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 Where did K.'s search begin for real?: On the first floor – 1 mark
• 1.2 What was K. still unable to ask for?: the investigating committee – 1 mark
• 1.3 Why did the name 'Lanz' occur to K.?: Because the captain, Mrs. Grubach's nephew, was called Lanz – 1 mark
• 1.4 What chance did K. obtain by asking whether Lanz the joiner lived there?: A chance to look into the rooms – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

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

1 On the first floor, his search began for real. He still felt unable to ask for the investigating committee, and so he invented a joiner called Lanz--that name occurred to him because the captain, Mrs. Grubach's nephew, was called Lanz--so that he could ask at every flat whether Lanz the joiner lived there and thus obtain a chance to look into the rooms. It turned out, though, that

6 that was mostly possible without further ado, as almost all the doors were left open and the children ran in and out. Most of them were small, one- windowed rooms where they also did the cooking. Many women held babies in one arm and worked at the stove with the other. Half grown girls, who seemed to be dressed in just their pinafores worked hardest running to and fro. In every

11 room, the beds were still in use by people who were ill, or still asleep, or people stretched out on them in their clothes. K. knocked at the flats where the doors were closed and asked whether Lanz the joiner lived there. It was usually a woman who opened the door, heard the enquiry and turned to somebody in the room who would raise himself from the bed. "The gentleman's asking if a

How does the writer use language here to present the rooms and the people K. sees? 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 analyse how the compound adjective small, one- windowed rooms and the passive construction doors were left open evoke cramped, impersonal spaces and a loss of privacy, while dynamic verbs like ran in and out juxtaposed with the static stretched out on them in their clothes contrast restless bustle with exhausted inertia. It would also explore cumulative syntax and polysyndeton in ill, or still asleep, or to suggest overcrowding and stagnation, and parallelism in held babies in one arm and worked at the stove with the other, alongside the diction Half grown girls and just their pinafores, to expose relentless female labour and vulnerability.

The writer’s precise lexis presents the rooms as cramped yet exposed. The compound modifier "one-windowed rooms" compresses the space, suggesting meagre light and air, while the relative clause "where they also did the cooking" forces living, sleeping and working into one overcrowded area. The passive construction "the beds were still in use" gives the furniture dominance over people, and "almost all the doors were left open" signals a loss of privacy so domestic life becomes unavoidably public.

Moreover, the people K. sees are animated through dynamic verbs and a gendered semantic field of labour. Children "ran in and out" in restless loops, while "Many women held babies in one arm and worked at the stove with the other" uses balanced syntax and synecdoche to foreground divided, relentless effort. The superlative "worked hardest" for the "half grown girls" with the idiom "to and fro" conjures ceaseless motion, and "just their pinafores" hints at vulnerability and haste.

Additionally, syntax intensifies the oppressive atmosphere. Long, polysyndetic clauses with repeated "and" create a breathless pace, while the syndetic triad "ill, or still asleep, or... stretched out in their clothes" layers exhaustion; the adverb "still" stresses its ongoing nature. Parenthesis in "that name occurred to him—...—" exposes K.’s contrivance and intrusiveness. Finally, the formal, truncated speech "The gentleman’s asking..." and "raise himself from the bed" convey politeness amid fatigue, presenting both the rooms and their inhabitants as dignified yet depleted.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would explain that the writer uses dynamic verbs and descriptive detail, e.g. "children ran in and out" and "small, one- windowed rooms", to present a busy, cramped place with little privacy ("almost all the doors were left open"), making the reader picture overcrowding and tiredness with beds "still in use". It would also note the repeated focus on female labour ("held babies in one arm and worked at the stove with the other", "Half grown girls... just their pinafores") and how K.’s ruse ("invented a joiner called Lanz") plus long, list-like sentences create a sense of relentless domestic hardship being observed furtively.

The writer uses a compound adjective and concrete detail to present the rooms as cramped and exposed. The phrase "small, one-windowed rooms" emphasises limited space and light, suggesting overcrowding. The clause "almost all the doors were left open" creates openness that implies little privacy and forced communal living. Meanwhile, "the beds were still in use" hints at constant occupation and a home that doubles as workplace.

Furthermore, dynamic verbs and a participle phrase show relentless labour. Children "ran in and out," and women "held" babies and "worked," the parallelism "one arm... the other" highlighting multitasking. Describing "half grown girls... just their pinafores" uses the adjective "half grown" and the childlike clothing detail "pinafores" to suggest vulnerability and expectation of work, as they are "running to and fro," conveying restless, repetitive motion.

Additionally, listing and reported speech characterise the people. The triadic list "ill, or still asleep, or... stretched out" with polysyndeton stresses exhaustion in many forms. The routine "It was usually a woman who opened the door" foregrounds female responsibility, before someone "would raise himself from the bed," implying sickness or fatigue. Finally, the formal register of "The gentleman's asking..." contrasts with the shabby setting, hinting at dignity within hardship.

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 identifies descriptive words and active verbs like 'small, one-windowed rooms' and 'the children ran in and out' to show a cramped, busy setting, and simple listing such as 'held babies in one arm and worked at the stove' to present hardworking domestic life. It may also note that longer sentences and details like 'almost all the doors were left open' and 'the beds were still in use' suggest lack of privacy and tiredness/illness.

The writer uses descriptive adjectives to show the cramped rooms. The phrase "small, one-windowed rooms" suggests tiny spaces, and "where they also did the cooking" shows the rooms are multi-purpose and crowded.

Moreover, active verbs and participles present busy people. "Children ran in and out" and girls are "running to and fro", while women "held babies... and worked at the stove", which makes the scene feel hectic and hardworking.

Furthermore, a list with repeated "or" shows constant use of the beds: "ill, or still asleep, or... stretched out". The repetition of "still" suggests tiredness and no privacy.

Additionally, long sentences and repetition of key nouns create a continuous flow. "Doors were left open" and "In every room" make the place feel open but exposed, and "usually a woman... turned to somebody" shows domestic routines as K. watches.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses simple adjectives and verbs like 'small', 'doors were left open', 'children ran in and out', and 'worked at the stove' to show cramped rooms and busy people. A basic list such as 'ill, or still asleep, or' also makes it seem crowded and a bit chaotic.

The writer uses adjectives to present the rooms as cramped, like 'small' and 'one-windowed', which makes them seem basic. Moreover, strong verbs such as 'ran in and out' and 'worked at the stove' show how busy the people are. Furthermore, the list 'ill', 'still asleep', 'stretched out' suggests tiredness and overcrowding. Additionally, the phrase 'doors were left open' hints there is no privacy. The sentences feel long with extra details, which creates a sense of fuss. Finally, 'usually a woman' opening the door shows simple roles inside the flats.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Concrete setting detail: cramped, minimally lit living space is implied, focusing attention on basic conditions (small, one- windowed rooms).
• Open access and lack of privacy: permeability of domestic life creates an exposed, communal feel (doors were left open).
• Dynamic motion verbs: continuous bustle makes the spaces feel busy and unsettled (running to and fro).
• Parallel domestic actions: women multitask under pressure, intensifying the sense of labour and necessity (worked at the stove).
• Specific clothing detail: youthful vulnerability and informality underscore how work falls on the young (just their pinafores).
• Tricolon and repetition with “or”: varied states of inactivity/illness suggest overcrowding and ongoing exhaustion (ill, or still asleep).
• Stark sleeping detail: people lying fully dressed implies urgency, fatigue, or lack of private time (in their clothes).
• Quantifiers and repetition: generalising phrases build scale and sameness across the building (In every room).
• Gendered interaction: women act as gatekeepers while men respond from bed, hinting at domestic role patterns (usually a woman).
• Idiomatic phrasing: a brisk tone makes entry seem routine, reinforcing how exposed these homes are (without further ado).

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 story.

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

You could write about:

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

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

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

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Analyses effects of structural choices; judicious examples; sophisticated terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would perceptively track how the structure tightens from the meandering search through ‘doors were left open’ and cramped ‘one-windowed rooms’ as K. moves ‘from floor to floor’, to a climactic compression where time and exits close in (the ‘large clock’ at ‘ten o’clock’, the warning ‘I’ll have to close the door after you’, a ‘narrow passage’, and the ‘gallery’ of bodies ‘bent down… backs touching the ceiling’), explaining how these escalating constraints shift the mood from curious to oppressive and culminate in acute claustrophobia by the end.

One way in which the writer has structured the text to create claustrophobia is by incremental spatial narrowing through sustained third-person focalisation on K.’s movement. Although “almost all the doors were left open,” the focus quickly zooms into “small, one-windowed rooms” crowded with bodies—“beds… in use,” women at stoves, girls “running to and fro.” This cumulative listing and tight proxemics replace air with people, so openness feels illusory. The repeated enquiry for “a joiner called Lanz” at each threshold engineers cyclical, futile movement, making the building a maze that presses in on K. and the reader.

In addition, the writer manipulates narrative pace and time to intensify pressure. The vertical progression—“On the first floor… reached the fifth floor”—suggests release, but the false resolution (“decided to give up… went down… went back again”) is a structural volte-face that re-traps him. The clock that “already showed ten o’clock” is a sharp temporal marker; “already” compresses time and signals lateness. This tonal shift into frustration (“made him cross”) accelerates the rhythm and tightens the atmosphere.

A further structural device is the threshold that becomes an enclosure. The scene widens to a “two-windowed room,” only to intensify: a gallery “fully occupied,” people “bent down… heads… touching the ceiling,” and air “too stuffy.” “I’ll have to close the door after you” is a gating moment that seals him in. Inside, long, multi-clause syntax tracks his loss of agency as he’s squeezed “between two men… and someone took him,” funneled through a “narrow passage.” By the end, the “densely packed” assembly peaks the claustrophobia.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 3 response would clearly explain how the focus tightens from K.’s repetitive search across "floor to floor" with "doors were left open" to a climax on the "fifth floor" inside a "densely packed crowd", a "gallery" where people have their "heads and their backs touching the ceiling", and only a "narrow passage", compressing space to create claustrophobia. It would also identify how time and choices close down—the "large clock" at "ten o'clock", the instruction to "close the door", and K. being "led"—so the ending intensifies the sense of being trapped.

One way in which the writer has structured the text to create a sense of claustrophobia is by narrowing focus while accumulating crowded spaces. K. moves “from floor to floor”; doors are “left open”, yet the rooms are “small” and “one-windowed”. The sequence of near-identical visits (knocking, asking for Lanz) and the repeated sight of beds, stoves and bodies compresses the space and slows his progress, so the reader feels hemmed in alongside him.

In addition, spatial and temporal markers tighten pressure. The ascent to the “fifth floor” and the “large clock… ten o’clock” signal dwindling time; then a focus shift carries us through a doorway into a “medium sized” room and up to a “gallery… fully occupied”, people’s “heads and backs” touching the ceiling. This movement from corridor to room to gallery is a zoom-in that reduces air and space.

A further structural feature is the manipulation of pace and viewpoint. The sustained third-person tracking of each obstruction, together with long, cumulative sentences and lists, creates a breathless flow. The instruction “I’ll have to close the door after you” and the final “narrow passage” lock him in, intensifying claustrophobia.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: Structurally, the writer builds claustrophobia by moving K. 'from floor to floor', repeatedly asking for 'Lanz the joiner' in 'small, one-windowed rooms', then into a 'two windowed room... filled' with people. By the end, details like 'I'll have to close the door after you', 'the air too stuffy', the 'gallery... fully occupied' with people 'bent down... heads and their backs touching the ceiling' make it feel more trapped.

One way the writer structures the opening to create claustrophobia is by moving K. floor by floor through small, "one-windowed rooms" crowded with beds and people. Repeated knocking and listing of women, children and sleepers builds a busy, enclosed atmosphere.

In addition, the focus shifts in the middle to the fifth floor, where the door is shut behind him: "I'll have to close the door after you." That threshold, plus "the air too stuffy" and a low gallery with people bent down, make the space feel sealed.

A further structural choice at the end is the narrowing path. Following K.'s movement through a "narrow passage" and "densely packed crowd," with lots of detail and the time marker "ten o'clock," keeps pressure rising, so the claustrophobia is strongest by the end.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response might simply say the writer moves K from floor to floor through small, one-windowed rooms to a room fully occupied with a narrow passage, so by the end he found the air too stuffy, making it feel claustrophobic.

One way the writer structures claustrophobia is the opening focus on small spaces and many people. The start shows 'one-windowed rooms' and beds in use, which feels cramped.

In addition, there is repetition and movement floor to floor. K. keeps knocking and asking for 'Lanz', from the first floor up to the fifth. This pattern makes him seem stuck and boxed in.

A further structural feature is the ending shift into a packed room. The door shuts, the gallery is full, and a 'narrow passage' appears, building a suffocating, claustrophobic mood.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Immediate floor-based opening anchors us inside the building, establishing a confined arena (On the first floor)
• Iterative questioning motif traps the narrative in circular encounters, reinforcing stasis and entrapment (joiner called Lanz)
• Accumulative listing of cramped domestic spaces builds density and limited air/light (one- windowed rooms)
• Structural reversal—he decides to stop, then re-enters—deepens the sense of being pulled back into confinement (went back again)
• A mid-scene time check compresses urgency within a small room, tightening pressure (already showed ten o'clock)
• Threshold control intensifies enclosure as entry depends on the door being shut behind him (close the door)
• Delayed reveal shifts from the small room to an adjoining crush, suddenly exposing overcrowding (filled with the most diverse crowd)
• Vertical crowding on the gallery forces bodies to bend, visualising literal compression (touching the ceiling)
• Momentary withdrawal for breath followed by re-entry enacts the push–pull of suffocation (air too stuffy)
• Channelled movement through a single narrow route between two factions funnels him, limiting avenues of escape (a narrow passage)

Question 4 - Mark Scheme

For this question focus on the second part of the source, from line 36 to the end.

In this part of the source, the discovery of the strange meeting makes the scene feel confusing and overwhelming. The writer suggests that K. has stumbled into a powerful world that operates by its own rules, but one where he is an outsider.

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

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of the strange assembly on the fifth floor
• comment on the methods the writer uses to portray the strange assembly on the fifth floor
• support your response with references to the text. [20 marks]

Question 4 (AO4) – Critical Evaluation (20 marks)

Evaluate texts critically and support with appropriate textual references.

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed evaluation) – 16–20 marks Perceptive ideas; perceptive methods; critical detail on impact; judicious detail. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would largely agree, arguing that the writer constructs a rule-bound, intimidating milieu through exclusion and oppressive staging—the crowd that "nobody paid any attention" to K., the gatekeeping "I'll have to close the door after you, no-one else will be allowed in", the choreographed "narrow passage" and "division between two factions", and the formal authority of "dressed in black...formal frock coats"—while K.’s sensory and spatial disorientation ("air too stuffy", seeing only "the backs") marks him as an outsider. Yet it may qualify the idea of simple power by noting the grotesque constraint of the gallery ("heads and their backs touching the ceiling") and K.’s "puzzled" reaction, suggesting a claustrophobic, ritualised world whose authority is alien rather than inherently legitimate.

I largely agree that the discovery of the strange meeting renders the scene confusing and overwhelming, while also intimating a powerful, rule-bound world from which K. is excluded. From the outset, the focalisation through K. establishes uncertainty: he only “thought he had stepped into a meeting,” a tentative formulation that immediately destabilises our bearings. The indifference of the crowd—“nobody paid any attention to the person who had just entered”—marks K. as an outsider, and the oppressive “stuffy” air that drives him to “step out again” heightens the sense of physical and psychological overload. The woman’s gatekeeping—“I’ll have to close the door after you, no-one else will be allowed in”—introduces institutional rules. Her modal “have to” implies a non-negotiable protocol, and K.’s forced compliance (“he would probably not have followed… but… then he went back in anyway”) exposes his lack of agency in this system.

The writer amplifies disorientation through claustrophobic spatial imagery. The room is “filled with the most diverse crowd of people” and “surrounded by a gallery… fully occupied,” where people are “bent down with their heads and their backs touching the ceiling.” This grotesque contortion suggests an oppressive architecture that literally presses bodies into submission. The long, cumulative sentences pack in detail, mirroring the crush and making the reader’s processing effort feel as laboured as K.’s breathing, thereby generating that “confusing and overwhelming” tone.

Once inside, there are hints of a hidden order that “operates by its own rules.” The adverb “surprisingly” flags the paradox of “a narrow passage” through a “densely packed crowd,” while the speculation that it “may have been the division between two factions” introduces a political or judicial structure. The narrator’s modality (“may,” “would,” “probably”) and the quasi-analytic phrase “this idea was reinforced by the fact” show K. straining to rationalise what he does not understand. Crucially, “hardly any face” turns toward him; he sees only “backs,” a synecdochic image of exclusion. Fragmentary, enigmatic details—the man “counting out money,” another who “looked him closely in the eyes,” the youth who “took him by the hand”—compound the sense of coercive choreography: K. is inspected, ushered, and absorbed, but never acknowledged.

Finally, the costume detail—“most… dressed in black, in old, long, formal frock coats”—creates a semantic field of ceremony and archaic authority, signalling a tradition-bound institution. K.’s concession—“the only thing that puzzled K., as he would otherwise have taken the whole assembly for a local political meeting”—reveals his failed attempt to domesticate the scene within familiar categories. Overall, I strongly agree: the writer crafts a suffocating, rule-laden environment whose protocols are legible only to insiders, leaving K. disoriented, marginal, and at the mercy of a system that recognises its own, but not him.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 3 response would largely agree, explaining that the overwhelming, rule-bound setting—seen in the "most diverse crowd" where "nobody paid any attention" to K and the crushed "gallery ... fully occupied ... heads ... touching the ceiling"—creates confusion, while the exclusionary "no-one else will be allowed in" shows a closed world. It would also note how the writer uses details like the "narrow passage", the "division between two factions" with "members of their own side", and the formal "old, long, formal frock coats" (like a "political meeting") to position K. as an outsider to a powerful system.

I largely agree that the discovery of the strange meeting makes the scene feel confusing and overwhelming, and that the writer implies K. has blundered into a powerful, rule-bound world where he is an outsider.

From the moment he enters, the description creates disorientation. The room is “filled with the most diverse crowd,” yet “nobody paid any attention” to K., immediately positioning him as excluded. The setting is oppressive: the air is “too stuffy” and the gallery is “fully occupied,” with people “bent down with their heads and their backs touching the ceiling.” This vivid imagery and sensory detail establish a claustrophobic tone and suggest hierarchy and pressure. Structurally, K. even “stepped out again,” a moment of hesitation that shows how overwhelming the atmosphere is.

The writer then foregrounds rules and gatekeeping through the young woman: “I’ll have to close the door after you, no-one else will be allowed in.” The modal phrase “have to” signals strict regulation. K.’s flippant “Very sensible” feels ironic, as he is immediately swept up: “someone took him by the hand,” and he “let himself be led.” These verbs emphasise his loss of agency. Inside, the “narrow passage” amid a “densely packed crowd” implies controlled channels, and the possible “division between two factions” suggests an internal order that excludes outsiders. People turn their “backs,” with “hardly any face looking in his direction,” reinforcing K.’s outsider status, while a man who “looked him closely in the eyes” implies surveillance.

Finally, the language of costume and gesture hints at power. “Most” wear “black… old, long, formal frock coats,” clothing that connotes authority and tradition. One man’s hands “counting out money” suggests transaction or influence. Although K. tries to rationalise it as a “local political meeting,” the clothes “puzzled” him, a telling contrast that shows this world operates by its own code.

Overall, I agree: through oppressive setting, controlled structure, and symbolic detail, the writer presents an overwhelming, rule-bound assembly in which K. remains unmistakably an outsider.

Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response would mostly agree, noting the confusing, closed feel as the room is fully occupied, nobody paid any attention, and he is told I'll have to close the door after you, suggesting its own rules. It would also say K. is an outsider because he only sees the backs of people, there’s a division between two factions, and the old, long, formal frock coats make the group seem important and strange.

I mostly agree the discovery makes the scene confusing and overwhelming, and that K. has wandered into a powerful, rule-bound world where he is an outsider.

The writer creates an overwhelming atmosphere through crowded setting and sensory detail. The room is “filled with the most diverse crowd” and “nobody paid any attention” to K., making him invisible. The “gallery… fully occupied” where people “could only stand bent down” and the “air too stuffy” make it feel claustrophobic. This setting imagery shows confusion and pressure.

The text also suggests strict rules and power. The woman says she must “close the door… no-one else will be allowed in.” K. is not in control; “someone took him by the hand” and he “let himself be led” by a “small, red-faced youth.” Structure adds to this: a “narrow passage” that “may have been the division between two factions” shows a system, with people turning their “backs” and speaking to “their own side.” The gesture of “counting out money” hints at business or authority. These methods suggest a world that operates by its own rules, excluding K.

Clothing suggests tradition and status: “old, long, formal frock coats.” At the same time, tentative words like “may have been” and “would otherwise have taken” show K.’s uncertainty, and the clothes “puzzled K.” Overall, I agree to a large extent: the writer builds a confusing, oppressive scene and an exclusive, rule-bound assembly where K. remains an outsider.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: I agree: it’s confusing and overwhelming with a most diverse crowd, the gallery fully occupied, and nobody paid any attention to K., so he seems like an outsider. It also feels like its own powerful world because they will close the door, there’s a division between two factions, and it looks like a local political meeting.

I mostly agree with the statement. When K. opens the door, the scene feels confusing and crowded. The room is “filled with the most diverse crowd” and “nobody paid any attention” to him. The writer uses description and listing, like “two windowed room” and a “gallery… fully occupied,” to show how packed it is. Words like “surrounded” and people “bent down” under the ceiling make it feel overwhelming, and K. even says the air is “too stuffy,” which shows his discomfort.

The writer also hints this world has its own rules. The woman says, “I’ll have to close the door… no-one else will be allowed in,” which sounds strict. Inside, there is a “narrow passage” and a “division between two factions,” so it seems organised like politics. Most are “dressed in black… formal frock coats,” which gives a sense of importance and power. K. is an outsider because faces are turned away—he sees “nothing but the backs,” and he has to be “led” by a “small, red-faced youth.”

Overall, I agree that the meeting is confusing and overwhelming, and the methods of description and dialogue make K. seem outside a powerful, rule-bound group.

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:

• Misdirection across floors heightens confusion and futility; K. must give up to avoid being sent "from floor to floor".
• Time pressure via the clock intensifies overwhelm and regret; the room’s clock "already showed ten o'clock".
• Gatekeeping at the threshold signals a world with strict rules; the woman warns "no-one else will be allowed in".
• Institutional comparison hints at organised power; he reads it as a "local political meeting".
• Social indifference marks K. as an outsider; "nobody paid any attention" to him.
• Oppressive architecture suggests control and strain; bodies are "touching the ceiling" in the packed gallery.
• Factional division shows internal rules and exclusion; a "division between two factions" shapes movement and speech.
• Formal, uniform clothing implies authority and seriousness; "old, long, formal frock coats" dominate the crowd.
• Loss of agency underscores his outsider status; "someone took him by the hand" to lead him.
• Reluctant compliance shows the scene’s pull over him; he "went back in anyway" despite saying it was too full.

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

During your town’s Living History Day, short creative pieces will be performed between craft and skills displays.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Write a description of a medieval falconry display from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about a bond between a person and an animal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Model Answers

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

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

Option A:

The noon sun spends bright coins across the castle bailey; even the trampled earth gleams. Banners embroidered with lions and lilies snap in the salt-tinged breeze, and townsfolk press shoulder to shoulder. In a ring of straw and rope, a single figure waits, leather gauntlet raised, still as a carved saint.

He is the falconer: plain wool tunic belted tight; a knife; a pouch of meat; a lure braided with feathers and scarlet. On his fist, a hooded peregrine sits—sleek, compact—jesses neat against scaled legs; bells whisper. The hood is russet leather; the gloved hand dark with oil. Her whole body, hooded though she is, vibrates with contained intention, as if the sky has been threaded through her bones and knotted.

He smiles—assurance rather than swagger—and the murmuring thins; even beneath the lord’s canopy a cup pauses. He whispers to the bird (soft, almost secret), syllables worn smooth by habit, and with deft fingers slips the braces, draws the hood. The eyes arrive first, raw and lucid. A breath is held; then she goes.

At once the bird floods into herself—wings surging, feathers clicking, a satin snap—and lifts from the gauntlet. Bells chime; height is irresistible. She writes her name upon the noon: one, two, three gyres, wider and wider; higher and higher, until she is a dark comma stitched into the pale sky. Around the ring people crane; only the falconer moves, swinging the lure into a measured orbit, leather thong humming, red scraps flashing like a heart.

He whistles—thin, ascending—and lets the lure arc. For a beat the world holds its breath. Then the speck condenses, falls: the sky becomes a well and she drops down it, a blade, a will made visible. Air rips; hats jolt. At the last instant he whips the lure aside; she slashes past, turns on a feather’s breadth, climbs, stoops again. Again and again she folds and plummets—swift, swifter—until timing, trust and appetite align.

On the third call he concedes the prize. The lure meets her feet with a soft thud; she mantles, cloaks it with her wings, head bowed in rapt work. Up close she is all delicacy and danger: ivory beak hooked just so; dark moustaches bracketing a mouth that tears in tiny, economical gestures. The falconer kneels, body curved to mirror hers; meat appears; she takes it, eyes bright as citrine. He slides the hood back—careful, inevitable—drawstring whispering.

Sound returns in a ripple: first a sigh, then clapping like rain, then cheers. Banners crack; dust lifts and glitters. For a moment the air remembers the blade-bright fall, a slender leash between hunger and grace.

Option B:

Dawn. The hour when rooftops exhaled the night’s hoarded cold; gutters glittered with ragged frost; the horizon loosened from iron to lavender. The city cleared its throat—first bus, first bakery door yawning, first kettle beginning to mutter.

As the street uncrumpled, Mara unlatched the sash and set a chipped saucer on the sill. On it she arranged provisions with meticulous care: unsalted peanuts, glistening crumbs of bacon, a stub of bread she had warmed between her palms until its scent rose like a promise. Her breath drifted in thin clouds; her fingers, bitten by the air, trembled more from anticipation than chill.

He came the way he always had—sideways, almost slyly, a cindery flicker against the paling sky—and then he was there, decisive, a black comma on the ledge. Ink. That was the name she had given him on the first day, when his feathers had looked poured, not grown; when his eye had fixed on her with the hardened curiosity of a survivor. He cocked his head; she mirrored him; there was a pause that was not empty but attentive, a silence held taut between two beings who had learned each other slowly and without fuss.

A year ago, there had been rain—a blunt, incessant percussion—and a small, sodden shape under the scaffold by number twelve. People had hurried by, collars up, faces down; she had knelt, coaxed, spoken in a voice she barely used for anyone else. The wing was not broken, just battered; the temper—understandable—was thorny. She took him home in the hood of her coat, ridiculous and resolute, and when he was strong enough to leave, he did; and then he came back.

Since then, the mornings had knitted themselves around their ritual. He learned the code of her whistle; she learned the lexicon of his feathers—the trifling lift that meant wary, the slicked-down patience that meant trust. Sometimes he brought gifts, absurd and luminous: a pearl bead with no necklace, a twist of foil, a five pence piece polished by years of pockets. She kept them in a tobacco tin that had been her grandfather’s; she kept them as if they were conclusions to an argument she had been losing.

Today, though, there was a new thing. The For Sale board had gone up last night, skewered into the front garden like a proclamation. Even the wallpaper knew: it peeled a little more, sighing. She would be gone by summer, probably. To where? To whom? And what of a crow whose maps were stitched along the eaves and gutters of this particular street?

Ink hopped closer—two precise steps, then a flourish of wing. He stretched his beak towards her palm, not to peck but to press, a brief, deliberate touch. It was nothing, really; it was everything. She laughed—too quickly, perhaps, too brightly—and the sound shook a shard of frost from the sash. For now, she fed him. For now, with the city shaking awake around them, they had this: the shared, improbable grammar of trust.

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

Option A:

Beneath ragged pennants the ring of trampled grass—damp, bruised—waited while the crowd pressed close into a hush. The keep threw a cool shadow across the meadow; the hawthorn hedge snagged the wind and made it whisper, while braziers breathed a thin thread of smoke. Banners beat idly; a hound yawned; a child craned, bright-eyed. The air tasted of apples, iron and horse-sweat.

He came on without ceremony: a lean figure in a smoke-brown jerkin, gauntlet black with oil. Upon his fist perched the hawk, hooded and still. The leather hood was pricked with brass; bells no larger than thimbles chimed as he breathed. Jesses braided like reins hung from narrow ankles; the beak curved in a moonlit hook; the breast, sable-flecked, rose once and stilled.

He bowed to dais and ditch alike, and spoke under his breath—half prayer, half promise. A squire brought the lure, a tuft of wings sewn to leather on a whip of cord. Round and round it began to circle, the faint hiss carving lines through air; round and round, faster now, deliberate and sure.

With a quick twist he slipped the hood. Suddenly the world arrived in the hawk’s eyes: coins of burnt amber, bright, assessing. Feathers unzipped; a shiver ran through the arm and into the glove. Then, with an exact cast, he sent it. It did not fly so much as rise—taken by the wind as a leaf is taken—and it climbed. Small bells spoke; the sky accepted it.

Below, the lure flickered—a false quarry, a promise of meat—and the hawk answered like a dropped blade. The stoop was a plunge, clean and terrible; air cracked. At the last heartbeat the wings burst and the blow landed. Not loud: a thud, a scuff, a thistle-head’s thrum. Feathers flew; dust lifted; someone gasped, then laughed at themselves for gasping.

The falconer was already there, steady, gloved fist set like a post. He offered the titbit; the hawk mantled—possessive, hot with triumph—then settled to feed, neat and fastidious. When he called, it stepped up again, sure as ritual. The hood dropped the day away; darkness closed, and it went quiet. Applause came in ripples, polite and relieved. The ring kept a bright crease in the air, as if a thread still pulled between fist and sky.

Option B:

Dawn arrived without ceremony; a pale sheet of light unrolled across the fields, snagging on hedges, collecting in puddles where last night's rain lay like glass. The yard smelled of hay and something sweet and damp, that green scent that lifts when you pull open a bale. Robins hopped along the stable doors, bright beads in the bleached wood. Morning had a hush, a held breath, as if the whole place waited for a voice.

He whickered when I slid the bolt. Moss turned his great head towards me, ears flicking; the glossy bay of his neck caught that newborn light and threw it back soft as honey. Warm, grassy breath pooled against my palms, his velvet muzzle exploring for apples I didn't have, whiskers tickling at my skin. There was mud hardened on his fetlocks; along his shoulder ran a pale scar like a river on a map. He leaned, just a fraction, as if we shared a secret that didn't need words.

We hadn't started that way. In the first week after we moved—boxes everywhere, voices careful, my father's jacket still on the back of a chair—I found Moss at the far edge of the paddock, a wild shadow under the hawthorns. He'd been passed along, I was told, too quick to startle, too strong for soft hands. Seeds in my pocket, a halter loose, I sat and breathed with him until the distances inside him shrank. Who else listens like this? A horse will hear the tremor you hide behind your smile.

We learned each other's weather. On loud days, when the world felt jagged, I traced slow circles with the dandy brush and watched dust lift in soft galaxies; on quiet days we walked the lanes, his hooves making a patient music against the tarmac. He would lower his head to my chest so I could hear the sea-sound of his breathing. It sounds sentimental, I know, but he steadied me; I steadied him: two creatures choosing not to run.

Today is different. The yard manager has drawn a neat line through his name on the board and pencilled another beside it: VIEWING, 10 a.m. My stomach dips. The world goes on regardless—sparrows skittering—but something in me bristles. I comb his mane until it lies like dark water; I polish his bit until it shines. When I take him out, the frost squeaks and the lane is a ribbon. He watches me watching him. My foot finds the stirrup, my hand the rein; the question rises, quiet and enormous. Will he trust me when it matters?

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

Option A:

Banners stir against the low stone wall as the ring is cleared. A man in a leather jerkin steps into the hush; on his gauntleted fist, a hooded falcon, neat as a secret, quivers. The hood is dark hide, seams oiled; braided jesses hang like thin reins; two bells wink at its ankles. The crowd bunches—children on barrels, a lady in fur-laced sleeves, a smith wiping black hands. Sun pales behind cloud; a breeze is salted by the river. Beneath the hood, the falcon’s breast lifts: the bells tap a private measure.

At first the falconer talks, but softly; his words fray in the wind. His hands say more: he checks the jesses, twists the hood-peg, smooths the nape, and the bird steadies. Meanwhile, a boy tugs at a sleeve as the hood slips off. The eye is a lit coin. The hooked beak gleams, clean as a sickle; dark moustache marks the face like paint. He lifts his arm; his whistle needles the air; the lure—furred and weighted—spins. The falcon leans forward, a tremor travelling through feather and bone. Then it goes.

Above, the sky is a pale bowl; the bird writes on it, widening its circle. The bells are small silver notes. Then—without warning—it folds: down, down, down, a falling stone, an arrow, a thought. The crowd gasps. He swings the lure in a clean loop; the thong hums; dust lifts. The first pass goes wide; the second does not. Feathers strike leather; the falcon mantles, cloak-like wings burying the prize. He is already kneeling, a sliver of meat between finger and thumb; a low word, a trade. The bird swallows; a thin red sheen darkens the glove.

Beyond the ring, banners luff and clatter; rooks coil their calls; smoke from cook-pits tastes of fat and ash. Knights lean to see; peasants breathe out, relieved to have watched skill, not cruelty. Finally, he brings the hood. The bird’s world becomes leather and dark; it stills, obedient, almost ordinary. Bells fall quiet; the crowd breaks into claps, not quite in time. Old craft, older than stone, returns to the fist and to silence.

Option B:

Morning slid down the buildings in a thin silver light; somewhere a kettle clicked, somewhere a sparrow stitched the sky with a scratchy song. Scout pressed his nose to the cold window. His breath made a fern on the glass. I laced my boots; he thumped his tail — that sturdy, ridiculous drum. We had our ritual: leash looped over my wrist, keys pocketed, door sighing open, the stairwell smelling of dust and rain.

The first time I saw him wasn’t in a meadow or a farmyard, but in a corridor that smelt of bleach and biscuits. His kennel card said “mixed breed, nervous,” and his eyes were like coins left too long in a puddle, dull but not finished. He didn’t bark; he watched. The gate clicked, he hesitated. When I lifted my hand, he flinched, and my heart did the same. I didn’t choose him; he chose me. Or maybe we leaned toward each other the way tired people do in a crowded bus — not because it’s perfect, not because it makes sense, but because it keeps you upright.

At first, the world was too loud for him. Lamppost shadows were suspicious; a dropped can was a threat; a man bending to tie his shoe might as well be a storm. He would freeze at the periphery of every doorway, lean back against the leash, tremble. After a while (after pockets full of treats, patience, whole evenings of ridiculous songs whispered into his ruff), he learned my step; I learned his breath. He had two things: a pale scar on his ear and a way of checking the door twice before he slept. Sometimes, when the old fear woke me — that cold weight in the chest that has no name — he pressed his head against my wrist until the dark loosened. My voice softened around his name, and his tail tapped out slow approval.

Now, on mornings like this, our shadows run long and thin along the estate walls; we move together, two stitches in the same seam. The street smells of damp leaves and last night’s takeaway; his paws are a metronome on the pavement. He glances up as the sun drags itself over the roofline, as if to make sure I am still there.

I am. He always is. It isn’t magic, but it feels close.

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

Option A:

The courtyard hummed with voices beneath a pale autumn sun; the smell of oiled leather mingled with raw meat. A circle of straw had been laid; a rope marked the ring. At the centre stood the falconer, his gloved arm steady. On his fist perched the hawk: hooded, still, a folded bundle of feather and hidden fire. Small bells trembled at its ankles and chimed. Children leaned forward. A knight shifted; the faint clink of mail was like tiny rain, and even the dogs went quiet.

The falconer lifted his arm a fraction and spoke a low word. He slid the hood away; the hawk’s eyes flashed, bright as new coins. For a second it measured everything – sky, rope, the lure. The line swung slow then faster—whirr, whirr—an urgent circle. The bird tensed. Then it launched. Wings beat, not frantic but strong; the air seemed to tighten.

It climbed in a small spiral and skimmed the castle wall, a streak of brown and cream written against the blue. The bells became quick music. Down it came; a sudden drop like a stone, then a swerve, as if play and hunger wrestled. The lure flashed. Back and forth, back and forth. The falconer’s arm turned, his stance exact, almost a dance. When the hawk struck it was a thump of feather and leather, then stillness.

He crooned to it, offered a strip of meat; the curved beak worked neatly. A boy clapped too soon, then stopped. People breathed out and smiled. The bird settled on the glove again, fierce and beautiful, yet oddly tame under the thick cuff. Above, the sun slid behind a cloud and the banners stilled. The show was minutes only, but it felt older than the stones: an ancient craft held for a moment in the open air.

Option B:

Dawn spread a thin sheet of light over the canal. Frost clung to the railings like sugar; my breath rose in small clouds as I walked the towpath with my hands buried deep in my coat. Behind me, the soft click of claws tapped a careful rhythm. He kept his distance, as usual, a shadow with ears. When I turned, his eyes caught the pale light and flashed amber, then he looked away as if the water mattered more than me.

I first saw him in November, ribs like pale lines under matted fur, a frayed collar hanging around his neck like a question. He hovered by the bins behind the bakery, trembling at every sudden noise. I didn’t call out. I set a crust down and stepped back; he watched, edged forward, and bolted when a lorry coughed. The next day I tried again. Bread, then sausage, then a bowl of water that shivered in the wind. Little by little he crept nearer. He was like smoke—there, then gone—yet he always returned, as if some thin thread tugged him in my direction.

Weeks passed and our mornings settled into a routine I could almost measure. We met by the broken bench with the peeling green paint. I talked about nothing important: the sharpness of the air, the way the gulls complained, the maths test I probably failed. Words didn’t seem to scare him, not if they were gentle. Sometimes I read out a line from my dog-eared book, and his ears flicked, listening, like he understood the shape of calm.

Now he stands closer than he ever has. The frost has begun to melt into tiny diamond drops, and the path smells like wet iron and leaves. I kneel, palm open. He pauses—nose trembling—then takes one step, and another, and presses the cold leather of his old lead against my hand. It isn’t a trick; it feels like trust. I whisper his new name, the one I only said inside my head. “Patch,” I say. He doesn’t run. He leans into my knee, heavy and certain, as the day slowly lifts.

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

Option A:

Under a pale, milky sun, the castle yard tightens with people. Ropes mark a rough circle; faded banners shake in the breeze. Straw is scattered; a boy with a drum stands awkward; a horn sighs. The smell is a mixture: woodsmoke, horse sweat, oiled leather. In the middle, a space waits. The crowd leans forward; nobody wants to blink.

The falconer walks out, slow and certain, leather creaking. His gauntlet is thick as bark; the bird perches on it like a carved thing. Its hood is velvet, tiny bells at the ankles shiver. Then his voice, low and ceremonial, threads across the ring. He lifts his arm, and the falcon shifts, claws pressing. When the hood is slipped off, the eyes are like coins, bright and careful. The jesses tremble; the bell gives a impatient tink.

First he swings the lure, round and round, a pale scrap on a cord, teasing the air. Dust jumps; banners snap. The falcon launches—sudden, clean, like a flung arrow. It climbs and wheels; it hangs; it stoops. He whistles once, twice; again. The wings bite the wind and the bell chatters. The bird misses, rises, turns, a silver scythe that glints. Then it drives down, faster than thought, a blur.

Finally it strikes; the lure hits the earth; the falcon grips, fierce and neat. The man is there with meat, a steady hand, a quiet murmur. Applause comes late, like rain after thunder. The bird mantles, guarding it's prize, then—almost politely—steps back to the glove.

Option B:

Dawn. The sky was pale and tired; puddles left on the path like little mirrors. Somewhere a bus coughed, a bird shouted, and the town woke up. In the hallway, my dog waited, tail thumping a drumbeat that matched my nervous heart.

I picked up the red lead and my rucksack: water, two biscuits, spare gloves, and the old photo from the day we met. The clip clicked against his collar. Rusty leaned into my leg—warm, solid, a small wall to hold me up. It was only a vet visit, Mum said, but my hands trembled. He looked up, ears soft as folded paper.

When I first saw him at the shelter, he was the dog that didn't bark. Eyes brown as tea; ribs like fence slats. I crouched and he came, not rushing, just brave in a quiet way. I said, 'Hey, mate.' His muzzle settled in my palm. I gave him a name; he gave me a reason to go outside again.

Now, by the door, the radio muttered the weather and the smell of wet fur and toast mixed together. Rusty nudged my hand toward the handle, and I laughed; the tightness in my chest loosened. Maybe he can't understand words, but he understands me. Who rescued who? The question slipped out like steam.

We stepped into the morning. Our steps kept time. His tail flicked, my shoulders lowered, and the town didn't feel so big when there was a warm shoulder against my knee.

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

Option A:

The field below the old stone walls hums with voices. Banners flap and twist, red and gold, like tongues of cloth. The air smells of hay, smoke and roasted meat; dust rises under boots and hooves. A falconer stands in a ring of rope, leather gauntlet held high. His bird sits there, small but fierce, hooded, calm. First the herald cries out, and the chatter wobbles into a careful hush. A lord in fur and men in chainmail watch.

The hood is slipped away. Suddenly the hawk’s eyes flash—yellow, sharp, aware. It flexes and shivers its feathers, a soft rustle like paper. The beak is a hooked knife. Then a clear whistle. The lure spins on a cord, feathers and leather and shine. The bird watches: its head tilts, left, right; it knows. Silence.

It launches. A grey streak, it climbs and curves, wheel after wheel, and the crowd turn with it. Then it drops. Wings tuck, the hawk falls like a stone and at the last moment opens and snatches the dancing lure. Again and again it swoops; again and again the whistle calls. Finally it returns, talons like hooks on the gauntlet, tearing raw meat. People cheer, the lord smiles, the day goes on.

Option B:

Morning. The sky was pale and kind of empty; frost clung to the pavement like sugar. My breath made little clouds in the air as I crossed the yard to the gate. That's when he stepped from behind the bins, a small dog with a torn ear and hopeful eyes. His fur was matted and muddy, but his tail shook like a leaf. I stood very still, even though my hands wanted to reach out. "Hey," I murmured, quiet as I could. He shuffled closer, nose like a cold stone against my wrist.

I didn't plan to keep him, not really, but after that he followed anyway — trotting, patient, like we already knew each other. At the porch he paused, sniffed the old red boots, and then sat. Waiting. It felt strange and also right. How could I leave him? I called him Patch because of the circle round his eye, and he seemed to listen when I said it. We shared toast; he chewed carefully, crumbs on his whiskers. Mum said we shouldn't feed strays, she was probably right, but Patch lay by my shoes and sighed, a long soft sound that went into me.

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

Option A:

The stone yard is quiet. Flags hang on the castle wall, the sun is pale. Smoke rolls and I smell hay and sweat. A trumpit cracks the air.

The falconer stands in brown lether. His glove is high. On it the hawk waits with it's hood and tiny bells. Its eyes are like dark glass when the hood comes off. The beak is a hook. He swings a lure back and forth, back and forth and the bird leans.

He throws his arm and it goes up and up, a thin shadow. It circles the sky, then dives so fast the wings slice and the wind yells. People gasp, some clap, a boy laughs.

It skims low like a knife, then lands on the glove. Bells tinkle. He feeds it meat, red and wet. The banners is shakeing and someone say wow.

Option B:

Morning. The time of damp shoes, quiet streets, wet grass. My breath makes little clouds. The sun is shy behind roofs.

He waits by the gate every day. I come. He comes. A small brown dog with ears like old leaves. His eyes are big and shiny, like buttons. I carry toast and I break it. He takes it gentle. He don't bite, he never does. I say his name, well, it isn't a real name, I just call him Buddy and he looks at me like he knows.

I put my hand out. The fur is rough and warm. My heart feels warm too, like tea. We stand a minute. Cars hum past and the world rush, but me and him we are slow. I think about school but I also think about staying.

Rain starts, tiny pins. He shakes I laugh and then I don't because I know he is outside again tonight.

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

Option A:

The field is busy and noisy, people stand and whisper and some shout. A man wear a thick leather glove and he holds a falcon. The bird has a little hood on its head, it shakes and the bell rings. It smells like hay and smoke. I am hungry. He lifts his arm and the bird jumps, wings open like a door. It goes round and round, up and down, he calls it back. I want to hold it but I am scare, the claws look sharp! Knights watch by the old wall and flags flap.

Option B:

I see the dog by the shop door, rain on its fur like tiny pins he looks up, eyes big and wet. I hold out my hand and he sniff it, then lick. My hand is cold but I feel warm. We walk slow together down the street and I talk to him about school, I lost my lunch. He wags like he get it. His name is just Dog I guess. Mum says we can't keep it but I don't hear her, not really! The bus goes by. I think about leaving I dont want to, he stays next to me close.