Answer: They are packing it up because it has been sold to new owners.

Answer: His name carved into a rock, which he did over a summer when he was nine.

Answer: March

The calendar is 'still turned to March'.

Answer: He is not ready to let go of the bach and its memories. Handling the objects without packing them shows his grief and reluctance to accept the change.

Answer: It suggests Koro feels resentful or wronged, as though the place or life has taken something from him. It hints at his grief with a touch of dry humour.

Answer: It implies that Nana has died and that time stopped for the family when she was gone. The bach holds her memory, which makes leaving it harder.

Answer: She has come to understand her grandfather's feelings and the importance of the memories. Leaving the calendar shows respect for what the bach meant to the family.

Answer: Change and the passing of time: things go out and come back, as life continues after loss. The returning tide at the end suggests that life and the place go on, even as people leave.

Answer: The name, a symbol of family history, is slowly being covered by the sea. It suggests memories fading over time, but also that the place is quietly holding onto them.

Answer: It matches Koro's quiet, private grief and lets the reader infer the emotion from actions and images, which makes it more powerful than stating it directly.

Answer: a small holiday house, usually by the sea or a lake

In New Zealand English, a bach is a small, simple holiday home.

Model answer: In 'Low Tide', the writer explores change and loss through quiet details rather than open emotion. Koro's grief is shown through action: he 'picked things up, held them, and put them back down exactly where they had been', revealing that he cannot bring himself to dismantle the life the bach represents. The calendar 'still turned to March' because Nana 'had liked the photo' implies that time stopped for the family after her death, so leaving the bach means leaving her too. The tide works as a structural motif that frames these losses. At the start it is 'out', mirroring the emptiness of a place being taken apart, while at the end it is 'coming in again … lifting the boats one by one', suggesting that life continues and renews itself. This restrained ending, in which 'Koro did not look back', allows the reader to feel the weight of the loss while recognising that change, like the tide, is inevitable.