

• Unflattering physical description undermines respectability → frames her as coarse despite status, encouraging readers to see foolishness over dignity → (plain, illiterate cook)
• Coarse detail intensifies this reduction → the image strips glamour and invites ridicule rather than respect → (faintly perceptible moustache)
• Clumsy, contradictory excuse signals deception → invites us to distrust her and view her as foolish rather than authoritative → (My sleeve caught in it)
• Performative gentility cannot mask intrusion → wealth reads as surface display, not moral or intellectual substance → (rustled her long skirts)
• Botched, heavy-handed search reads as incompetence → power exercised without skill diminishes her authority → (scratched the lock all over)
• Emphasis on thoroughness shows force not wisdom → suggests control coupled with panic, not intelligence → (most thorough)
• Abusive treatment of staff alienates sympathy → power without decency feels contemptible, not respectable → (stripped us all naked)
• Household authority is lampooned via the husband → their governance seems laughable, weakening any claim to respect → (cackles like a hen)
• High value offers limited mitigation → the loss is serious yet her response remains disproportionate and demeaning → (worth two thousand)
• Focalisation through Mashenka steers judgement → her moral outrage invites us to condemn the mistress’s conduct → (so mean, so low)

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

On a weekend trip to the coast, you plan to write a creative piece to share with your year group.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Write a description of a wild seal colony from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about a stranded traveller.

(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:

Beneath a sky the colour of hammered pewter, the headland unrolls into rock and foam. The sea — patient, percussive — breathes in; breathes out; breathes in again, abrading the edges as if honing a blade. Salt ghosts furl on the wind; the smell is brine and kelp, metallic as bitten lip. There, strewn as if cast by a careless tide, lies the colony.

At first they are only shapes — pewter on pewter — a haphazard consonant of backs and bellies. Then eyes open, dark and lantern-bright; a whisker trembles; a flipper flicks with dismissive elegance. Their pelts are a palimpsest of sea and stone: marbled greys, bruised browns, stipples, scars; each carries its own map of storms.

Sound arrives in layers. A pup’s thin reed-whistle; a mother’s answering croon, rich as cream. The blunt cough of bulls, those baritone engines humming warnings nobody mistakes. Above and around, gulls scissor the air; shells skitter; the sea soughs. The rhythm repeats, inexorable: surge—hiss—retreat; surge—hiss—retreat. Hypnotic, yes, and yet never quite gentle.

Meanwhile, a bull heaves forward, a sovereign in a low kingdom. Enormous — a heather-dark torpedo — annotated by winters. Another male slips into his shadow; first the bluffing, a choreography of heft and intention: open mouth; fish-stale breath; a lunge that is mostly theatre. When bodies meet, the beach jolts. Then the quarrel collapses into the practiced boredom of truce.

Close by, a cow folds herself around a silver pup (not truly silver, not truly still), and the world contracts to the small, secret business of milk. The pup roots, greedy and solemn; the mother’s eye — glossy, fathomless — gauges everything. When the pup complains — again, and again, and again — she answers with a patient, cello-deep murmur. Tenderness looks ungainly in a body built like a boulder; that is the marvel.

By degrees, the tide remembers them. Water works cold fingers between stones; foam ribbons the ankles of the nearest loungers. One by one — reluctant, inevitable — they slither seaward, becoming suddenly sleek; commas dropping into the blue sentence of the bay. A last head turns, then the surface heals. Afterwards, the shore seems too quiet; a ghost of scent lingers, and far out dark ellipses stipple the pewter. The colony is absent, present, perpetual.

Option B:

Heat. It pressed against the skin like a hand that didn’t know its own strength, flattening sound, blurring edges; on the ruler-straight road the air quivered. The service station—two rusted pumps and a shuttered kiosk—offered a strip of shade more idea than relief. Above, the sky was bleached white.

Nia shifted the scuffed rucksack, the strap burning her shoulder, and watched the coach dwindle to a mirage; within a minute it was a silver fish, then nothing. Ten minutes, the driver had said, tapping the wheel as if that made it law. She had believed him. The vending machine ate her coins—and the minutes. Of course he wouldn’t turn back; for one traveller with bad timing, the timetable was tyrannical.

Her phone confessed its failure: No Service. She held it higher, as if signal were snag-able; a bar appeared, flirted, vanished. Mum’s last message glowed—Text when you land, promise?—and the word promise dried on her tongue. Inventory: half a bottle of warm water; three biscuits ground to grit; a map that said, bluntly, Next town 38 miles; a postcard of gulls over a harbour she wasn’t heading to. No hat. No shade that lasted.

She considered waiting—someone would crest the horizon; there might be kindness, a cold can, reprieve. Yet the quiet felt carnivorous, as if idleness were bait. Movement, then. She stepped from the kiosk’s thin shadow and the heat rose to meet her—an invisible tide. The road unfurled, a taut black ribbon; mirages shivered like spilt mercury as she kept to the north verge where brittle sage hinted at cooler ground.

Back home, the sea slapped the harbour wall and decisions were buffered by weather, neighbours, tea. Here, there was only the metronome of steps and the housekeeping of survival: sip, count to fifty, sip; squint, look for shade, fail. She told herself a story—thin, perhaps—that she could fold this into tomorrow’s interview, proof of resilience on a CV that otherwise wore caution like armour.

A buzzard scribbled loops above, as if revising a sentence it didn’t like. The road spat back light. Time elongated. Meanwhile, small consolations surfaced: a skittering lizard; the remembered tang of rain; the map softening at its creases. How quickly it had happened—misplaced by a machine and a minute.

Before long—though the phrase meant nothing here—she felt it: a low, gathering tremor, the prelude of an engine. Hope was a match struck in wind. A truck burst from the shimmer, chrome blinding, dust trailing like an exclamation. There was a fractional deceleration, a flash of a wrist—and then momentum won. It thundered past, pelting her with grit and a mouthed apology.

She tasted dust; it was oddly hopeful—earthy, unpoetic. She laughed once and re-shouldered the rucksack. So: walk. The horizon didn’t come closer, not really. Still, step by step, she reduced the distance between who she had been at the kiosk and who she might be at dusk.

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

Option A:

The shoreline at low tide is a wreckage of weed and rock, a dark comb of basalt teeth biting at a glaucous sea. A winter-bright light slides across it, turning slick stones to pewter; the wind combs the kelp and salts the air so thoroughly I taste it on my tongue. Waves do not break so much as breathe—slow, insistent, a soughing that rises and falls. On the higher ledges the colony is spread, grey upon grey, their bodies strewn like misplaced boulders that occasionally blink.

At first they seem motionless. Then a female tilts, scratching her flank with the neat hook of a flipper; another yawns, exposing a pink, unexpected cavern edged with tiny, urgent teeth. Their pelts are mottled—smoke, slate, ink—each pattern its own map. Salt crystals fur their whiskers; their eyes gleam with a calm, black patience. When the sun lifts from a cloud, the whole rock suddenly glistens, as if lacquered; they shift, shuffle, sigh, the sound a soft leather-and-sand rasp that settles back into quiet.

Noise gathers anyway. A pup mews—thin, needling, hungry—until its mother rolls toward it, slow as tide. Farther off, two hulking bulls rise to each other, chests puffed, scarred muzzles skinned back; their voices are a guttural battery, more boulder than animal, and the smaller of the pair slumps down, chastened. The smell thickens with it: ammonia-sharp, briny, emphatic. Gulls quake above, greedy and graceless, dropping their own ragged remarks into the air; the wind pushes everything flat.

At the edge, the water is pelagic glass, green shot with sand. One seal tips forward and slides, an oiled idea; another follows with a lazy, practiced plunge that leaves only spindrift and a ring of bright bubbles. In the shallows their bodies turn to shadows, then commas, then nothing. Heads appear again—question marks on sleek necks—watching us or not watching us at all. Who taught them such composure? They twine, fin-flick, and vanish where the channel darkens.

The tide returns, inch by inch, whispering over shingle and snapping weed. Space shrinks; the colony compacts, noses lifted, bellies ridged with old scars, a congregation arranged by habit rather than rule. Light lowers until the cliff and sea lean into each other; the first star stipples the lid of cloud. Somewhere a bark splits the dusk, answered once, twice. Then only breath, threaded and steady, rises from the ledges like mist. Patient, salt-slick, they endure the evening.

Option B:

When the bus pulled away, it left the sound of its own absence: a ragged cough of gears, a coil of diesel, rain prickling the tarmac like static. The road unspooled in both directions, grey and indifferent; a crooked sign pointed somewhere I couldn’t pronounce. The sky kept lowering. My phone lit my palm with a cold glaze—3%—and then folded into darkness. No bars. No map that wasn’t wet paper. It would be fine; people improvise. Yet the wind found the seams of my jacket and talked in a long, patient hiss.

I hadn’t meant to end up here. This wasn’t the plan scribbled on the back of the timetable—the one with arrivals, hot tea, a key under a painted stone; the driver had shrugged—holiday schedule, diversion—and set me down with an apologetic nod. I nodded back as if I preferred the adventure, as if being nineteen made me weatherproof. I texted Mum: nearly there. She replied with a heart and a caution, the kind she had spent years sewing into the hem of everything I wore. Then the signal dissolved into this chalk-white edge of nowhere.

I took stock of what I had: one backpack (too light), a bottle of water with a tired slosh, an apple bruised on one side, a scarf that still smelled faintly of home. What I didn’t have was simple: shelter, signal, sense. A strip of moon shook free of the cloud and made the wet road shine like a blade. Stay put and wait for headlights? Or gamble on the crooked sign and its timid arrow towards Black Fen? My boots felt heavy but ready. The cold had quick fingers.

I started to walk. The lane narrowed until it was more suggestion than road, stitched with roots and the glitter of broken grit. Somewhere, water talked to itself—a ditch, perhaps, or the beginnings of a flood. There was a light at last—low, honeyed, cautious—spilling from a cottage window half swallowed by the earth. Relief rose quick and foolish in me; it felt like warmth before the fire is lit. I lifted my hand to knock, then hesitated. I wasn’t just stranded on a road; I’d been stranded in other ways for months—between the job I said I wanted and the one I could actually get, between leaving and arriving, between telling the truth and keeping the peace. I breathed, counted to four, and knocked—once, twice—before the third tap faltered.

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

Option A:

The cove lies cupped between slate cliffs, the sea drawing breath and letting it go. On the wrinkled rocks, a colony of grey seals lies scattered like commas—pewter backs mottled with salt and age. Wet hides catch the thin sun in brief shards. The smell is brackish: kelp, fish, cold iron. Waves fold and unfold on the shingle; patient, persistent, they reach, retreat, reach again. Gulls stitch white arrows across the wind while it harps through marram grass. They breathe in and out, in and out.

Here a heavy bull props his chest and watches; there a young one shoulders past, clumsy as a bag of wet sand but determined. At the waterline, bodies flip with sudden grace, and the air fills with conversation: huffs and snorts; a throaty bark; the slap-slap of tails; the clean plop as a slick head vanishes. Meanwhile, the older cows lie like driftwood, eyes half-shut—listening, and guarding. The sound carries along the rock like a drum skin, low and guttural, then softening to a kittenish yelp that seems impossible for a creature so muscular.

If you crouch and watch a little longer, a mother noses her pale pup, whiskers beaded with salt. She tests the pup’s fur with a careful flipper; he wriggles, sneezes, then falls still, content. Her eye, dark and round, catches a thin seam of light and holds it. When a bigger swell pushes up the rocks they lift together—one shape, one shadow—then settle again as the water sighs out. There is a pale scar across her shoulder; it looks old. It is part of her map.

Further along the shore, the colony becomes a low, shifting village: narrow streets of kelp, doorways of shadow, roofs of rock. Beyond, the horizon sits like a dull coin; drizzle freckles the surface, dimming the world to pewter. Still they stay; they belong to this littoral edge the way lichen belongs to stone. A young head lifts, whiskers trembling, as a black cormorant knifes past. Then, as the tide creeps, a slow migration begins—down the slick steps, over bladderwrack, into the green. In, and out. In, and out.

Option B:

Night. The hour when roads forget their voices; farmhouse windows burn like small flames; hedges huddle, secretive and wet. The wind worried a plastic sign until it clacked, surrendered again.

Maya stood under the dim cone of a broken streetlight with a suitcase heavier than it looked. A scuffed handle, a zipper that bit her glove; her breath came out in pale question marks. The timetable was a liar, it promised a connection at 21:10, warmth and a driver who knew the way. Instead there was drizzle—thin, insistent—and the long B-road folding into the black.

She unfolded the paper once more, edges furred with damp. Coombes: five miles—a village with a working phone box, apparently. Her aunt had called it ‘quaint, if the weather behaves.’ The weather was not behaving. Her phone had three percent and a screen like a sulky moon. Between one breath and the next she counted coins, as if copper could conjure headlights.

However, waiting felt like inviting the cold inside her coat. She pictured a kettle shouldering into a boil, a lamplit kitchen, a chair that forgave tired bones, and the pictures made her chest ache. She tightened her scarf; the wind wrote its sibilant script along the hedge. No tyres. No engine. Only the small, rhythmic drip from the shelter roof.

She thought of what had put her here: a delayed train, a sprint across a platform, a bus door closing with the thin decisiveness of a knife. The universe had not been malicious, only indifferent. That was almost worse.

So she began to walk. One foot, then the next; the suitcase thumped in a stubborn rhythm against the verge. Headlights flowered around a distant curve—hope, sudden and bright—before whitening some other stretch of lane and thinning to nothing.

Silence swelled. Night came closer, like a coat she could not quite shrug off. Still, she moved.

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

Option A:

The shore is a patchwork of slate and salt, slick rocks shining where the tide has licked them and left. Between the dark teeth of the stones, the seals lie piled like damp cushions; grey, mottled, sea-worn. The morning is cool and colourless, a pale disc of sun bruised by cloud. Wind threads the kelp with a faint, vegetable smell. It is not quiet. It is something in-between, a waiting place.

Barks pop out of the colony like bubbles; short, surprised sounds that turn into grumbles. A low chorus rumbles through their bodies and into the ground, while a pup squeals—thin and eager—and a mother swings her head, stern. Two young bulls practise a not-quite fight; they rear, they shove, they flop. Gulls scissor the air and argue over a spine of fish.

Closer, an old bull lifts his scarred muzzle and regards everything, as if he owns the grey horizon. His whiskers are frosted with sand; his eyes are small, amber coins. When he yawns his mouth is a cave with pink ridges, and the breath that washes out is heavy with brine and fish-stale air.

The sea keeps breathing beside them—inhale, exhale—the water dark, then silvered; a pup wriggles down to the edge. It tastes the foam, sneezes, and then tries again. The mother follows, nose to its back, nudging, warning; loving in a practical way. Their small sounds are sweet, like wet whistles.

As the tide turns, the colony starts to shift, peeling from the rocks and sliding one by one into the shallow wash. Fur becomes sleek; shore becomes water, and for a second their heads bob like dark fruit in a cold bowl before they flick and vanish. What is left is the smell of seaweed, a few smooth hollows in the weed, and the patient rhythm of the ocean going on and on.

Option B:

Even the wind seemed to forget this road. It dragged over cracked tarmac, carrying dust across my shoes, then moved on, bored, as daylight thinned to a bruise on the horizon. The bus had coughed, lurched, and given up a mile back; the driver waved apologetically and said help was coming, but hours away. I kept walking because stillness felt like surrender and because the map promised a village ahead. Now there was only me and the road, the low hum of distance.

My suitcase hated me. Its wheel jammed every few steps and squealed like a small animal. I tugged and lifted step after step, counting them like a metronome to keep panic down. My phone showed one thin bar, then went blank; the glass became a black mirror with my tired face in it. No signal. No sound except the hush of fields and the ticking of cooling metal in a distant tractor. I thought about the room I had booked, the clean bed, the promise of hot water. It felt imaginary.

A signpost leaned, its letters scraped pale by weather. LEFT: STONEDALE. RIGHT: MOOR FARM. My plan was clear but also not; go left, find lights, ask for a lift—or anything. Who would stop for a stranger out here? A solitary car appeared at last—headlights; I raised my arm and waved, trying to look harmless. It passed, leaving a rush of cold air and a quick shiver. The sky pressed down and rain began. I reached a bus stop: a perspex box with a cracked bench and a timetable bleached to a ghost. I sat and watched the road write itself into darkness. Somewhere a fox screamed; the night went quiet—too quiet, like a held breath. I told myself five minutes, then I would move, but the bench held me still.

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

Option A:

The rocks gleam with a wet sheen, patched with limpets and weed. At first the shore looks empty—just boulders scattered in pale light. Then the boulders breathe. Grey backs shine, mottled and slick, and the air fills with a low, surprised sound, a kind of coughing laugh.

Across the ledge, seals are draped like discarded coats; they heave their bodies forward and rest, forward and rest, forward and rest. Some squabble, slapping flippers in a soft clap. A bull lifts his scarred head and throws out a bark so rough it shakes the wind; his eyes are small coins. Nearby a pup noses at its mother, muttering. The smell is briny, like old rope and rain. Spray leaps up as cold dots on my cheeks; salt licks my lips.

Beyond them the sea keeps working, grinding at the rocks, chewing the edges. It rolls in, then slides back, in and out, in and out, as regular as a clock. Gulls teeter on the black ribs of kelp and cry their high cry. One seal edges to the rim and drops—clumsy, sudden—then comes up like a blunt torpedo, whiskers trembling. For a second she stares, glossy eyes dark as wet slate. It feels like she knows me; she doesn't. She turns, vanishes; the surface stitches itself shut.

After a while the light thins, and the colony settles to a hum. The tide climbs the steps of the shore, persistant; it's cold fingers reaching between them. Backwards and forwards, the rhythm holds, rocks and seals joined under the open sky.

Option B:

The bus’s tail-lights shrank and were eaten by the drizzle. Then the silence came back, and I was left with a rucksack, a damp map, and a road that stretched out like a black ribbon into nowhere. The sign for North Dunes creaked; the wind tugged at my coat like a nagging friend. Salt and diesel on my tongue. The timetable nailed to the shelter was useless, its ink running; it looked like the sea had licked it clean. No cars came.

I checked my phone. 3% battery. No Service. I thought of the warm bus I should be on, orange seats and heaters blowing like weak suns, and I felt stupid—five minutes late, staring at a bakery window, dragged in by cinnamon. Almost funny, not really. Grandad used to say travellers keep moving; stranded is for people who stop. Easy to say when you aren’t here.

There was one option: find light. Down the road a glass box flickered, a small square of hope. A phone booth, actually working? I trudged towards it; stones popped under my boots. My feet were already sore. A gull screeched like a rusty gate.

The door stuck, then jerked open. Inside it smelled of damp and pennies. I lifted the receiver and listened. A thin hum, no more. I dialled home anyway. Nothing. My shadow jumped across the glass. Outside, the wind muttered, and far off, something moved, or maybe it didn’t. How long until morning?

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

Option A:

The rocks are dark and wet, patched with weed and salt. All along the shore, the seals lie in a loose crowd, grey and mottled, like boulders that learnt to breathe. Spray hangs in the air, cold on my face. At first, the place is quiet: only the slow pushing of the tide.

Then a big male rolls his bulk and lifts his head. Whiskers twitch, eyes shine like wet pebbles. A pup yelps, high and sharp, and the others answer: a clumsy chorus, coughing, barking, snorting. They shuffle and flop over the slick stones, back and forth, back and forth, as if the sea is pulling strings.

Meanwhile the waves slump and hiss; white foam threads around their flippers. The smell is strong, briny and fish-sour, it sticks to my throat. Gulls wheel and nag overhead. One seal slides into the green water – a sudden, smooth drop – and vanishes. Only a trail of bubbles shows where it went.

At last the sun slips under a thin cloud and their backs glimmer. The whole colony breathes together, a soft, heavy sound – like a tired bellows. The tide keeps nudging at their sides, they don't hurry. Old, patient animals.

Option B:

Autumn. Leaves stuck to the wet road like tired feathers. The coach had hissed away five minutes ago, taking its warm seats and chatter with it. Now the lay-by seemed too big, the dusk too quick. My backpack sagged against my shoulder; my phone showed 2% and no bars. A single street light buzzed and blinked, a fragile eye watching me. I was a traveller and I was definately stranded.

I tried to be logical. There was a sign: Harthorpe 5 miles, City 18. I could wait; I could walk. The wind pressed at my coat and carried a cold, metallic smell. What if no one came? I checked the road again, listening for an engine, for tyres on gravel. Nothing. Only the squeak of the sign and the soft slap of leaves. My mouth felt dry, and my thoughts started to go in circles like the roundabout I couldn’t see.

Then, footsteps? I spun around, heart thudding, but it was just a hedge shaking under the wind. Still, I moved. One step, then another, towards the faint silhouette of the village. The sky lowered, heavy and purple. I whispered, keep going. It wasn’t brave, not really, but it was something.

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

Option A:

There is seals all over the rocks. The rocks are dark and wet and the sea keeps pushing in and pulling out. It goes hush and then louder, back and forth, back and forth.

The seals lay like grey stones, shiny where the water touched them. Some lift their heads and blink. One yawns, a wide red mouth, teeth like little pegs.

The air smells of fish, salt and seaweed. Wind hits my coat I hear them cough and bark, ark ark, and then it goes quiet. A pup bumps its mother. She sniffs, she looks at me or past me.

A big seal slides to the edge and flops, a heavy plop in the water, the splash jumps up. Now he swims slow under the green water. The others watch and shuffle on their bellies. They scratch with small flippers. It is funny and also a bit sad. I don’t know why.

Option B:

Rain. It falls hard, it is cold on my coat and on my face. The road goes on and on. No cars. No lights. My bag digs into my shoulder and my feet ache. The bus doors shut behind me and then it pulled away, I waved, but it didn’t see.

I got off at the wrong stop, i think.

I wait.

I am a traveller, trying to get to the town by the sea. My phone says no signal. The wind bites my hands. I feel small like a lost dog.

I wait and I listen, for any engine, for footsteps, for help. The last bus - I missed it, the driver said sorry but he couldn’t do nothing.

Dark creeps in slow. Time slows too, like glue. I tell myself keep walking, but my legs are stiff and my map is wet. I will go on, I will, but I just stand there.

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

Option A:

So many seals are on the rocks, grey and still, like wet logs in the cold. The sea pushes in and pulls out, back and forth. I hear them cry and cough, a rough bark, it echo on black stone. Their eyes shine but the sky is dull, the wind is sharp. It smell like salt and old fish, it is strong. One seal slides, belly first, it flops and flops. The pups is close to there mothers. My shoe is wet and the zip on my coat sticks. A wave comes, it covers feet of the rocks then goes. Time feels slow

Option B:

Road. Long road, empty and flat. The bus went and now I am just here, a stranded traveller - with a small bag and sore feet. The wind push my coat and the sky is low and grey. I stand, then I walk, then I stop, I feel like a lost sock. My phone is dead I press the button again and again, nothing. No bus, no car, no people. It definatly feels like no one comes here. Mum said take a map but I forgot. A dog barks somewhere. On a gate a poster for a concert hangs, bright, ripped, I stare at it.