Let me make an obvious statement which like many of their kind is often forgotten: training is most effective when urgently needed and when the reasons for this urgency are clear.

Have you ever met someone who learnt a language for Army Intelligence, years ago during the (Second World) War? In a short time, many were trained to interrogate fluently in another language, while others learnt to translate effectively. The urgency was there and the objectives were evident.

Why do we want to train teachers for EFL? What for? Who for?

How often do we ask ourselves these questions when planning a course?

Are we aware that answers are often affected by the Prestige Factor?

Here, the problem may be an eminent professor who is welcomed simply because everyone has heard of him. “It is the honour of having you here that is important!” said the organiser of a medical conference in Ancona to an English friend of mine who is a well-known professor of Medicine. He had just given a lecture in English to an audience that only understood Italian, but nevertheless applauded him vociferously.

There is also the Prestige Theme. After all, it is so unexciting to give a course full of the simple platitudes which are precisely what the trainees may need. I remember in South America, an impoverished Ministry of Education paying for a professor of Linguistics to come out from England to lecture to three thousand teachers assembled in the capital at vast expense. What these teachers really needed was to improve their English and to learn how to teach with forty students in a class.

The Emperor’s clothes is the truest of folk legends.

In the birth pangs of the EFL profession in 1962, we were very lucky. We started teacher-training because we desperately needed teachers who could deliver effective lessons to adult multilingual classes where verbal communication was difficult. We could not allow ourselves the luxury of either the Prestige Factor or the Prestige Theme. Because no course for practical classroom teaching then existed, we had to do the training ourselves.

Our teachers needed to know how to use visual aids, build their lesson on whatever English had already been taught, relate new vocabulary to objects in the classroom, or brought in from outside. Trainees had to learn how to mime and communicate dramatically, and use the kind of situational background which was relevant to our students’ language needs. Also, they had to learn as much as possible about English grammar and pronunciation, seen from the foreigners’ point of view.

This last was particularly difficult as the British are still the only nationality which is not taught their own grammar or pronunciation at school. And, as we were aware after six years English teaching in Spain and training teachers in Sweden, plus three years with multilingual classes in London, the presentation of English grammar had to be focused on comparative differences with the languages spoken by foreign students.

In those days, twenty-five years ago, the major text-books available were Eckersley’s “Essential English”, and an Australian book, called “Situational English”. There was also Bill Allen’s “Living English Structure”, which gave a straightforward and coherent analyis of English grammar from the foreign learner’s point of view. Also, his “Living English Speech” which dealt with basic English Pronunciation. These last two books were god-sends, not only for teaching foreign students, but also for teacher training.

In those days, the EFL profession hardly existed, and private schools were regarded generally as ‘rackets’, in which undergraduates figured prominently in part-time jobs on summer courses. Those who taught EFL frequently had the attitude: “I’m English, aren’t I? So I can teach my own language, can’t I?” Those with English degrees were particularly confident of their qualification, apparently unaware that Beowulf, the Venerable Bede and King Lear were not much help in teaching multiple nationalities in a beginners’ class.

There was also a feeling that it was not language but literature that ‘important’.

I remember this in another context when learning Russian at school, and being confronted with Pushkin’s “The Captain’s Daughter”, on the first day and nothing else. With EFL, it was difficult to convince proponents of the ‘literature school’ that it was not easy to read great books in English without knowing the language, and that if one was going to teach reading it was also possible to combine it with the speaking and listening skills which is what students came to Britain for.

Hitherto, Brita and I had tackled the question of training our teachers by observing classes, giving advice, encouraging, and suggesting different approaches. However, this process could well take months. As International House grew, it was necessary to find a more effective form of induction.

Our first teacher training course began one sunny September morning with ten people who had answered advertisements in the New Statesman and the Times Personal Column. Because we had no idea if there was a demand, the course lasted only two weeks.

*It took a long time for grammarians to realise this distinction. Even in the late 1970s, grammar books for foreign students were produced with an approach based on the English learner.

The actual design of the course was not difficult because, as I have said, our needs were clear. The object was to give the trainees as much practical grounding and classroom exposure as possible. The root of it was teaching Communication in an unfamiliar situation.[1] How could one ensure this with a minimum of wasted time? How to make the language learnt memorable? Revision? How to involve all the students in classroom activities? How to ensure variety which kept the students alert? How to present, consolidate and freely practise new language? How to make students feel at ease and interested so that they wanted to learn.

We were fortunate, too, in having an active school where the training could take place. Here, trainees could meet those whom they might ultimately teach, become involved in the problems of our teaching staff and learn in a realistic atmosphere. Later, it also had the advantage that the trainers themselves also continued to teach EFL thus keeping up to date with new methods and text-books. Indeed, from the beginning, our courses were a contrast to the isolation of the State Teacher Training Colleges which had recently been set up. I remember going to the Ministry of Education, as it then was, and meeting a lady who was known by her colleagues as “The tennis ball in the rain-pipe” because she blocked everything. When I remarked that teacher training in the State system might be more practical if attached to the new Comprehensive Schools, this lady raised both eyebrows. “Mr. Haycraft,”she said loftily, “Do you realise you are criticising the entire educational system in the U.K.?”

“Yes, Miss Cr., I do” I replied. Our discussion ended rapidly.

The outline we found for the course has lasted to this day. In the morning, we had which we discussed theory. This seminars also included oral drills and the use of tape-recorders, which were then new teaching aids[2].

As it was obviously impossible to go through all relevant English grammar in a two week course, I concentrated on various major problems, such as the Definite Article and Present Perfect. In the process, we broke up language into short ‘presentation formulae’ to be taught at various stages. We then got on to ways of presenting and practising them. It was this actual process which was most important, and we hoped that trainees would learn to apply it to other language structures they had to teach.

In Pronunciation, Brita made trainees aware above all of word and sentence stress and ways of correcting the commonest sound mistakes, such as ‘o’ ‘w’ and ‘th’.

Our approach was based on giving trainees the enthusiasm and savoir faire to explore further once they had started teaching. Even today, I warn new trainees that at the end of one of our four week courses, they will only be outside Paddington Station when their destination is Plymouth. Even if they have not got very far one hopes they are on the railway lines and going in the right direction.

On our course we followed up morning discussion with teaching practice every day between 1.30 and 3.30. For this the group of trainees was split into two groups separately. Points we had examined together the previous day had been trainees as homework and were then taught to guinea pig” students. These classes consisted mainly of our own students who were only too happy to have extra, free tuition[3].

Trainees taught for ten minutes, which was followed by a further ten minutes comment on the teaching from trainer and trainees. The foreign students also participated in this mutual criticism which was valuable if often simple, like: “Write on blackboard bad.”

If applied out of the blue today in a large teaching establishment, the prospect of this kind of teaching practice would probably seem so alarming that it would never be introduced. As, however, we were breaking new ground, it was accepted without question by the trainees, even if sometimes it made them tremble.

Criticism is usually an ugly word because associated with malice. However, we ensured that everyone realised that criticism could be helpful. It started with the good points, making any negative ones which followed more acceptable. Thus, these sessions came to resemble showing a short story or novel to a friend for frank comment, which is usually of value. Throughout I.H., there was a further effect of stimulating discussions about teaching. Our staff who ultimately all went through this process, also came to welcome in-service observation of their classes. In fact, we would actually get our teachers complaining if they were not observed regularly, or they would request observation when they had difficulties, or wanted to try something new. Very different it was from the suspicious guarding of new teaching ideas, common to many staff-rooms at that time.

Twelve years later, I went to IATEFL conference and saw a talk advertised on something I had never heard before: ‘Micro-teaching’, When I enquired what it was given an exact description of our teaching practice. Thus can new things be discovered independently all over the world and be given special names to lend them status and significance,

After teaching practice, observation of classes in our school of English followed from 3.30-5.30. Even if classes were not as good as they were once we had trained our teachers, they were valuable in giving trainees experience of the EFL classroom, and confronting them with some of the problems that arise. It also stimulated trainees to ask themselves how they, themselves, would deal with a situation if they disagreed with how it was handled.

Intensive the course certainly was (and is). With its fifty hours, it was the equivalent of half a term at a university, crammed into two weeks.

Because of this intensity, trainees were absorbed into an unfamiliar world, so different from other forms of teaching. Also, it forced us to make the course as stimulating and varied as we could. Even if trainees worked hard, they seemed to enjoy it.

Very important, too, we were all young. It came to be accepted that hierarchy and status were barriers to communication. I had spent a post-graduate year at the Yale Drama school, and our atmosphere was very much that of a team in a theatre, rehearsing, discussing, acting out, and mixing with other nationalities. There was a feeling that this was not ‘work’ because everyone was so involved in preparing for that ultimate denouement: effective teaching practice, into which were drawn the awakening skills produced by seminars, observation of classes and the formative comments made on previous teaching practice.

As we took our next courses, various problems arose. The first was the outrage of those outside who felt that only universities and colleges should run teacher training. And our courses only lasted two weeks. Conscious of this, we only gave a Report at the end of the course, not a Certificate.

Once, Stevens, the founder of B.D.C. English by Radio, came up to me to express his horror. ‘How can you run a teacher training course of only two weeks?” he asked indignantly.

“Well, what alternative is there?” I exploded. ‘No one else runs any courses for the classroom! Isn’t it better to try and fill some of the void? How else can one recruit teachers who have some idea of teaching EFL?”

One of the disadvantages of being in a totally new profession was that all sorts of different associative ideas were applied to it. As I mentioned above, a university degree was regarded as essential, although no degree prepared for the difficulties we were faced with, even if it did give a valuable educational background. In fact, when training VSOs later, we found that school leavers were usually more suited to EFL, initially, than university graduates. School leavers had fewer fixed ideas on learning and teaching, and were less likely to verbalise excessively. They found it easier to adapt to tight objectives, the essentially practical tenets of our classroom methodology, the need to present language simply and clearly, and to consolidate by encouraging the students to express themselves.

As we put on more courses, it was also necessary to find career outlets. A school in Sardinia asked me for a teacher, so I recommended a lady who had shown promise. The result was disastrous. The lady complained that she had been exploited, and the school that the lady was hopeless and aggressive. I vowed never to do this again. So began the system of schools affiliated to International House, which now number eighty in twenty countries, With this scheme, we only sent teacher to schools we had vetted and visited regularly. We gave any educational help they needed and kept them up to date with new ideas and materials at regular conferences. Many of the directors, themselves, came on training courses, while teachers of ours opened new schools which then became affiliated.

We also found that the training course was an invaluable way of choosing teachers for such varied places as Rome, Lisbon, Libya, Algiers or Beirut. From the personality revealed on teaching practice we could gauge much more about reactions to different countries than simply from references and interviews. In fact, without the training courses we could probably never have staffed our schools abroad satisfactorily.

As it developed, teacher training became a cornerstone of the whole developing structure of International House, reminiscent again of the interlinking I had seen at the Yale Drama School. There, student playwrights had produced plays which were then acted out by student directed by student actors, directed by student directors with lighting and scenery also created or arranged by students, while everyone gave feedback through questionnaires at the end of each play.

In International House, trainees wanted to know more about our foreign students because they hoped to teach them. They wanted to plumb their skills and errors in speaking English, their learning attitudes, their educational background. These students, in turn, were anxious to meet native speakers, particularly as in London they always complained it was difficult to get to know them. A social programme grew up with activities like Conversation Exchange, English through Acting and Pronunciation, Workshops where both trainees and foreign students took part.

Practice classes also provided cheap tuition for students who could not afford our normal school fees as these rose with the cost of living and the urgent need to pay higher salaries. In this way, there was still an opening for students from developing countries, or for refugees. Although trainees were inexperienced, the variety of teaching with successive ten minute blocks, the way the classes were all in spoken English, the continual repetition of Structure and Pronunciation points, the opportunity to meet native speakers, all made these classes reasonably effective, especially as a means of revising and consolidating. As the trainers were themselves teachers in our school of English, they could also keep their knowledge fresh and up to date by teaching other nationalities for at least half the year.

Gradually, we provided enough teachers for our needs, and the courses became a general way of entering EFL as a teacher. Those who did well on courses would teach mainly abroad for a year or two as virtual apprentices. Then, they would take the RSA Dip and, with a mixture of experience and relevant reading, become professional teachers who could go on to become Directors of Studies, teacher trainers and perhaps do a post-graduate degree.

Being plunged even into what soon grew into four week courses was difficult, and those who got an ‘A’ were usually exceptional people with a natural flair for this kind of teaching. One inevitable snag was that the slower but sound trainees were penalised, as it often took longer than four weeks for them to develop their talents.

As the courses expanded, teacher training was established in International Houses abroad, dealing more with the specific problems of certain nationalities. Nowadays, the ten minute teaching slot has been supplemented by longer lessons in the fourth week. There has also been more administrative consolidation with greater precision in lesson plans and instructions. Also, with the development of EFL, new subjects and approaches have been introduced while others have been thrown out. But the vase is still the same, even if the flowers are different.

Above all, the values of friendliness, a sense of equality, sharing and sympathy for other people’s problems, have remained. Now, there are special courses for foreign teachers, including one lasting three months, a new one for trainers and for teachers of Business English.

Since the RSA Dip, in 1966, longer, more advanced courses have been started, including a special Correspondence Course for teacher abroad.

In our twenty-five years, we have trained over twenty thousand potential teachers. As Jeremy Harmer wrote recently in the EFL Gazette: “Hands up those EFL teachers who did not start their careers training at International House.”

In 1978, I ended an article for Hornby’s Festschrift saying it was time someone lent us a hand. Shortly afterwards, Steve Walters of the Bell School asked me at an IATEFL conference if I would welcome an RSA (Royal Society of Arts) certificate for all our Preparatory Courses. It would mean that the RSA would adopt our syllabus, and that other people could more easily run training courses of the type we had developed over the years. I agreed because I have never felt that teacher training should be the monopoly of one organization. Already, in 1976 we had sent a teacher to Bell, Cambridge, to start their courses, there.

Today, the pattern of our four-week course is followed all over the world with a generally recognised Certificate. Now, there is no need to go to desperate lengths to find teachers who can use the special methodology which learners who know little English demand.

[1] It is interesting how the part of the course which deals with communication can be used for other forms of training. A trainer of ours, back from the States, told me he was making a fortune using the same techniques in training employees of a large video company

[2] Language laboratories only became available in Britain in 1964. There was little material for them until Alan Wakeman, who took over our laboratories at International House, produced his textbook “English Fast”.

[3] *After a time, we realised that it was essential to charge a nominal fee as otherwise students attended irregularly.