What does he want to know about his teacher? Why? - English

Question

What does he want to know about his teacher? Why?

One Line Answer

Solution

The child is inquisitive or curious to know about the routine of his teacher.

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Chapter 5.2: Where Do All the Teachers Go? - Extra Questions

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NCERT English - Honeysuckle Class 6

Chapter 5.2 Where Do All the Teachers Go?
Extra Questions | Q 17

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Thinking about the Poem

What does the poet like to do when it rains?

Match the phrases in Column A with their meanings in Column B.

	A		B
(i)	broke out	(a)	an attitude of kindness, a readiness to give freely
(ii)	in accordance with	(b)	was not able to tolerate
(iii)	a helping hand	(c)	began suddenly in a violent way
(iv)	could not stomach	(d)	assistance
(v)	generosity of spirit	(e)	persons with power to make decisions
(vi)	figures of authority	(f)	according to a particular rule, principle, or system

“A slumber did my spirit seal,” says the poet. That is, a deep sleep ‘closed off’ his soul (or mind). How does the poet react to his loved one’s death? Does he feel bitter grief? Or does he feel a great peace?

Answer of these question in a short paragraph (about 30 words).

What incidents during the Everest expedition show Santosh’s concern for her team-mates?

After having read the story, you realise the anguish of the illiterate adults. You want to make your friends aware of it and contribute something in bringing about a change in the lives of the illiterate adults. Deliver a speech in the morning assembly at your school about the Importance of Adult Education and ways to implement it.
Read the following to make your speech effective:
The introduction of a speech is like the nose of an airplane. The nose sets the course and leads the plane off in a specific direction. A good introduction sets the direction of your speech by

getting the attention of your audience
introducing your topic
stating your central idea or purpose
briefly identifying the main points
making your audience eager to hear what you have to say

1. I first met Private Quelch at the training depot. A man is liable to acquire in his firs week of Army life - together with his uniform, rifle and equipment- a nickname. Anyone who saw Private Quelch, lanky, stooping, frowning through horn-rimmed spectacles, understood why he was known as the Professor. Those who had any doubts on the subject lost them after five minutes' conversation with him.
2. I remember the first lesson we had in musketry. We stood in an attentive circle while a Sergeant, a man as dark and sun-dried as raisins, wearing North-West Frontier ribbons, described the mechanism of a service rifle.
3. "The muzzle velocity or speed at which the bullet leaves the rifle", he told us, "is
well over two thousand feet per second."
4. A voice interrupted. "Two thousand, four hundred and forty feet per second." It
was the Professor.
5. "That's right," the Sergeant said without enthusiasm, and went on lecturing. When he had finished, he asked us questions; and, perhaps in the hope of revenge, he turned with his questions again and again to the Professor. The only result was to enhance the Professor's glory. Technical definitions, the parts of a rifle, its use and care, he had them all by heart.
6. The Sergeant asked, "Have you had any training before?"
7. The Professor answered with a phrase that was to become familiar to all of us. "No, Sergeant. It's all a matter of intelligent reading."
8. That was our introduction to him. We soon learned more about him. He saw to that. He meant to get on, he told us. He had the brains. He was sure to get a commission, before long. As a first step, he meant to get a stripe.
9. In pursuit of his ambition he worked hard. We had to give him credit for that. He borrowed training manuals and stayed up late at nights reading them. He badgered the instructors with questions. He drilled with enthusiasm, and on route marches he was not only miraculously tireless but infuriated us all with his horrible heartiness. "What about a song, chaps?" is not greeted politely at the end of thirty miles. His salute at the pay table was a model to behold. When officers were in sight he would swing his skinny arms and march to the canteen like a Guardsman.
10. And day in and day out, he lectured to us in his droning, remorseless voice on every aspect of human knowledge. At first we had a certain respect for him, but soon we lived in terror of his approach. We tried to hit back at him with clumsy sarcasms and practical jokes. The Professor scarcely noticed; he was too busy working for his stripe.
11. Each time one of us made a mistake the Professor would publicly correct him. Whenever one of us shone, the Professor outshone him. When, after a hard morning's work of cleaning out our hut, we listened in silence to the Orderly Officer's praise, the Professor would break out with a ringing, dutifully beaming, "Thank you, sir!" And how superior, how condescending he was. It was always,
"Let me show you, fellow," or, "No, you'll ruin your rifle that way, old man."
12. We used to pride ourselves on aircraft recognition. Once, out for a walk, we heard the drone of a plane flying high overhead. None of us could even see it in the glare of the sun. Without even a glance upward the Professor announced, "That, of course, is a North American Harvard Trainer. It can be unmistakably identified by the harsh engine note, due to the high tip speed of the airscrew."
What could a gang of louts like us do with a man like that? 13. None of us will ever forget the
drowsy summer afternoon which was such a turning-point in the Professor's life.
14. We were sprawling contentedly on the warm grass while Corporal Turnbull was taking a lesson on the hand grenade.
15. Corporal Turnbull was a young man, but he was not a man to be trifled with. He had come back from Dunkirk with all his equipment correct and accounted for and his kitten in his pocket. He was
our hero, and we used to tell each other that he was so tough that you could hammer nails into him without his noticing it.
16. _"The outside of a grenade, as you can see," Corporal Turnbull was saying, "is divided up into a large number of fragments to assist segmentation"
17. "Forty-four"
18. "What's that?" The Corporal looked over his shoulder
19. "Forty-four segments." The Professor beamed at him.
20. The Corporal said nothing, but his brow tightened. He opened his mouth to
resume.
21. "And by the way, Corporal." We were all thunder-struck.
22. The Professor was speaking again. "Shouldn't you have started off with the five characteristics of the grenade? Our instructor at the other camp always used to do that, you know."
23. In the silence that followed a dark flush stained the tan of the Corporal's face. "Here," he said at last, "you give this lecture". As if afraid to say any more, he tossed the grenade to the Professor. Quite unabashed, Private Quelch climbed to his feet and with the attitude of a man coming into his birth-right gave us an unexceptionable lecture on the grenade.
24. The squad listened in a cowed, horrified kind of silence. Corporal Turnbull stood and watched, impassive, except for a searching intentness of gaze. When the lecture was finished he said, "Thank you, Private Quelch. Fall in with the others now." He did not speak again until we had fallen in and were waiting to be dismissed. Then he addressed us. 25. "As some of you may have heard," he began deliberately, "the platoon officer has asked me to nominate one of you for…." He paused and looked lingeringly up and down the ranks as if seeking final confirmation of decision.
26. So this was the great moment! Most of us could not help glancing at Private Quelch, who stood rigidly to attention and stared straight in front of him with an expression of self-conscious innocence.
27. ______"…..for permanent cookhouse duties, I've decided that Private Quelch is just the man for the job."
28. Of course, it was a joke for days afterwards; a joke and joy to all of us.
29. I remember, though.............
30. My friend Trower and I were talking about it a few days later. We were returning from the canteen to our own hut.
31. Through the open door, we could see the three cooks standing against the wall as if at bay; and from within came the monotonous beat of a familiar voice.
32. "Really. I must protest against this abominably unscientific and unhygienic method of peeling potatoes. I need to only draw your attention to the sheer waste of vitamin values.............."
33. We fled.
About the Author
Alexander Baron (1917-1999) has written many novels, including 'There's no Home',
' The Human Kind', 'Queen of the East', 'Seeing Life' and The How Life', along with
film scripts and television plays. He started life as an Asstt. Editor of The Tribune and
later edited the 'New Theater.' He served in the army during the Second World War.

Listen to this extract from Shakespeare's play As You Like It. As you listen, read
the poem aloud; you can do this more than once.

All the world's a stage
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,

Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier.
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation.

Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;

And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes

And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

About the Poet
William Shakespeare (1564-1616) was born in Stratford-upon-Avon. He is
considered by many to be the greatest dramatist of all time. He wrote 154 sonnets, two
long narrative poems and about three dozen plays. Shakespeare used poetic and
dramatic means to create unified aesthetic effects. In verse, he perfected the dramatic
blank verse.

Dr. Wood, the capable general practitioner, has been requested to solve this case. He gathers information about the murder from the inmates or the house. The information is presented in two parts.

Parts A: Background story by Arthur Conan Doyle
Parts B: Conversation between Dr. Wood and Cecil Barker
Part A
Background Story

The village of Birlstone is a small and very ancient cluster of half-timbered cottages on the northern border of the county of Sussex. For centuries it had remained unchanged but its picturesque appearance has attracted well-to-do residents. A number of small shops have come into being to meet the wants of the increased population.

About half a mile from the town, standing in an old park famous for its huge beech trees, was the ancient Manor House, with its many gables and its small diamond paned windows. The only approach to the house was over a drawbridge, the chains and windlass of which had been rusted and broken. The family consisted of only two individuals - John Douglas and his wife. Douglas was cheery and genial to all and had acquired great popularity among the villagers. He appeared to have plenty of money. Thus, it came about that John Douglas had, within five years, won himself quite a reputation in Birlstone. His wife was a beautiful woman, tall, dark and slender, younger than her husband; a disparity which seemed in no way to mar the contentment of their family life. It was remarked sometimes, that the confidence between the two did not appear to be complete. There were signs sometimes of some nerve strain upon the part of Mrs. Douglas.
Cecil Barker, was a frequent and welcome visitor at Manor House, Barker was an easy going, free handed gentleman.
It was on Jan 6th at 11:45 that the alarm reached the small local police station that John Douglas had been murdered. Dr. Wood seemed to be unnerved and troubled.

Part B
Conversation between Dr. Wood and Cecil Barker

Dr. Wood : We will touch nothing until my superiors arrive. {He spoke in a hushed voice, stating at the dreadful head)
C.Barker : Nothing has been touched untilnow.
Dr. Wood : When did this happen?
C.Barker : It was just half-past eleven. I was sitting by the fire in my bedroom when I heard the gun shot. In thirty seconds I was in the room.
Dr. Wood : Wasthedooropen?
C.Barker : Yes, it was open. Poor Douglas was lying as you see him.
Dr. Wood : Did you see anyone?
C. Barker : No, I heard Mrs. Douglas coming down the stains behind me, and I rushed out 1 to prevent her from seeing this dreadful sight.
Dr. Wood : But I have heard that the drawbridge is kept up all night.
C. Barker : Yee,it was up until l lowered it.
Dr. Wood : Then how could any murderer have got away? It ls out of question! Mr Douglas must have shot himself.
C. Barker : That was our first idea. But see! The diamond paned window is open to its full extent.
Dr. Wood : I think someone stood there while trying to get out.
C. Barker : You mean that someone waded across the moat?
Dr. Wood : Exactly!
C. Barker : I agree with you.
Dr. Wood : But what I ask you ls, how did he even get into the house at all if the bridge was up?
C. Barker : Ah, that's the question.
Dr. Wood : At what time was the bridge raised?
C. Barker : It was nearly 6 O'clock.
Dr. Wood : Then it comes to this, if anyone came from outside -if they did-they must have got in across the bridge before six and had been in hiding ever since. The man was waiting. He shot him, when he got the chance.

What does he plant who plants a tree? a
He plants a friend of sun and sky;b
He plants the flag of breezes free;
The shaft of beauty, towering high;
He plants a home to heaven anigh;
For song and mother-croon of bird
In hushed and happy twilight heard____
The treble of heaven's harmony_____
These things he plants who plants a tree.

Read the lines given above and answer the question that follow:

Towards the end of the poem the poet refers to the longing in the heart of the one who plants a tree. What is this longing ?

So please, oh please, we beg, we pray,
Go throw your TV set away,
And in its place you can install
A lovely bookshelf on the wall.
Then fill the shelves with lots of books,
Ignoring all the dirty looks,
The Screams and yells,the bites and kicks,
And children hitting you with sticks-
Fear not, because we promise you
That, in about a week ot two
Of having nothing else to do,
They'll now begin to feel the need
Of having something to read.
And once they start - oh boy, oh boy!
You watch the slowly growing joy
That fills their hearts. They'll grow so keen
They'll wonder what they'd ever seen
In that ridiculous machine,
That nauseating, foul, unclean,
Repulsive television screen!
And later, each and every kid
Will love you more for what you did.

Read the lines given above and answer the question given below.

Will the children appreciate this action of their parents?

To us the ashes of our ancestors are sacred and their resting place is hallowed ground. You wander far from the graves of your ancestors and seemingly without regret. Your religion was written upon tablets of stone by the iron finger of your God so that you could not forget. The Red Man could never comprehend or remember it. Our religion is the traditions of our ancestors — the dreams of our old men, given them in solemn hours of the night by the Great Spirit; and the visions of our sachems, and is written in the hearts of our people.

Your dead cease to love you and the land of their nativity as soon as they pass the portals of the tomb and wander away beyond the stars. They are soon forgotten and never return. Our dead never forget this beautiful world that gave them being. They still love its verdant valleys, its murmuring rivers, its magnificent mountains, sequestered vales and verdant lined lakes and bays, and ever yearn in tender fond affection over the lonely hearted living, and often return from the happy hunting ground to visit, guide, console, and comfort them.

Day and night cannot dwell together. The Red Man has ever fled the approach of the White Man, as the morning mist flees before the morning sun. However, your proposition seems fair and I think that my people will accept it and will retire to the reservation you offer them. Then we will dwell apart in peace, for the words of the Great White Chief seem to be the words of nature speaking to my people out of dense darkness.