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 Which two things form the spectacle in a fellow-creature?: guilt and shame – 1 mark
• 1.2 The scene was not without what?: a mixture of awe – 1 mark
• 1.3 Before society had grown corrupt enough, what would replace shuddering at the spectacle?: to smile at it – 1 mark
• 1.4 According to the narrator, which punishment could the witnesses have looked upon for Hester Prynne, had that been the sentence?: Hester Prynne's death – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

Look in detail at this extract, from lines 6 to 20 of the source:

6 murmur at its severity, but had none of the heartlessness of another social state, which would find only a theme for jest in an exhibition like the present. Even had there been a disposition to turn the matter into ridicule, it must have been repressed and overpowered by the solemn presence of men no less dignified than the Governor, and several of his counsellors, a judge, a

11 general, and the ministers of the town; all of whom sat or stood in a balcony of the meeting-house, looking down upon the platform. When such personages could constitute a part of the spectacle, without risking the majesty or reverence of rank and office, it was safely to be inferred that the infliction of a legal sentence would have an earnest and effectual meaning. Accordingly,

16 the crowd was sombre and grave. The unhappy culprit sustained herself as best a woman might, under the heavy weight of a thousand unrelenting eyes, all fastened upon her, and concentrated at her bosom. It was almost intolerable to be borne. Of an impulsive and passionate nature, she had fortified herself to encounter the stings and venomous stabs of public contumely, wreaking itself

How does the writer use language here to show how power shapes the crowd’s mood? 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 analyses how the long, cumulative listing and lexical field of authority in “the Governor, and several of his counsellors, a judge, a general, and the ministers of the town,” alongside the spatial hierarchy of “looking down upon the platform,” together “repressed and overpowered” any “theme for jest,” making the sentence carry “an earnest and effectual meaning” and rendering the crowd “sombre and grave.” It also explores how hyperbolic, violent imagery — the “heavy weight of a thousand unrelenting eyes, all fastened upon her, and concentrated at her bosom” and “stings and venomous stabs of public contumely” — constructs collective surveillance as an instrument of power that coerces mood and intensifies shame.

The writer uses a semantic field of authority, reinforced by accumulative listing, to impose solemnity. The “solemn presence” of “the Governor… a judge, a general, and the ministers” accumulates titles, and with the participial phrase “looking down upon the platform” constructs a hierarchy. The abstract nouns “majesty” and “reverence” attach aura to “rank and office,” making levity sacrilegious. The causal connective “Accordingly” steers the reader from cause to effect: “the crowd was sombre and grave,” showing power directly calibrates collective mood.

Furthermore, the concessive conditional and passive voice depict authority suppressing feeling. “Even had there been a disposition to… ridicule, it must have been repressed and overpowered” uses the modal “must” to encode necessity, while the passives efface the agent, suggesting impersonal institutional force. The verb choices “repressed” and “overpowered” carry violent connotations, implying that any flicker of jest is forcibly subdued. This grammatical coercion mirrors how civic power disciplines the populace into outward gravity.

Additionally, hyperbolic synecdoche and violent imagery show how that power channels the crowd into a single, punitive gaze. The metaphorical “heavy weight of a thousand unrelenting eyes,” “fastened… and concentrated at her bosom,” converts individuals into a surveilling mass, their attention disciplined and exact. Finally, the zoomorphic metaphor “stings and venomous stabs of public contumely” personifies communal scorn as a creature weaponised by authority; its archaic abstract noun “contumely” sharpens the sense of ritual shame. Thus, power crystallises the mood into oppressive, collective seriousness.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would identify that the writer uses authoritative lexis and listing of status to show power imposing seriousness: the solemn presence of dignified figures like the Governor, 'looking down', and forceful verbs (repressed and overpowered) suppress any ridicule so the crowd is sombre and grave, and the legal sentence carries earnest and effectual weight. It would also explain how metaphor turns the collective gaze into control, as the culprit endures the heavy weight of a thousand unrelenting eyes, all concentrated at her bosom.

The writer uses a formal lexical field and cumulative listing to show how authority controls the crowd’s mood. The “solemn presence” of “the Governor… several of his counsellors, a judge, a general, and the ministers” piles up titles; this list builds a sense of institutional weight. Spatial imagery in “looking down upon the platform” suggests a hierarchy, so the crowd instinctively looks up and adopts seriousness. Even the potential for “ridicule… must have been repressed and overpowered”: the passive verbs and the modal “must” imply inevitability, pressing the people into sobriety.

Moreover, sentence form reinforces this control. After a long, multi-clausal build-up, the short, declarative “Accordingly, the crowd was sombre and grave” delivers the consequence, with the connective “Accordingly” signalling cause and effect. The crowd becomes a single, severe entity through hyperbole and metaphor: the “heavy weight of a thousand unrelenting eyes” turns their gaze into a physical burden, showing how official power has focused them into silent condemnation. Furthermore, the personification of “public contumely, wreaking itself” and the violent imagery of “stings” and “venomous stabs” show their mood channelled away from “jest” towards punitive hostility. Thus, the language presents power as shaping, restraining, and intensifying the crowd’s response.

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 would identify the listing of powerful figures — the Governor, a judge, a general, and the ministers of the town — and their solemn presence, looking down, to show authority that keeps any mockery repressed and overpowered. It would also pick the adjectives sombre and grave and the metaphor the heavy weight of a thousand unrelenting eyes to explain how power makes the crowd serious and pressures the culprit.

The writer uses a list of powerful officials and titles to show authority controls the mood. The “solemn presence” of “the Governor… a judge… a general” means any wish to “turn the matter into ridicule” is “repressed and overpowered”. This makes the crowd respectful and serious; the short, simple sentence “Accordingly, the crowd was sombre and grave” sums it up.

Moreover, the phrase “looking down upon the platform” suggests hierarchy; the officials look down on everyone. Words like “majesty” and “reverence” create a sense of rank, so people accept the “legal sentence” has “earnest and effectual meaning”.

Additionally, hyperbole and violent metaphors show how this power focuses the crowd on the woman: “a thousand unrelenting eyes… fastened… concentrated”, and “stings and venomous stabs”. The verbs and imagery make the mood feel heavy and intimidating, shaped by authority.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses serious words like "solemn presence", "repressed and overpowered", and "sombre and grave" to show the powerful people make the crowd quiet and serious. The list of leaders "the Governor" and "a judge, a general, and the ministers", plus "looking down upon the platform", shows authority controlling the mood.

The writer uses a list of titles, “the Governor… a judge, a general”, to show power. This makes the crowd serious and stops any “ridicule”. The phrase “solemn presence” and the verb “overpowered” show authority controlling the mood. Furthermore, the adjectives “sombre and grave” simply describe how the crowd feels under power. Moreover, “looking down” suggests the leaders are above everyone. Additionally, the hyperbole “a thousand unrelenting eyes” creates pressure on the culprit, making the mood heavy. The long sentence listing officials shows power shaping the crowd’s behaviour.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Juxtaposition of ridicule and solemnity directs the crowd away from mockery to seriousness, from theme for jest to restraint
• Polysyndetic list of offices amasses institutional weight, intimidating and disciplining the crowd — a judge, a general
• Spatial hierarchy positions power above the people, with officials looking down upon the platform, enforcing deference
• Abstract nouns of authority construct an aura that mandates solemnity — reverence of rank and office
• Causal connective marks power as the cause of mood: ‘Accordingly’ the crowd becomes sombre and grave
• Legal register frames the event as legitimate and serious, giving it earnest and effectual meaning
• Passive, modal phrasing — it must have been repressed — makes control feel inevitable and impersonal
• Personified authority in the phrase solemn presence suggests power as an active force shaping collective behaviour
• Hyperbolic, collective gaze turns the crowd into an instrument of pressure — a thousand unrelenting eyes — deepening the oppressive tone
• Irony of elites as part of the spectacle normalises severity and cues a respectful, not jocular, response

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 novel.

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

You could write about:

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

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

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

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Analyses effects of structural choices; judicious examples; sophisticated terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would explain how structure creates intimacy by narrowing from public spectacle to private mind: the authoritative tableau 'the Governor... a judge... the ministers' and oppressive 'a thousand unrelenting eyes' 'concentrated at her bosom' pivot at 'Yet there were intervals' into an interior montage where anaphora 'She saw' and the controlling image 'memory’s picture-gallery' retrace the 'entire track' of her life, immersing the reader via shifts in scope, time, and viewpoint.

One way in which the writer has structured the text to create intimacy is the progressive narrowing of focus—from impersonal spectacle to Hester’s private consciousness. At first, dignitaries sit “in a balcony… looking down,” and “the crowd was sombre and grave”; then the lens tightens: “the unhappy culprit sustained herself… under the heavy weight of a thousand unrelenting eyes… concentrated at her bosom.” This narrative zoom, together with internal focalisation (“she felt… she must needs shriek”), grants privileged access to her sensations.

In addition, intimacy is deepened through a temporal shift: a sustained analepsis framed by the scaffold. The pivot “Yet there were intervals” turns inward, as “her mind… her memory was preternaturally active,” and, “Standing on that miserable eminence, she saw again” the “entire track… since her happy infancy.” The past is sequenced with anaphoric cues—“She saw her father’s… her mother’s… her own face… Next rose before her”—a curated “memory’s picture-gallery” that invites us into her private history.

A further structural choice is the modulation of pace and mood via juxtaposed hypotheticals and present pressures, which renders her inner life palpable. The conditional aside—“Had a roar of laughter burst… Hester Prynne might have repaid them”—momentarily imagines relief before the prose returns to the “leaden infliction” and the urge to “shriek” or “go mad.” This ebb and flow, signposted by connectives (“Yet,” “Be that as it might”), mirrors her oscillation and lets us experience her moment-by-moment coping.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 3 response clearly explains the shift in focus that creates intimacy: from the public spectacle—authorities 'looking down' on a crowd 'sombre and grave', with 'a thousand unrelenting eyes' 'concentrated at her bosom'—to Hester’s private interior, as 'the whole scene ... seemed to vanish' and her memory becomes 'preternaturally active' in a 'memory’s picture-gallery' tracing her life 'since her happy infancy'. It links these structural moves (external scrutiny to chronological, personal recollection) to effect, showing how the narrowing viewpoint and temporal sweep draw the reader closer to Hester’s feelings.

One way in which the writer structures the text to create intimacy is by narrowing the narrative focus and shifting perspective. The opening surveys the public spectacle—the Governor, counsellors and “the crowd”—but quickly zooms to “the unhappy culprit” and to eyes “fastened upon her… bosom.” This move from a wide, external overview to internal focalisation brings us to Hester’s body and feelings, reducing distance and prompting empathy.

In addition, a clear temporal shift into analepsis deepens intimacy. The pivot, signalled by “Yet there were intervals,” lets the present scene fall away and enters Hester’s “preternaturally active” memory. The cumulative listing—“She saw her father’s… her mother’s… she saw her own face… another countenance”—slows the pace and builds a “picture‑gallery” of private recollections, inviting the reader into her inner life.

A further structural feature is the framing of these memories by the scaffold viewpoint and the use of contrast. The scaffold becomes a “point of view” that reveals “the entire track” of her life, organising the passage from public shame to private tenderness. This juxtaposition of stern onlookers with domestic, affectionate images softens the tone and sustains a close third‑person perspective, keeping us aligned with Hester and intensifying intimacy.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: At first the writer shows a public scene with the crowd was sombre and grave and a thousand unrelenting eyes, then shifts into Hester’s inner world when her mind was preternaturally active, using the repeated She saw and the memory’s picture-gallery to list memories, which builds intimacy by moving from public shame to private thoughts.

One way the writer structures the text to create intimacy is by starting wide and then zooming in. At the beginning we see the crowd and officials, “the crowd was sombre and grave”, then the focus shifts to Hester’s feelings, like wanting to “shriek”, making us feel closer to her.

In addition, there is a clear time shift into memory. The narrator says there were “intervals” and her “memory was preternaturally active”, bringing back “infancy” and “school-days”. This flashback lets us share her private past, which builds a personal bond with the reader.

A further structural feature is the sequence and repetition. The middle to end lists what “she saw”: her father, her mother, and “another countenance” of the scholar, then a “Continental city”. This order from childhood to adult life, kept in her viewpoint, deepens the intimacy by staying inside her mind.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response might simply note a shift from the public scene — "the crowd was sombre and grave", with "the Governor, and several of his counsellors" — to Hester’s private memories — "her mind, and especially her memory, was preternaturally active", "Reminiscences" — saying this makes it more intimate because we enter her thoughts.

One way in which the writer has structured the text to create intimacy is by shifting focus from the public scene to Hester herself. At first we see the crowd and leaders “looking down,” then the focus narrows to her feelings, “almost intolerable.” This zoom makes us feel close.

In addition, the writer uses a flashback. Her memory becomes active and the time shifts to “her father’s face” and home. This brings us into private moments.

A further structural feature is repetition and listing. The repeated “She saw…” and ordered memories keep the perspective close and intimate.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Panoramic public opening narrowing to a bodily focal point → zoom-in creates personal proximity with Hester’s exposure (concentrated at her bosom)
• Elevated officials overseeing the spectacle before the crowd’s hush → hierarchical staging intensifies her isolation, inviting close reader alignment (looking down upon the platform)
• Juxtaposition of imagined ridicule with actual solemnity → contrast foregrounds her private yearning and fragility, deepening inward connection (leaden infliction)
• Break from external scene into inner perception → perspectival shift grants private access to thought and feeling (seemed to vanish)
• Retrospective sweep across her life course → temporal expansion builds shared life-history intimacy (since her happy infancy)
• Anaphoric vision sequence (“She saw...”) → patterned recall feels confessional, centering her self-image (She saw her own face)
• Scaffold as framing vantage for her whole journey → structural overview encourages reflective closeness to her path (point of view)
• Memory organized as a curated gallery → sectionalized scenes invite slow, intimate viewing alongside her (memory’s picture-gallery)
• Concentration on a single, penetrating figure → narrowing to a charged relationship makes us privy to private insight (read the human soul)
• Concluding with a quiet, reflective simile → gentle cadence leaves an intimate, inward-turned aftertaste (tuft of green moss)

Question 4 - Mark Scheme

For this question focus on the second part of the source, from line 16 to the end.

In this part of the source, Hester’s mind wanders back to clear memories of her childhood. The writer suggests this is her mind’s way of escaping the terrible reality of her punishment.

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

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of Hester Prynne's memories of childhood
• comment on the methods the writer uses to suggest her mind's escape from reality
• 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 that Hawthorne frames Hester’s reverie as psychic escape, analysing how dissociative imagery and perspective make the scene “seem to vanish” into “spectral images,” her memory “preternaturally active,” an “instinctive device of her spirit” to “relieve ... the cruel weight ... of the reality.” It would also complicate this by arguing that the scaffold becomes “a point of view” that “revealed ... the entire track ... since her happy infancy,” where concrete recollections (“a decayed house of gray stone,” the “misshapen scholar,” “bleared optics”) turn ‘escape’ into lucid self-reckoning.

I largely agree with the statement: the writer portrays Hester’s mind as staging a vivid retreat into memory as a defence against the “cruel weight” of her punishment; however, that retreat is unstable and not confined to childhood, since darker adult recollections intrude. The section opens by saturating us in the oppressive present: the “heavy weight of a thousand unrelenting eyes,” “concentrated at her bosom,” and the “leaden infliction” create a semantic field of pressure and punishment. The crowd’s “solemn mood” even personifies the “popular mind” as implacable. Structurally, “Yet there were intervals” signals a pivot into mental departure: the scene “vanished” or “glimmered indistinctly… like… spectral images.” This ghostly simile and internal focalisation suggest dissociation, a protective blur, before memory becomes “preternaturally active” and starts “bringing up other scenes.”

On clarity, the writer insists the recollections are vivid: “Reminiscences… came swarming back,” the dynamic verb implying involuntary abundance, yet “one picture precisely as vivid as another.” The extended metaphor of “memory’s picture-gallery,” reinforced by the anaphora of “She saw… She saw… She saw,” creates a curated, cinematic procession that eclipses the scaffold. Crucially, the omniscient narrator intrudes—“Possibly, it was an instinctive device… to relieve itself… from the cruel weight and hardness of the reality”—explicitly framing the mind’s excursion as a coping mechanism, a self-staged “play” that levels all events and grants temporary detachment.

The content initially supports the statement’s focus on childhood: she revisits her “native village” and “paternal home,” where even the “half-obliterated shield of arms” confers continuity. Parental portraits have a consolatory glow: the father’s “reverend white beard” and the mother’s “heedful and anxious love” wrap her in remembered care, while her “own face, glowing with girlish beauty” lights a “dusky mirror,” an image of warmth against gloom. Yet the writer pointedly intermixes “whatever was gravest”: the “pale, thin, scholar-like visage” with “bleared” yet “penetrating” eyes and a “slightly deformed” shoulder carries menace and control. The sequence closes in pessimism: the “new life” in the “Continental city” feeds “like a tuft of green moss on a crumbling wall,” a simile of precarious growth on decay that collapses pure escapism.

Overall, I agree to a great extent: through contrast, metaphor and structural patterning, the writer presents memory as an instinctive refuge from the scaffold’s “cruel weight.” However, because these images are both “trifling” and “gravest,” and because the final image is bleak, the escape is unstable—vivid and consoling, yet threaded with the very forces that produced her punishment. It is a double‑edged flight rather than a simple, childhood reverie.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 3 response would mostly agree that Hester’s mind escapes her punishment, noting her memory is preternaturally active and summons phantasmagoric forms from infancy and school-days to relieve itself from the cruel weight and hardness of the reality, and commenting on the contrast between the scaffold and vivid recollections of her native village and decayed house of gray stone. It would also acknowledge limits to this escape by identifying the intrusive detail of the misshapen scholar and bleared optics, suggesting painful truths persist within the reverie.

I agree to a great extent that the writer presents Hester’s clear childhood memories as her mind’s way of escaping the unbearable present, though this “escape” is uneasy and mixed with more troubling recollections. The opening of the passage emphasises the crushing reality: the “thousand unrelenting eyes” and “leaden infliction” create a sense of inescapable weight. This oppressive mood explains why, structurally, the narrative pivots with “Yet there were intervals,” signalling dissociation. The simile “the whole scene… glimmered indistinctly… like a mass of… spectral images” blurs reality, while the personification in “her memory was preternaturally active” suggests the mind acting on its own to protect her.

The narrator even proposes, “Possibly, it was an instinctive device of her spirit… to relieve itself… from the cruel weight,” explicitly supporting the idea of mental escape. The listing of “passages of infancy and school-days, sports, childish quarrels” conveys a flood of trifling details that “came swarming back,” the verb implying a protective screen. The extended metaphor of “memory’s picture-gallery” presents these scenes as framed, controlled images, and the phrase “one picture precisely as vivid as another” shows how sharp and consoling they are. Visual imagery—her “native village,” the “decayed house of gray stone,” her father’s “reverend white beard,” and her own face “glowing… in the dusky mirror”—reconstructs a stable identity beyond the scaffold.

However, the escape is not wholly soothing. The gallery also includes the “scholar-like visage” with “bleared optics” and deformity, and the Continental city where her “new life” feeds “like a tuft of green moss on a crumbling wall,” a simile hinting at decay and constraint. The structural statement that “the scaffold… revealed… the entire track” suggests revelation as much as evasion.

Overall, I largely agree: through figurative language, contrast, and a shift from present to past, the writer shows memory as a coping mechanism. Yet it is a fragile refuge that also forces Hester to confront the path that led to her punishment.

Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 2 response would mostly agree that the writer shows Hester’s mind escaping, using simple evidence like the scene glimmered indistinctly, her memory preternaturally active, and the instinctive device of her spirit producing phantasmagoric forms and passages of infancy and school-days (basic mention of imagery/contrast). It may also briefly note the escape is limited because the scaffold of the pillory was a point of view for these memories.

I mostly agree that the writer shows Hester’s mind going back to childhood as a way to escape her punishment. The public shame feels overwhelming, so her drifting thoughts seem like protection. This makes us sympathise with her.

The harsh reality is shown by “thousand unrelenting eyes” and the “leaden infliction”, so we feel her ordeal. Then a structural shift follows: “Yet there were intervals…”. The present “glimmered indistinctly, like… spectral images”—a simile for the scene fading. Her memory is “preternaturally active”, bringing back “passages of infancy and school-days”. Vivid imagery of “her native village” and her father’s “reverend white beard” makes the memories clear. The narrator even calls it “an instinctive device… to relieve itself… from the cruel weight… of the reality,” which supports the idea of escape. This structure tracks her mind moving away from the scaffold.

However, the memories are not only happy childhood. They are “intermingled with… whatever was gravest” later in life. The “misshapen scholar” and the “Continental city” suggest troubles too, so the escape feels partial and mixed with darker recollections.

Overall, I agree to a large extent. The writer contrasts the brutal present with vivid flashbacks to show her mind coping, even if the escape is only temporary and incomplete.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response would simply agree that the writer shows Hester’s mind escaping reality, pointing to basic phrases like “seemed to vanish”, “an instinctive device of her spirit… to relieve itself… from the… reality,” and noticing childhood memories such as “passages of infancy.”

I mostly agree that Hester’s mind goes back to childhood to get away from her punishment. At first the writer shows how terrible the moment is: “a thousand unrelenting eyes” and the “leaden infliction” make it “almost intolerable,” so we understand why she wants escape. Then there are “intervals when the whole scene… vanished,” and it “glimmered… like a mass of… spectral images.” This simile shows her vision blurring as her mind drifts. The writer says her “memory was preternaturally active,” and uses a list of “passages of infancy and school-days, sports, childish quarrels,” to show lots of small, clear memories coming back.

In “memory’s picture-gallery” (a metaphor), she “saw again her native village,” and the faces of her father and mother, and even her “own face, glowing.” These calm, homely images contrast with the “cruel weight and hardness of the reality.” The narrator even suggests it was “an instinctive device… to relieve” her spirit, which supports the idea of escape.

Overall, I agree to a large extent: the writer uses simple imagery and contrast to show Hester escaping into memory to cope.

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:

• The oppressive severity of the crowd’s judgement makes psychological flight plausible, as the punishment’s weight presses her mind to seek relief (leaden infliction)
• Extremity of feeling heightens urgency for escape; at the brink of breakdown, retreat into memory reads as a coping response (go mad at once)
• Moments of dissociation stage an exit from the present; the scene blurs as her perception withdraws from reality (seemed to vanish)
• Personified, intensified memory actively substitutes past scenes for the scaffold, signalling a deliberate psychic evasion (preternaturally active)
• Narrative hedging refines agreement: the escape is framed as probable self-preservation, not asserted fact (instinctive device)
• Structural vantage enables a life review that redirects attention from punishment to biography, enacting escape through perspective (entire track)
• Recollection of early happiness offers solace, contrasting present humiliation with remembered safety and warmth (happy infancy)
• Yet the sequence mingles comfort with severity, so the mental flight is partial and conflicted rather than purely soothing (whatever was gravest)
• A bleak concluding simile undercuts refuge, casting the “new life” as precariously sustained on decay, complicating the extent of escape (crumbling wall)

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

A local nature reserve is collecting creative pieces for its anniversary memory book.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Describe a neglected corner of a garden from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about returning to a place you knew as a child.

(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:

At the far edge of the garden, where the path gave up and the lawn lost its nerve, a tangle of shadow had made a home of the corner. Light arrives here reluctantly; it drips from the leaves in thin, greenish threads and pools on the stone like tired honey. Edges blur, colours bruise. Even the air seems thick, a slow-breathing thing that remembers rain.

A stone bench slumps beneath the drooping branches, its back bowed as if under some old apology. Lichen freckles its surface; the moss, plush and impertinent, creeps over the lip and nestles in the carvings, turning letters to whispers and angels to smudges. The legs are half-sunk, swallowed by the patient silt of seasons. Touch it and the damp climbs your skin.

Ivy has opinions in this place. It threads its dark ribbons through the fence and over the bench, fastening everything to everything. Bramble canes, armed with hooked punctuation, attempt a kind of siege; nettles stand aside, pert and warning. Behind them, a rust-crooked trellis supports nothing but the memory of roses—ghost stems, thorn shadows, a faint perfume (imagined, perhaps) that may only be in the head.

On the ground, the garden's archaeology: a terracotta shard with a lick of white salt, a dulled marble, a glove curled into itself like a sleeping mouse. A trowel lies where it was abandoned—rust-furred, handle chewed to a pale fuzz. A cracked birdbath holds a bruise-coloured puddle in which the sky rehearses its weather. Every gust sends a fringe of mosquitoes knitting and unknitting the light.

The sounds are low and local. Drip from a frayed gutter; a soft, secretive scurry beneath the ivy; the occasional thud of a too-ripe apple falling somewhere else. Overhead, the leaves gossip—susurrus upon susurrus—while a wood pigeon grates its mantra from beyond the fence. The smell is complicated: loam, leaf-rot, something metallic, like an old coin warmed in a palm. Not unpleasant. Just honest.

Here, spiders have perfected patience. Their webs are hung from twig to nail, nets of improbable geometry dotted with the day’s minute harvest; here, snails write glossolalia on dark stone, silver sentences that evaporate before they can be read. A slug has grazed the moss in neat, meandering glyphs. Ants commute in straight lines, disciplined and oblivious to the falling grace of a papery leaf.

Time moves differently in this enclave. It does not march; it accumulates—leaf on leaf, damp on damp—until things are not so much forgotten as folded into their surroundings. Year after year after year, the quiet performs its work. Neglect, which sounds careless, is almost careful here: a permission, a truce. The corner keeps what it is given, and what it is given it reimagines, patiently, into green.

Option B:

Autumn. The season that gilds endings and makes them look like beginnings; hedgerows stippled with berries, pavements fretted with leaves the colour of old coins, a breath in the air that tastes faintly of smoke and rain. If spring is a promise, autumn is a memory—brighter, somehow, because it cannot last. I carry my memory along Holme Lane like a fragile bowl, careful not to spill it.

The lane remembers me. At least, that’s how it feels as the gate—paint scabbed, latch cold as a reprimand—tilts its familiar head. Once, I had to jump to reach it; now my hand finds the metal without thinking. The roses that used to snag my sleeves are brown fists on brittle stems, yet the scent of the soil underneath is the same damp-velvet note my grandmother swore was good for you. Beyond the low wall, the house sits with its blinds half-drawn, a face I know arranged into a strange expression.

The key is heavier than it used to be. Or is it that I have more to carry: letters, bills, the invisible weight you acquire by leaving. It slots in with a small gasp of metal. The door opens reluctantly, swelling on the threshold, and the house exhales. Dust motes rise—tiny planets in a cold universe—spinning in a shaft of light that slices the hallway on the diagonal. I say, “Hello,” to the empty place, voice too big and too quiet simultaneously.

Inside, everything is smaller than I remember, and also larger; it’s a contradiction I cannot untie. The corridor seems to have shrunk, yet the scent expands—the sweet-sour tang of marmalade, the ferrous whisper of old radiators, polish, lavender, a ghost of toast. On the kitchen doorframe, pencil-measured notches map our upward scramble through childhood: 5, 6¾, 8, 9 (“finally taller than the kettle!”). The archaeologist in me wants to label it all with dates and captions; the child in me wants to run a finger along the grooves and grow back into them.

I loiter in the kitchen because it feels honest. Light slurs across the chipped sink; the tap coughs once, then submits. A blue bowl sits where it always sat (left of the bread bin), full of odd screws and a marble the colour of pond water. The wallpaper—flowers faded to tea stains—peels at the corner like a turned page. In the corner, the old clock has stopped at 3:17; it had a habit of stopping at interesting times. How many afternoons did we spend here—counting the sizzle of sausages, the boiled-sweet clatter of spoons, the sibilant hiss of the kettle as if it were whispering a secret we’d almost learned?

In the years since I moved away, I trained myself not to catalogue rooms. Nevertheless, this place is a palimpsest: layers of us show through. Here is where my father lined up shoes to polish on Sundays; here, the burn mark shaped like a comma where I learned that toast can be elusive and incendiary. There is the window I pressed my nose against to watch first snow; the glass still holds a faint smear in its memory—or perhaps that is wishful thinking.

Outside, a bus groans past, indifferent. Inside, the house creaks—timbers settling, a sound like old bones appreciating the weather. I reach for the marble, almost without planning to; it is cool, smooth, unexpectedly heavy in my palm. It looks exact, unchanged, as if time forgot to call here. It is exactly where I left it. I am exactly not.

“Right,” I say to no one, to the kettle, to the patient walls. “Let’s start.” And the word feels both ridiculous and correct, like coming home after all the wrong journeys.

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

Option A:

At the very edge of the garden, where the path remembers it was a path but only just, a neglected corner crouches in its own weather. Light falls here differently: green-tinted, strained through leaves; a sifted thing that smells of damp stone and old rain. The air is cooler even at noon; it tastes faintly of iron, of nettles, of something patient.

The bench is the anchor: a low, lopsided slab of stone, its edges frilled in moss like an elderly velvet collar. Lichen has mapped continents over its back—a pale, crusted atlas—and hairline cracks veer off like capillaries. In the slight dip of the seat, last night’s shower has gathered; the puddle holds a tiny sky, scummed with pollen. Touch the surface and it shivers; draw back and it settles, sullen.

Under the canopy—laurel, ivy, a blackberry that nobody asked for—everything is busier than it looks. Spiders have strung filigree ladders between stems; a bluebottle drones as if a loose screw were turning in the air; an ant procession threads the brink of a broken pot, while the air speaks leaf mould, sour sap, mineral stone. Brambles reach with hooked curiosity, and when the breeze passes they rasp; nettles bristle; the damp soil exhales.

Evidence of care lingers and rusts: a watering can collapsed in on itself, its spout puckered with verdigris; a terracotta pot splayed into three shards; a plastic label bleached to speechlessness. Half-sunk in the path, a child’s marble the colour of seawater and a ribbon, once red, now a diluted pink, are knotted to nothing. These remnants make a kind of sentence that you half-read and half-invent. Time collects here in quiet layers—leaf, dust, shadow; season upon season, an accretion no broom reaches.

Not tidy, not pruned, not polite; and yet it is compelling. In neglect, life negotiates: a fern unscrolls fist to feather; fungus freckles the stump; woodlice disperse like loose beads. Sit (if you dare), and the bench is cold and a little damp, but steady—it takes your weight; it receives your silence; it presses a green coolness into your palms. Sound softens; the house withdraws. It is, perhaps, a secret garden cliché, but the secrecy here feels unarguable. The corner keeps its own counsel; it forgives the inattention; it waits. And while it waits, it works—slowly, quietly, inevitably—turning everything given to it into soil.

Option B:

Salt. The taste of summers caught on my tongue; the sting on wind-raw lips; the promise that days would be roomy and bright. Then, it had been simple: sand that squeaked beneath my toes, gulls scribbling white commas in the sky, a paper bag of chips steaming like a small, edible storm. Now, years later, the same salt rises to meet me as I step off the coach and face the pier. The sign still shouts in flaking paint. The sea still hurries towards the shore, folding itself into froth and pulling away again, as if breathing.

The boards complain under my weight—older, less forgiving than I remember. Once they had rebounded, trampoline-keen, answering my smaller feet with a joyful drum. Sunlight needles through the gaps, laying ribbons of brightness on the black-green water; a child might try to chase those glittering paths, but I walk carefully, palms brushing the rail, noting the new roughness, the old smell of tar and vinegar, the memory pressing forward with almost embarrassing eagerness. Places are palimpsests: new layers laid on old words. Beneath the fresh benches and the no-smoking signs, our chalked hopscotch squares persist, faint as ghosts.

To the left, the arcade slumps with its half-lit grin. Once it roared—coins chattering, machines flashing, the air sugared and metallic all at once. My father’s hand, warm and sure on my shoulder, guiding me to the penny falls; we fed the slope with copper rain, whispering to the little wall of coins, as if it might hear our hope and tip. The machines gulped, sulked, finally spilled—then applause, as private and loud as thunder. Today, the plastic curtains lift and slap; a few machines blink obstinately, their mouths gaping for coins that are hardly pennies anymore. I press a two-pence into the slot, just to hear the old clatter. It is thin, almost apologetic, but it reaches me.

Past the claw cranes (still clutching at prizes with theatrical uselessness), the chip shop exhales its vinegary halo. My reflection floats on the steamed window—older, blurred, not so different from my mother’s face when she thought no one was looking. I never meant to stay away this long; I told myself time had stood still here, that I could step back in without consequence. It hasn’t. The shutters are newer; the painted dolphins have dulled. And yet the wind plucks the same tune from the railings, a thin, fricative music that makes the skin on my arms lift.

At the pier’s end, the horizon sits like a hard-edged promise. The lifebuoy hangs where it always hung, orange fading to peach, its rope looped with the neatness of someone who understands emergencies. I touch it—superstition, perhaps—and the place answers with a small, credible shiver. The sea keeps its counsel; the wood remembers my name. I breathe in, deeper than I need to, and step on.

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

Option A:

The stone bench sulks beneath a sagging canopy of laurel, its back crusted with lichen and its seat padded by slow, soft moss. Light filters through in frayed ribbons, tired gold that barely reaches the ground; dust dances in those thin shafts, as if practising. Nothing in this corner is in a hurry; time collects in the creases like rain in an old saucer.

Flagstones, once square and certain, have slipped a little. Between them the earth has heaved; a green thread of weed stitches the gaps. At the edge, a terracotta pot leans into its own shadow—cracked, lip missing—spilling a tangle of roots. The air has the dark scent of leaf-rot: cool, damp, faintly metallic, like coins found in a forgotten pocket.

Here life is small but busy: ants commute over the pale spine of a twig; a snail tests the wet rim of a puddle with elaborate patience. In the corner’s high angles spiderwebs string silver ladders, snagging a feather and a seed. When the breeze breathes, the ferns stoop and lift—tiny applause—while the nettles keep their rifles primed. I brush past and regret it; they leave pinprick script burning on the skin, a brief lesson in boundaries.

Meanwhile, beyond the hedge, the world has its clatter: a gate clangs, a dog barks twice, a bus sighs. In here, sound arrives and softens. Drips count time from a cracked gutter, again and again. A blackbird cocks its head on the fence, considers, then drops to pick at something invisible. Who comes here now? Only things that do not mind the dimness.

And yet the bench keeps a space as if for a visitor; moss is an old velvet welcoming the tired. The cold climbs politely. Ivy has learned the grammar of stone, conjugating the curve until the shape is fluent. Even in neglect there is a careful order, a quiet method. The corner does not plead to be rescued, not really—it just waits, patient as a seed.

Option B:

The sea smelt of salt and vinegar and something like pennies. The train doors sighed open; I stepped onto the small platform where, once, I'd hopped down with a plastic bucket banging my shin. Gulls bickered above the iron rails; the wind nosed at my coat like a dog that hadn’t forgotten me. The air tasted familiar, rough. It was as if the town cleared its throat to say my name. I stood still and let the noise wash around me until memories rose like steam from a chip shop: thin, warm, insistent.

I walked the High Street I had known like a rhyme. Mr Ahmed's newsagent was gone; in its place a chalkboard announced coffee and brownies. Once there had been jars of sherbet lemons and comics on a string; now there were cacti in pots and handmade soap labelled seaweed and sage. I paused; the window still held my reflection—thinner, older—as if the glass had quietly sanded me down. The flags over the arcade fluttered; paint peeled off the railings in tired strips.

Down on the shingle, the sea kept its rhythm, steady as breath. When I was eight, Dad would press a flat stone into my palm and say, 'Not too hard, not too soft—skim it, see?' The stone would dance away from me like a skipped heartbeat. I tried now; the stone hopped twice, then surrendered. Everything was smaller and also larger, somehow: the steps to the beach, the distance to the end of the pier, the ache under my ribs. What did I expect to find—myself, intact and waiting?

At the blue bench beside the ice-cream kiosk, our initials were still carved, crushed into the wood with a house key. My finger found the shallow cuts; I could hear my sister laughing because we'd been caught. However, I hadn't come only to haunt old photographs. In my pocket lay a key to No. 12 Marine Cottages: brass, cold, a small moon. The cottage waited at the bend by the saltgrass. I turned towards it and, with the gulls arguing overhead, began to walk.

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

Option A:

The neglected corner of the garden holds its breath. It sits behind a tilting fence and a curtain of leaves, like a forgotten room, closed and never opened again. Afternoon light leaks in as scraps—dappled, bruised, thin. A low tree spreads its heavy arms, and beneath them a stone bench waits, streaked with damp. Its back is scabbed with lichen; its seat is quilted with thick, dark moss, soft as wet velvet when you touch it.

Above, branches lace together; they make a ceiling that swallows the sky. Tiny spiders have pegged their washing between the twigs — veils that tremble when a breeze finds this place. Dead leaves have collected in the corners, curled like paper tongues. Brambles have slipped in and taken hold; their thorns grip the bench's legs, patient and possessive. The smell is a green, quiet smell: mud, stale rainwater, crushed nettles. No one comes here now, the gate sticks.

On the ground, a path once went this way. Now it is only a memory under the weeds, a faint suggestion of stones making a lopsided line. Snails leave silver handwriting; woodlice hurry when the shade is disturbed. A cracked terracotta pot leans, its rim bitten by frost, and inside a single fern unfurls. An old glove lies by the bench, stiff and silted with dirt; it keeps the ghost-shape of a hand and somehow that is the saddest thing.

Sounds are small here; a drip from the gutter, the quiet tick of something settling. Somewhere, a bee complains, trapped under a leaf. When the wind visits, the whole corner sighs; branch rubs on branch like cloth. What remains is simple: stone, shade, and time. It is not an ugly place, only tired. Given a broom and a little care, it might open its eyes again; the garden has not looked this way for a long time.

Option B:

The town smelled the same: salt and vinegar, wet stone, creosote; even the air felt familiar, as if it had kept my breath for me. I stepped off the bus and the wind grazed my cheeks—just enough to remind me. The sign above the promenade had peeled; blue paint curled like tired ribbon. I remembered running here with a paper cone of chips burning my fingers, feet slapping, heart loud. Every Saturday, every summer.

I turned the corner and the sea was there, stubborn, moving as if breathing. The pier still pushed its ribs into the water; it looked smaller than I remembered. When you are small, everything is enormous—now the distances were stretched. The railings were cold under my hand, gritty with salt; flakes of colour stuck to my palm. The cafe where Mum bought hot chocolate had a new sign, but the window still steamed. I could almost hear her voice: take your time.

I walked on, following the cracked line in the pavement I used to jump between. I counted the steps to the first lamp—twelve—and stopped when the boards creaked; I was cautious now. Memory is a map that forgets the dull and redraws the bright. The sky pressed low, and the water busied itself with waves. I had come back for a simple reason: a key in my pocket and a flat I hadn’t opened in years. Still, I didn’t hurry. I waited at the rail, letting the wind fill my coat, as if the place might remember me first.

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

Option A:

At the back of the garden, beyond the neat patio and the proud roses, there is a place the light forgets. The air is heavy and green, like an old bruise under leaves. Damp collects in the corners. The soil looks tired, and the smell is patient: wet grass, stale water, a hint of rust.

A stone bench slumps beneath low branches. Its back is mottled, flaked, wearing a thin fur of moss that creeps over the edge like slow fingers. It does not sit; it surrenders. When sunlight reaches it, the patchwork turns dull emerald, then fades again. Touch it and your hand comes away cool, gritty, as if the bench exhales a secret.

Around it, things have moved in. Brambles hook at the air, nettles stand guard, and ivy draws its own map; it spreads over stones and fence. There are things here: a cracked pot, a fork with a bent tooth, a bottle half buried. Left, and left again. Spider webs knit the gaps. A snail writes a silver line.

Sometimes the wind squeezes through and the whole corner shivers. Leaves clap softly, a drip counts time again and again, and a blackbird looks once and goes elsewhere. Who would sit here now? Yet the corner waits — patient as soil, closing itself. Still.

Option B:

Autumn. The air had a clean bite; the sky was pale like paper. I came back to the street I used to race down on a chipped red scooter, my hands small, my knees always scabbed. Now my footsteps sounded heavier, slower—echoing off the same walls, but the echoes didn’t answer me back.

The corner shop was gone; in its place a nail bar with blue chairs and a bored plant. Once there was sugar and laughter at that counter, jars like treasure. Was it always this small? The pavements seemed closer, the windows lower. I remembered the ordinary magic: hopscotch chalk, the dripping ice-cream van, my dad’s whistle cutting across the evening like a kite string. The smell changed too—less bread, more petrol—and yet I could almost taste sherbet on my tongue.

At the gate of our old house I paused. The paint was flaking, it fell away like tired snow. The gate still complained, a thin squeal that used to wake the dog. Home, or something pretending. I took out the key I kept for years, cold and heavy; I held it like a secret. I breath in the sharp scent of damp halls and old polish, and under that a whisper of washing powder. I remembered the rules: no muddy shoes, letters stuck under a magnet, Mum humming in the small kitchen—always humming. There was less noise now, and more space; or maybe it was me that had changed.

I pushed the door. It stuck, then gave. Dust lifted, light wandered in and tried to settle. I waited, listening, ready, unsure... perhaps both.

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

Option A:

In the far corner of the garden, the light goes thin and dusty. It slips through low branches and breaks on a stone bench. Forgotten.

The bench is green with moss; it makes a soft, cold carpet that clings to my hand. Spiders have stitched grey curtains between the legs, tiny ladders up the damp. There’s weeds pushing at the cracks. A terracotta pot, cracked at the lip, leans and sulks; soil inside is hard like stale bread. Nettles crowd like rude guests, brushing ankles if you dare to step. The smell here is damp and a bit sour, a cellar smell. Although the roses blaze by the path, this corner stays in shade, the leaves overlap and build a dim roof; the air feels thick.

Meanwhile, the rest of the garden chatters with birds, but here it is mostly quiet. Only a drip from a leaf—drip, drip—counting slow time. A snail has written a silver line across the bench, it glints and then disappears. The bench looks tired; it could sigh if it had a mouth. Then a breeze stirs the ivy and a few dry seeds tremble. I think someone planned to clean this place, to sweep and mend, and then they forgot, and forgot again.

Option B:

Autumn. The time of smoky evenings, conkers in pockets, the park turning copper and brown. A time to go back. When I step off the bus, the air is sharper than I remember and my breath makes a little cloud. My scuffed blue backpack bumps my hip as I walk. The street looks smaller, and longer, all at once. I pass the corner shop we used to visit after school; its window shows different sweets now. My feet seem to know the cracks in the pavement, step after step, as if they kept the map when I didn’t.

At the gate of the old house I pause. The paint is flaking, the number is tilted, the rosebush gone. I push the gate; it squeals, and the sound echoes in my chest. Back then we ran through here shouting, the dog chasing us like a storm; now the garden is quiet. The front door has a new handle, bright under my hand. I touch the brick, rough and familiar, and the wind tugs my sleeve like it knows me. How did everything shrink? Or did I grow—too fast, too far. I take a breath and whisper hello, as if the place could answer.

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

Option A:

In the far corner of the garden, the air feels still and damp. A low branch hangs over a stone bench and the bench is green with moss, like an old sponge left in a sink. The stones are cracked and gritty - it looks tired and it leans a bit to one side. Spider webs hang between the leaves, dusty and silver when a bit of light finds them. A broken pot is on its side and the dirt has spilled out like dark sugar. Weeds push up through the slabs, there is weeds in every little line, there is snails too, leaving shiny trails. It smell of wet earth and old water. Nobody comes here now.

Wind moves the leaves and they whisper shh, shh, shh. The bench waits. No one sits, no one looks, no one cares. A rusty can lies half buried.

This corner is quiet, and forgotten alot.

Option B:

Morning. The air cold and thin. I come back to the old park at the end of our street. The gate is orange with rust. I push it and it moans like it dont want me here.

I used to run here, small legs, big dreams. The swing was huge then, now it is just a squeeky seat.

Paint flakes like snow from the slide. I can smell wet leaves and mud. My shoes crunch on gravel, it is a funny sound.

Is this really the place I knew. I stop, I stand, I look... I remember the summer we made dens under the tree, there was two of us, me and my brother, we was kings of the hill. The tree is shorter, or maybe I got taller, I dont know. A bus goes past and breaks the picture and I keep going to the bench with the wobbly leg.

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

Option A:

At the back of the garden there is a small corner nobody goes. The stone bench is green with wet moss and it feels cold when you touch it. Leaves hang down and block the light, they drip drip sometimes and the ground is soft. A broken pot lies on its side and soil is everywhere, there is weeds under it. It smells damp, like old water. I hear a bird but it wont come here. Spiders make thin lines across the seat. it is quiet and kind of sad. In the hedge a football is stuck and a can, I dont know who left it.

Option B:

Summer. Hot sun on the road. The street looks small and the houses the same. I walk slow with my old bag, it is heavy and my shoes hurt I try to remeber the shop on the corner but it is shut. The gate is rusty and the swing squeeks like a mouse. We was here before when I was little, I think of mum and the bus and ice cream that drip. I stop by our door - paint is peeled, I breath in dust, it smells old. I seen my name on the wall, I dont know if I should knock or run.