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 Padoie must have been almost how old?: fifty – 1 mark
• 1.2 What was round Padoie's skull cap?: a gold cord vandyke design – 1 mark
• 1.3 To what is Padoie's look compared?: Padoie's actions – 1 mark
• 1.4 How are Padoie's speech, gestures and thoughts described?: all were soft – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

Look in detail at this extract, from lines 101 to 115 of the source:

101 knocking at the door. “Dinner is ready, sir:” He went downstairs. In the damp dining-room with the paper peeling from the

106 walls near the floor, he saw a soup tureen on a round table without any table cloth, on which were also three melancholy soup-plates. M. and Mme. Padoie entered the room at the same time as Varajou. They all sat down to table, and

111 the husband and wife crossed themselves over the pit of their stomachs, after which Padoie helped the soup, a meat soup. It was the day for pot-roast. After the soup, they had the beef, which was done to rags, melted,

How does the writer use language here to present the room, the meal and the mood at the table? You could include the writer's choice of:

• words and phrases
• language features and techniques
• sentence forms.

[8 marks]

Question 2 (AO2) – Language Analysis (8 marks)

Explain, comment on and analyse how writers use language and structure to achieve effects and influence readers, using relevant subject terminology to support their views. This question assesses language (words, phrases, features, techniques, sentence forms).

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Shows perceptive and detailed understanding of language: analyses effects of choices; selects judicious detail; sophisticated and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would perceptively analyse how bleak sensory detail and personification present the room: the "damp dining-room" with "paper peeling" and "three melancholy soup-plates", plus the privative phrasing "without any table cloth", suggest neglect and poverty. It would also explore how the meal and table mood are shaped by tautological repetition "soup… a meat soup" and the blunt declarative "It was the day for pot-roast." against degrading imagery "beef… done to rags, melted", while the ritualistic action "crossed themselves over the pit of their stomachs" and cumulative sentence structure slow the pace and intensify oppressive gloom.

The writer uses pre-modified noun phrases and transferred epithet to present the room as neglected and joyless. The alliterative “damp dining-room” saturates the setting with cold and neglect, while “paper peeling” near the floor hints at rising damp and decay. The “round table without any table cloth” signals austerity, stripping away comfort. Most striking is the transferred epithet “three melancholy soup-plates”: attributing sorrow to crockery externalises the household’s despondency, so the furnishings seem to echo the gloom. Even the numeral “three” enforces smallness.

Moreover, the meal is rendered unappealing through repetition and metaphor. The appositive tautology “the soup, a meat soup” sounds clumsy and thin, as if labouring the only richness available; this emphasis underlines scarcity. The clipped declarative “It was the day for pot-roast” evokes a rigid routine devoid of pleasure. Finally, the metaphor “beef… done to rags, melted” degrades the meat into a field of fraying and dissolution that implies overcooking and exhaustion. The trailing participle “melted,” and suspended comma leave the description sagging, like the food itself.

Furthermore, the mood at the table is solemn and mechanical, created by religious lexis and blunt sentence forms. The couple “crossed themselves over the pit of their stomachs”: the visceral noun “pit” connotes emptiness, so piety sits uneasily atop hunger. Elsewhere, clipped declaratives—“Dinner is ready, sir.” “He went downstairs.” “They all sat down to table”—and the slightly archaic “helped the soup” establish deference and routine. Thus the language makes the scene feel joyless, ritualised, and starved of warmth.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: Bleak adjectives and sensory detail present neglect and poverty in the setting: the damp dining-room, the paper peeling from the walls near the floor, and a round table without any table cloth, while the personification three melancholy soup-plates creates a gloomy mood. At the table, the ritualistic image crossed themselves over the pit of their stomachs suggests anxious hunger, and the unappetising food—a meat soup and the beef, which was done to rags, melted—plus the blunt, short sentence It was the day for pot-roast. emphasises monotony and meagreness.

The writer uses bleak adjectives to present the room. The phrase “damp dining-room” uses sensory imagery to suggest cold air, while the verb “peeling” in “paper peeling from the walls” implies neglect and decay. The bare noun phrase “a round table without any table cloth” highlights lack of comfort, and the personification in “three melancholy soup-plates” gives the objects a sad, lifeless tone.

Furthermore, the meal is shown as plain and unappealing through repetition and metaphor. The apposition in “the soup, a meat soup” stresses its ordinariness, while the simple declarative “It was the day for pot-roast” suggests a dull routine. The metaphor “beef… done to rags, melted” compares the meat to worn cloth, making it seem overcooked and tasteless.

Moreover, the mood at the table is sombre and ritualised. The religious verb phrase “crossed themselves” and the image “over the pit of their stomachs” convey piety mixed with hunger, as “pit” has connotations of emptiness. The repeated sequencing, “After the soup… After the soup, they had the beef,” creates a mechanical pace, reinforcing the joyless atmosphere. Overall, the language shows a shabby room, meagre food and a subdued mood.

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 answer would identify negative adjectives and simple details making the setting bleak, like damp dining-room, paper peeling, without any table cloth, with the phrase melancholy soup-plates creating a sad mood; it would also notice basic techniques such as repetition and verb choices about the food (helped the soup, a meat soup; done to rags) to make it sound unappetising, and that the short sentence It was the day for pot-roast. and the couple crossed themselves suggest dull routine and solemnity.

The writer uses gloomy adjectives to present the room. The “damp dining-room” and “paper peeling from the walls” suggest neglect, while the table is “without any table cloth”. Calling the soup-plates “melancholy” is a kind of personification, making the setting feel sad.

Furthermore, the meal is shown as plain and unappealing. The repetition in “soup, a meat soup” emphasises how basic it is. The description of the beef “done to rags, melted” uses metaphor to show it is overcooked and unattractive.

Additionally, the mood at the table feels solemn and routine. The couple “crossed themselves over the pit of their stomachs”, a religious gesture that suggests hunger and seriousness. The short sentence “It was the day for pot-roast” sounds dull and habitual, showing a tired atmosphere at dinner. Overall, the language makes dinner feel dreary and joyless.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses adjectives like damp dining-room and melancholy soup-plates, and details such as paper peeling and without any table cloth, to make the room seem shabby and the mood sad. Simple food words (a meat soup, done to rags) and the short sentence It was the day for pot-roast. show a plain, unappetising meal, while crossed themselves gives a serious feel.

The writer uses adjectives to show the room as gloomy, like “damp dining-room” and “paper peeling”, which makes it seem old and bare, “without any table cloth.” The personification “three melancholy soup-plates” suggests a sad mood at the table. Furthermore, repetition of “soup” and the plain phrase “a meat soup” makes the meal sound simple and unappealing; the beef is “done to rags.” Additionally, the short sentence “It was the day for pot-roast” sounds routine, and the verb choice “crossed themselves” shows a serious, heavy mood.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Auditory cue then curt announcement set a brisk, utilitarian mood (routine over warmth): Dinner is ready, sir:
• Long, cumulative prepositional opening piles drab detail, enclosing the reader in a gloomy space: In the damp dining-room
• Adjectives of decay and plosive alliteration emphasise neglect and discomfort: paper peeling
• Negation stresses absence of comfort/hospitality, making the table feel bare: without any table cloth
• Personification assigns sadness to objects, projecting the table’s mood onto things: melancholy soup-plates
• Formal titles and synchronized movement suggest stiffness and ceremony at the table: sat down to table
• Religious ritual placed over hunger makes the scene uneasy and austere; “pit” implies emptiness: pit of their stomachs
• Redundant repetition foregrounds plain, heavy food and monotony of the meal: a meat soup
• Flat declarative signals routine scheduling, draining any spontaneity or pleasure: the day for pot-roast
• Passive construction and degrading metaphor make the beef unappetising and lifeless: done to rags

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 melancholy?

You could write about:

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

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

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

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Analyses effects of structural choices; judicious examples; sophisticated terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would track how melancholy builds via structural shifts across the whole opening: from the stilted miscommunication and time-drag of 'It lasted a long time, a very long time' (underscored by the repeated, empty judgment 'What a fool!' and hollow courtesies 'very kind of you'), to a bleak exterior ('so sleepy, so calm, so dead', 'desolate harbor'), narrowing into an oppressive domestic close-up ('damp dining-room', 'paper peeling', 'melancholy soup-plates'), showing how cumulative listing, scene transitions, and slowed pacing deepen the desolation.

One way the writer structures melancholy is through a protracted, obstructive opening that dilates time and frustrates expectation. The untranslated exchange—“It lasted a long time, a very long time”—creates temporal elongation and immediately depresses the narrative pace. Focus then narrows to contrasting character sketches: Padoie’s gentleness (“his speech, his gestures, his thoughts, all were soft”) is structurally juxtaposed with Varajou’s repeated free indirect aside, “What a fool!” This refrain, and the sustained focalisation through Varajou, colour the exposition with scorn rather than warmth. Even the sister’s entrance is positioned to deflate—she greets him “without any eagerness” and pivots straight to a “lecture”—so the sequence layers disappointment upon delay.

In addition, the writer engineers a shift in focus from interior spaces to the townscape, but the journey structure intensifies the mood. Varajou “sauntered slowly through the quiet Breton town,” verb choice and adverbials retarding pace. A cumulative, panoramic list—“so sleepy, so calm, so dead”—builds desolation, echoed by bleak markers: “the desolate harbor,” a “lonely, deserted boulevard.” Temporal references (“before five o’clock,” “till dinner time”) punctuate empty hours, while the out-and-back trajectory forms a miniature cyclical movement that suggests entrapment. His thought, “It was a sad idea, my coming here,” simply articulates what the structure has prepared.

A further structural device is the anti-climactic dinner, arranged as a closing tableau. Description is front-loaded—“damp dining-room,” “paper peeling,” “no table cloth,” “three melancholy soup-plates”—an accumulation that primes tone. Ritualised gestures (they “crossed themselves”) underscore barren routine, and the pace stalls as he “ate slowly,” culminating in the tricolon “disgust, weariness and rage.” The final clipped injunction, “Do not stay late,” truncates even the evening’s prospect, the arc from bureaucracy to table contracting into an ever bleaker enclosure.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would clearly track how melancholy builds through shifts in focus and tone: from the baffling language barrier (He spoke French, they spoke Breton) and time-dragging repetition (It lasted a long time, a very long time) to the cool family greeting (without any eagerness) and dead townscape (so sleepy, so calm, so dead, the desolate harbor). It would explain how this linear progression culminates in the bleak dinner details (damp dining-room, melancholy soup-plates), which slow the pace and leave the reader with a flat, downbeat mood.

One way the writer structures the opening to create melancholy is by slowing the pace. The scene begins with miscommunication and the repetition of "a long time, a very long time," which slows time and makes the encounter feel weary. A close focus on Padoie’s slow, soft manner, contrasted with Varajou’s boisterousness, sets up contrast and foreshadows a dreary visit.

In addition, there is a shift in focus from character to setting that deepens the mood. The narrative tracks Varajou’s purposeless walk through Vannes, from "the quiet Breton town" to "the desolate harbor" and a "lonely, deserted boulevard." This outward widening with empty details depresses the atmosphere, while the internal thought "It was a sad idea" fixes the tone in melancholy.

A further structural choice is the narrowing zoom into domestic routine and the steady chronology. Time markers ("before five o'clock", "Dinner is ready") move us into a dull meal, and the zoom to small objects—the "damp dining-room" and "three melancholy soup-plates"—shrinks the world. The ordered sequence (soup, then beef "done to rags… like pap") and ritual crossing create a monotonous rhythm, ending the extract in sustained melancholy.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: At the start, repetition and awkward dialogue like "It lasted a long time, a very long time" and "What a fool!" set a gloomy tone. The focus then moves to bleak setting and final meal details—"so sleepy, so calm, so dead," "desolate harbor," "paper peeling," "melancholy soup-plates"—so the melancholy slowly builds and the place feels lifeless.

One way in which the writer structures melancholy is at the beginning with a slow, awkward conversation. Repetition in “a long time, a very long time” slows the pace. The early focus on Padoie’s plain look and Varajou’s “What a fool!” sets a low, unhappy tone.

In addition, in the middle the focus shifts to setting. Listing like “sleepy… calm… dead” and the “desolate harbor” build a bleak atmosphere. His line “a sad idea, my coming here” shows how the mood deepens as he wanders.

A further structural feature is the ending at dinner. We follow him back inside, creating a closed, routine feeling. Details like “paper peeling” and “melancholy soup-plates” keep the focus dull, and his “weariness and rage” leave a sad final impression.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: At the start, the long wait "It lasted a long time, a very long time" makes it feel slow and sad, then the town is described as "so sleepy, so calm, so dead" to build the melancholy. By the end, the plain dinner with "melancholy soup-plates" keeps the gloom going.

One way the writer has structured the text to create melancholy is at the beginning with a slow pace and repetition. “It lasted a long time, a very long time” makes it feel dull and sad.

In addition, the focus then shifts to the setting in the middle. The description of the town as “sleepy,” “calm,” “dead” and a “desolate harbor” builds the sad mood.

A further structural feature is the end at dinner. The sequence of events and listing (“soup,” then “beef… like pap”) and the “damp dining-room” give a gloomy, empty finish.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Opening miscommunication with the interpreter slows pace and frustrates, establishing weariness: a very long time.
• Early internal repetition of Varajou’s contempt frames a cynical lens, priming a bleak mood: What a fool!.
• Cumulative, slow list of Padoie’s qualities and the general softness create a subdued, inert atmosphere: all were soft.
• The extended, formulaic pleasantries stretch time and feel empty, draining energy: I know, I know..
• Mme Padoie’s restrained greeting adds emotional chill, deepening the melancholy through distance: without any eagerness.
• The lecture sequence shifts power and silences Varajou, intensifying gloom and helplessness: could say nothing.
• Mid-text indecision then solitary wandering widen the melancholy into the setting, climaxing in lifeless triple description: so sleepy, so calm, so dead.
• The failed outing loops back to stasis as he returns early and collapses into sleep, reinforcing futility: threw himself on his bed.
• The dinner tableau foregrounds drab detail to sustain the mood via objects and space: melancholy soup-plates.
• The climax of sensory bleakness in the meal and his response seals the tone with heaviness: with disgust, weariness and rage.

Question 4 - Mark Scheme

For this question focus on the second part of the source, from line 81 to the end.

In this part of the source, the description of the greasy, disgusting meal makes the visit feel miserable. The writer suggests that Varajou’s family life is just as bleak and unwelcoming as the town he hates.

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

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of Varajou's bleak and unwelcoming family life
• comment on the methods the writer uses to portray the miserable family meal
• support your response with references to the text. [20 marks]

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

Evaluate texts critically and support with appropriate textual references.

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed evaluation) – 16–20 marks Perceptive ideas; perceptive methods; critical detail on impact; judicious detail. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would largely agree, evaluating how the writer crafts a domestic scene that mirrors the town’s deadness through a semantic field of decay and ritual emptiness, while noting that the day for pot-roast signals routine that reinforces monotony rather than warmth. It would select and analyse precise details—the damp dining-room, paper peeling, and three melancholy soup-plates; the repellent beef... done to rags, melted, greasy, like pap as symbolic of the household; Varajou ate slowly, with disgust, weariness and rage; and the mechanical piety of crossed themselves over the pit of their stomachs alongside the clipped “Do not stay late.”—to show how sensory imagery, symbolism and terse dialogue intensify the misery.

I largely agree that the grotesquely greasy meal renders the visit miserable, and that the writer aligns Varajou’s family life with the same bleak, unwelcoming tone as the town; however, much of this bleakness is filtered through Varajou’s jaundiced perception, which the narrative carefully foregrounds.

The section opens with indecision—he “hesitated as to whether he should sleep or take a walk”—establishing an aimless mood that colours what follows. The asyndetic tricolon “so sleepy, so calm, so dead,” reinforced by anaphoric “so,” creates a semantic field of lifelessness; each increment moves from mere quiet to the finality of “dead,” intensifying the impression of sterility. Paired descriptors—“desolate harbor,” “lonely, deserted boulevard”—double down on emptiness. The free indirect comment, “It was a sad idea, my coming here,” further signals that the gloom is mediated by Varajou’s mindset. Structurally, his circular journey out and back “before five o’clock,” then the slump—“He threw himself on his bed”—prepares a descent from external barrenness to internal domestic drabness.

Inside, the dining room is rendered through tactile, dilapidated detail: “damp,” “paper peeling,” and a “round table without any table cloth.” The absence of a cloth functions almost as a synecdoche for a lack of hospitality; the personified “three melancholy soup-plates” imbue the objects with the emotional tonality of the scene, extending the pathetic atmosphere indoors. The religious ritual—husband and wife “crossed themselves over the pit of their stomachs”—is edged with anticlerical irony: “pit” connotes hollowness and bodily need, undercutting any warmth of shared piety and suggesting empty form rather than welcome. The curt declarative “It was the day for pot-roast” conveys mechanical routine and anticipates disappointment.

The meal itself is a vivid exercise in sensory disgust. The beef is “done to rags, melted, greasy, like pap”: the rag metaphor degrades the meat to waste; “greasy” evokes cloying tactility; the simile “like pap” infantilises the food, denying adult pleasure. Mirroring his earlier “sauntered slowly,” Varajou “ate slowly, with disgust, weariness and rage”—a tricolon of escalating affect that makes the act of eating feel punitive. Dialogue is sparse and functional: “Are you going to the judge’s house…?” “Yes, dear.” “Do not stay late.” The clipped exchange and domestic injunction suggest a life governed by propriety and small-town routine rather than warmth, reinforcing the unwelcoming tone.

Overall, the writer deftly orchestrates a progression from a “dead” town to a “damp” home and a “greasy” meal, using personification, sensory imagery, and structural echo to make the visit feel wretched. While the bleakness is intensified by Varajou’s own discontented lens, the domestic world is nevertheless presented as equally drab and uninviting. I therefore agree to a large extent with the statement.

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 mostly agree that the writer presents Varajou’s family life as bleak and unwelcoming—mirroring the town he hates—by explaining how grim setting and sensory detail make the meal feel miserable. It would cite the 'damp dining-room' with 'paper peeling', a table 'without any table cloth' and 'three melancholy soup-plates', the meat 'done to rags, melted, greasy, like pap', and him eating 'with disgust, weariness and rage', while noting the ritual 'crossed themselves over the pit of their stomachs' and curt 'Do not stay late' to suggest cold routine rather than warmth.

I largely agree that the greasy, disgusting meal makes the visit feel miserable, and that the writer presents Varajou’s family life as just as bleak and unwelcoming as the town he hates.

First, the writer establishes a desolate tone in the setting, which prepares us for the domestic gloom to come. The town is described through a cumulative list of negatives: “so sleepy, so calm, so dead,” and the “desolate harbor” and “lonely, deserted boulevard” reinforce a semantic field of emptiness. Varajou’s own line, “It was a sad idea, my coming here,” sets the evaluative lens through which we then view the household, creating structural continuity from external bleakness to internal.

Inside, the dining room is depicted with damp, decaying imagery: “the paper peeling from the walls near the floor,” a “round table without any table cloth,” and “three melancholy soup-plates.” The personification of the plates as “melancholy” and the tactile adjective “damp” suggest neglect rather than warmth, making the space unwelcoming. The ritual detail that the couple “crossed themselves over the pit of their stomachs” adds to the sombre, bodily unease; the unusual phrasing foregrounds hunger and habit, not hospitality.

The food itself intensifies the misery. The beef is “done to rags, melted, greasy, like pap”: the simile and sensory imagery make the meal infantile and repellent. Varajou’s reaction—he ate “with disgust, weariness and rage”—is a triadic list that crystallises his misery. Dialogue is sparse and perfunctory. “It was the day for pot-roast” implies a dull routine, and Mme. Padoie’s “Do not stay late” reads as duty rather than affection, suggesting emotional coldness.

Overall, I agree to a great extent. Through bleak setting, decaying domestic imagery, and repulsive food description, the writer makes the visit feel miserable and suggests Varajou’s family life mirrors the unwelcoming town. If there is any nuance, it is that the family’s piety hints at their own comfort, but for Varajou—and the reader—the effect is unrelentingly bleak.

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 with the writer’s viewpoint, picking obvious negative details like the 'damp dining-room', 'paper peeling', 'round table without any table cloth', the 'beef...greasy, like pap', and Varajou’s 'disgust, weariness and rage' to show a bleak, unwelcoming family life. It might also mention the 'three melancholy soup-plates' as a simple example of how the meal is made to feel miserable.

I mostly agree with the statement. The writer makes the visit feel miserable through bleak description, and Varajou’s family life seems as unwelcoming as the town.

First, the setting outside is presented as dull and lifeless. The list “so sleepy, so calm, so dead” and the adjective “desolate” for the harbor create a negative tone. The repetition of “so” emphasises how empty Vannes feels. This prepares us for the same mood inside the house, so the structure moves from a bleak town to a bleak home.

Inside, the dining-room is described with gloomy detail. The adjectives “damp” and “peeling” suggest neglect, and the lack of a “table cloth” makes it feel mean and bare. The personification of the “three melancholy soup-plates” shows how even the objects seem sad, which adds to the miserable atmosphere.

The food itself is made to sound disgusting using sensory imagery. The beef is “done to rags, melted, greasy, like pap”: the simile “like pap” makes it seem soft and sickly. This supports the idea that the meal is unappetising and depressing. The writer also tells us Varajou “ate slowly, with disgust, weariness and rage,” which clearly shows his misery.

Finally, the family life appears cold and routine. M. and Mme. Padoie “crossed themselves over the pit of their stomachs,” which feels mechanical, and their brief dialogue (“Do not stay late”) is formal. There is a hint of care, but not warmth.

Overall, I agree to a large extent. Through bleak setting, negative adjectives, personification and simile, the writer presents a miserable visit and a family atmosphere as bleak as the town.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: I agree, as the family meal feels miserable and unwelcoming: a damp dining-room with paper peeling from the walls, without any table cloth, and melancholy soup-plates, plus beef that is greasy, like pap, making Varajou eat with disgust. This supports the view that his family life is as bleak as the town he hates.

I mostly agree with the statement. The greasy, disgusting meal makes the visit feel miserable, and the family life shown seems bleak, like the town he hates.

First, the town is presented with negative adjectives and repetition: “so sleepy, so calm, so dead.” The harbor is “desolate” and the boulevard “lonely, deserted,” which makes it seem empty and dull. Varajou even says, “Vannes is certainly not gay,” showing his low mood.

Then at dinner, the description makes it feel worse. The “damp dining-room” with “paper peeling” and a table “without any table cloth” gives a bare, unwelcoming feeling. The “three melancholy soup-plates” also sound sad. The meat is “done to rags… greasy, like pap,” using a simile to show how nasty it is. Varajou eats “with disgust, weariness and rage,” which tells us he is miserable.

The family seems cold. M. and Mme. Padoie just cross themselves and talk politely: “Are you going to the judge’s house?” and “Do not stay late.” There is no warmth.

Overall, I agree that the greasy meal and dull setting make the visit miserable, and the family life is bleak and unwelcoming like the town. The writer’s imagery and simple details about the room and food help to create this miserable mood.

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:

• Bleak setting detail makes the home feel neglected and unwelcoming, reinforcing a miserable visit (damp dining-room).
• Sparse, unadorned table signals poor hospitality and emotional coldness, not a warm family welcome (without any table cloth).
• Personification projects sadness onto the objects, making the meal itself feel joyless and oppressive (melancholy soup-plates).
• Ritual over warmth: mechanical piety suggests dutiful routine rather than affectionate family bonds (over the pit of their stomachs).
• Disgusting texture imagery makes the food repellent, so the meal becomes a trial rather than comfort (melted, greasy, like pap).
• Tricolon of emotions foregrounds Varajou’s misery, pushing the reader to agree the visit feels wretched (disgust, weariness and rage).
• Flat, matter-of-fact tone implies dreary routine, with no effort to make the guest feel special (day for pot-roast).
• Domestic dialogue excludes the visitor, hinting at indifference and a lack of warmth in the household (Do not stay late.).
• Yet conventional provision remains; the presence of a proper serving piece tempers an absolute judgment (soup tureen).

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

A national farming journal is inviting young people to contribute creative pieces.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Describe a sheepdog trial 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 farmer 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 field holds its breath. Dew stipples the grass; a pale, washable sky lies thin as muslin over the slope. White gates punctuate the hillside; little flags prick the edges. By the low tape, tweed and thermos flasks settle, murmuring. There is the resinous tang of lanolin and the faint iron of mud. The judge stands with clipped patience—pencil, stopwatch, a small nod.

At the post the handler is a silhouette with a whistle; beside him the black-and-white dog crouches, all coil and contained electricity. One word, almost swallowed, and the bright note cuts the cold: he is away. He pours himself into the grass, a dark comma moving on the page of the hill, skirting the hedgerow in a wide, proper arc. For a heartbeat he vanishes behind a fold; a second whistle; he reappears higher, further, wider.

At the top, five sheep—shoulders touching, ears angled—are haloed with a trembling of light. They feel him before they see him: the pressure is geometry, invisible, unwavering. He slows. Head low, he lifts them with a breath; they rise and flow downhill as if the slope itself were tipping them. The fetch line should be a thread pulled tight to the handler’s boots; it is almost, not quite, perfect. A ewe flicks out; a skitter of hoof, a thin bleat; he corrects with a feathered flank, and they slip between the first posts.

Then the work becomes intricate. The drive asks for angles and patience: out to the left set of uprights, across the face of the hill to the right, back to the pen. The whistles are a language—long, rising, clipped, imperative—and the dog answers with intervals of stillness and sudden, exact momentum. He drifts crabwise, then drops prone; he breathes; he edges. It is choreography pretending to be farming; chess played with wool and weather.

In the shedding ring a chalk circle brightens the trampled grass. Two must be let go; three must be held. The handler’s voice, barely above the breeze, threads the gap: 'There.' The dog steps in with a patient cut, eye like a blade; wool parts. One barges, then thinks better; another hesitates; a gap appears—the right gap—and the pair slide free. Now the pen waits, a small square with a stubborn gate. Man slow, dog slower; the sheep collect. A pause, a hush (and nobody coughs); the latch whispers shut.

Only then does sound remember itself: a modest patter of applause. On the hillside the dog shakes, flinging a constellation of dew, and leans into the hand that finds his skull. He does not care for points; he cares for permission. Beyond the tape the wind combs the pasture, carrying the warm, clean smell of flock. The field exhales. For a minute, the whole hill seems trained.

Option B:

Dawn. The hour when the fields exhale a thin, pearly breath over the hedges; when roofs bead with cold and tractors squat, patient and enormous; when the blackbird tries the first notes and the yard remembers stillness. The barn door, swollen with yesterday’s rain, complains softly under my palm. Diesel, hay, lanolin—these are the fragrances that open the day, that ribbon through the air. Beyond the gate, the hillside lifts its brindled back and the sheep are commas on a grey page. It is not glamorous, this hour, but it is unarguably ours.

He sidles from his bed before I speak, as if he can read the scratch of my thoughts: Moss—part shadow, part quicksilver—shakes off sleep and pads to the door. 'Up, lad,' I murmur, though we both know he is already up. His ears, tattered by years of weather, tilt to the whistle I keep caged behind my teeth. I lace my boots—double knot; always double—and the ache in my knuckles flares, a weather system in miniature. We step out together, and the air bites, clean, exacting; January has not yet learned mercy.

We have worked an alphabet of fields, he and I: Ash Mead, Barley Piece, Copse End. A glance, a click of the tongue, a sibilant note—Moss draws a circle round the flock as if he were writing my name on the land. Years ago he was all skitter and dazzle, a spilled handful of night; now his muzzle is salted and his runs are measured, but the cleverness has deepened like a well. Truthfully, I talk to him more than I talk to most men.

A ewe has started early—she stands wide-eyed under the hawthorn, labour sawing through her in that merciless gentleness nature knows. Storm-bellied clouds crowd the crest. We need them in. I let the whistle go; it threads the fog, thin and bright. Moss flows, not runs, skimming the rough like a stitch: drawing the line, yielding then pressing, creating order from scatter. At the brook he falters—last spring it took his leg—so I wade first. 'Come on, lad,' I call. He looks to me, then leaps. The water takes nothing this time.

In the byre, straw lifts in golden motes; the ewe lowers, groans, and we move as we always have—me with rope and iodine, he with patience (yes, dogs can be patient) and a watchfulness that feels like prayer. Outside, the wind begins its argument with the tin roof. Inside, there is only breath and the slick astonishment of new life. I press my palm to Moss’s head. He leans into it, that ancient, uncomplicated trust. Every day demands the same things; every day gives something different. Today it gives this: not a miracle exactly, but near enough.

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

Option A:

Dawn rinses the field with thin, silver light; dew beads cling to each blade like patient stars. White hurdles stitch a geometry at the far hedge, and a flimsy pen waits as if unsure of its importance. Beyond, the hill tilts, patched with thistle and late-summer watercolour; the crowd lines the rope, boots dark with damp, breath rising in ghostly banners. The smell is green and woolly—cut grass, lanolin, soil.

The handler stands still, hat square, a whistle looped like a small talisman; beside him the dog is already an idea more than an animal, a black-and-white comma paused at the end of a line. A breath, a nod; the whistle peals, not loud, but thin and precise. At once the dog pours across the turf, low and sinuous—a dropped shadow sliding over the damp. The arc he chooses is wide so he never presses too soon.

High on the bank the sheep lift their heads together, as if some invisible string has tugged. They are clouds with minds, and they skitter, then stall. The handler is mute—he is all patience and posture—while the dog completes the outrun, balance exact. A trill, a sharp chirrup: the sheep begin to flow, reluctantly, towards the centre. How does a whistle mean turn, stop, steady to a creature like this? It simply does; it has been written into his muscle.

On the drive the field becomes a diagram. The flock must pass through one gate, then another, then sweep left: the line is invisible but absolute. The dog sculls behind them, never biting, never panicking; he is pressure, silence, eye. When one ewe edges out, obstinate as a stuck drawer, he flanks and she folds back. For a heartbeat it seems mechanical, practised, and then the shed arrives. The handler walks in, slow as shade; the dog holds, then yields. Space opens, narrow, fleeting. The command snaps; two white bodies peel away, a clean seam.

Now the pen: a square of rails, a hinge that complains. The flock stutters at the mouth, feeling the pinch; wool brushes wood, a warm, greasy rasp. The handler stays still, arms loose; the dog edges one pace—only one—and the last ewe steps through because there is nowhere else left to believe in. The gate shuts with a competent click, a small sound that seems enormous. Applause breaks, quick and bright. The dog returns at a trot, tail a metronome, and leans into the hand at his ruff. The field inhales, and settles.

Option B:

Dawn unstitched the black seam of night, one pale thread at a time, until the fields wore a fine hem of frost. The hedges held their breath; the pond gleamed with a thin skin of ice; crows sketched ragged hieroglyphs against a whitening sky. The yard smelled of diesel, cold iron and sweet hay. Ewan stood in the doorway of the long barn and listened to the quiet the way some men listen to a sermon. His breath lifted in small ghosts. Somewhere close, a bucket chimed, then stilled.

Bracken lifted her head before he spoke. Light found the map of old scars along her shoulder, a river-vein of pale against brindled brown. He slid his hand along her neck, slow as reading Braille, and felt the latent heat under winter coat; she breathed into his palm—warm, apple-sweet, a fugitive summer that contradicted the frost. “Steady, girl,” he said, because ritual matters, because certain words are a gate you go through every morning. She flicked an ear, catching his voice as neatly as a dropped coin.

They had learned each other’s grammar long before the tractor arrived (and when it came it was loud, efficient, impatient). There was a time they drew a furrow so straight it felt like an oath; the ploughshare went on singing while the sun climbed and fell and climbed again. When the blizzard took the track and made the moor an indistinct palimpsest, she found the buried path by instinct; he pressed his face into the hot shelter of her neck and let her hooves drum a cadence he trusted more than his own judgment. He had lifted stones from her frog and she had stood like a saint; he had watched her sleep on her feet, twig-fragile and iron-strong all at once. If anyone had asked, he would not have called it love—too simple a word for something built from mornings, and mud, and a thousand small obediences.

He checked her hooves, breath feathering; picked out a flake of grit; tightened the worn leather and felt the memory in it, that long, oiled patience. The halter sat like a sentence around her head—subject, verb, object—and they moved as if punctuation could hold them together. “Work’s gentle today,” he murmured. “Orchard patch, that’s all.” Who else would wait for him like this; who else would turn at his voice and believe the day because he had named it?

On the kitchen table, a letter waited—a bank’s tidy threat folded into polite paper. In his pocket, his son’s text glowed: Auction Friday? Think. He knew both would require an answer, but not yet. He led Bracken into morning, frost crackling under their boots and hooves, and the light came looser, kinder, across the field. Between one hoofbeat and the next, the farm remembered how to breathe.

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

Option A:

The valley holds its breath as morning lifts a pale mist from the grass. The field, a rectangle between dry stone walls, waits. Beyond, blunt-backed hills sit quiet; sheep speckle the slopes like foam. A whistle glints at the handler’s throat. Flags twitch; the sour-sweet smell of lanolin mixes with damp earth and a faint thread of diesel.

At first, the dog is only an idea: a black-and-white comma pressed into the turf. Then the first note—thin, staccato—skims the field and he flows out, belly low, ears pricked. The flock bunches, then wavers by the wall. Two crisp pips send him wide; he gathers them without hurry.

Meanwhile, the crowd murmurs itself quiet. Steam curls from paper cups. The handler barely moves, a statue in a flat cap, eyes narrowed. The whistle rises again, drawing a line the dog can see. He slides left, then right, stitching the ewes together; the needle is his stare.

Now the course asks more: fetch, drive, cross-drive. White gates bracket the grass. The dog writes an S, ferrying the sheep through invisible lanes. Hooves thud; the judge watches, unsmiling, chalk ticking into a ledger.

Finally, the pen: a square of metal with its mouth open, obstinate. The sheep hesitate, eyes bright, suspicion almost human. The dog stops—stone, shadow—and holds them, pressure without push. One ewe edges forward; the others sway with her, drawn by doubt. The handler whispers to the air. The gate swings; for a breath, everything balances. Click. The bar drops; a rough rain of clapping shakes the morning.

The whistle falls silent; wind and crows return, and the valley breathes again.

Option B:

Dawn arrived like a pale coin pressed to the horizon; the fields took its cool shine. The yard smelled of wet hay and diesel, of earth turned and turned again. A blackbird tried out a brave note from the ash tree; somewhere a trough glugged, content. Tom pulled his cap low against the thin wind and let the gate latch fall with a familiar click. In the long, bleached grass beyond the wall, a ewe lifted her head. She watched him the way some people read a face—carefully, patiently, as if the morning might tell her something important. He did not whistle. He did not need to. Willow was already stepping towards him.

He shook the blue bucket and the pellets rattled like dry rain. Others would come, clattering and breathy, but Willow was always first. Not greed, not really; it was habit, and trust built like a wall—stone by careful stone. Tom crouched and laid his palm on her forehead. The fleece at the base of her ears was still damp, smelling faintly of lanolin and last night’s drizzle. A thin white scar crossed the bridge of her nose. He remembered when she had been a fist-sized lamb, found rigid by the hedge in a storm. Because of that night: a world made of snow and noise. He had carried her inside, held her under the red glow of the lamp, fed her by the teaspoon.

“Come on, love,” he murmured, standing. Willow butted his knee, almost playful—almost. Age had settled into her like silt, soft but relentless. The vet had said she should be retired; Tom had agreed, then kept counting days anyway. She followed as he walked the hedge-line, boots sinking, crows jerking up from the hawthorn like soot. Beyond the kink in the field the ground dipped into a hollow where water collected; he knew she would hesitate there, and she did, hooves skidding, head swung to him like a question. “Steady, girl.” She steadied. It wasn’t magic. It was a plaited thing: winter and work, patience and the regular music of his voice. And it held—for now.

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

Option A:

The field spreads like a green sheet, folded by stone walls and dotted with white backs. A wind moves over the grass; it lifts flag ends and the edge of jackets. The air smells of damp earth and sheep. A wooden pen waits like a square puzzle. A judge watches under a flat cap, clipboard tight to his chest, while spectators cradle warm flasks. Beside them the handler stands still, one hand on a crook, the other with a silver whistle between his teeth.

At the first note—thin and high—the collie explodes and then sinks, a black-and-white blur turned into a low shadow. He skims the field in a wide arc, tail low, ears pricked, gathering the edge of the flock. The sheep lift their heads as one; their eyes look glassy and mild. Another whistle: longer now, coaxing. He adjusts, a careful step, stop-start, never blinking. Dew darkens his fur; his paws make soft prints. The line begins to curl toward the handler and the first gate, red and square. Two quick trills, and the dog slides left, the sheep bunching. One ewe tries to bolt. A sharper call pins her; he flanks her neatly, ushering her back. Metal scrapes as they pass through. Then the drive—up the slope, across the wind, and down again—holds everyone quiet.

Near the pen the work turns smaller and slower. The handler steps forward, crook lifted like a hinge, and opens the gate just wide. "Steady, steady," he breathes, though the dog is already steady—statue-still, only the eyes alive. The sheep hesitate; hooves click on wood. For a moment it could all spill apart. Then they flow in, suddenly simple. The latch drops with a tidy clack. Applause breaks; the dog shakes off the dew, and the whistle's echo slides back into the quiet.

Option B:

Morning. The kind that arrives softly; a thin skin of mist over the fields, pale light unrolling behind the hedges. The grass was wet and cold underfoot, and the breath of the cows hung like small clouds. Somewhere a cock crowed too late, as if embarrassed. The yard was quiet, you could hear the slow drip from the rusty tap and the creak of the gate as wind nudged it with lazy fingers.

Tom pulled on his old coat and felt in the pocket for the whistle. It was smooth from years of thumb and teeth. “Come on, Meg,” he said, and the collie rose from her square of straw by the door. She stretched, thin as a shadow, then came to heel so close his boot brushed her side. Her ears tilted towards him, quick and loyal, and he scratched the pale mark on her neck where the hair never quite grew back. They had walked this track since she was a bundle, twice the trouble and half the size; now they moved in a rhythm that didn’t really need words.

The path climbed to the east pasture, where the flock waited, fretting and nibbling. Tom shook the gate and it rasped open. Two short notes on the whistle, then one long: the language they shared. Meg flowed away over the grass, not running but pouring, as if she was made of the hill itself. “Steady,” he called. She paused, lowered herself, eyes locked. A breath, a beat, then she slipped left to turn an impatient ewe and brought them on, neat as knitting. The sky lifted; pale and shy.

He was not a man to talk much. He didn’t need to. When he clicked his tongue, she knew. When she glanced back, he knew what she asked. Today, a lamb bawled from the far corner by the ditch—thin and panicky. Tom’s heart did its old quick skip. He whistled once, sharp. Meg went like an arrow, then slowed, cautious, as the ground turned muddy and the ditch widened under bracken.

“Easy, girl,” he murmured, fingers tight around the gate post. She turned the lamb with a quiet arc and eased it away from the black water. Tom let out the breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding. The morning felt warmer. They stood there for a moment, man and dog, breaths showing, listening to the flock settle down again, and even the gate seemed to keep still.

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

Option A:

The field is a patchwork of trampled green and yellow, with a white gate like a picture frame near the far hedge. A rope keeps the spectators back; they lean and murmur, tea steaming in the cool breath of morning. The judge taps a clipboard and the handler stands side-on, flat cap low, whistle bright on a string. At his heel waits the dog, coiled, eyes burning. The crowd hold their breath. Then a short whistle — thin as a knife — snips the quiet in two.

The sheep hesitate, three pale clouds that don’t know the sky. They bob, they bunch. The dog slides away in a wide arc, belly near the grass, like a shadow with heartbeat. He’s not touching them, yet he presses with his stare. Another whistle, longer: heads swing, the flock turning, awkward, stubborn. Hooves click on stones, warm breath huffs. The handler barely moves; one hand lifts and the dog answers. It pauses; it waits; it creeps. Backwards, forwards, side to side, the line gets straighter.

Now the course sharpens: posts to thread, a tight turn, the pen like a square mouth. The dog keeps low and steers them past the red markers. One ewe breaks; he darts to block her and she folds back. The whistle softens. Through the gate they shuffle, backs brushing wood. A click of the latch. Done. For a heartbeat there is only wind and the dog panting. Then applause wakes the field. The handler smiles, hand on his head; the number on the board feels like relief.

Option B:

Dawn slid over the hills in a pale ribbon, light catching on wet grass and the tin roofs of the barns. The sun was thin, it hung like a coin above the hedges. Tom pulled on his boots and his old cap, steam lifting from his mug like breath from a quiet horse. The yard yawned; doors creaked, a hen scratched, the smell of hay sat warm in the cold. Before he spoke, Moss was there—black and white, her ears sharp as arrows. He clicked his tongue. She leaned against his shin for a second, as if a shadow could be solid.

They took the path to the lower field, frost crunching, crows gossiping on the fence posts. At the gate, Tom whistled once; Moss slid along the hedge like water, eyes fixed, body low. Their rules were simple: one whistle meant watch; two meant gather. No words: just the thin silver sound and the lift of his hand. How did she know him so well?

Last winter, when he slipped on ice by the stream and the day went iron-grey, she found him and barked until someone heard, then lay her warm weight against his side. He had never forgot that. He knows that her resiliant little heart beats for this place, and for him.

Today there were lambs to check, fences to mend, the sky already clearing. But first the small ceremony: the look, the nod, the breath they shared before the work began.

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

Option A:

The field is neat with white posts and a small pen. The grass is wet and sweet; it shines under a thin sun. People line the fence, hats and mugs balanced, voices low, as if the air might crack. At the far end, three sheep shuffle like lumps of cloud. The handler stands still with a whistle, and the dog crouches, eyes bright, body tight like a wound spring.

A short whistle cuts the quiet. The dog slides off the mark, not wild, but smooth. Left, right, stop: tiny notes, yet strong. The sheep twitch, then drift together, a small flock; dust rises. Suddenly one edges away. The dog drops, crawls, then bursts, pushing it back without a touch. The crowd breathes as one—strange, how silence can be loud. Meanwhile the handler watches, hardly blinking.

Then the turn through the gates and the tight pen. Time ticks. The handler barely moves, only whistling and pointing, like a conductor. The dog keeps the edge, sweeping the line. One last nudge and the sheep flow forward, hooves clicking, a soft thunder. They hesitate at the mouth: a pause. Another whistle, sharper. In they go. The flag lifts; clapping starts, and the dog finally lets out a sigh.

Option B:

Morning came slow over the fields. Mist lay like a pale blanket on the lane, and the tin roof clicked as the sun touched it. Tom slid back the stable bolt with his stiff, cold fingers. He didn’t have to call. A soft thud of hooves, a warm breath on his sleeve: Rusty was already there. The horse pushed his head against Tom’s chest, as if to say hurry up. Tom smiled, tired but glad. Who else would listen for hooves before sunrise?

"Easy, lad," he whispered, rubbing the white star on Rusty’s forehead. The mane was tangled and smelled of hay and rain. He checked the old scar on the fetlock, the one from last winter when the ice cracked and the ditch swallowed them both. Back then Tom had pulled and shouted and prayed; now the horse stood, patient and solid, while Tom buckled the worn leather. Outside, the wind tugged at the hedges. The day would be long.

But first, he let Rusty choose the way to the gate. It was their little habit, a kind of promise between them. If the mud sucked at his boots, Tom leaned into the shoulder beside him, and Rusty leaned back.

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

Option A:

The field is wide and green and a bit muddy. The dog sits by the man in a cap. A sharp whistle cuts the air and makes me jump. The sheep huddle like clouds on the ground, white and twitchy. People stand along the fence, some of them shiver, the wind keeps pushing.

Then the dog goes. I dont blink. He runs fast like a arrow, round and round the flock. The sheep slide together and they stop, then they go again, little hooves thudding, baas spilling out. The man whistles again and lifts his stick, he is calm but the dog is not.

They move to the gate and the pen. It takes ages. I smell wet grass and sheep wool. The dog turns there heads and they go in at last and the crowd claps, it feels warm in the cold. The man pats there dog, job done.

Option B:

Morning came slow over the field. The grass was wet and cold. The farmer, Tom, pulled on his boots. The barn door stuck and he pushed hard, it creaked.

He talked to the cow. Daisy, with the big soft eyes. She breathed warm air on his hand. He smiled. He said "Come on girl." He said it every day like a song. He felt it in his chest.

Mud on his socks.

He was alone out there but not lonely. The cow followed him like a shadow. He fed her and brushed her coat. His hands were rough but he was gentle. The wind was like a friend and like a enemy it pushed his back and then it was quiet.

He thought about when she was small. He had held her, she was shaking. Now she was strong. He was older, too. The bond was simple and it stay.

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

Option A:

The field is green and flat and the sheep are in a bunch. The dog runs low, it sneaks like a black shadow. The man with a hat has a whistle, he shouts, he points. I hear the whistle it is sharp in my ear and the sheep go left then right, back and forward, back and forward. Dust goes up and the dog circles, it pants, it's tongue out. A gate is open and they try to get them through but one sheep stops and looks at me and the dog barks it keeps barking. The wind smells like grass and wool and chips, I am hungry.

Option B:

I'm a farmer and the morning is cold and wet. I walk in the yard I call the cow she come slow. She is brown and big, her eyes look at me like she know me. I touch her neck it is warm like a blanket. Come on girl, come on, I say, and we go to the field. We was friends since she was a calf by the gate last winter. I think about the snow and the small body in the straw. The radio in the kitchen still on but I forgot my tea. You hear her breath and my breath it feel safe.