One or more reasons why we tell stories
Where to begin — so many entry points — so many stories. Jay Armstrong — now there’s a name to conjure with for a start. My teacher grand-mother was from The Scottish Borders — born in 1892 in Newcastleton and from age 12 living in Hawick — nowadays a 30+ minutes journey by car. After her teacher studies in Edinburgh she returned to Hawick and taught in Drumlanrig school. During the years of The Great War (1914–1918). And there are family links to Armstrongs — both sides of the nearby Border with England. We may be distant kinsman, Jay. Has my one reason for telling stories become clear? I suggest it is to build links and connections — we tell the stories so that those listening can find possible similarities — of experiences or other key elements. My Australian grand-father (born 1890 in central-western NSW) was a soldier serving in France and Flanders (Belgium) during that war (around the period when the US entered the struggle — 1917, 1918). He suffered G.S.W. (gun shot wounds)and while recuperating visited my grand-mother’s family — he had an address. Like many families in those days they had volunteered to help entertain. A younger brother of my grand-mother who had pre-war been sent to Western Canada had also fought in France — and visited — before returning to Alberta. In any event — the two went from Hawick to Edinburgh — a day trip by train — and my grand-father proposed marriage. I think my grand-mother — then 26 — may have had someone she had loved already killed. As were thousands of other young men from Scotland. A young chap — from Australia — his father a farmer, older brothers, too — two of whom had a gold mine — my grand-father must have seemed a likely prospect — and in any event — he was from Australia — an image carrying lots of emotive connotations for the Scots — their “traditional” places of immigration being the New World — Canada, the US, Argentina & Chile — and Australia and NZ. He returned to Australia following their marriage by troop ship at the end of 1918 — she followed the next year. They had six children — my father the last born — the younger of twins — born on May 13, 1927. (Have you noticed that the story is dense with facts — hooks in effect — upon which the listener/reader may find consonance.)
Let me tell another story — which is about teaching. I spent many years teaching in Japan. An amazing land — physically, scenically — culturally and historically. I taught at many levels — in various capacities — but the one I want to write about here concerns the 13 years I taught Communication English at a Science University in the country’s west — a thousand kilometres from Tokyo. It was a small campus — and in the years I was there — one of several rural campuses of the mother campus in Tokyo. My appointment was, initially, to teach communicative or oral English to second year students. They were of course, bright and keen, and from all over the country — from northern Hokkaido and from the Ryukyus (Okinawa) to the far south — a stretch of over 3,000 kms. What they weren’t necessarily so keen about was English. (For all kinds of reasons English in school is not really popular. It is tested constantly. Weird kinds of tests, too. The results are crucial to advancement from middle school to senior high and from senior high to university. Just bear that in mind.) The class was compulsory. Most native-speaker English teachers in Japan are not actually certificated teachers. Keep that in mind, too. Most native-speaker English “teachers” in Japan therefore use a text-book. The English-language text-book industry in Japan is huge. Keep that in mind, too. In my classes — I taught five parallel classes on the timetable — five times teaching essentially the same topic syllabus section each week. And I did not want to use a text-book. Being a “real” teacher of English — whether of the native speaker literature and writing kind or of the TESOL variety — experiences in Spain and Germany and teaching immigrants and refugees to Australia, too. My classes were made up of an amazing array of abilities as far as English was concerned — aspects which became clearer of course as the first semester progressed. (Some had lived abroad with families when very young — academic parents undertaking fellowships in the UK or the US, others on appointment with their corporations. Others were from academic high schools — where English language study is very important. Some had taken entrance exams for major universities and not succeeded. Some had detested English through middle and high schools — for them it was constant fail. In my second year teaching there — some had not even had to sit an entrance exam — they had been allowed entry upon interview/recommendation from their schools — a new shift implemented by the Dean — a brilliant if initially unpopular move according to some of the Professorial staff. But such students clearly had no confidence in their English language abilities.
Anyway, each of my second year classes lasted 90 minutes. There had to be an assessment system. The lessons themselves had to be enjoyably challenging. I felt I could write the text. And so I did. Each week a new dialogue dealing with some aspect of conversation. For the weekly dialogues, there was an unnamed foreigner (based on me) in Japan making conversation with an unnamed Japanese person — a game of conversational tennis — back-and-forth. Telling stories — right? (Later I began to call this course “The Lfe of Jim”!) The first dialogue was based around where one was from — its location, features, famous folk, products… The second involved the sharing of names — meanings, from whom — cultural aspects of course. With me and such aspects as the “model”! There was no right or wrong. And the students themselves were the experts on their own lives and experiences — most importantly — in this sharing of stories. And so on. Speaking of School — speaking of sport — speaking of favourite food or of music or of travels or of some 20+ different topics. I needn’t go into the mechanics of the teaching (there was an initial presentation — using white/smart board — there was reading aloud in unison from the dialogue — distributed to the students — explanations of meaning/pronunciation practice — pair or small group reading and discussing) but the outcome was the important part. After the lesson — the report was the important thing I wanted. Each student — following the dialogue theme — was to write something along those lines — about themselves. And turn it in the following lesson — following which I would read it — and respond to it — not with a mark — but as if it were a letter — writing responses. And in turn — the week after — I would return it to the students. And so that was my pattern. Students came to class — check! Students turned in their report — check! I returned their report from the previous week — check! In class students wrote a small attendance slip at the start and these I used through the lessons to call upon them — in turn — when it was their turn to respond to some question. Again — check! Attendance, participation and report. This was my assessment system. There were no “tests” or testing quizzes — there was no end-of-semester examination. Students began the semester with a score, if you like, of 100. The only way that this score could fall was if any of those ingredients of attendance, participation or report was not accomplished. Perfection was not the point — progress was. Enjoyable progress. The 90 minute lesson had its parts — the pattern of which was regular — every week the same. Students could feel comfortable. That same Dean (Kenzi TAMARU — his father studied/researched in pre-Great War Germany with a number of scientists who later received Nobel Prizes) also implemented within the university a system whereby the students could assess their teachers. This was initially how I learned in a formal sense how successful were my strategies. Students wrote such things as: Before I came here I hated English (yes, so bluntly) but now I like/love/enjoy it with Jimu-sensei. Lots of comments along those lines. I explained to my students that though I was their “teacher” — into the mysteries (??!!) of English — that THEY were MY teachers into all kinds of aspects of Japanese cultural life — that THEIR reports were teaching me — and indeed so they honestly did — and the many travels I did in the country— alone or with my wife over many years in Japan — most were prompted because there were students in my classes who had told me something of their hometowns which motivated me to go there. In fact there were only two prefectures in Japan in which I did not set foot — Aomori-ken and Hokkaidō — though over 40 years ago my wife and I sailed between those two northern provinces on a Russian ship — looking out at both — either side of the Tjsugaru Strait! Here endeth this story.