New term, new rules

Previously, on ‘A drop of ink…’

… my aim is simple: I want kids to feel empowered and confident in my lessons. To enjoy French because of that …  And, crucially, empowering them is not about removing deep thought or hard work – I suspect that they will find it really challenging – but rather about allowing them to spend their time committing to memory the things that I, as the teacher and the expert in the room, can tell them right first time.

The term is a week old, and I’m already very tired.  However, not for the usual reasons: last week, we had parents’ evening on two consecutive nights that ran until 9.30pm, so I think I’m still catching up on a bit of my sleep debt (utterly worthwhile, mind you, if I’ve successfully managed to persuade some kids to do a language GCSE).  And I haven’t drunk very much coffee today.

Normally, I feel tired because I have:

  • spent the day with my voice raised to control some lively classes;
  • stayed up until 10pm (I don’t do late nights) writing resources and putting together powerpoints;
  • lain (what an odd past participle that is) awake in bed thinking about my lessons, how I can make sure that pupil X gets the most out of it or pupil Y doesn’t disrupt the learning of others.

And I work in a nice school, with lovely kids – Dios sabe how tired I’d be if I had to deal with real problems.  But I have come home from school nearly every week since I started teaching and been inordinately grateful for my bed.

Not so now.  What’s more, I’ve spent a lot of last week on the important stuff: honest and open behaviour interventions with the kids who routinely disrupt and dislike my lessons; planning the kind of language I want the kids to be using on a routine basis; acting shocked when a child tells me that I drive him nuts (‘Madame, vous m’énervez!’). I’ve spent time observing and learning from others – NQT tick – and talking about my practice with my colleagues.  Oh, and the small matter of 11 hours talking to our year 9 parents.

But how?  Because I’ve realised that teaching – the nuts and bolts of what I want the kids to do and master – is actually much simpler than I’d previously thought. To demonstrate this fact, I refer you to exhibit A: the amount of paper I’m using.

Last term: at least one worksheet (on which the kids would write), a support sheet, a glossary, possibly a supplementary ‘do now’ or consolidation activity.  Per lesson. Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch’entrate.

This term: one class set of sheets per year group, re-used in different lessons, each providing enough rich input and content for 2-3 lessons, and a valuable reference point for later use.  A reduction of (opens calculator) around 85%.

What I’ve found is rich input.

Last term: I produced a powerpoint to introduce my year 7s to places in a town – some pictures, words that appeared in a snazzy fashion when clicked, some ‘which letter/word is missing?’ activities, some short sentences with opinions.  They loved it.  They learnt… some words.  That powerpoint took me AGES, and lasted a single lesson.

This term: I produced a worksheet with 30 lines of text.  In that text there are: rooms in the house, descriptions, opinions, comparisons, past tense, present tense, future tense, conditional tense, subjunctive, negatives and, my new personal favourite, idioms.  It contains helpful guides to pronunciation.  The text refers back to the Magic 10, 10 easy ways to conjugate any regular -er verb, which nearly all of my pupils can now identify, understand and use.  Every word, every interesting phrase, is translated, because I want them to be able to see, at a glance, what every word means.  This new text contains the kind of French that French people actually use every day.

That worksheet took me an hour, and will last for weeks.

Some kids will only get the basic vocabulary – fine.  They’ll recognise and understand and – fingers crossed – be able to spell and use the words for the rooms in the house.  Hopefully they’ll find the idioms amusing, and casse du sucre sur mon dos at some point when I least expect it.

Some kids will also pick out sentences, or turns of phrase, that they like – they’ll write them down in their books, and use them in their writing tasks, and hopefully remember them in the weeks to come.  I anticipate that ‘grand comme un mouchoir de poche’ will be a particular favourite.

Some kids will ask insightful questions about the language that is there, bang smack in front of their eyes for entire lessons: Miss, why does this ‘jouer’ end in an -er and that one doesn’t?  How come it’s ‘mon lit’ but ‘ma maison’?  (They know the answers to these questions, but it’s nice to hear them engaging with the language).

Some kids will drink this new French up like a sponge, and walk up to me in the corridor and say “Bonjour Madame, quelle belle journée pour jouer au foot dans le parc!”  Well, I can live in hope…

Does this approach solve my three causes of fatigue?  Have I…

  • spent the day with my voice raised to control some lively classes?  Not so much – they’re reading the text, finding key vocabulary, answering carefully constructed and targeted questions, listening to my explanations… It’s all much more simple, and everything is in one place.
  • stayed up until 10pm (I don’t do late nights) writing resources and putting together powerpoints? Not at all – I write, tweak, refine and add interesting language to my texts, and I ensure that I’m repeating the best and most useful stuff for their learning curve.  I’m anticipating mistakes, and planning their defence against them.
  • lain awake in bed thinking about my lessons, how I can make sure that pupil X gets the most out of it or pupil Y doesn’t disrupt the learning of others? Well, yes – this is no magic bullet, after all, and I’ve only been doing it a week.  But in the last week I have met with my pupils X and Y, and talked to them about their progress in the time I’ve had not making resources; I’ve emailed form tutors and parents on a regular basis to congratulate the kids on awesome performances in their Magic 10 tests; I’ve had time to think about the marking I will absolutely, definitely be doing this week.

I’ve been lucky enough to take part in a research group this year that is focused on improving attainment in MFL, and increasing the number of pupils taking it at GCSE and A-level.  The leader of the group, Prof Alessandro Benati, tells us that (among many other principles) the key to second language acquisition is input: rich input, and lots of it.  I honestly feel that if last term’s input was tic tacs, this term’s is on course to be a vast crème brulée.

I’m looking forward to reporting back again in a couple of weeks, and seeing if I can start to tackle the other things playing on my mind – marking, feedback, promoting the four skills, the new GCSE, memory, creativity, culture – in the meantime.  But I love this new way of doing things so far, and the kids seem both keen and a little bit more empowered.

A good week.


Version 2.0 – First Steps

Previously, on ‘A drop of ink…’

‘I feel I should start by showing my pupils that they can be good at languages, to give them that sense of confidence and achievement that I felt in my school days, and engage them through an incipient mastery of French rather than because we do blindfolded obstacle courses or watch film trailers.’

I should probably clarify a couple of important things before continuing.

The first is that I am not out to criticise anybody’s practice.  The canon of MFL pedagogy comes from a long-standing tradition of people working really hard to do their best for pupils, and it has huge value.  I am also aware that what doesn’t work for me might be really effective in the hands of another teacher, or in front of another class.

The second is that I really, really like my school.  It is full of, as the slogan says, ‘the hardest working young people in London’, and that goes as much for the staff as the pupils.  My colleagues in the MFL department are hugely efficient and effective, and are already doing much of what I aspire to do.  The pupils work hard in their German classes, and are held to incredibly high standards, and that is part of what I’m aiming to achieve in my own lessons.

So, with that caveat of respect and deference in place, I return to my sense of unease.

Liam* is in one of my year 7 classes.  He’s a lovely kid, and started the year really keen.  In the first few weeks, he was alert, attentive, and cottoned on really quickly to what he was being taught.  After the first month or so, his attention and enthusiasm waned: things were getting a little bit harder, he thought.  Adjective agreements were where he first started to lose the plot.  Since then, he’s bimbled along below the radar: he no longer actively contributes in lessons, he is more easily distracted, he is rarely wrong but doesn’t try as hard.

Liam can’t speak French.  He can say a few set phrases: “Bonjour, je m’appelle Liam.  Comme ci, comme ça.  J’ai onze ans.  J’habite à Woolwich.”  But saying anything longer or more interesting seems to incite anxiety: “I can’t do it, Miss.”  This is in a school with a strong culture of growth mindset, where we constantly remind pupils that improvement requires only practice and determination.  He feels lost and disempowered.  I can’t blame him.

I haven’t taught the alphabet.  I haven’t taught spellings. [I am absolutely going to do all of these things in the first two weeks back!]  I did some phonics after half a term, but never embedded it enough to have a lasting impact.   But whatever I did or didn’t do, I created a classroom culture in which pupils felt physically safe and secure, were able to have a giggle and rarely stepped out of line behaviourally, but one in which many of them routinely felt unable to tackle the task at hand.  Most of my year 9s truly, honestly believe that French is hard, and that is devastating.

What did I do wrong?  Well, I didn’t teach the alphabet and spellings in the first few weeks, the very building blocks of the language (26 letters! How hard can it be?!).  It would be far more empowering, thought I, for them to be able to introduce and say a few things about themselves in French.  They remember what I taught them in those first few weeks really well, because they were fresh from the holidays and I’d spend an entire lesson on answering the question ‘Comment t’appelles-tu?’. The problem was, the moment it got more complicated than that, they started to feel underprepared.

I worked on the principle that you start with the stuff that they understand, and integrate and develop it into an introduction to things that they don’t yet understand: the new stuff, the lesson content, Vygotsky’s paradise.  This works fine, except you can’t develop the phrase ‘Je m’appelle…’ with a description, an adverb, a connective, a different tense, a new and interesting idea, or make it work in dozens of different contexts.  While pupils might remember that ‘j’ai’ means ‘I have’, you’ll get plenty more ‘je suis douze ans’ before they really know what they’re talking about.   They’ll also have limited use for ‘j’habite à Woolwich’ when they no longer live there.

One of the reasons I love teaching is the constant opportunity to start over, to refine and finesse and improve your practice, and to give yourself and pupils fresh starts whenever you need to.  So, when I do this again next year, I’m going to start with this:

  • French alphabet, spellings and high frequency words/vowel combinations. Demystify the language before they even start: here’s what this sounds like, here’s how you pronounce this, here’s what this means.  26 letters!  I relied very heavily on cognates in my first few weeks, which was great until the kids realised that not every word was a cognate or near-cognate.  Cue the immortal response from Gemma*, ‘Miss, if it doesn’t look like an English word then how do I know what it means?!’  [Answer: Gemma, I will tell you what all of the words mean, so that you don’t have to guess.  But you do have to pay attention.]
  • Phrases that they can use all the time, and that mean something. Somebody once told me that they introduce the language to year 7 through the medium of insults and colloquialisms: it’s better to hear a child say ‘ahh, Madame Lund, elle me prend la tête! Elle me tape sur les nerfs!’ than to hear them repeat ‘Je m’appelle…’ and the like endlessly.  Added to this, I have recently read about a set of phrases that are easily adapted to a range of contexts.  These are 10 variations of some key verbs (starting with aller, jouer and faire), which my pupils will repeat and reuse over the course of the Summer term, and into which will be inserted the new content.  In that way, I can get them understanding (and even using) phrases like ‘J’aime jouer au foot dans le parc, mais hier j’ai joué au tennis avec mes copains, et aujourd’hui il faut que je fasse mes devoirs après avoir fait la vaisselle.’ I’ll take it slowly, but it will be made much, much easier by the next resolution…
  • Tell them what every word means. I’ve done discovery learning, and it turns up some wonders: the child who identified the link between the Harry Potter spell ‘Tergeo!’ and the English word ‘detergent’, pupils who are able to intuit the meaning of whole passages from a smattering of familiar words.  But they remain just that: wonders.  While I’m impressed that Kaya and Sam can use their link-making skills to understand a range of new phrases and vocabulary, they’re spending a lot of mental energy trying to work out things that I can just tell them, and meanwhile Suki and Dave are hopelessly lost because they aren’t making the same links.  Better that I tell them what it means – what it all means, down to the last word – and then they can use their mental energy repeating, practising and familiarising themselves with the content in different ways so that, in the end, they’re using the language rather than trying to remember what it means because I hadn’t explicitly told them from the outset.

I say “next year” – I’m actually going to start a lot of this come April 13th.  But while my methods might seem long-winded and slightly diffuse, my aim is simple: I want kids to feel empowered and confident in my lessons. To enjoy French because of that, not because of a fun activity I might spend 4 hours and £14 devising on a weekend.  And, crucially, empowering them is not about removing deep thought or hard work – I suspect that they will find it really challenging – but rather about allowing them to spend their time committing to memory the things that I, as the teacher and the expert in the room, can tell them right first time.

Version 2.0 – The Dilemma

Disclaimer: I am aware that, as an NQT, I know very little indeed about teaching.  My experience and knowledge are limited.  By writing this blog, I hope to critically engage with the theory and techniques that have been passed on to me, and based on which I have been judged.  All constructive criticism is welcome!

In my 18 months of teaching, I have been very lucky.  I have worked with many wonderful children, and in two schools full of extraordinary, dedicated and hard-working teachers.  I have seen some exceptional teaching, and have had the great fortune to learn from some wonderful practitioners.

When I started my NQT year, I found it easy to repeat the patterns of my training year.  I started with some momentum, which I maintained and then lost towards Christmas.  I had a paper problem: too much of it, and not much of it any good (sorry, MFL budget. Sorry, trees).  I spent quite a lot of my time thinking of the most ‘engaging’ way to teach the kids about colours, or animals.  It involved a lot of time, energy, powerpoints, pictures, downloading and adapting from TES… and, of course, paper.

A few months ago, I began to feel uneasy.  I was teaching the way I had been taught to teach, and my kids were doing… okay.  Not terribly, not wonderfully – about as well as could be expected when taught by a slightly stressed, very self-critical NQT.  Doubtless with a few more years’ experience, I would be able to turn that ‘okay’ progress into ‘good’ progress, or even ‘great’ progress.  Everything would surely be fine.

People who came to see me – from both MFL and non-MFL backgrounds – told me everything I was doing was fine, and that with a few tweaks it would be great; most of the kids tell me that they enjoy my lessons, and that languages are alright, fun even.

But the sense of unease remained.  I am teaching languages in a completely different way to how I was taught. I am using pictures, single word and short phrase presentations, building from picture+word to words+punctuation, as directed by mentors and managers.  We play games, we are active, we do a variety of activities. I get to integrate my love of music and drama into my lessons.

I didn’t learn like that.  I had rote learning, memorisation, textbooks, a few songs here and there, verb tables, drills.  Yes, I went to a grammar school, and was fortunate to find both learning and languages quite easy.  I learned both French and Spanish in this way, to a level that, 11 years after leaving school, I can recycle and reuse everything I learned then.  It stuck.

And I’m finding that, in the ‘words and pictures’ style, it doesn’t really stick.  Yes, some kids retain the information and can recall it in later lessons; some work really hard to commit their vocabulary and certain phrases to memory so that they can answer questions or do well in assessments.  Can they speak French? Barely.  Will they remember this stuff in six months, or a year?  Almost certainly not.

And it’s really HARD.  The process of devising lessons (our department is fairly new, so resources need to be made and revised regularly), creating resources, agonising over differentiation, creating schemes of work that cover both useful French and what’s contained in the exams, marking… It’s all really hard.  It’s hard for me, because I spend more time doing that than thinking about the best way to teach the language I love – what French is really useful, how to anticipate and deal with mistakes, make it challenging but manageable, give the kids confidence, help them to speak and understand and read and write French.

Worse, it’s hard for the kids.  They struggle, they find it difficult to recall words and phrases, they don’t always have what they need at their fingertips, let alone on the tip of their tongues, and when they’re handed a dictionary, they usually produce gobbledegook. I’ve noticed a polarisation in my classes: on one end, the kids who take the language and run with it and enjoy it and do well; on the other end, the kids who find it baffling and difficult to remember, who feel stupid in French, who get frustrated (rightly so) and give up.

At present, the effort I’m putting into teaching is not being matched by the outcomes for the kids, and that means that something is wrong.  Something feels wrong.  Like I said, I’m teaching in a way that I was never taught as a child, using techniques that nobody used then, but by some miracle I came out proficient in the languages I learned. I remember enjoying languages not just because of the feelings of sheer joy at understanding a foreign tongue, but because I felt like I was good at them.

Maybe one day I’ll enable pupils to feel that joy of decoding French or Spanish and making sense of something that was previously nonsense to them; however, I feel I should start by showing my pupils that they can be good at languages, to give them that sense of confidence and achievement that I felt in my school days, and engage them through an incipient mastery of French rather than because we do blindfolded obstacle courses or watch film trailers.

And certainly not because they spend most of their time looking at pictures.