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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).

While at home in Ireland my poor mother wept bitter tears at the thought of her daughter with the university education serving hamburgers to pop stars.

I had been working there about six months the night I met James. It was a Friday night, which was traditionally the night the OJs frequented our restaurant. “OJ” standing, of course, for Office Jerks.

At five o’clock every Friday, like graves disgorging their dead, offices all over the center of London liberated their staffs for the weekend so that hordes of pale, cheapsuited clerks descended on us.

It was de rigueur for us waitresses to stand around sneering disdainfully at the besuited clientele, shaking our heads in disbelieving pity at the attire, hairstyles, etc., of the poor customers.

On the night in question, James and three of his colleagues sat in my section and I attended to their needs in my normal irresponsible and slapdash fashion. I paid them almost no attention whatsoever, barely listened to them as I took their order and certainly made no eye contact with them. If I had I might have noticed that one of them (yes, James, of course) was very handsome, in a black-haired, green-eyed, five-foottenish kind of way. I should have looked beyond the suit and seen the soul of the man.

Oh, shallowness, thy name is Clare.

But I wanted to be out back with the other waitresses, drinking beer and smoking and talking about sex. Customers were an unwelcome interference.

“Can I have my stake very rare?” asked one of the men.

“Um,” I said vaguely. I was even more uninterested than usual because I had noticed a book on the table. It was a really good book, one that I had read myself.

I loved books. And I loved reading. And I loved men who read. I loved a man who knew his existentialism from his magi-realism.And I had spent the last six months working with people who could just about manage to read Stage magazine (laboriously mouthing the words silently as they did so). I suddenly realized, with a pang, how much I missed the odd bit of intelligent conversation.

Suddenly the people at this table stopped being mere irritants and took on some sort of identity for me.

“Who owns this book?” I asked abruptly, interrupting the order placing.

The table of four men were startled. I had spoken to them! I had treated them almost as if they were human!

“I do,” said James, and as my blue eyes met his green eyes across his mango daiquiri, that was it, the silvery magic dust was sprinkled on us. In that instant something wonderful happened. From the moment we really looked at each other, we both knew we had met someone special.

I maintained that we fell in love immediately.

He maintained nothing of the sort, and said that I was a romantic fool. He claimed it took at least thirty seconds longer for him to fall in love with me.

First of all he had to establish that I had read the book in question also. Because he thought that I must be some kind of not-so-bright model or singer if I was working there. You know, the same way that I had written him off as some kind of subhuman clerk. Served me right.

KEYES, Marian. Watermelon. New York: Perennial, HarperCollins, 2002 (Edited).

While at home in Ireland my poor mother wept bitter tears at the thought of her daughter with the university education serving hamburgers to pop stars.

I had been working there about six months the night I met James. It was a Friday night, which was traditionally the night the OJs frequented our restaurant. “OJ” standing, of course, for Office Jerks.

At five o’clock every Friday, like graves disgorging their dead, offices all over the center of London liberated their staffs for the weekend so that hordes of pale, cheapsuited clerks descended on us.

It was de rigueur for us waitresses to stand around sneering disdainfully at the besuited clientele, shaking our heads in disbelieving pity at the attire, hairstyles, etc., of the poor customers.

On the night in question, James and three of his colleagues sat in my section and I attended to their needs in my normal irresponsible and slapdash fashion. I paid them almost no attention whatsoever, barely listened to them as I took their order and certainly made no eye contact with them. If I had I might have noticed that one of them (yes, James, of course) was very handsome, in a black-haired, green-eyed, five-foottenish kind of way. I should have looked beyond the suit and seen the soul of the man.

Oh, shallowness, thy name is Clare.

But I wanted to be out back with the other waitresses, drinking beer and smoking and talking about sex. Customers were an unwelcome interference.

“Can I have my stake very rare?” asked one of the men.

“Um,” I said vaguely. I was even more uninterested than usual because I had noticed a book on the table. It was a really good book, one that I had read myself.

I loved books. And I loved reading. And I loved men who read. I loved a man who knew his existentialism from his magi-realism.And I had spent the last six months working with people who could just about manage to read Stage magazine (laboriously mouthing the words silently as they did so). I suddenly realized, with a pang, how much I missed the odd bit of intelligent conversation.

Suddenly the people at this table stopped being mere irritants and took on some sort of identity for me.

“Who owns this book?” I asked abruptly, interrupting the order placing.

The table of four men were startled. I had spoken to them! I had treated them almost as if they were human!

“I do,” said James, and as my blue eyes met his green eyes across his mango daiquiri, that was it, the silvery magic dust was sprinkled on us. In that instant something wonderful happened. From the moment we really looked at each other, we both knew we had met someone special.

I maintained that we fell in love immediately.

He maintained nothing of the sort, and said that I was a romantic fool. He claimed it took at least thirty seconds longer for him to fall in love with me.

First of all he had to establish that I had read the book in question also. Because he thought that I must be some kind of not-so-bright model or singer if I was working there. You know, the same way that I had written him off as some kind of subhuman clerk. Served me right.

KEYES, Marian. Watermelon. New York: Perennial, HarperCollins, 2002 (Edited).