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 What shape is the flower-bed?: oval-shaped – 1 mark
• 1.2 How many stalks are mentioned?: perhaps a hundred – 1 mark
• 1.3 Where are the leaves on the stalks?: half way up – 1 mark
• 1.4 What colours are the petals?: red or blue or yellow – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

Look in detail at this extract, from lines 6 to 117 of the source:

6 colour raised upon the surface; and from the red, blue or yellow gloom of the throat emerged a straight bar, rough with gold dust and slightly clubbed at the end. The petals

11 were voluminous enough to be stirred by the summer breeze, and when they moved, the red, blue and yellow lights passed one over the other, staining an inch of the brown earth beneath

16 with a spot of the most intricate colour. The light fell either upon the smooth, grey back of a pebble, or, the shell of a snail with its brown, circular veins, or falling into a raindrop, it expanded

21 with such intensity of red, blue and yellow the thin walls of water that one expected them to burst and disappear. Instead, the drop was left in a second silver grey once more, and the light now settled upon the flesh

26 of a leaf, revealing the branching thread of fibre beneath the surface, and again it moved on and spread its illumination in the vast green spaces beneath the dome

31 of the heart-shaped and tongue-shaped leaves. Then the breeze stirred rather more briskly overhead and the colour was flashed into the air above, into the eyes of the men and women who walk

36 in Kew Gardens in July. The figures of these men and women straggled past the flower-bed with a curiously irregular movement not unlike that of the white and blue butterflies

41 who crossed the turf in zig-zag flights from bed to bed. The man was about six inches in front of the woman, strolling carelessly, while she bore on with greater purpose, only turning her head now and

46 then to see that the children were not too far behind. The man kept this distance in front of the woman purposely, though perhaps unconsciously, for he wished to go on with his

51 thoughts. "Fifteen years ago I came here with Lily," he thought. "We sat somewhere over there by a lake and I begged her to marry me all through the hot

56 afternoon. How the dragonfly kept circling round us: how clearly I see the dragonfly and her shoe with the square silver buckle at the toe. All the time I spoke I saw

61 her shoe and when it moved impatiently I knew without looking up what she was going to say: the whole of her seemed to be in her shoe. And my love, my desire, were in the dragonfly; for some

66 reason I thought that if it settled there, on that leaf, the broad one with the red flower in the middle of it, if the dragonfly settled on the leaf she would say "Yes" at once. But the

71 dragonfly went round and round: it never settled anywhere--of course not, happily not, or I shouldn't be walking here with Eleanor and the children-- Tell me,

76 Eleanor. D'you ever think of the past?" "Why do you ask, Simon?" "Because I've been thinking of the past. I've been thinking of Lily,

81 the woman I might have married.... Well, why are you silent? Do you mind my thinking of the past?"

86 "Why should I mind, Simon? Doesn't one always think of the past, in a garden with men and women lying under the trees? Aren't they one's past, all that remains of it, those men and women, those ghosts lying under

91 the trees, ... one's happiness, one's reality?" "For me, a square silver shoe buckle and a dragonfly--"

96 "For me, a kiss. Imagine six little girls sitting before their easels twenty years ago, down by the side of a lake, painting the water-lilies, the first red water-lilies I'd ever seen. And suddenly a kiss, there on

101 the back of my neck. And my hand shook all the afternoon so that I couldn't paint. I took out my watch and marked the hour when I would allow myself to think of the kiss

106 for five minutes only--it was so precious--the kiss of an old grey-haired woman with a wart on her nose, the mother of all my kisses all my life. Come, Caroline, come, Hubert."

111 They walked on past the flower-bed, now walking four abreast, and soon diminished in size among the trees and looked half transparent as the sunlight

116 and shade swam over their backs in large trembling irregular patches.

How does the writer use language here to describe the flowers and the effect of the breeze and light? 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: The writer uses sensuous, synaesthetic imagery and personification to give light physical agency: the bloom’s "colour raised upon the surface" and bar "rough with gold dust" create tactile colour, while petals "staining an inch of the brown earth" and light that "expanded ... the thin walls of water" before turning "silver grey" make illumination seem capable of making drops "burst and disappear," yet fleeting. Extended, cumulative sentences and repeated alternatives (the "or" clauses) mirror the breeze’s drift from "the flesh of a leaf" to "the dome of the heart-shaped and tongue-shaped leaves," before colour is "flashed" "into the eyes" of passers-by; a simile links their "curiously irregular" motion to the "zig-zag flights" of butterflies, as light and shade "swam over their backs" in "large trembling irregular patches," emphasising transience.

The writer uses luxuriant colour imagery and anatomical personification to render the flowers. The ‘red, blue or yellow gloom of the throat’ fuses brightness with ‘gloom’, suggesting depth and secrecy, while ‘throat’ humanises the bloom. The stamen ‘emerged… rough with gold dust’ uses tactile lexis and precious‑metal connotations to make pollen opulent; ‘slightly clubbed’ adds botanical precision. Calling the petals ‘voluminous’ yet ‘stirred by the summer breeze’ captures richness and fragility so, for the reader, air’s touch delicately animates them.

Furthermore, light is conceived through painterly metaphor: it ‘passed one over the other, staining… the brown earth’, so light behaves like pigment, layering ‘intricate colour’. The polysyndetic tricolon ‘either… or… or’ and the participle ‘falling’ produce flowing syntax that mimics its motion. Dynamic verbs (‘fell’, ‘expanded’) animate it. Hyperbole heightens the moment as the ‘thin walls of water’ swell ‘with such intensity… one expected them to burst’, before the drop returns ‘silver grey’, stressing transience.

Additionally, personification and extended metaphor elevate the scene. Light ‘settled upon the flesh of a leaf’, the anatomical ‘flesh’ giving vegetal life a sensuous texture, while the ‘branching thread of fibre’ offers microscopic clarity. It then ‘spread its illumination’ through ‘vast green spaces beneath the dome’ of ‘heart-shaped and tongue-shaped leaves’: architectural lexis and bodily shapes conjure a green cathedral. When the breeze ‘stirred rather more briskly’, colour ‘flashed… into the eyes’, and ‘sunlight and shade swam… in trembling… patches’, making the breeze and light feel vividly animate and transformative for the reader.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: Vivid colour imagery and dynamic verbs present the flowers and moving light: "red, blue or yellow gloom" and "rough with gold dust" make the petals feel rich and textured, while "staining an inch of the brown earth beneath with a spot of the most intricate colour" and "the colour was flashed into the air above" show the breeze and light constantly shifting; personification in "the light now settled upon the flesh of a leaf" and the simile "not unlike that of the white and blue butterflies" with "zig-zag flights" suggest a fluttering effect. Long, flowing sentences mirror this gentle drift, helping the reader visualise the scene.

The writer uses vivid sensory imagery and personification to animate the flowers. The "gloom of the throat" gives the bloom a human quality, while the stamen "emerged" as a "bar... rough with gold dust," a tactile detail that makes the surface feel palpable. The adjective "voluminous" makes the petals seem abundant and lush.

Furthermore, dynamic verbs and colour imagery convey the breeze's effect. The petals are "stirred by the summer breeze," and the "red, blue and yellow lights passed one over the other," "staining" the earth with "the most intricate colour." This metaphor casts light as an artist, creating delicate, transient patterns as it moves. The long, flowing sentence mirrors this continuous motion.

Moreover, listing and contrast chart the light's shifting path: it "fell... upon" pebble and "shell," or "into a raindrop," where it "expanded" so intensely one "expected" it to burst. The pivot "Instead" returns the drop to "silver grey," stressing transience. Additionally, personification makes light "settle upon the flesh of a leaf," revealing the "branching thread" beneath the green "dome" of leaves, while later "sunlight and shade swam" in "trembling" patches over people, showing its restless play and shaping the scene.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment on effects; some appropriate detail; some use of terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses vivid colour and texture, with 'red, blue and yellow' and 'rough with gold dust', and personification like 'the flesh of a leaf', to make the flowers seem bright and alive. Dynamic verbs such as 'the breeze stirred', 'flashed into the air above' and light that 'swam over their backs' show how the breeze and light make the scene shift and shimmer, and the long, flowing sentences mirror this gentle movement.

The writer uses vivid colour imagery and adjectives to present the flowers. Phrases like "red, blue or yellow gloom of the throat" and "rough with gold dust" make them seem rich and precious, like jewels. The petals are "voluminous", so they look soft and full; when they move, the colours "staining ... the brown earth" show their strength.

Furthermore, light is personified with active verbs: it "fell", "expanded", "settled" and "spread its illumination". This makes the light feel alive and constantly changing the scene. The raindrop that might "burst and disappear" suggests intense colour and delicate, almost magical effects.

Additionally, the breeze "stirred" the petals, then "rather more briskly" so the colour was "flashed into the air". The personification "sunlight and shade swam" shows shifting patches on people as leaves move above. The long, flowing sentence mirrors the smooth, continuous movement of light and air.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: Identifies simple descriptive words, e.g., colour adjectives "red, blue and yellow" and verbs like "staining" and "flashed", saying this shows the light makes the flowers and ground look bright. Notices a basic simile "not unlike that of the white and blue butterflies" and the word "zig-zag" to show gentle, fluttering movement in the breeze.

The writer uses adjectives to describe the flowers, like “red, blue and yellow” and “voluminous” petals. This shows bright colours and helps the reader imagine them. The verb “stirred by the summer breeze” shows gentle movement, so the scene feels calm. Furthermore, personification is used when the “light… settled upon the flesh of a leaf”. This makes the light seem alive and soft. Moreover, the phrase “staining an inch of the brown earth” is a metaphor that shows the colours mixing. Additionally, “flashed into the air… into the eyes” shows the breeze makes the colours move quickly.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Triadic colour listing and oxymoronic noun choice produce layered, painterly luminosity from the flower’s depths → red, blue or yellow gloom
• Precise, tactile botanical detail grounds beauty in texture, making the stamen palpable → rough with gold dust
• Gentle personification of petals under weather animates the scene, implying softness and responsiveness → stirred by the summer breeze
• Verbs of inscription create a painterly effect as light seems to dye the world → staining an inch
• Polysyndetic listing maps the light’s meandering path across varied surfaces, suggesting restless, exploratory motion → the shell of a snail
• Contrastive pivot from anticipated rupture to serene reset conveys the fragility and transience of colour effects → silver grey once more
• Structural zoom from minute fibre to canopy magnifies scale and awe, evoked via architectural lexis like “dome” → vast green spaces
• Light gains agency, leaping skyward and entering observers, merging nature with perception → colour was flashed
• Simile links human movement to nature, catching the breeze’s irregular influence in their paths → zig-zag flights
• Soft sibilance and gentle adjectives hush the soundscape, mirroring the calm wash of light → smooth, grey back

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 nostalgia?

You could write about:

• how nostalgia deepens 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 trace how nostalgia deepens structurally: from the micro-focus where the red, blue and yellow lights passed one over the other (layering like memories) to the pivot as Then the breeze stirred rather more briskly and light flashes into the eyes of the men and women, shifting from landscape to consciousness. It would analyse the analeptic sequence—Simon’s Fifteen years ago I came here with Lily, his emblematic square silver buckle, echoed by Eleanor’s For me, a kiss.—and the final zoom-out as they are diminished in size, half transparent, like ghosts lying under the trees, to show how perspective shifts create a pervasive, haunting nostalgia.

One way in which the writer has structured the text to create a sense of nostalgia is the opening panoramic frame that zooms through nature. The focus on the 'oval-shaped flower-bed' and light 'falling into a raindrop' slows narrative pace and establishes a meditative rhythm. This external focalisation primes reflection. When the light is 'flashed... into the eyes of the men and women,' the focus shifts from impersonal description to people, creating a gateway to reminiscence.

In addition, the writer deepens nostalgia through analepsis anchored by temporal markers. The perspective narrows to one couple and slips into interior monologue: 'Fifteen years ago I came here with Lily.' Deictic phrasing ('over there') tethers past to present, while fragments—the 'dragonfly' and the 'square silver buckle'—show how memory is structured by sensory detail. The move from thought to dialogue—'Tell me, Eleanor...'—slows the pace as private recollection becomes shared. The dragonfly 'went round and round', echoing earlier zig-zagging butterflies, a motif of circling that mirrors how thought loops around the past.

A further structural feature is the mirrored reminiscence that diversifies and resolves nostalgia. Eleanor’s analepsis ('twenty years ago...') counterpoints Simon’s, and the ellipses signal the drift of memory. This parallel construction juxtaposes romantic nostalgia with formative recollection ('the kiss... the mother of all my kisses'). Finally, the narrative pulls back: they 'diminished in size... half transparent', literalising Eleanor’s 'ghosts' and returning us 'past the flower-bed' to the impersonal frame. This cyclical structure creates a diminuendo, leaving nostalgia as an afterimage.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: Beginning with an impersonal panorama of shifting light, the narrative moves to the walkers and then turns inward to recollection—marked by Fifteen years ago and the circling dragonfly went round and round—so nostalgia grows as precise details like square silver buckle and a kiss are foregrounded. It ends with a zoom out (diminished... half transparent), reinforcing how the present scene itself fades like a memory.

One way the writer structures the text to create nostalgia is a shift in focus from the minute flower-bed to the walkers, which slows the pace and sets a reflective tone. The opening lingers on "red, blue and yellow" petals and "a raindrop" before zooming out to "men and women... in July". The temporal reference to "July" implies recurring summers, situating the present within a cycle and priming the reader to look back.

In addition, the writer uses flashback and internal monologue to deepen nostalgia. Simon recalls, "Fifteen years ago I came here with Lily", fixating on motifs—the "dragonfly" and "a square silver buckle". These precise images and the conditional "if it settled" slow the pace and foreground longing. The shift into dialogue ("Tell me, Eleanor") turns private memory into a shared, reflective mood.

A further structural feature is the parallel change in viewpoint to Eleanor’s past—"For me, a kiss... twenty years ago"—which mirrors Simon’s memory and broadens the theme. This juxtaposition of two timelines makes nostalgia collective rather than individual. Finally, the narrative widens out as they "diminished... half transparent", returning to the wider setting; this fade-out, alongside the "ghosts" image, universalises transience and seals the nostalgic mood.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer starts with detailed nature before shifting to people and then memories signalled by "Fifteen years ago" and talk of "the past", so the focus moves from present to remembered moments to create a nostalgic feel. Simple, repeated details like "a square silver shoe buckle" and the "dragonfly", and the ending where they are "diminished in size" and "half transparent", show nostalgia growing stronger as the text goes on.

One way the writer creates nostalgia is through the opening. The beginning zooms in on petals and light, slowing the pace and making a calm, dreamy mood. Then the focus shifts to 'men and women' in Kew Gardens, which prepares the reader for remembered moments.

In addition, in the middle the focus narrows to one couple and shifts into the man's thoughts. The temporal reference "Fifteen years ago" and details like the dragonfly are a flashback. This interrupts the present walk, deepening nostalgia and a reflective tone.

A further feature is Eleanor's own memory, "twenty years ago", which repeats the flashback and extends the nostalgic mood. At the end the focus returns to the setting as they grow "half transparent", a gentle ending that frames their memories and makes nostalgia linger.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: Level 1: The writer begins with the present setting, "From the oval-shaped flower-bed," then shifts to the couple’s memories like "Fifteen years ago" and "thinking of the past" to make it nostalgic, finishing with them "diminished in size" and like "ghosts lying under the trees" to show things fading.

One way the writer structures nostalgia is by starting with the present setting, then shifting focus to people. The calm flower-bed and breeze make a gentle beginning that leads into memories.

In addition, there is a flashback using time words. The focus shifts with “Fifteen years ago” and “twenty years ago”, which makes the reader think of the past and feel nostalgic.

A further feature is dialogue and a return to the present. Questions like “Do you ever think of the past?” and then “They walked on” show past to present, so the nostalgia rises and then fades.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Opening with a static, painterly tableau foregrounds setting before any people appear, creating a timeless stage that invites reminiscence (oval-shaped flower-bed).
• The directed movement of viewpoint via light and breeze orchestrates attention like drifting recollection, linking details in a gentle, reflective flow (the light now settled).
• The meandering entry of people mirrors memory’s non-linearity, using motion to bridge scene to thought (zig-zag flights).
• A clear pivot from landscape to observers situates the present as a trigger for remembering, shifting the focus toward inward reflection (men and women).
• Physical spacing and gait suggest private rumination, structurally preparing the slide from observation into memory (six inches in front).
• A marked time jump into interior thought explicitly inaugurates nostalgia, binding past feelings to the present place (Fifteen years ago).
• Concrete motifs organise the recollection, crystallising the past through precise, sensuous anchors (square silver buckle).
• Dialogue reframes a private memory as universal, widening nostalgia from one mind to a shared human condition (always think of the past).
• Parallel, balanced reminiscences deepen the mood through echo and contrast, layering perspectives on what is treasured (For me, a kiss).
• The closing zoom-out lets the figures fade from view, making the present scene itself feel like a receding memory (half transparent).

Question 4 - Mark Scheme

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

In this part of the source, Simon's memory of the dragonfly and the shoe buckle is very vivid. The writer suggests that he might be dissatisfied with his present life with his family.

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

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of Simon's memory of the dragonfly
• comment on the methods the writer uses to suggest Simon's dissatisfaction with his family
• support your response with references to the text. [20 marks]

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

Evaluate texts critically and support with appropriate textual references.

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed evaluation) – 16–20 marks Perceptive ideas; perceptive methods; critical detail on impact; judicious detail. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would largely agree, arguing that Woolf renders Simon’s memory vividly through concrete, looping detail—the 'square silver buckle' and 'the dragonfly went round and round: it never settled anywhere'. It would then evaluate how the writer hints at present unease via distancing ('kept this distance in front of the woman'; 'for he wished to go on with his thoughts'), conditional longing ('if the dragonfly settled on the leaf she would say "Yes" at once'), and a defensive aside 'of course not, happily not', even as Eleanor reframes the past as 'one's happiness, one's reality' and the family appear 'half transparent'.

I largely agree with the statement. The memory is rendered with striking vividness through precise, sensory detail and symbolism, and although the narrative never declares Simon’s unhappiness, the writer subtly intimates a restlessness with his present family life through physical distance, questioning, and self-corrective thought.

From the outset, the writer establishes a motif of irregular movement—figures “straggled” and butterflies crossed in “zig-zag flights”—which is mirrored inside Simon’s recollection. The anaphora in “How the dragonfly kept circling… how clearly I see the dragonfly and her shoe with the square silver buckle” foregrounds the clarity of his vision; the adverb “clearly” becomes metacommentary on the vividness. Synecdoche condenses Lily into “her shoe… with the square silver buckle,” and the hyperbolic claim “the whole of her seemed to be in her shoe” suggests an almost fetishistic focus, heightening intensity. Kinetic imagery—“went round and round”—and the conditional structure “if it settled there, on that leaf, the broad one with the red flower” invest the insect with talismanic power. The personification “my love, my desire, were in the dragonfly” externalises passion into a single, brilliantly observed emblem. Even the spatial deixis sharpens: from “somewhere over there” to “that leaf… with the red flower,” the memory narrows to a pinpoint of colour and shape, reinforcing its vivid, almost cinematic immediacy.

By contrast, the present is edged with quiet dissatisfaction. Structurally, the man walks “six inches in front,” “purposely, though perhaps unconsciously,” a paradox that hints at willed yet unacknowledged distance; he “strolls carelessly” while she moves with “greater purpose,” a lexical contrast that suggests divergent energies in the marriage. The free indirect discourse pivots from rapture to self-justification—“of course not, happily not, or I shouldn’t be walking here with Eleanor and the children—”—and the dash leaves the reassurance suspended, implying strain. His interrogatives—“D’you ever think of the past?” and “Do you mind my thinking of the past?”—betray anxiety and an urge to legitimise his counterfactual desire for “the woman I might have married,” a phrase that foregrounds the road not taken. Even as Eleanor’s response reframes the past as “one’s happiness, one’s reality,” her “ghosts” foreshadow the closing image in which the family “looked half transparent,” a metaphor that renders the present insubstantial too. The recurring movement imagery—the dragonfly’s circles, the butterflies’ “zig-zag”—mirrors Simon’s mental drift away from the immediacy of wife and children.

Overall, I fully agree that the memory is extraordinarily vivid, crafted through synecdoche, symbolism and rhythmic repetition. I partly agree that dissatisfaction is suggested: not outright misery, but a nuanced, modernist restlessness—physical spacing, tentative self-correction, and haunted counterfactuals—shadowing his life with his family.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 3 response would partly agree, noting how vivid imagery and symbolism—"dragonfly", "square silver buckle", and the looping motion "went round and round" and "it never settled anywhere"—convey Simon’s yearning, while his physical and mental distance from his family ("six inches in front", "wished to go on with his thoughts") and the regret-tinged "the woman I might have married" imply dissatisfaction with his present life. It would also recognise the counterpoint "happily not... or I shouldn't be walking here with Eleanor and the children", showing a balanced evaluation of the writer’s viewpoint.

I largely agree with the statement. Simon’s memory of Lily is presented with striking vividness, and the writer also hints that he may be uneasy with his present family life, though this is subtle rather than explicit.

The memory is intensely visual and specific. Simon recalls “the dragonfly” circling “round and round” and “her shoe with the square silver buckle,” precise details that create clear imagery and make the moment feel immediate. The repetition of the dragonfly’s circling suggests his fixation, while the symbolism is explicit: “my love, my desire, were in the dragonfly,” so his hopes are invested in whether it “settled… on that leaf… with the red flower.” This symbolic link between nature and choice makes his recollection feel charged and alive. Even the structural use of internal thought—“Fifteen years ago I came here with Lily”—draws us into his stream of consciousness, heightening the vividness.

At the same time, the writer suggests a degree of dissatisfaction with the present. The physical positioning is telling: “The man was about six inches in front of the woman,” and he “wished to go on with his thoughts.” This deliberate, if “perhaps unconscious,” distancing implies a preference for his inner past over his current company. The dialogue furthers this: he asks Eleanor if she minds him “thinking of Lily, the woman I might have married,” a phrasing that foregrounds an unrealised alternative life. His protest—“of course not, happily not”—can be read as defensive, as if reassuring himself. Structurally, the contrast between Simon’s talismanic objects (“a square silver shoe buckle and a dragonfly—”) and Eleanor’s gentler memory (“For me, a kiss”) suggests they inhabit parallel private worlds. The final image—walking “four abreast,” yet “half transparent” like “ghosts”—casts a delicate, perhaps hollow light over their family unity, hinting at transience and emotional distance.

Overall, the memory is vividly rendered, and there are clear, if understated, signs that Simon is not fully content with his family life.

Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response will partly agree, noting with simple examples that the writer uses vivid detail to show Simon’s distraction—his clear memory of the dragonfly and square silver buckle, keeping ahead to go on with his thoughts, and asking "Do you mind my thinking of the past?"—which hints at dissatisfaction with family life. It will also mention basic counterpoints like "happily not" and being "walking here with Eleanor and the children", suggesting he isn’t entirely unhappy.

I mostly agree with the statement. Simon’s memory is presented as very vivid, and the writer also hints that he may be dissatisfied with his present life.

First, the memory of the dragonfly and the shoe buckle is extremely clear. Simon says, “How the dragonfly kept circling… how clearly I see the dragonfly and her shoe with the square silver buckle at the toe.” The precise detail of the “square silver buckle” and the “broad [leaf] with the red flower in the middle” creates strong visual imagery. The repetition of “how” and of “dragonfly” emphasises intensity. The dragonfly also works as a symbol: he puts his “love” and “desire” into it, and when it “went round and round: it never settled,” this suggests his feelings were unsettled too. This makes the memory feel immediate and alive.

The writer also suggests possible dissatisfaction with his family life. Structurally, Simon walks “six inches in front” and “kept this distance… purposely,” which hints at emotional distance, as he “wished to go on with his thoughts” instead of engaging with his wife and children. He brings up “Lily, the woman I might have married,” directly comparing past and present. The simile at the start, people moving like “butterflies” in “zig-zag flights,” suggests restlessness. There is contrast between the vivid past and the present, which fades as they become “half transparent” among the trees. Even Eleanor calls the past “one’s happiness, one’s reality,” reinforcing that the past seems more real. However, Simon’s “happily not” shows he tries to be content with Eleanor and the children.

Overall, I agree to a large extent: the memory is strikingly vivid, and the writer uses imagery, repetition and contrast to hint at Simon’s dissatisfaction, even if he also tries to reassure himself.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: I partly agree because Simon keeps thinking of Lily, remembering the dragonfly and the square silver shoe buckle, and he asks "D'you ever think of the past?" which suggests he misses something. But he also says "happily not, or I shouldn't be walking here with Eleanor and the children", so he might be content with his family.

I mostly agree with the statement. Simon’s memory of the dragonfly and the shoe buckle is very vivid, and there are hints he might be unhappy with his life now.

The writer uses clear imagery when Simon says, “How clearly I see the dragonfly and her shoe with the square silver buckle.” He also remembers the leaf as “the broad one with the red flower,” which is another detailed image. The repetition in “round and round” shows the dragonfly’s movement, and the line “the whole of her seemed to be in her shoe” is like a metaphor, showing how focused he was.

The writer also suggests some dissatisfaction. At the start he walks “six inches” ahead “purposely… to go on with his thoughts,” which makes a distance from his wife and children. He calls Lily “the woman I might have married,” and asks Eleanor, “Do you mind my thinking of the past?” This dialogue sounds awkward and suggests tension. Even though he says “happily not,” it feels like he is trying to convince himself.

Overall, I agree to some extent: the memory is vivid, and there are simple hints that Simon is not fully content with his family life.

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:

• Precise visual detail intensifies the vividness of Simon’s memory, anchoring it in a concrete image (square silver buckle).
• Circular motion emphasizes unresolved desire, making the remembered scene feel immediate and obsessive (went round and round).
• Staging/positioning creates emotional distance now, hinting at dissatisfaction as he moves ahead of his family (six inches in front).
• Self-justifying aside sounds defensive, implying a buried regret despite his present situation (happily not).
• Rhetorical prompting seeks validation for nostalgia, suggesting his focus is more on the past than on his family now (D'you ever think).
• Counterpoint: Eleanor’s tender recollection reframes the past positively, highlighting Simon’s more yearning tone by contrast (For me, a kiss).
• Metaphor recasts the present crowd as insubstantial, implying the past feels more real than current domestic life (ghosts lying under the trees).
• Closing visual diminishes the family’s solidity, reinforcing a subtle sense of detachment from the present (half transparent).
• Dialogue softens the dissatisfaction reading; Eleanor’s composure suggests openness rather than conflict (Why should I mind).
• Inclusive address shows ongoing familial engagement, complicating a simple claim of discontent (Come, Caroline, come).

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

A community project is creating a booklet of creative writing about places that hold memories.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Describe a forgotten allotment shed from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about rediscovering something from the past.

(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 door leans on its hinges as if exhausted, a mouth held slightly open in a whisper. Flaking paint freckles the planks while the padlock—iron, bloated with rust—hangs like a defeated medal. Nettles stand at the threshold, spears up, guarding what time has already claimed. Step closer and the air changes: cool, damp. It smells of turned earth, of sweetened oil, of onion skin. It is not abandoned; it is biding its time.

Inside, light arrives in thin shafts through the roof’s missing teeth; motes waltz there, solemn and joyful. Tools hang from nails along the wall: a besom with its bristles splayed, a spade scalloped at the edge, a hoe freckled orange. Their wooden handles shine where fingers once worried them; a palm-shaped gloss lingers like a benediction. Cobwebs—thick ropes—bind rafters to shelves, stitching the structure into obedience; even the air seems tethered, unwilling to stir.

On the shelves, jam jars parade: screws sorted by size, seed husks—a whisper of summers—pressed against glass. Paper packets curl into themselves, their labels bleached to tea-stain paleness, a palimpsest of names: parsnip, chard, marigold. Twine sits in sagging spirals. A mouse has nibbled a corner. Under a shallow drift of dust, a pencil lies, blunt and loyal, waiting for the next furrowed note that never arrives.

The shed speaks in small sounds only the unhurried hear: a slow drip from a knot in the roof, the creak of a beam yawning, the skitter of a moth rebuked by daylight. Outside, wind combs the allotment; inside, silence accrues, layer upon layer, a geology. Touch anything and it answers—floury dust on your fingertips, a ferrous bloom on your skin, the splinter-rasp of wood that remembers rain. There is a dignity here, even in decline—perhaps especially then.

Evidence of a rhythm persists. A calendar—April forever—hangs skewed by one pin; dates checked off until they are not. A tape measure coils on the bench like a dozing snake; beside it, a cracked mug shelters a skin of brown tea. On one wall, pencilled in faint capitals: lift potatoes before frost. Imagine him at dawn, boots caked with soil, humming while rain carols on the felt; almost hear the thud of harvest in a trug.

Now the shed is a reliquary of miracles, a chapel to growth paused but not cancelled. Nails protrude like insistent truths; the roof sags, a tired back under too many winters. Beyond the door, thistles have annexed the path, yet a stubborn rosemary bush still breathes its resinous scent. For all rot’s creep and rust’s march, something quick waits in the shadows. If you listen, you might hear it—next spring, rehearsing—seed by seed, syllable by syllable. What is forgotten remembers.

Option B:

Dust. The husk of time; a chalky constellation shivering in the shaft of light that pierced the attic hatch. It rose at the slightest provocation—my breath, my guilt—stirred from its long, uncomplaining rest.

I had not been here since the January we painted the ceiling and pretended a new coat of white could deny what was buckling underneath. Now the house had emptied; the wardrobe’s tinny hangers chimed in the draft like a skeleton orchestra; the wallpaper’s flowers had faded to a polite whisper—a palimpsest of sun and hands.

Even after years, the smell struck: camphor and beeswax and the sugared ghost of long-finished Christmases. The ladder rasped against the hatch. I climbed: one rung, then another, legs remembering the bruised rhythm. Up there, the air was a different decade, and my name sounded wrong in it.

The box wasn’t grand. Not a trunk, not a chest carved with gothic seriousness; just an old biscuit tin—Royal Wedding blue—its lid dented into a soft valley. Twine had been knotted around it in an exaggerated, double-checked way (Gran’s way), and beneath the cross of twine, a label: FOR L.

I hadn’t known there was a box for me.

Nevertheless, my fingers understood the knot. The twine yielded. The lid shivered free with a small, ceremonial pop; a tinny note hung in the dim rafters. Inside: buttons, yes—lozenges of mother-of-pearl, a regiment of black discs with two holes—but also the stowaways: a paper map aching along its creases; a ferry ticket stub; a key so small it seemed designed for a storybook door; and letters. Letters in my mother’s hand: that alert, slanted script that looked as if it were walking somewhere fast.

What do you do when a voice you buried clears its throat?

I sat cross-legged, the dust settling on my bare knees, and slid the top envelope from the packet. My name on the front. My childhood name, the one with the unnecessary loop I used to add, the one she teased me for. I almost put it back. I almost didn’t.

Instead, I broke the seal with the tip of the small key (it fitted nothing else) and unfolded the paper; it felt thin as breath, almost translucent with time. The first sentence was simple, and devastating: If you are reading this, it means I was braver on paper than I ever was in person.

The attic seemed to lean closer. Downstairs, a tap dripped with metronomic patience. I read the date—May 1999—and felt something shift in me, as if a locked drawer had slid open on its rails.

Outside, afternoon pooled in the garden; the apple tree, that obstinate survivor, shook a few leaves as if applauding. And I—older now, and not at all ready—began to read.

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

Option A:

The door slumps on its hinges like a tired shoulder, paint scabbed into curls, a padlock furred with rust as if forgetting were a climate. The keyhole has silted to an eye of darkness. Inside: a close hush, warm with creosote and the ferrous tang of old water; daylight needles through warped boards, laying pale ladders in the dust. Dust motes float and settle, undecided. The floor is a map of spilled soil, dried to a crust that fractures under any step that never comes. It smells of loam; of damp hessian and cold metal. Time worked here; now time works, slowly, patiently.

Along the back wall, implements hang from bent nails like reluctant soldiers awaiting orders: spade, fork, hoe, trowel; a saw blunted by sap; shears seized at the joint. Rust blooms in brittle oranges and browns, a fragile patina that flakes at a touch. The ash handles are smooth where hands persisted, thumb-worn; elsewhere they are chalk-dry, a whisper of splinters. A coil of sisal twine drops from a hook like a question mark. Faded seed packets, foxed and curled, slumber in a cracked biscuit tin, labels bleached to ghost letters. Beetroot. Marigold. Runner bean. The writing is tidy, hopeful, small.

The potting bench is an altar to mess. Spilt compost sits like bitter chocolate; terracotta pots are stacked into unsteady towers, rims chipped, clean where they once met palms. A wooden dibber—more bruise than tool—lies at an angle, and a jam jar of screws makes a dull cathedral of clinks when the drip from the roof finally lands: plink. A cobweb trembles, dragging a bead of water along its thread as if weighing seconds. In a corner, a brittle glove holds the curve of a vanished hand, fingers fixed mid-pinch. The smell is layered—green, dry, sharp—with a faint sweetness of rot: not ugly, merely true.

Ivy has slipped a wrist through a gap in the boards and is braiding itself around a hook; nettles press against the threshold. The shed bears it with a stubborn humility, a small museum of work that nobody curates. It remembers what we let fade: the right week to sow, the shape of a knot, the rhythm of rain on tin. Light thins, then thickens; a moth taps the dusty pane—once, twice—and folds itself to sleep. The door sighs an old hinge-note and settles. No one comes. And still, in its dim grain, the shed keeps waiting.

Option B:

Dust remembers. It settles in the pleats of curtains and between the spines of books; it takes what we leave behind and keeps it, quietly, like a patient archivist. Late afternoon light slanted through the attic hatch and turned the motes into a slow, golden snowfall. The rafters smelt resinous, beeswax and mothballs stitched into the air; the boards underfoot ticked as the house exhaled. Time felt layered here—a palimpsest of footsteps and lullabies—so that the present rested, carefully, on whatever lay beneath.

Elena had promised herself she would be brisk. Up the ladder (that stubborn, splintery relic), she pushed open the trapdoor and let a square of brightness fall into the dark. Boxes, trunks, a collapsed lampshade: ordinary debris of a life that had hurried downstairs without these things. She brushed her palms against her jeans and moved toward a tin trunk with a brass clasp shaped like a swallow; it had not been opened in years, she could tell. The lid resisted, then yielded. Inside: a winter of paper—photographs with scalloped edges, postcards from piers with peeling paint—and, nestled at the bottom, an old Walkman the colour of stormclouds.

It was absurdly familiar, and yet: it looked smaller than it had in her hands as a child. The foam on the headphones was chewed and freckled with age; a tape, already inside, was labelled in her mother’s careful hand—Songs for Elena. Her throat tightened, traitorously. She sat on the floorboards, cross-legged like a schoolgirl, and wiped the cassette window with her sleeve. The button clicked with a polite little sigh; the wheels began to turn, slow, then smooth, as if remembering their job. She pressed the headphones against her ears and waited for the past to decide what it wanted to say.

First, the warm hush of hiss; then a note, timid, finding itself. Guitar strings, slightly out of tune, then a voice—her mother’s—soft as the underside of a leaf. “Hello, my mouse,” it said, close to her ear. “If you’re listening, you’re taller now.” Elena’s eyes stung, ridiculous as it was; the attic gathered in around her, the way a theatre closes in when the lights go down. The songs were lullabies and silly jingles, scraps of melody that had once corralled nightmares and rain. Between them, laughter, a dropped plectrum skittering, a distant kettle clicking off in another decade. It was ordinary and devastating.

She had come to sort and throw, to reduce a life into crates and bin bags; instead, the small machine rebuilt a room, a voice, a night where the curtains breathed in time with her. How long had it waited in the trunk, this fragment of a former world? She lifted the headphones for a second—the present rushed back—and then she placed them on again, more carefully. Downstairs, the hallway clock counted beats she could not hear. Up here, the tape unwound a path she had forgotten she knew, and the house, indulgent, let her take it.

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

Option A:

Behind the ragged wire fence, the shed crouches at the edge of the allotment like a hunched shoulder. Its timber is dark with weather and memory; flaking paint peels in thin curls, the colour long argued away by rain. Nettles shoulder the door. At the base, pale fungi are buttoning from the damp plank. The allotment itself has swallowed paths, and the wind combs the roofs of the plots with a patient hand.

Push and the door yields with a sigh that sounds almost relieved. Inside, the air is close, a damp-bread smell of soil and creosote and onion sacks; it presses at the throat. Sunlight arrives in slices through warped boards, laying bars of brightness across the floor where dust hangs and turns. Rafters crosshatch above like ribs, their joints stitched with webbing, silvery and stubborn.

On the wall, the tools still stand to attention. A spade with a smooth ash handle, a fork whose tines are blunted to stubs, a pair of shears that gape like tired jaws; their metal is freckled with rust, that orange bloom that eats quietly. Each hangs from a nail the way old habits hang on. The shadows they cast are longer than they should be. When the breeze moves, they tap—soft, infrequent—like a clock that can’t quite remember its beat.

At the bench, a cracked mug holds a wad of twine and the ghost of tea. Seed packets lie in a fan, their faces bleached: beetroot, parsnip, French beans. Someone has pencilled a list on the doorframe: Dig over bed; sow after frost; feed the raspberries. Each word is smudged by thumbs. A calendar curls to June 2012, a smiling tractor frozen forever. Time seems to have stood still, even though dust keeps falling.

There are other small things. A glove, shrunken and stiff, is curled like a leaf; a terracotta pot, halved cleanly, cradles a single snail shell. The floor is gritty with soil, grit that crunches underfoot. From the roof, a drop forms, swells, falls—drip, drip—into a dark stain that widens and widens. Outside, ivy fingers the boards. And yet, the shed does not feel lonely. It simply waits: for boots on the step, for a hand on the latch, for the blunt joy of work again.

Option B:

Autumn. The season of soft endings; leaves loosened their grip on skeletal branches, and the house seemed to inhale its own history as the light thinned to honey. I had come to sort, to box, to be practical. Instead, each floorboard spoke the old language of childhood, a familiar creak that made my chest ache.

At first, I was methodical—stacking paperbacks, tying string round bulging boxes, peering at Mum’s slanted labels: winter scarves; school reports; misc. Another box waited at the back, small and stubborn, the cardboard silvered where tape had been peeled and re-stuck too many times. Stars, once fluorescent, flaked under my thumb. I knew that box; I had made it.

Inside: a tangle of friendship bracelets faded to the palest threads, a cinema stub gone soft with time, a plastic dolphin key ring, and a letter fat with creases. In thick bubble letters it announced, To Future Me—Do Not Open Until You Are Old (at least 18!). I sat cross-legged on the rug and unfolded it carefully; the paper was soft as petals at the folds.

"Hi," it began, untidy and hopeful. "I hope you are famous now. Are you still friends with Leila?" I smiled and winced in the same breath. On the last squeezed line, younger me had written: "If you read this, the plan is still possible. Go to the iron bridge at dusk; look under the third plank. We hid it there."

The name of the bridge pulled a picture from the silt of my mind—amber evenings, bicycle chains fizzing, the reedy whisper of the stream. We had been ten, maybe eleven; our days were huge then, stretched like elastic. What had we hidden? A tin? A key? Or just a dare that dissolved with the rain.

The sky turned bruise-coloured. I slid the letter back into its envelope and tucked it into my coat pocket (it felt ridiculously light), along with the faded bracelet. I had come to pack boxes, to be sensible. Instead, I found an old instruction and, unexpectedly, a piece of myself. Dusk was an hour away.

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

Option A:

The shed hunches at the ragged edge of the allotments, half-swallowed by nettles and bindweed. Its felt roof peels like old paint; the timber is grey, softened by years of rain. Brambles throw hooked shadows across a door that barely closes, a padlock frozen in place with red-brown rust. When the wind comes, the structure sighs—a tired breath.

Step inside and the light fractures into thin stripes that cut the dust. The air is cool, damp, carrying the bitter smell of soil. Cobwebs hang from the rafters in long ropes, a lacework that trembles. An old trowel and fork are pinned to a board; their metal faces are freckled with rust, their wooden handles split. Somewhere, a slow drip finds a tin lid—plink, pause, plink.

Along one shelf sit jars and tubs: screws, seed packets, a tangle of twine. Labels, once neat, are smudged by damp fingerprints. Runner Beans 2013, Beetroot, Marigold heads saved in a cracked cup. The seeds have turned to dust, dry as paper. A glove lies curled like a small, asleep hand. A cane pyramid leans at a strange angle, its string brittle.

On the wall, a calendar fades. March is circled; Sowing written in pencil, twice. The writing is ordinary and careful. It tells of plans and weather and hope, though no one reads it now. Outside, the plot is a wild patch, rough with thistles. The wheelbarrow is overturned, its rim sunk into the earth.

The shed holds these left-over traces and keeps them quietly. Even the air feels patient. It waits for the creak of boots, for the scrape of a spade, for warm voices. None come—only a robin at the threshold, tipping its head at the gloom, then flicking away. Dust settles again; the place remembers, and goes on being forgotten.

Option B:

Dust. The thin grey kind that softens the edges of forgotten things and glitters when the light finds it. It lay over the attic like a quiet blanket; when I pushed up the hatch, it stirred and drifted.

Mum asked me to clear the attic before we sold the house. The ladder creaked; the bulb hummed. Boxes were stacked like small brown buildings, labels faded to smudges: books, winter clothes, miscellaneous.

I crouched and pulled one towards me. On top sat a short, battered box with a cracked blue lid. Inside lay my old sketchbook, cover frayed at the corners, a stub of 2B pencil tucked beneath the elastic. The past was not loud; it was a quiet tug at the sleeve.

I flipped the pages: charcoal trees leaning over the canal, a dog with an ear too big, Mum’s hands holding a mug, smudges where a sleeve had dragged through wet graphite, fingerprints like small shadows. My name appeared on a corner again and again, as if I had to prove to the paper that I was there.

I remembered why I stopped. Homework, exams, part-time shifts—these piled up like more boxes. A teacher smiled and said I had talent, then added, gently, to think about practical choices, so I closed the book and hid it under miscellaneous.

Now, kneeling in the dust, I slid the pencil free. It felt the same: smooth, a little greasy. The first line shook; the next was braver. I sketched the hatch, the ladder, the square of afternoon on the floorboards. Somewhere below a car door slammed; dust floated; the bulb hummed on. In that small, low space, something I thought I had lost drew itself back to me.

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

Option A:

Light slips through the thin cracks in the boards, a pale stripe across the floor where dust floats like tiny insects. It smells of damp soil and old wood. The door is swollen from rain, the hinges complain whenever anyone tries them, though nobody has for months. Above, the corrugated roof ticks in weak sun; spider webs hang silver where the light finds them.

Along the back wall, tools hang in a crooked line: a spade with a cracked handle, a fork with bent teeth, a trowel stained dark. They look like old soldiers who have been told to wait. Their edges are brown and rough. Balls of twine slump in a basket.

On the bench there are seed packets faded to ghosts. Names of runner beans and marigolds are smudged by damp. A calendar curls on a nail, stuck on last June. Jam jars hold screws and nails, clouded with dust. Through the small window a crack runs like a river, and ivy presses an inquisitive face against the glass. Sometimes the wind crosses the allotments and the shed seems to breathe - slow in and out.

A mouse has nibbled at a sack of compost; crumbs lie like brown snow. When rain drums, the sound fills the whole place, steady and patient. Now, silence is the usual visitor. It is forgotten, but it remembers the weight of boots, the mud, the clang of metal. Left behind, it waits for a hand on the door, for the first slice of light.

Option B:

Autumn. The time of crumbling leaves; shoes scuffing pavements; the sky thinning and light sliding earlier through windows. The season when you sort things out—drawers, rooms, your head—and sometimes you find what you forgot.

I pulled the attic cord and the bulb hummed. Dust drifted up like tiny planets; the house breathed out a musty sigh. Grandad’s house used to be loud with his radio and Mum’s laughing, but now the floorboards creaked in their own language. I climbed carefully, one knee after the other, and the ladder trembled.

Boxes waited in uneven towers. Old blankets. A cracked photo frame. A shoebox wrapped in cartoon paper, the colours bleached. I hesitated. My name was written on top in my own clumsy, felt-tip letters: SAM’S STUFF.

Inside: a blue diary with a silver pretend lock, a badge shaped like a star, a friendship bracelet I thought I’d lost. The diary was soft and frayed at the edges, warm in my hands though the air felt cold. I breathed in the ink and dust; it smelt of pencil shavings and wet leaves.

On the first page, my younger handwriting shouted: RULES FOR OUR SECRET CLUB. Then a date—12 July—and three crooked rules. Be brave. Don’t tell Mum. Find the river.

All at once the past loosened. I remembered the river path, nettles biting my ankles, Mia’s laugh running ahead of me. I remembered promising we would come back, we never did.

It should have gone years ago, I kept it without meaning to. Now it had come back to me like a whisper, or a small bell. I turned another page. The house seemed to listen.

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

Option A:

At the edge of the allotment, the shed leans like a tired man, one shoulder dipped under ivy. Its swollen door is stubborn, paint flaking, the padlock rusted. Thin lines of light squeeze through the boards and make stripes on the dusty floor. The path outside is thin and muddy, it hasn’t been used for a long time. It looks forgotten, and it is.

Inside, the air smells of damp soil and old metal; a heavy smell that sits in your throat. Spiders have thrown grey webs from beam to hook. Long-handled tools hang on nails, their edges orange with rust, a spade’s blade dull like a pale moon. The wooden handles are splintered and sticky, worn by hands that don’t come now. A cracked jar holds screws and a single seed that never found spring.

A drip ticks in the corner—slow, patient—from a dented watering can. The bench wobbles, its leg patched with a brick. Dust drifts when a breeze squeezes under the door, and the shed seems to sigh. It remembers rows of beans, the rhythm of digging; it remembers voices and boots. Outside, weeds press at the window. Who will lift the latch again? Maybe next week, maybe never, the shed waits and waits.

Option B:

Dust floated in the attic like flour in a sunbeam. The little window was cobwebbed; it didn't open. I climbed the ladder, my heart beating for no reason. Mum said we were just clearing junk, but old things aren't just junk to me.

At the back, under a moth-eaten blanket, a shoebox waited. Brown, tired, tied with a blue ribbon gone stiff. My name was on a label in Grandma's round writing. How had I forgotten this? I was sat on the boards, the wood pressing cold through my jeans. When I pulled the ribbon, it whispered across the card.

I lifted the lid. The smell came first: soap, old paper, a faint lemon. Inside was a stack of photographs, a ticket, a shell from the beach. On the top, a picture of me and my brother, our faces sticky with ice cream, Dad's shadow in front of us.

Time didn’t stop; it slowed, like the tide going out. I remembered the day: the gulls were bossy and the wind tangled my hair. I hadn't thought about it for years. My fingers trembled and the photo almost slipped. It wasn’t just a picture - it was a door. And now, I wanted to walk back through.

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

Option A:

The allotment shed sits at the back by the nettles. The wood is grey and soft, the paint is flaking, the roof sags. It is forgotten; it sits and waits in the rain. I push the door and it sticks, it scrapes, then it opens a bit.

Inside it smells like damp and old soil. Tools hang on a bent nail, a spade, a fork, a hoe, all brown and orange with rust. Spider webs hang like thin cloth and they move when I breath. Light comes in lines through the gaps, it makes dust float and spin.

A cracked jar, some string, a broken glove on the floor.

The shed feels tired.

It dont get used now, it just keeps things and time and the small drip, drip from the roof. It is quiet, quiet, but the wood talks a little in the wind and the door still remembers hands.

Option B:

I climb into the loft. The air is dusty and quiet, I cough. Light comes in thin lines like strings. The old boards make a little cry. I came for a suitcase but my eyes stop on a small brown box under a torn blanket.

I didn't open it at first.

It is taped up, with my name wrote on top. I touch it and my hand turns grey with dust, it feels like a old book. My heart beats fast like a drum! I pull the tape and the lid jumps. A smell comes, cold and sweet, like soap. I remember that from Grandmas kitchen. Inside is a red ribbon, a small toy car, a photo of two kids and a dog. Me. My brother. The dog went years ago. The room seem to tilt. It waited for me, and now I am finding the past.

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

Option A:

The shed is small and old. It sits at the back, nobody goes there now. The door is stuck and the wood is soft, I push it. Inside is dark and it smell like damp and soil and old tea. Rusted tools hang on a nail. They point down like teeth, brown and not sharp. Dust and cobwebs are everywere, the light come in a crack. I hear a drop of water, drip drip, drip. The floor is cold, my shoe leaves a mark, I dont like. I think grandad kept seeds here but he forgot it, I cant remember.

Option B:

Spring. New light in the loft. Dust, boxes, old smell. I go up careful, the steps creak. I look and I find a small tin, it is blue and a bit bent, like it waited. Inside are photos and a note. I don't remember it but I do, like a song you heard ages ago. My hand shakes, I read the name. It is my grandad writing, hi kid, be brave. I seen him once at the park, we was eating chips. The picture shows rain and us smiling. Mum shouts about tea, I dont go. The loft is quiet and I just stand.