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

Mark Scheme

Introduction

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

Level of response marking instructions

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

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

Step 1 Determine a level

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

Step 2 Determine a mark

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

Advice for Examiners

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

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

SECTION A: READING - Assessment Objectives

AO1

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

AO2

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

AO3

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

AO4

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

SECTION B: WRITING - Assessment Objectives

AO5 (Writing: Content and Organisation)

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

AO6

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

Answers

Question 1 - Mark Scheme

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

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

• 1.1 How does the narrator describe Ruby?: A reliable horse the narrator knew well – 1 mark
• 1.2 According to the extract, how does the narrator regard Ruby?: The narrator and Ruby are long-standing partners who share trust and understanding. – 1 mark
• 1.3 According to the narrator, what is true about travelling with Ruby?: The narrator trusts Ruby completely. – 1 mark
• 1.4 Why does the narrator choose Ruby for the journey?: Ruby is the narrator's most reliable horse. – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

Look in detail at this extract, from lines 36 to 45 of the source:

36 We were barely half-way across, when, suddenly, coming out of the darkness, riding half hidden in the boiling, whirling tide, a huge floating tree struck the boat with a thud that parted the rotten guy-rope, and carried us floating down the stream. For a moment there seemed no danger, but a branch of the tree

41 had caught the corner of the boat, and the pulleys had become entangled in the rope. When this had been drawn to its full length, and the tree felt the strain, the boat dipped to the current, filled, and sank under our feet. I called to Wettstein to take Klitschka by the tail, but it was too late; he had grasped the saddle with the desperation of a drowning man, and made her fairly

How does the writer use language here to build a sudden sense of danger and confusion? 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 the adverbial and participial openings (suddenly, coming out of the darkness), violent sensory imagery (boiling, whirling tide, struck the boat with a thud) and personification (the tree felt the strain) create immediate peril, while the contrast (For a moment there seemed no danger, but), the entrapment of the pulleys had become entangled, and cumulative, polysyndetic clauses culminating in the tricolon dipped to the current, filled, and sank mirror escalating confusion, capped by the inevitability of but it was too late and the emotive desperation of a drowning man.

The writer immediately establishes danger through adverbial and sensory choices. “Barely” and “suddenly” foreground how quickly safety evaporates, while the participial pile-up “coming out of the darkness, riding half hidden in the boiling, whirling tide” creates a swirling, kinetic blur that mirrors the river’s turbulence and the characters’ disorientation. The onomatopoeic “thud,” with its harsh plosive, shocks the reader as the “huge floating tree” strikes; calling the rope “rotten” foreshadows failure, and the passive “carried us floating down the stream” underlines their helpless loss of control.

Moreover, sentence form intensifies confusion. The false reassurance in “For a moment there seemed no danger, but” uses an adversative conjunction to pivot abruptly back into threat, while the entrapment lexis—“caught,” “entangled,” “strain”—builds a semantic field of snaring. The subordinate time clause “When this had been drawn to its full length” delays the main action, extending suspense until the personified “tree felt the strain.” The tricolon of dynamic verbs—“dipped,” “filled, and sank under our feet”—conveys an inexorable sequence, the prepositional phrase “under our feet” bringing the crisis physically close.

Additionally, the first-person perspective heightens immediacy: “I called to Wettstein” personalises the peril. The abrupt assertion “it was too late” shuts down hope, while the semicolon propels us into the next consequence, quickening the rhythm. Finally, the vivid figurative comparison “with the desperation of a drowning man” crystallises panic, making Klitschka’s rider’s actions frantic and uncontrolled. Altogether, the writer’s precise lexis, cumulative syntax and striking imagery combine to render the danger sudden and the moment bewilderingly chaotic.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer creates sudden danger through dynamic verbs and vivid imagery: the adverb suddenly, the onomatopoeic thud, and violent actions like struck, parted the rotten guy-rope and carried us, alongside the chaotic boiling, whirling tide and personification the tree felt the strain, convey shock and menace. Structure heightens confusion: the long, multi-clause opening sentence and reversal For a moment there seemed no danger, but, trap words caught and entangled, the escalating list dipped, filled, sank, plus the desperate comparison desperation of a drowning man and finality of too late show rising panic and loss of control.

The writer builds a sudden sense of danger and confusion through adverbs, violent verbs and personification. The adverb “suddenly” and the phrase “coming out of the darkness” signal an abrupt, unseen threat, while the participles “boiling, whirling” create ongoing, chaotic motion. The onomatopoeic “thud” makes the impact of the “huge floating tree” audible, and dynamic verbs like “struck” and “parted” suggest force and loss of control.

Furthermore, the contrast “For a moment there seemed no danger, but…” wrong-foots the reader, heightening tension. A semantic field of entrapment—“caught” and “entangled”—conveys confusion as equipment snags and fails. The complex sentence “When this had been drawn to its full length, and the tree felt the strain,” delays the outcome and personifies the tree (“felt”), increasing suspense before the tricolon of actions “dipped, filled, and sank” shows a rapid, inevitable collapse.

Additionally, the narrator’s urgent command—“I called to Wettstein to take Klitschka by the tail”—shows panic, but the blunt clause “it was too late” seals the danger. The comparison to “the desperation of a drowning man” intensifies the terror and disorientation. Moreover, the repeated conjunction “and” creates a breathless flow that mirrors the current, so the piling of clauses makes the reader feel swept along in the same confusion and peril.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment on effects; some appropriate detail; some use of terminology. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 2 response might say: The writer creates sudden danger with the adverb "suddenly", the onomatopoeia "thud", and the simile "the desperation of a drowning man", and strong verbs like "struck" and "entangled" plus the rapid list "dipped to the current, filled, and sank" build confusion. Long, comma-filled sentences with descriptive phrases like "coming out of the darkness" and swirling adjectives "boiling, whirling" mirror the hectic movement.

Firstly, the writer uses the adverb “suddenly” and the phrase “coming out of the darkness” to show the danger appears without warning. The description “boiling, whirling tide” creates vivid imagery and suggests chaos in the water, building fear.

Moreover, the onomatopoeia “thud” makes the impact feel real, while “rotten guy-rope” hints it will break, adding tension. Saying the tree “carried us…down the stream” shows they have no control, which makes the scene more dangerous.

Furthermore, verbs like “caught” and “entangled” show confusion and being trapped. The list “dipped…filled, and sank” speeds up the action. Finally, the simile “desperation of a drowning man” shows panic. The long, complex sentences create a breathless, confusing feeling, which builds a sudden sense of danger and confusion for the reader.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses words like suddenly, boiling, whirling tide, and the sound word thud to show danger, and actions such as struck, entangled, and filled, and sank, plus a long, running sentence, make it feel fast and confusing.

The writer uses powerful adjectives and verbs to show danger. The phrase “boiling, whirling tide” makes the water sound wild, and “struck the boat with a thud” uses onomatopoeia to show impact. Moreover, the adverb “suddenly” creates a quick, scary change. Furthermore, personification appears in “the tree felt the strain,” which makes the tree seem alive and threatening. Additionally, the list “dipped... filled, and sank” shows confusion and fast action. The word “entangled” suggests chaos, and the comparison to “the desperation of a drowning man” shows panic. Also, the long sentence with commas adds to confusion.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Adverb of suddenness disrupts the sentence to jolt the reader → instant shock and panic → (suddenly)
• Participial stacking and concealment → layered motion and partial visibility, adding confusion → (riding half hidden)
• Onomatopoeic impact with a harsh consonant cluster → makes the collision physically felt → (with a thud)
• Dynamic modifiers for the water → establishes a chaotic, hostile setting → (boiling, whirling tide)
• Personification of the obstacle → turns the tree into an active, pressing force → (the tree felt the strain)
• Rope/mechanical lexis of failure → technical entrapment mirrors human confusion and loss of control → (pulleys had become entangled)
• Contrastive pivot after a calm assertion → sudden reversal from safety to peril → (no danger, but)
• Cumulative verb sequence → escalating, unstoppable collapse culminates in disaster → (filled, and sank)
• Fronted subordinate clause beginning with “When...” → delayed main action builds tension before release → (When this had been drawn)
• Simile of extremity in human response → conveys panic and mortal fear → (a drowning man)

Question 3 - Mark Scheme

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

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

You could write about:

• how poignancy deepens 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: Level 4 responses typically trace how structural contrasts and foreshadowing build poignancy: ominous exposition of the ferry’s hazards (the "rotten guy-rope", "rickety craft", "long and anxious trip") yields to a deceptive calm as Wettstein "sang the 'Ranz des Vaches'", before an abrupt rupture signalled by "suddenly" and the inserted last words "Adieu, Herr Oberist" ... "Adieu!" heighten the shock against the "boiling, whirling tide." They then analyse the decisive shift from frenetic action to reflective denouement at "Magnus's roaring hearth", showing how anaphoric grief ("He was a proven friend" ... "the one love that was blind") and the temporal pivot "Henceforth" transform immediate loss into enduring desolation, deepening the text’s poignancy.

One way in which the writer has structured the text to create poignancy is through delayed catastrophe and careful foreshadowing. The expository digression on the “swing” ferry arrests the narrative pace and foregrounds fragility: the “rough” main rope, the “rickety craft,” and the “rotten guy-rope” seed unease before anything tragic occurs. Yet the first crossing ends with relief—“At last we reached the shore”—a false resolution that lulls the reader. This postponement of danger amplifies the later grief: by the time the return begins, our guard is down and our attachment to the companions has quietly deepened.

In addition, the writer heightens poignancy through a sharp juxtaposition of moods and a sudden structural volta. The interlude in “cold moonlight,” where Wettstein is “cheery as ever,” singing and called a “perpetual sunbeam,” humanises him just before the turn. The adverbial “suddenly” signposts the disruption as the tree strikes, and an earlier detail—his “wounded arm”—returns at a fatal moment, creating a poignant structural payoff when the rope “tore loose his hold.” The isolated line of direct speech—“Adieu, Herr Oberist… Adieu!”—functions as a stark, crystallised farewell, before the understated closure of “an angry eddy… marked his turbid grave.”

A further structural feature is the shift from external action to an introspective coda. Temporal markers (“For the moment… but as I sat”) signal delayed grief, and the sustained first-person focalisation narrows into desolation at Magnus’s hearth. The motif of “home” is inverted—from being “at home in every foot-path” to “Very far from home”—and the end-focus broadens the loss into universality: “Henceforth I must…” and “The one love that was blind… torn from my life.” By concluding with this reflective denouement, the poignancy deepens from sudden shock to enduring, existential bereavement.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would clearly explain how the text moves from early security ("sure reliance") through mounting instability on the crossing ("rickety craft", "rotten guy-rope") and a brief warm interlude ("cheery as ever") to a sudden tragic turning point ("suddenly", "Adieu, Herr Oberist"), before slowing into a reflective ending ("direst desolation", "the one love that was blind"), showing how shifts in pace, contrasts in mood, and the final inward focus deepen the poignancy.

One way the writer creates poignancy is by a steady chronological build that starts secure, then exposes fragility. The opening focus presents Ruby as “a sure reliance” and the narrator “at home” on the river. This is followed by expository detail about the “swing” ferry—the “rickety craft” and “rotten guy-rope”—so the reader anticipates failure, priming sorrow for what follows.

In addition, a marked change of tone and pace heightens pathos. After reaching safety, Wettstein is “cheery as ever,” a “perpetual sunbeam,” which is structurally juxtaposed with disaster. The adverb “suddenly” signals the pivot into the climax, and the brief direct speech—“Adieu, Herr Oberist… Adieu!”—forms a poignant peak before silence, while the lone “angry eddy” slows the moment into loss.

A further structural feature is the final shift in focus from action to reflective denouement. Once saved, the narrative zooms inward by the hearth; the pace slows through cumulative phrasing (“He was a proven friend… He was the one comrade…”), and the sustained first-person voice makes the grief intimate. The closing line—“The one love that was blind… torn from my life”—deepens poignancy at the end, leaving the reader with a lasting ache.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 2 response would identify simple structural shifts: a cheerful set-up ('cheery as ever'), a sudden turning point signalled by 'suddenly' with the direct speech 'Adieu', and a reflective ending ('direst desolation', 'more sad than I can tell') that deepens the poignancy.

One way in which the writer structures the text to create poignancy is by beginning with calm familiarity and routine. The narrator introduces “my best horse” and explains the “swing ferry” step by step. This slow beginning and focus on travel make us feel safe, so the later loss hits harder.

In addition, in the middle there is a clear shift in mood. After “cheery as ever” and singing, the word “suddenly” signals a turning point when the tree hits. The contrast between joy and danger creates shock, and “Adieu” acts like a climax that makes the goodbye feel stark.

A further structural feature is the reflective ending. The focus moves from action to feelings, using first-person perspective and time markers like “For the moment… but” and “Henceforth.” This slower end, with words like “direst desolation,” deepens the poignancy as he considers his loss.

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 makes it poignant by moving from happy moments ("cheery as ever") to a sudden accident ("sank under our feet", "Adieu"), and then ending with the narrator’s sadness ("I was more sad than I can tell").

One way the writer has structured the text to create poignancy is the calm beginning. The focus is on companions and the ferry, like 'Ruby' and 'Wettstein', which sets a soft tone.

In addition, in the middle there is a sudden change of pace and mood. The tree hits, the boat sinks, and the short cry 'Adieu!' makes the moment feel tragic and more poignant.

A further feature is the ending shift to reflection. The focus moves from action to long, sad sentences about loss, like 'Henceforth I must look...' and 'I was more sad', leaving a painful final feeling.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Calm, competent opening with reliable Ruby and familiar ground sets a stable baseline the ending will devastate (sure reliance)
• Methodical exposition of the swing ferry slows pace and seeds apprehension through a stop–start rhythm and fragility (rickety craft)
• Arduous first crossing resolves in relief, a structural false dawn that makes the later loss more cruel (long and anxious trip)
• Midpoint assurance of safety creates dramatic irony, lulling us before the reversal (safely march back)
• Tonal shift to warmth and camaraderie on the return heightens contrast and stakes by idealising Wettstein (perpetual sunbeam)
• Abrupt pivot signalled by sudden intrusion from darkness jolts the narrative into crisis (huge floating tree)
• Stepwise cause-and-effect of entanglement and failure accelerates inevitability, intensifying helplessness (filled, and sank)
• Placement of the farewell and near physical contact concentrates pathos at the moment of loss (almost within reach)
• Post-crisis reflective coda at the hearth shifts from external peril to interior grief, deepening poignancy (direst desolation)
• Final universalising of the loss frames it as irreplaceable, sealing a mournful, resonant close (one love that was blind)

Question 4 - Mark Scheme

For this question focus on the second part of the source, from line 26 to the end.

In this part of the source, where Wettstein is singing happily on the ferry, his mood seems particularly cheerful. The writer suggests that this makes his sudden death moments later feel more shocking and tragic.

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

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of Wettstein and his sudden tragic death
• comment on the methods the writer uses to present Wettstein and his sudden death
• 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 agree to a great extent, showing how the writer heightens shock and tragedy by juxtaposing Wettstein’s exuberance—cheery as ever, sang the "Ranz des Vaches", a perpetual sunbeam—with the abrupt pivot suddenly and violent imagery (huge floating tree, tore loose his hold), before the reflective coda the one love that was blind foregrounds the narrator’s bereaved viewpoint.

I agree to a great extent that Wettstein’s cheerful mood heightens the shock and tragedy of his sudden death, though the writer also intensifies the effect through a sharp tonal shift, violent natural imagery and a reflective coda of grief.

At first, the narrative lingers on his buoyant vitality. He is “cheery as ever” and, in the “cold moonlight,” he “sang the ‘Ranz des Vaches,’ fondled his little mare,” and let the “flow of spirits” return. The sensory detail here—music, touch—creates an atmosphere of warmth and ease. The narrator’s hyperbolic praise, “I never knew him more gay and delightful,” culminates in the glowing metaphor “a perpetual sunbeam,” which casts Wettstein as a constant source of warmth and morale. Even the earlier simile “as still as a mouse” (on the way out) heightens the contrast: discipline gives way to unguarded joy, making the subsequent reversal more cruel. Strikingly, he is “unmindful of his wounded arm,” a small detail that the writer will later convert into tragic irony.

The shock arrives structurally with the adverb “suddenly,” and the intrusion “coming out of the darkness” breaks the luminous scene. The onomatopoeic “thud” as the “huge floating tree” “struck the boat” and “parted the rotten guy-rope” introduces violent, kinetic diction—“struck,” “parted,” “carried”—that accelerates the pace. The river is rendered hostile through present participles and personification: the “boiling, whirling tide” and later an “angry eddy” suggest a malevolent force. Mechanical entrapment (“pulleys… entangled”) creates a sense of fatal inevitability, while the decayed “rotten” rope hints at avoidable fragility, sharpening the sense of outrage. Crucially, the rope is “brought… against poor Wettstein’s wounded arm” and “tore loose his hold”: the earlier carefree disregard of the wound resurfaces as the cause of his undoing, a deft piece of tragic irony.

Pathos peaks in Wettstein’s final direct speech—“Adieu, Herr Oberist; tenez Klitschka pour vous! Adieu!”—whose code-switching foregrounds intimacy and loyalty under the formality of rank. The image of “that happy, honest face” sinking “almost within reach” weaponises proximity; the “almost” is devastating. The river becomes a “turbid grave,” with the “glistening” moonlight now a cold witness. After the action, the narrative shifts into elegy: “the direst desolation overwhelmed me,” and anaphoric clauses (“He was a proven friend… He was the one comrade…”) and superlatives (“only,” “unquestioning”) translate shock into enduring tragedy.

Overall, I strongly agree: the radiant portrayal of Wettstein’s cheerfulness primes the reader for maximum shock when catastrophe strikes. Yet it is the interplay of that gaiety with the abrupt structural rupture, hostile natural imagery and sorrowing retrospect that makes his death feel so shocking and so tragically final.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would largely agree, explaining that the writer heightens shock and pathos through contrast and sensory detail: Wettstein is joyous—sang the "Ranz des Vaches,", a perpetual sunbeam—then, suddenly, a thud and his happy, honest face sinks, with the narrator’s admission that the direst desolation overwhelmed me reinforcing the tragedy. It might also note faint hints of danger in the boiling, whirling tide and rotten guy-rope, which slightly anticipate the accident.

I largely agree with the statement. The writer carefully builds a bright, companionable mood around Wettstein so that the sudden accident feels both shocking in the moment and tragic in its aftermath.

At first, Wettstein is presented as warm and life‑affirming. He is “cheery as ever,” “sang the ‘Ranz des Vaches’,” and even “fondled his little mare,” which creates affectionate, gentle imagery. The narrator’s metaphor of a “perpetual sunbeam” and the phrase “I never knew him more gay and delightful” establish a glow of optimism. Even his being “unmindful of his wounded arm” suggests resilient cheerfulness. The calm setting in the “cold moonlight,” with the two “leaning on our saddles and chatting,” slows the pace and lulls the reader into a sense of ease.

This mood is abruptly overturned. Structurally, the adverb “suddenly” marks the turning point, while violent sensory detail—“a huge floating tree struck the boat with a thud”—creates shock (the onomatopoeic “thud” emphasises impact). The river is described with turbulent imagery, “boiling, whirling tide,” and the technical lexis—“rotten guy-rope,” “pulleys,” “drawn to its full length”—conveys a mechanical chain of inevitability. The clustered verbs “dipped…, filled, and sank” quicken the pace as disaster unfolds. Pathos intensifies the tragedy: Wettstein’s wounded arm is cruelly targeted when the rope “tore loose his hold,” and his last direct speech—“Adieu, Herr Oberist… Adieu!”—is heartbreakingly dignified. The personification in “an angry eddy” and the metaphor “turbid grave” frame the river as a pitiless force swallowing his “happy, honest face.”

Finally, the reflective paragraph deepens the tragedy. The narrator’s abstract nouns—“direst desolation”—and the poignant line “the one love that was blind… torn from my life” show enduring loss. The dash in “Very far from home,—far even from…” accentuates isolation.

Overall, I strongly agree: by juxtaposing Wettstein’s cheerful vitality with a swift, chaotic accident and a grief‑stricken reflection, the writer makes his death both shockingly sudden and deeply tragic.

Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: I mostly agree: the writer contrasts his cheerfulness—singing "Ranz des Vaches" and being "more gay and delightful"—with the abrupt danger when "suddenly" "a huge floating tree" hits, so his "Adieu!" and the way he "sank" feel more shocking and tragic.

I mostly agree with the statement. In this part Wettstein is shown as very cheerful, which makes his sudden death feel more shocking and tragic.

At first the writer piles on positive details. Wettstein is "cheery as ever" and, in the "cold moonlight", he "sang the 'Ranz des Vaches'" and "fondled his little mare". The adjectives "cheery" and "gay and delightful" create a bright, friendly mood, and the metaphor "perpetual sunbeam" makes him seem like a happy, comforting presence.

Then the mood switches quickly. The adverb "suddenly" signals a sharp change, and the onomatopoeic "thud" when the tree "struck the boat" adds shock. Violent verbs like "parted", "filled", and "sank" show how fast everything goes wrong. The river is even personified as an "angry eddy", making the setting feel hostile. The direct speech "Adieu, Herr Oberist" and the image of his "happy, honest face" sinking "almost within reach" are heartbreaking because moments before he was singing.

Finally, the narrator’s grief emphasises the tragedy. Phrases like "the direst desolation overwhelmed me" and "the one love that was blind... had been, in an instant, torn from my life" show deep loss and make us feel the cost. I think the contrast between joy and disaster makes the death more shocking, although the sudden accident itself would be shocking anyway. Overall, I agree to a large extent that the cheerful mood intensifies how shocking and tragic his death feels.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: I agree because the writer shows Wettstein as very cheerful — cheery as ever, fondled his little mare, I never knew him more gay and delightful. This makes it more shocking and tragic when the boat filled, and sank under our feet and his happy, honest face sank.

I agree with the statement to a great extent. At the start of this section, Wettstein seems very cheerful, and this makes what follows feel more shocking and tragic.

We see him “cheery as ever” and he “sang the ‘Ranz des Vaches’.” The writer uses positive adjectives and a bright image, calling him a “perpetual sunbeam,” to present a happy, relaxed mood. This cheerful tone sets us up for a contrast.

Then the mood changes quickly. The adverb “suddenly” and the violent verb “struck” in “a huge floating tree struck the boat” create a sense of shock. The actions “filled, and sank” make the accident feel fast. Wettstein’s cry, “Adieu… Adieu!” and the phrase “poor Wettstein’s wounded arm” add emotion. Even the description “angry eddy” makes the river seem hostile, which increases the tragedy.

Finally, the narrator’s sad words like “the direst desolation” and that Wettstein was “the one comrade” show deep loss. This makes his sudden death feel even worse because just moments before he was happy.

Overall, I agree that the writer’s contrast from joy to disaster makes the death more shocking and tragic.

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

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

• Juxtaposition of convivial calm with abrupt peril heightens shock; the mood swerves from ease to threat in an instant (coming out of the darkness).
• Cheerful behaviour makes the death feel cruelly timed; his carefree music and affection amplify the pathos (Ranz des Vaches).
• Metaphor of radiant character intensifies the loss; a bright presence vanishes, deepening tragedy (perpetual sunbeam).
• Sensory impact of the collision shatters the joyous tone; the violent sound cues sudden catastrophe (with a thud).
• The river is cast as hostile and overwhelming, making the demise feel inevitable and tragic (boiling, whirling tide).
• Specific cause-and-effect detail sharpens pity; his injury directly costs him life, adding cruel irony (wounded arm).
• Direct, intimate farewell personalises the moment; loyalty and tenderness make the end heartbreakingly immediate (Adieu, Herr Oberist).
• Near-salvation imagery intensifies shock; hope is present then snatched away at the last moment (almost within reach).
• Reflective aftermath extends impact from shock to profound grief; the narrator’s devastation confirms the tragedy’s weight (direst desolation).
• Safety is asserted then undercut, sharpening surprise; reassurance flips to disaster in a beat (there seemed no danger).

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

A podcast about local sport is inviting listeners to send in short creative pieces.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Describe a martial arts training hall from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about facing a rival.

(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:

It waits. Sunlight slips through the rice-paper screens and lays itself in patient rectangles across the tatami. The hall holds its breath; the air is cool, pine-laced, faintly salted with the ghost of sweat. Polished timbers rise like quiet ribs to a cedar spine; rafters hoard shadows; dust glitters midair. At the shomen, a modest shrine: a small shelf, a folded white cloth, a single evergreen branch in a lacquered cup.

The floor is a muted green, scuffed but forgiving; it remembers falls, and falls, and falls, each one softened but never quite forgotten. Along one wall a rack of weapons stands with unshowy grace—bokken burnished by palms, a jo staff, the hemp-bound makiwara. Belts hang in loops—black coils sleeping, white coils hopeful. Calligraphy climbs the wall—discipline, respect, courage—stern strokes that refuse apology.

Even now, when no foot disturbs it, the room hums with after-sound. It remembers the thwack of palm on pad; the sharp intake of breath; the sudden bark of a kiai cracking the quiet open. Step and return, step and return, step and return. Count and bow; count and bow. Meanwhile, beyond the doors, traffic unspools and somebody laughs; inside, time kneels and waits.

Here, ritual teaches the body to listen. You arrive with your noise and lay it down with your shoes; you bow to a space, and it bows back by holding you steady. The gi, stiff as fresh paper, creases, then relents; fabric rasps at the shoulder; stance sinks; hips hinge; breath steadies. Movements are modest and exact, like handwriting practised until the hand forgets to try.

Soon the angle of light tilts; afternoon contracts. Shadows of lattice fall like bars across the mats, though the only confinement here is chosen. A moth scrawls its erratic kata; somewhere a floorboard complains. Who would guess that such thunder lives here? Yet it does, and will: feet whispering, wrists snapping, hearts drumming; the room attending with a teacher’s patience. And when it subsides, when the last bow is given and the last breath leaves as a white thread, the hall does what it does best—wait.

Option B:

Rivalry is not a villain but a mirror; it shows you the angles you would rather ignore. It is gravity when you want to float, the ache that refuses to be reasoned with: persistent, precise, personal. I learned that early, long before the starter’s pistol—long before today.

Autumn had burnished the stadium into ceremony. Flags flickered; the announcer’s voice swelled and thinned. Liniment and damp earth braided on the air; the track, black and compliant, waited. Meanwhile, my heart kept stepping on the same beat—quick-quick, wait—quick-quick, wait—as if practising drills.

I knelt by my kit bag and worked at the laces of my spikes, threading them through with almost clerical care. Double-knot; pull; tuck the ends under like secrets. The studs nibbled the rubberised warm-up track when I stood, sending a shiver up bone and sinew. I rolled my shoulders, counted breaths, recounted promises. You belong here. You have earned this lane. You are not the shadow of last year.

Then she arrived, as inevitable as weather. Maya Chen—my almost, my not-quite, my line in the sand. She carried stillness the way other people carry noise; even the chatter around her folded inwards. Hair braided back; gaze refusing fuss. We had traded wins for two seasons; we knew each other’s tells: her left hand’s twitch before the break; my tongue pressed to a molar at the top of the back-straight. No hatred—something more exacting.

Last spring, she beat me by the width of a thumbnail; the photograph made a razor of her shoulder. I taped it inside my locker, not as punishment but as a map. Since then, mornings were measured in laps and lactic; evenings, in ice baths and quiet; the calendar punctuated by meets, by maybes. Nevertheless, doubt insinuated itself—thin as smoke, hard to catch. Today could extinguish it. Or feed it.

“Girls’ four hundred metres—first call.” The tannoy bit the air. Pins scratched my skin as I fixed my number; the paper whispered against my vest. I jogged the curve, listening to the hollow clap of spikes, to the breath of other sprinters, to the drumline of my own intention. The infield looked absurdly green, as if rivalry were a preposterous idea invented by a tired mind.

We were marshalled to our lanes. Blocks clicked into place: bright, uncompromising. I glanced across. Maya stared downtrack, not at me; which, somehow, felt like seeing me perfectly. Yet—under the public surface—a current ran between us, tidal, familiar, almost kind.

On your marks.

I lowered my hands to the track; grit pressed crescents into my fingertips. Set—breath coiled, muscles cabled; the stadium drew itself inwards: a held note, a held nerve. The mirror waited. And I looked straight into it.

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

Option A:

The hall holds its breath. Sunlight enters in slanted bands through high windows; it lays long rectangles on the tatami, a neat geometry, order made visible. Dust motes turn in those bars—lazy, glinting—as if learning a slow kata. The mats are muted green, edges bound with dark tape; at the seams the weave shines from years of feet. Above, dark beams stride across the ceiling like ribs; the roof holds the cool in its orderly cage. There is a cool, resinous smell: straw, cedar, a whisper of old incense, and, underneath, the faint metallic tang of dried sweat.

Along one wall, a rack stands like a small forest: bokken, jo, shinai aligned by length, wood grain calm and disciplined. Leather ties are neatly coiled; a single frayed wrap betrays use. Each practice blade casts a thin, obedient shadow; they wait, patient as pupils before the bow. Above them, scrolls hang; ink-black characters declare what I cannot read yet somehow know: balance, humility, courage. In the corner, the kamidana perches—polished bell, a sprig of evergreen—watchful, not showy.

Even in stillness, there is sound. The building murmurs: a timber click, the sigh of the paper screen as air shifts, the imagined echo of bare feet sliding and stopping. Listen: clipped kiai ricochet and dissolve; soft slaps follow; the staccato count of a drill carries in a voice that does not need to shout. The space is not empty; it is poised—collected, exact—like a hand held open before it closes.

On the far side, a mirror runs its length; it does not boast, it records. It holds yesterday’s posture and tomorrow’s correction. Pale scuffs mark the lower panels where toes have brushed again and again—evidence, not damage. A chalk line marks the centre; tape defines the edges; boundaries are clear, not cruel. Even the corners seem squared by habit, kept honest by repetition. I can almost see the instructor’s sleeve, crisp gi whispering; I can almost hear the first bow: feet together, spine tall, a quiet agreement that effort matters more than spectacle.

As the sun creeps, the bright rectangles migrate; shadows tilt; the hall recalibrates. Soon, doors will rumble; bodies will enter, bringing steam-breath and nerves, small jokes and sharp focus. The weapons will lift; the floor will answer with its soft, metronomic thud. And when the noise subsides, this room will remain as it is now—plain, precise, austere—an architecture for attention, a place where strength is made quiet and then, deliberately, released.

Option B:

The track burned under a white, washed-out sky; eight lanes, eight narrow invitations to glory or something that only looks like it. The rubber reeked faintly of sun-warmed tyres and antiseptic. Around me, the crowd murmured—an animal clearing its throat—then quieted in a ripple. My mouth was dry, as if I’d swallowed chalk.

I knelt and tugged on my spikes, each lace cinched twice: habit, superstition, insurance. The studs clicked against the track as I rose: small, percussive reminders that I was here, that all the mornings in the dark had led me to Lane Four (my lane). Beside me—two lanes to the right—stood Theo. He rolled his shoulders with casual precision, the way you roll a lie until it sounds like truth. He didn’t look at me. When you’ve chased the same ghost for years, you can feel when it turns its head.

Once, in Year 8, we had run as teammates; once, I had shouted for him until my throat rasped. Then he stole my record by a tenth, and later I stole a captaincy vote by a single raised hand. It wasn’t betrayal; it was arithmetic, added over seasons and meets—tiny, exact, relentless. Teachers called it healthy competition; my mother called it motivation. On quiet nights, I called it a mirror that only shows you on the bad days.

‘Set!’ The starter’s voice cut the stadium cleanly. I dropped into the blocks. Metal cool against my fingers; earth-hot track under my toes. My heart hopped, then settled into a hammering that was almost musical. Theo finally glanced across, quick, clinical, his mouth lifting not quite into a smile. I wanted to grin back; I didn’t. Breathing in for four, out for five, I found the rhythm our coach drilled into us until it lived in my bones.

Facing a rival is not the same as facing an enemy: there is no cartoon villainy, no cackling. There is only the tidy knowledge that someone knows your weakest stride and will aim for it. Part of me loved that blunt honesty; part of me wished I had never learned it. What else is rivalry, if not recognition? I narrowed the world to a single white line and the fractional space between his breath and mine. Ready, I told myself, though the word felt too thin for what surged inside.

The pistol lifted. The stadium became a held breath. In the quarter-second before the crack—before bodies translate fear into flight—I met his eyes. I did not blink.

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

Option A:

Light falls in long rectangles across the mats; pale light that reveals dust like tiny, stubborn spirits. The hall is empty, but not blank. Between the timber posts and the papered windows the air holds its breath. The polished rails along the wall gleam; the knots in the grain look like eyes that have learned to watch. Stillness, yes, and a sort of strict kindness — the kind that sets a bar and waits for you to reach it.

At first glance, the floor is a patchwork of green tatami: woven, scuffed at the edges where feet pivoted; soft under heel, yet unforgiving. It smells of polish, straw, and faint medicinal mint; sweat soaked into seams, dried, then lifted again. When you press a palm down, it gives a breath, a hush. The walls host calligraphy that declares restraint. A small drum, silent. A clock whose second hand jerks forward with tiny, disciplined clicks.

Beyond the central square sits the kamiza — a low shelf with a black-and-white photograph, an incense bowl, a faded ribbon. Above it a simple banner hangs; the brush strokes curve like blades. To the right, a rack of weapons: bamboo shinai, a smooth bo, wooden swords whose edges are blunted and yet somehow sharp in intention. Each piece is placed just so; each carries its own history in nicks and polish. You think of knuckles, of bowing, of breath drawn in through the nose, counted, released.

By the door, shoes wait on the step, pairs aligned respectfully, as if they, too, know the rules. Folded gis sit in a neat stack; a white belt lies coiled like a promise. A ceiling fan stirs lazily; the late sun makes bright lanes creep across the room. From outside, a car passes—muffled by the sliding door—and the world seems far away. The floor is patient, it remembers.

Soon the hall will wake: the slap of feet, the crisp chorus of kiai, the teacher’s tone like a bell. Mats will whisper; dust will leap. For now, though, the dojo waits for footsteps, for discipline to arrive and fill it again.

Option B:

Monday. The day of verdicts; corridors smell of polish, and the hall, with its stacked chairs and tired banners, holds its breath. Under the lights, dust floats like quiet confetti. Somewhere a microphone squeals and then behaves; our teacher claps, cutting the murmur. A fresh beginning and, for me, a familiar threat.

My cards fan across my knees: definitions, quotes, three neat rebuttals. My palm leaves a faint damp crescent on the top one. I rehearse the opening in a whisper — cadence measured, pauses planned — yet a stray thought trips me: What if my voice wobbles? What if the words scatter?

Then she walks in. Aria Patel, my rival since Year Nine; tall, composed, hair pinned, severe. She does not so much smile as sharpen. Her folder is colour-coded, tabs marching; her eyes skim the crowd, calm, expectant. We lock eyes, not unkindly, but there is a glint — a steel thread pulled taut between us.

The last time we faced each other, I was a second too slow, a shade too safe. She tore open my arguments like paper; neat, relentless. I had facts, no fire; the judges chose precision over my pale certainty. I went home with my tie crooked and my throat full of could-have-said. Since then, bus rides and bedrooms have been workshops: reading, redrafting, practising how to breathe.

Now the hall shifts: chairs scrape, programmes crackle, someone coughs. Mr Khan calls the motion and our names; time shrinks. I stand, knees briefly insubordinate, and the floor gives a small, encouraging creak. She is already poised, fingers on the lectern as if on a piano. She nods; I nod back.

At stake: not only a trophy, but the ache of last time. The first words wait — not perfect, just brave. I inhale, the air sharp with polish and nerves, and step forward.

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

Option A:

Sunlight slips through the high windows and lays pale rectangles across the mats. Dust hangs in the air, turning slowly, patient as snow that has chosen not to fall. The straw of the tatami gives off a dry, clean smell that mixes with polish on the planks. It looks warm where the light rests, but the hall keeps a cool breath. Silence sits here, not empty at all—full of earlier voices, kept low.

Along that wall, a rack holds training weapons: bokken, jo, a bamboo shinai; their lacquer is rubbed smooth by careful hands. Their shadows stand behind them like tall reeds in a slow river. Above, a banner of calligraphy hangs straight, ink strokes strong and calm. A drum waits in the corner, its skin tight. The mirror on one side carries a faint mist from breath and effort; now it only reflects the dark rafters that cross like ribs.

In this empty hour you can almost hear practice return. Soft steps, socks whispering; the clap of palms; a sharp kiai that jumps and is gone. Patterns unfold in the mind—stance, breath, strike, bow—again and again until thinking stops. A visitor might find their shoulders lifting and their back lengthening. Discipline lives here. It is not cruel, but exact; it asks for focus and gives it back. Even the dust seems to know where to go.

Outside the shoji screens a strip of garden waits: raked gravel, a stone, the thin green of a maple leaf. A breeze stirs; the light shifts; the room changes. The bright shapes move across the floor; shadows lengthen, climbing into the beams. It feels like the hall is holding a breath, steady, ready. When the door sighs and feet return, the wood will answer with a low, familiar sound, and the pale rectangles will break apart under moving bodies.

Option B:

The track looked like a red ribbon laid neat under a pale sky; the air tasted of metal and cut grass. My spikes clicked as I walked to lane four. Then he arrived. Jay. He slid past the hurdles and dropped his bag with a soft thud, like he owned the ground.

We had been running since Year Seven—Sports Day and county meets. He beat me by a breath; I beat him by a hair. Our times crept closer until there was barely anything between us. Teachers called it 'healthy competition', but it felt like a string pulled taut in my chest, waiting to snap. His messages after races were neat and polite, but there was always a flicker at the edge: a small spark of smugness.

He came to stand beside me. 'Ready for another chase?' he said, voice light. I tried to smile and it cracked. 'Always,' I replied. I looked down at my laces, double-knotted; my hands shook anyway. Coach’s whistle rested on his chest like a silver tooth, and the numbers on the clock blinked as if impatient.

A breeze moved over the lanes. Parents murmured in the stands. I breathed in and counted to four—the way Coach taught us—until the fizzing in my head dulled. Jay rolled his shoulders. He didn’t look at me, not directly, but I felt the weight of his attention, the way a storm gathers before it breaks.

'On your marks.' We crouched. The track felt rough under my fingertips, grains biting my skin. 'Set—' The world tightened to a single line ahead of me. I wasn’t just facing him; I was facing the version of myself that always looked away. The pistol lifted, a black threat. For a second, the stadium was held, breathless, waiting for the crack.

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

Option A:

Sunlight slants through high windows, laying pale rectangles across the floor. The hall is still; it seems to hold its breath. A hush sits on the boards, warm and almost golden, as if the room remembers footsteps. The air smells of varnish and a thread of old sweat, not harsh, just honest; dust hangs and turns slowly like tiny planets.

At the front, a white wall carries a bold-ink scroll; the single character looks stern and calm. The ceiling beams are dark with age, they show small scars from long-ago drills. In the corner stands a rack of wooden swords and staffs, handles rubbed smooth. On the side: a water cooler, a broom, a pair of forgotten hand wraps. Mirrors line one wall; they double the space and the silence. A fan ticks lazily, not really needed.

Meanwhile, the room whispers in little noises: a rope creaks, the floor gives a shy click, the clock counts. You can almost hear echoes of practice—sharp kiai, the thud of feet, palms on pads. The marks on the floor are like faint maps; stances, lines, angles of movement. Shadows practise in the light, bowing to the front.

Now the sun lowers and the rectangles stretch, thin and long. The room feels careful, a place of discipline and respect. It is simple, but serious. Soon there will be counting in a steady voice, breath and sweat and rhythm; for now, only the dust floats and the clock ticks on.

Option B:

Saturday morning breathes a thin cold through the stands; flags twitch; the speakers crackle awake. The track lies like a red ribbon unrolled, its white lines precise and bossy. I smell cut grass and the sharp scent of rubber; noise gathers slowly, like rain before a storm. My spikes pinch. The sky is pale and wide—does it watch?

Connor is already in lane four. He stretches with the calm, practised way he always does, as if this is just Tuesday PE. His shoulders look carved; however, last year he took the medal I thought was mine. He took it without looking back, and I clapped, and I smiled, while my chest burned. We have said hi in corridors, we have even joked, but under it there is a hum—like wires—between us.

All week I ran. I ran before breakfast and after homework; I ran when the street lights came on and the pavement shone with drizzle. My legs ached, my lungs felt like paper being scrunched. Coach said, keep your head, keep your pace, keep your form. I mumbled it like a prayer. I wanted to be better than last year, better than him, not because I hate him, but because we run the same race.

The starter lifts the gun. My breath goes shallow. Connor glances over; quick, bright, then gone. My heart is ridiculous, a drum too loud for my ribs. The crowd blurs; the world shrinks to my lane, to the quiet word in my head: go. On your marks. We crouch. Set—

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

Option A:

Sunlight spills in through high windows, laying long bars across the pale floor. The mat is clean but scuffed, green-grey, like calm water stepped in. Dust moves in the beam; it looks almost alive. It is not empty quiet but held-breath quiet, like the building waits for a command. The wooden walls shine with polish; the smell is fresh. A gold bell in the corner sits still, stern.

On one wall, a rack of wooden swords leans in straight lines; their shadows make darker stripes. Beside them, pads stack in a neat tower, red and black, and a rope hangs like a tail. There is a faint scent of sweat, and something sweet, maybe oil. When I tap the floor, a small echo comes back. A fan hums—the breeze sets the banner moving: up and down, up and down, up and down.

At the front, a simple portrait of the founder looks down, serious. I imagine the thud of feet, the slap of hands on mats, a chorus of kiai that bursts like birds. Discipline lives here. The rules near the door say: Remove shoes. Bow. Breathe. Begin. Time feels slower here, wider. The sunlight keeps standing in the doorway, like a patient teacher, waiting.

Option B:

Friday. The sports hall smelled of rubber and polish; the lights hummed like trapped bees. My breath felt tight in my chest.

He was there: Marcus. My rival since Year Seven. He stood by the starting blocks with his arms folded, like a guard on a gate. His smile was thin, a paper cut. I could see the new spikes on his shoes, bright and cocky, and it made my stomach twist.

I bent to tie my laces again, even though they were already double-knotted. My fingers shook. I had waited all week for this race, for this moment; every lap in practice had been a quiet argument with his name in it. The teachers fussed with clipboards—the whistle gleamed in Miss Hart’s hand, silver and hungry.

“Ready?” someone said. Was I? My heart drummed like a washing machine on spin. The air was buzzing.

Then we took our places. Four lines, one straight path. I could feel Marcus next to me without looking. I thought of losing, then I thought of not letting him win.

“On your marks,” came the call. I leaned forward, thin as an arrow, and waited for the sound that would crack the air.

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

Option A:

The hall is long and quiet. Sunlight comes in through tall windows, it lays in long bars on the floar. Dust moves in the air, like tiny snow. The mats are green and blue, squares and lines, straight but a little bit worn. A rope hangs on the wall, and a drum, I think it is never touched.

No one is here.

I can hear my own shoe when I step, tap tap, then it stops, the sound goes away fast. The air smell of polish and sweat. It is not bad, it is like work. Belts hang from a peg, there is white, yellow, green, they look like quiet snakes. The mirror is clean like water, it shows the light and me, then I look down. The windows are high, the light is shinning in, backwards and forwards when the clouds move.

I wait for sound.

Option B:

Morning. The field was cold and wet. My shoes stuck in the grass and my heart banged like a drum.

He was there.

Jay, my rival. He always comes early and he stands with his hands in his pockets like he owns the place. He looked at me and smiled - like always, it felt like he was already winning. I dont like that smile.

I remember last time when I fell and the mud went in my mouth. People laughed. The coach said just get up but my legs was shaking and I felt small. I can smell the grass and the rubber from my old trainers.

Run.

The whistle isn’t blown yet. The sky is grey like a lid. I take a breath and its sharp in my chest, I look at the line, I look at him, we both leans forward. Maybe I am ready!

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

Option A:

The hall is big and quiet. Sun comes in the high windows and makes long lines on the floor. The floor is wood and it smells like polish and sweat. The mats are green and flat, the mat are clean but scuffed. I hear a small clock, tick tick, like a soft punch. The air is warm and dust floats, it looks like snow but not cold. Belts hang on the wall, white to black, I look at them and think of kicks and bows. The mirror shows me wrong, I move again and again. Outside a car goes by and a dog bark, I am hungry.

Option B:

It was morning and the sky was grey. I walked to the pitch with my bag and my hands was cold. He was there, my rival, he smiled like he wins already. He thinks he is the best! Everyone looking at us, or I think they did. My stomach feel jumpy, like a bus on bad road. A siren shouts far away and I remember I forgot my lunch. I tell myself it's fine, it's only a game but it don't feel like that. I check the laces twice. I remember last year and the lose. The whistle goes, I breath in and stare at him.