From time to time, I would be required to teach the first and second years of elementary school. These lessons were less about formal education and more about allowing the students to have some exposure to the language and, I suppose, a foreigner (me), prior to their beginning the curriculum in their third year.

The approach to these lessons was naturally a little different. The student’s level of English was of course very low: they were still fairly preoccupied with learning their own, amply baffling, language. They lacked the composure and attention span of the older students. So, the lesson plans were simple, covering a single easy concept or couple of words, generally interactive and, supposedly, fun.

As the students were all very young and of a similar level, they were often combined into one class comprising the full complement of both years, or, as it sometimes seemed, all that the school could muster. The resultant throng was usually too numerous to fit into one of their usual classrooms, so it would tend to be held in the music room or another of the larger teaching rooms with the students sat on the floor and their respective homeroom teachers skirting about the edges of the horde.

On this particular occasion I was to teach both the first and second years of one of my elementary schools for the first time. The experience began much the same way as any other class. I was collected from the staffroom by two very small students, barely higher than my knee, who implied through a combination of hesitant lurking by the door and bashful mumblings that I was to follow them. I was led up a broad staircase which switchbacked past bulletin boards of student artwork and posters, all of which was apparently as novel to my guides as it was to me. Then finally, in a somewhat aimless and meandering fashion, to the classroom, whereupon my guides melted into the awaiting crowd. I was greeted by fifty or so students and their two teachers, who ushered me to the front of the class before retreating to the fringes, wearing the standard expression of dubious expectation that I had become accustomed to.

As the teachers themselves very often had little to no English, it was understandable that they might initially be nervous of being put on the spot in this sort of situation. I would always do my best to set them at ease by confidently taking the lead in the opening stages of the lesson but allowing openings for them to participate, if and when they felt comfortable doing so.

Every lesson began and ended with an aisatsu, which was essentially a formal greeting led by one of the students, the class leader for the day. Everyone would be told to stand, say something to the effect of “for what we are about to learn, let’s be thankful”, bow, and then be told to sit down again. After this one of the Japanese teachers would give a brief introduction of the aims of the day’s lesson before handing-over to me.

Sometimes.

Sometimes, they wouldn’t, and would simply wait for me to begin. It was almost impossible to tell which of these it would be, as I would often have had no communication with the teachers prior to the lesson. This could result in an indecisive and awkward silence, filled with meaningful looks and raised eyebrows. I wasn’t particularly fond of this, so had learned to be very aware of any signs of hesitation or uncertainty from the teachers in those crucial few seconds. If they displayed an initial reluctance I would launch happily into my introduction before that unbearable stagnation could set in and cripple the flow of the lesson before it had even had a chance to begin. Today, they were hesitant.

I launched.

I began as ever by cheerfully greeting the whole class with ‘hellos’, ‘good-mornings’, and ‘how are yous’. In my haste I was already far exceeding the expected language level by asking questions, but the students responded enthusiastically and, if not correctly, at least with admirable gusto. An edifying start.

I glanced at the lesson plan I had been asked to use; it was woefully short. Four words to learn and forty-five minutes in which to do it, and I had already exhausted my only other time-sink in the greeting. The students were greeted. They were happy and expectant. On with the lesson. Today’s target language was: head, shoulder, knee and toe.

It must be said at this point that I never much enjoyed singing in the classroom. I could appreciate the benefits of song as a tool for learning in a theoretical sort of way, but I had never liked being made to sing as a child and apparently that hadn’t changed now that I had become the teacher. Unfortunately, given today’s subject matter it seemed that, unless I was particularly inventive or contrary, it was an inevitability. It was simply a matter of time.

I touched my head and said as much. The students immediately responded in kind.
This was a good class.
Shoulders, knees and toes followed with similar facility. That was more or less it then. All four words learned with ease, and we were three minutes in. Somewhat encouraged by their initial response I decided it would be best to strike whilst the iron was hot and go straight for the song. First, of course, was the presentation. I had to show the students the end-goal.  Almost before I knew it, I was away: “Heads, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes!” Gestures and all. Smiling.
The teachers and their pupils seemed a little taken aback by the abrupt boldness of the move. “Heads, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes”. I had got to: “aaaannd..”

.. and..

In that moment I had two terrible realisations. Firstly, that I had completely neglected to mention anything about eyes, ears, mouths or noses. To be fair they hadn’t been mentioned in the lesson plan either, so it was apparently a common oversight. I suppose I should have assumed from the content of the lesson that they might have cropped up at some point. The second, and far more immediately concerning, was that in my state of heightened excitement I had started the song in a rather unforgiving key, somewhere near the top of my natural vocal range, and was now confronted with the bridge. “Mouth”, in particular, was a full four tones higher than anything I had sung so far. I managed to compose myself. I took a deep breath and relaxed as much as possible.

“..and eyes and ears and..”

keeping my chin up, throat open, I pushed a little more air through and nailed the top note. Clear, strident, and ringing. Admittedly, perhaps a little more stagey than is usually necessary for an elementary school song. I could see the teachers’ eyebrows raise even further as they recoiled slightly in awe, or possibly fear.

I finished the song with an effortless drop down the octave and a low flourish on the final “knees and toes”. I was thoroughly pleased with myself. I had not only conquered my fear of singing, I had faced the challenge head on and I had done so without compromising my musical integrity.

The class seemed a little lost for words. In the ensuing silence the teacher to my left gingerly approached and gestured to a C.D player she had clearly prepared before.

“Ah, yes!” I said. “Let’s use that”.