TEXT TWO:

After so long a pause that Marcia felt sure whoever it was must have gone away, the front doorbell rang again, a courteously brief ‘still waiting.’ 

It would be a neighbor child on the way home from school with a handful of basketball tickets. Or an agent tardily taking orders for cheap and gaudy Christmas cards.

The trip down to the door would be laborious. Doctor Bowen had wanted her to avoid the stairs as much as possible from now on. But the diffident summons sounded very plaintive in its competition with the savage swish of sleet against the windows.

Raising herself heavily on her elbows, Marcia tried to squeeze a prompt decision out of her tousled blonde head with the tips of slim fingers. The mirror of the vanity table ventured a comforting comment on the girlish cornflower fringe that Paul always said brought out the blue in her eyes. She pressed her palms hard on the yellow curls, debating whether to make the effort. In any event she would have to go down soon, for the luncheon table was standing exactly as they had left it, and Paul would be returning in half an hour.

Edging clumsily to the side of the bed, she sat up, momentarily swept with vertigo, and fumbled with her stockinged toes for the shapeless slippers in which she had awkwardly paddled about through two previous campaigns in behalf of humanity’s perpetuity. When done with them, this time, Marcia expected to throw the slippers away.

Roberta eagerly reached up both chubby arms and bounced ecstatically at the approach of the outstretched hands. Wellie scrambled up out of his blocks and detonated an ominously sloppy sneeze.

Marcia said “Please don’t tell me you’ve been taking cold again.”

Wellie denied the accusation with a vigorous shake of his head, whooped hoarsely, and began slowly pacing the intermittent clatter of their procession down he dingy stairway, the flat of his small hand squeaking on the cold rail of the ugly yellow banister. 

The bulky figure of a woman was silhouetted on the frosted glass panels of the street door. Wellie, with a wobbly index finger in his nose, halted to reconnoiter as they neared the bottom of the stairs, and his mother gave him a gentle push forward. They were in the front hall now, Marcia irresolutely considering whether to brave the blizzard. Wallie decided this matter by inquiring who it was in a penetrating treble, reinforcing his desire to know by twisting the knob with ineffective hands. Marcia shifted Roberta into the crook of her other arm and opened the door to a breath-taking swirl of stinging snow, the first real storm of the season.

DOUGLAS, Lloyd C. White Banners. New York: P. F. Collier & Son Corporation, 1936.

TEXT TWO:

After so long a pause that Marcia felt sure whoever it was must have gone away, the front doorbell rang again, a courteously brief ‘still waiting.’ 

It would be a neighbor child on the way home from school with a handful of basketball tickets. Or an agent tardily taking orders for cheap and gaudy Christmas cards.

The trip down to the door would be laborious. Doctor Bowen had wanted her to avoid the stairs as much as possible from now on. But the diffident summons sounded very plaintive in its competition with the savage swish of sleet against the windows.

Raising herself heavily on her elbows, Marcia tried to squeeze a prompt decision out of her tousled blonde head with the tips of slim fingers. The mirror of the vanity table ventured a comforting comment on the girlish cornflower fringe that Paul always said brought out the blue in her eyes. She pressed her palms hard on the yellow curls, debating whether to make the effort. In any event she would have to go down soon, for the luncheon table was standing exactly as they had left it, and Paul would be returning in half an hour.

Edging clumsily to the side of the bed, she sat up, momentarily swept with vertigo, and fumbled with her stockinged toes for the shapeless slippers in which she had awkwardly paddled about through two previous campaigns in behalf of humanity’s perpetuity. When done with them, this time, Marcia expected to throw the slippers away.

Roberta eagerly reached up both chubby arms and bounced ecstatically at the approach of the outstretched hands. Wellie scrambled up out of his blocks and detonated an ominously sloppy sneeze.

Marcia said “Please don’t tell me you’ve been taking cold again.”

Wellie denied the accusation with a vigorous shake of his head, whooped hoarsely, and began slowly pacing the intermittent clatter of their procession down he dingy stairway, the flat of his small hand squeaking on the cold rail of the ugly yellow banister. 

The bulky figure of a woman was silhouetted on the frosted glass panels of the street door. Wellie, with a wobbly index finger in his nose, halted to reconnoiter as they neared the bottom of the stairs, and his mother gave him a gentle push forward. They were in the front hall now, Marcia irresolutely considering whether to brave the blizzard. Wallie decided this matter by inquiring who it was in a penetrating treble, reinforcing his desire to know by twisting the knob with ineffective hands. Marcia shifted Roberta into the crook of her other arm and opened the door to a breath-taking swirl of stinging snow, the first real storm of the season.

DOUGLAS, Lloyd C. White Banners. New York: P. F. Collier & Son Corporation, 1936.

TEXT TWO:

After so long a pause that Marcia felt sure whoever it was must have gone away, the front doorbell rang again, a courteously brief ‘still waiting.’ 

It would be a neighbor child on the way home from school with a handful of basketball tickets. Or an agent tardily taking orders for cheap and gaudy Christmas cards.

The trip down to the door would be laborious. Doctor Bowen had wanted her to avoid the stairs as much as possible from now on. But the diffident summons sounded very plaintive in its competition with the savage swish of sleet against the windows.

Raising herself heavily on her elbows, Marcia tried to squeeze a prompt decision out of her tousled blonde head with the tips of slim fingers. The mirror of the vanity table ventured a comforting comment on the girlish cornflower fringe that Paul always said brought out the blue in her eyes. She pressed her palms hard on the yellow curls, debating whether to make the effort. In any event she would have to go down soon, for the luncheon table was standing exactly as they had left it, and Paul would be returning in half an hour.

Edging clumsily to the side of the bed, she sat up, momentarily swept with vertigo, and fumbled with her stockinged toes for the shapeless slippers in which she had awkwardly paddled about through two previous campaigns in behalf of humanity’s perpetuity. When done with them, this time, Marcia expected to throw the slippers away.

Roberta eagerly reached up both chubby arms and bounced ecstatically at the approach of the outstretched hands. Wellie scrambled up out of his blocks and detonated an ominously sloppy sneeze.

Marcia said “Please don’t tell me you’ve been taking cold again.”

Wellie denied the accusation with a vigorous shake of his head, whooped hoarsely, and began slowly pacing the intermittent clatter of their procession down he dingy stairway, the flat of his small hand squeaking on the cold rail of the ugly yellow banister. 

The bulky figure of a woman was silhouetted on the frosted glass panels of the street door. Wellie, with a wobbly index finger in his nose, halted to reconnoiter as they neared the bottom of the stairs, and his mother gave him a gentle push forward. They were in the front hall now, Marcia irresolutely considering whether to brave the blizzard. Wallie decided this matter by inquiring who it was in a penetrating treble, reinforcing his desire to know by twisting the knob with ineffective hands. Marcia shifted Roberta into the crook of her other arm and opened the door to a breath-taking swirl of stinging snow, the first real storm of the season.

DOUGLAS, Lloyd C. White Banners. New York: P. F. Collier & Son Corporation, 1936.

TEXT TWO:

After so long a pause that Marcia felt sure whoever it was must have gone away, the front doorbell rang again, a courteously brief ‘still waiting.’ 

It would be a neighbor child on the way home from school with a handful of basketball tickets. Or an agent tardily taking orders for cheap and gaudy Christmas cards.

The trip down to the door would be laborious. Doctor Bowen had wanted her to avoid the stairs as much as possible from now on. But the diffident summons sounded very plaintive in its competition with the savage swish of sleet against the windows.

Raising herself heavily on her elbows, Marcia tried to squeeze a prompt decision out of her tousled blonde head with the tips of slim fingers. The mirror of the vanity table ventured a comforting comment on the girlish cornflower fringe that Paul always said brought out the blue in her eyes. She pressed her palms hard on the yellow curls, debating whether to make the effort. In any event she would have to go down soon, for the luncheon table was standing exactly as they had left it, and Paul would be returning in half an hour.

Edging clumsily to the side of the bed, she sat up, momentarily swept with vertigo, and fumbled with her stockinged toes for the shapeless slippers in which she had awkwardly paddled about through two previous campaigns in behalf of humanity’s perpetuity. When done with them, this time, Marcia expected to throw the slippers away.

Roberta eagerly reached up both chubby arms and bounced ecstatically at the approach of the outstretched hands. Wellie scrambled up out of his blocks and detonated an ominously sloppy sneeze.

Marcia said “Please don’t tell me you’ve been taking cold again.”

Wellie denied the accusation with a vigorous shake of his head, whooped hoarsely, and began slowly pacing the intermittent clatter of their procession down he dingy stairway, the flat of his small hand squeaking on the cold rail of the ugly yellow banister. 

The bulky figure of a woman was silhouetted on the frosted glass panels of the street door. Wellie, with a wobbly index finger in his nose, halted to reconnoiter as they neared the bottom of the stairs, and his mother gave him a gentle push forward. They were in the front hall now, Marcia irresolutely considering whether to brave the blizzard. Wallie decided this matter by inquiring who it was in a penetrating treble, reinforcing his desire to know by twisting the knob with ineffective hands. Marcia shifted Roberta into the crook of her other arm and opened the door to a breath-taking swirl of stinging snow, the first real storm of the season.

DOUGLAS, Lloyd C. White Banners. New York: P. F. Collier & Son Corporation, 1936.

Use the target language in lessons

The more you expose your students to the target language, the better. Immersing your students in the target language helps them use it more independently and this can lead to increased confidence and better vocabulary. Students enjoy listening to ‘real people’ speaking the target language, so get your colleagues involved. If a teacher with some knowledge of the target language comes into your classroom, involve them in the immersive experience. Encourage students and staff to use the language, even if they make mistakes, and emphasise that communication is the key.

Encourage students to adopt a hands-on approach to language learning

Students need to be involved in tasks they find interesting in an environment where active and successful learning is encouraged. Students make the most progress when they are enjoying themselves. Competitions and quizzes keep motivation levels high, and rewards for communicating in the target language in the various skill areas offer chances for constant self-improvement. The smallest of tasks, such as matching pictures to words or phrases, or even word searches, can be turned into competitions – against the clock, first to finish, fastest class, etc.

Some of their favourite lessons were ones like running dictation. They worked in pairs: one student would read a piece of text that I had taped to the wall at one end of the classroom, then run back and repeat it to their partner who would write it down. They really enjoyed active tasks. Students also liked activities such as ‘Who am I?’ where each student has a post-it note with the name of a famous person on it on his or her forehead. Students walk around the classroom and can only ask questions which require a yes or no answer, such as ‘Am I a man?’. Competitions to see who can guess the most famous names in a certain amount of time always work well.

Never forget, grammar is the foundation for building language skills

Communication is a crucial part of language and so is grammar; they need each other. Effective lessons strike this balance between the two so that students can learn, enjoy and make progress in their target language.

Grammar is the foundation for building language skills. Learning grammar enables students to speak and write more accurately, confidently and fluently. I have found that asking students to explain grammar rules to each other and to the rest of the class gives them more confidence. It also indicates to the teacher whether the grammar needs clarifying or explaining. By teaching each other, they also consolidate their own knowledge or discover holes that need filling.

Bring language and culture alive in the classroom

Highlighting cultural as well as linguistic differences is an essential part of language-learning. It can spark your students’ interest and encourage independent learning. Teach your students about the countries where the target language is spoken, as well as the language itself. Have your students seen any foreign television programmes or films? What do they already know about the cultures of the countries where the target language is spoken? What else do they want to learn?

Bringing the language and culture of the countries where the target language is spoken into the classroom means your students become more motivated to learn. Organising email pen pal correspondence offers a way for students to learn about their peers abroad. The practical challenge of writing to them and understanding their replies will provide an added incentive to further their language skills. Cultural trips to the cinema or to a country where the target language is spoken show students that the target language is spoken in the real world and has practical uses.

Available at: <https://www.britishcouncil.org/voices-magazine/

essential-tips-teachers-modern-languages>. Accessed on:

March 1st, 2019 (Adapted).