What's the difference between 'the window is cracked' and 'the window is shattered'?

a crack is just 1 line; if it is shattered there are lots and lots of little pieces of glass

a shatter is just 1 line; if it is cracked there are lots and lots of little pieces.

Faulty goods & poor customer service

A shoemaker, by no fault of his own, had become so poor that at last he had nothing left but leather for one pair of shoes. So in the evening, he cut out the shoes which he wished to begin to make the next morning, and as he had a good conscience, he lay down quietly in his bed, commended himself to God, and fell asleep. In the morning, after he had said his prayers, and was just going to sit down to work, the two shoes stood quite finished on his table. He was astounded, and knew not what to say to it. He took the shoes in his hands to observe them closer, and they were so neatly made that there was not one bad stitch in them, just as if they were intended as a masterpiece. Soon after, a buyer came in, and as the shoes pleased him so well, he paid more for them than was customary, and, with the money, the shoemaker was able to purchase leather for two pairs of shoes. He cut them out at night, and next morning was about to set to work with fresh courage; but he had no need to do so, for, when he got up, they were already made, and buyers also were not wanting, who gave him money enough to buy leather for four pairs of shoes. The following morning, too, he found the four pairs made; and so it went on constantly, what he cut out in the evening was finished by the morning, so that he soon had his honest independence again, and at last became a wealthy man. Now it befell that one evening not long before Christmas, when the man had been cutting out, he said to his wife, before going to bed, "What think you if we were to stay up to-night to see who it is that lends us this helping hand?" The woman liked the idea, and lighted a candle, and then they hid themselves in a corner of the room, behind some clothes which were hanging up there, and watched. When it was midnight, two pretty little naked men came, sat down by the shoemaker's table, took all the work which was cut out before them and began to stitch, and sew, and hammer so skilfully and so quickly with their little fingers that the shoemaker could not turn away his eyes for astonishment. They did not stop until all was done, and stood finished on the table, and they ran quickly away. Next morning the woman said, "The little men have made us rich, and we really must show that we are grateful for it. They run about so, and have nothing on, and must be cold. I'll tell thee what I'll do: I will make them little shirts, and coats, and vests, and trousers, and knit both of them a pair of stockings, and do thou, too, make them two little pairs of shoes." The man said, "I shall be very glad to do it;" and one night, when everything was ready, they laid their presents all together on the table instead of the cut-out work, and then concealed themselves to see how the little men would behave. At midnight they came bounding in, and wanted to get to work at once, but as they did not find any leather cut out, but only the pretty little articles of clothing, they were at first astonished, and then they showed intense delight. They dressed themselves with the greatest rapidity, putting the pretty clothes on, and singing, "Now we are boys so fine to see, Why should we longer cobblers be?" Then they danced and skipped and leapt over chairs and benches. At last they danced out of doors. From that time forth they came no more, but as long as the shoemaker lived all went well with him, and all his undertakings prospered.

“On this night, we share a roof protecting us from fleets of inequity. Our unification promises a better tomorrow. Those larger than myself, sitting on their marble thrones, sipping blood from cups composed of human skin and singing songs of so-called virtue, grow weaker each moment. Their caravans are revolting. There is hope yet. There is progress! Though tonight may mark a countdown, it is still a celebration. Look at all we have done, not just for Trials but for Palatium Infra as a whole. In four years, when I’m no longer Sovereignty, the Spoiled Purity and his people will continue to strive. So drink! Smoke! Crush up those exotic plants and snort them! We will not falter, weaken, or wane. Our influence is expanding, and somebody new opens their eyes every day. Even the Silbys of Aculeus have reached alarming potentials despite their embittered minds. So long as you relish in tonight, dance, and pray to your “dead” Gods, our revolution shall rise beyond the bounds of class, and when I’m only a commoner, we shall rise again beyond our brainwashed adversaries! Cheers, my people. Cheers!” Followers raised their cups. Some clinked theirs together. Others stood still and screamed breathlessly in agreement. I smiled with courtesy, then stepped off my platform. My voice still rang across the cellar. Speeches before were grander. Those displays were supposed to be emptying, and yet this one left me bloated, swollen tight. I watched as they popped the corks of their bottles and chanted in the name of Purity. Maybe the quality of my words wasn’t what mattered to them anyway, so long as I screamed loud enough. There’s no merit in attacking your people, a voice corrected me. “That’s right,” I said aloud. “Knox, my-my Sovereign!” squealed a nearby devotee, jittering as he stuffed his face with catered pastries. He was one I’d never seen before or had failed to remember. “Look what I’ve found! It’s wine, and not the shoddy Infran kind, either. Earth-made with good fruit! I don’t know how anyone managed to get their hands on this. Maybe some space travel mischief.” He giggled and held up a small glass bottle. “How neat.” “I want you to have it, Sir.” I nodded my head. “Yes, of course. Thank you.” Backing off into the midst of rowdy disciples, I clutched the bottle. What a waste of grapes. It could have been jam instead. Earthly food had a superior taste, ripe with delicate intricacies and nostalgia, but Palatium Infra had mastered the art of alcohol. Why waste your time with a drunkenness so sad and sickening? The booze of trash. Not many more followers approached me. The barren peroration must have upset them. My hands itched to submerge into my suit pockets, and my legs stood suddenly numb, wobbling. Four more years until I’m nothing. But tonight, you are nothing. “Shut up,” I told myself. Tightly packed together in the corner of the dwelling sat the Sibyls. A mound of writhing fabric and tones of skin made up their unified silhouette. I snapped the strap of the nearest gown, balancing on my hands and knees, waving the bottle before them. In their almost rodent nature, narrow noses prodded my way. Their dresses wrinkled and fell to their ankles. Knees dropped, and eyes widened. Many grumbled at me like hungry she-beasts. Those newer ones with faded curtains for hair, sunken eyes, and dirtied nails looked, hid their face, then sobbed. I imagined them in a pack together, fighting wildly against the Spoiled Purity in their rat decorum–biting down with square teeth laced with rabies. “I’ve got you all something,” I said. “Go back off to your pedestal and yap some more. We don’t want it.” A woman rose from the pile and spat. “You don’t even know what it is yet. It's Earth hooch, or more likely a near-flawless replica. I figured you girls would also like a chance to enjoy yourselves tonight.” “Your playmates have been harassing us since the moment you hung the banners and opened the cellar door.” The youngest, with a striking cyan mop upon her head, uncoiled from the mass. What was she now? 20, 21? We celebrated a birthday recently, I thought as she spun around me. “I remember something about a promise. Multiple promises, actually. Are you trying to bribe us into just shutting up and taking it? Because if another sticky, 40-year-old, Earth-born virgin gropes my shoulder, I’m going to have an aneurysm!” the girl continued. “Why not an Infran follower? Do you like it when they touch you?” I returned her accusing tone. “I’m sorry, sweet prophets, that you feel I’ve neglected my duties. I’ll keep a better eye out. Remember, you can always just holler if somebody is bothering you. And Anwen, friend, if I’ve ever tried to bribe you with anything, it was certainly the hair dye. I mean, look at you! Such handsomeness!” I exclaimed. The other Siblys began to encircle her, uttering compliments or even announcements of their envy. Anwen disappeared in a wink with flushed cheeks back into the mound. “I’ll just leave this here.” Smiling, I set down the bottle. ** “141, 143. . .” I counted each step as I trekked the staircase. There was no doubt I lost track somewhere. The ledges kept spawning under my feet, infinitely multiplying until I wasn’t moving at all–swallowing me up in a whirlpool of stone. My tie still hung around my neck, and my blazer remained tied around my hips as a skirt. Streaks of red dribbled off from the cavity in my chest. It was a gorgeous marking, sensual to my fingertips as I traced its edges. Purity, oh, Purity. Purity and his wings of burnt skin. Purity and his many faces. Purity the spoiled. Purity the mutilated. The Silbys did not bother waiting for me. On bare feet, they stormed up the stairs to their room. A trail of red, though in paint unlike mine, streamed after them. None looked remotely near me as they squeaked and gossiped intangibly. I saved them, those Infran broads, enlightened them. As much as they liked to deny it, spit at me, and bask in the thought of their victimhood, in this home, they stood empowered. You’ve done well, my thoughts affirmed, though in the manner of an insincere commentator rather than a hype man. Teeth grace in tile violin goes laundry paper when. It dissolved into an intruding drivel. I rubbed my head and sniveled. “Do you need help, Knox?” called a Silby. Fattened by my coddling, her shadow fell upon me from the doorway steps ahead. I attempted counting again. There must’ve been at least another hundred between me and her. “I’m hallucinating some,” I said, breathing deeply to suppress a burp as I struggled to recall her name. Two syllables. Typically Latin, though sometimes English. Drops of slobber leaked from my mouth. “I’m hallucinating some, Tybal. Do you like your name, Tybal? I would have named you something better. Ty-Tyballinia. No, we’d have to eliminate the ‘ball’ aspect. It sounds too crude.” “One foot in front of the other,” she said. So I walked. Mess greeted me at the doorway. Dirtied culinary obscured the dark wooden countertops, and the sink lay running. I approached the kitchen table, sat, and set my face down upon its cool wooden surface. Assaulting my nose was the smell of neglected flowers, like soil mixed with the kind of sweet cough medicine that would have left me gagging as a child. Open windows whispered songs of the twilight hour through the vessels of busy trolleys and shooting guns. My mouth strained to vomit, but there was nothing in my stomach to regurgitate except the petals of Stulto’s bloom, which came out effortlessly in little sputters. Teetering, I stood up and brushed disgorged plant parts off the tabletop. “Love,” I said as I slogged up yet another staircase. “Are you awake?” She said she’d wait. Somebody’s gotten her. No, she always misses movie night. That sleepyhead, I assured myself. There was a stirring amidst the manor’s cloak of dusk. Portraits of myself, my wife, and my daughter turned to face me as the hallway lights flickered, escaping their quartz frames to penetrate my ears with nonsense. The taxidermied heads of Infran creatures bared their teeth. I stopped to stare at my favorite, an adabactor with daunting spiked tusks poking out from its forehead. Its nose remained black and sharp, and its eyes wide with malice. “Where is my Spes, Adaba-boy? Is she sleepy?” There’s someone in the house. The sounds of the stirring rose along with my blood pressure. Footsteps orbited around me, drawing near and far and then near again, little dancers in the dark. The carpet immersed me in its mass of purples and blues, leaving my skin stained indigo and my vision abstracted. I toiled to reach the master bedroom across the aisle as it stretched out to me with bright lights and celestial howling, like a dove struggling in a pool of oil. Never again with Stulto’s bloom. Never again on what was already a bad night. My hand brushed the doorknob, and the high abruptly faded into only a persistent hum-buzz twirling around my brain. The portraits returned to their typical depression–Spes posing with her ax, Ari’s school photo, and myself in the cap I wore when addressing the military with the Verbis emblem embroidered in its center. All lifeless shots. Who were they for when they captured not the subject’s essence but only some fragment of their identity? They used to feel personal, not advertisements of some supposed characters. Servants, babysitters, and likewise civilian guests, I reminded myself, mustn’t forget whose home they’re in. Yet my body moved independently, taking Ari’s from its hook and laying it backward against the wall to hide her distant grin and tamed posture. It was time for new pictures. Sweet ones, real ones; time was ticking. I approached my own when the stirring began again. Groans and squeals erupted from the vents as if someone had set a pen of pigs loose in my crawlspace. No, not the crawlspace, my bedroom door. I turned the ruby knob. Underneath a blanket wrestled my two squealing piglets, their skins melting together beneath the layer of duvet. Fishnet leggings and manicured nails outstretched and scraped at the sheet beneath them. One raised its head, a salmon-colored man with sweat running down his forehead. Through the crack in the door, we met eyes, his Infran Dr. Sesuss nose flaring its narrow nostrils. No mark of the Spoiled Purity existed carved onto his naked body. My chest felt tight. I stepped back. I was suffocating. Spes emerged from the linens, her hair flowing down her back and her dark skin glistening in front of the bedroom window. She giggled and held the man, the blanket falling and revealing inches of her body I had not seen in months. “Darling,” whispered the rosy-faced man, “look.” He was unfathomably ugly and grotesquely young, with beady, lifeless pupils that dilated when he faced me. The excess flesh on his face sagged while he bit down on his thin lips. My wife faced me, gasped, and strained to cover herself. Suddenly, I was a stranger. A small child who had walked into his parents having sex. I unfurled the door completely. “Get out of my house,” I said. The man stayed in place. “Get out of my house,” I repeated. “Knox,” Spes began. Tears ran down her round cheeks. “Shut up!” I turned to the man, picking up a marble trophy from on top of my dresser. “Get out of my house! I’ll kill you!” “Knox!” Spes sobbed. “God damn it! I hate you! You barely look at me. Every day, there’s less passion. God, God, God, I don’t want to fuck a dead man!” she screamed, “You get out! Get! Get!” My hands wrapped tighter around the statue. That pig of a man was attached to her at the side, his face equipped with a scowl that challenged mine. He thought I was weak; frail like a decaying dementia-ridden senior. I imagined his skull bashed in, his scowl gone, and the feist and confidence in his face beaten into numbness. A new portrait was in order of such brutality, him as a splintered slab of wood, rashed and beaten, a carcass licking my boot. The churning in my brain had come back. Every wall shook. Clock faces came to life and rang in alarm. Indescribable noises caressed my eardrum before breaking into sorrowful weeps. Was it my own? I stared at Spes in motionless frenzy, clenched my teeth, and screamed like a siren. Passionless. What a lie! An excuse, more like. One that erased all my ventures, reducing me to a nobody. But I was not a nobody. I thought of my sect, my campaigns, my endurance through the political brutality of my empty hive-mind world–even my collection of literature, maps, and artifacts. I thought of daring nights alone with Spes when we were young, ravaging each other, two sardonic eggheads suddenly overcome with desire. The veins in my neck throbbed as I gasped for air. It was all I had. I threw the figurine at the man’s head. Eye shut, I heard the thud. A million singing voices of victory flooded out of the cracks in the floorboard. Proving myself a man to the woman I loved in a display of fervent violence was passion. I strained my ears for his cries, though I did not look yet. There had to be a pause, a moment of relief, where I stood tall as a skyscraper and seemingly fought to stay contained in front of my wife and her wounded, quivering paramour. Frantic footsteps rushed off the bed and past my side. I turned and grappled against myself to seize my wife’s shoulder. “Spes!” My eyelids lifted. Escaping was the man with that same numb expression in which I had imagined him. “You’re insane,” he said. I swiveled back towards the bed. With her curly locks flowing over her breasts and her limbs bent at her sides, Spes sat limp pressed against the headboard, her forehead bludgeoned and the statue resting on her stomach. Lips pursed and sweet, my Renaissance beauty reclined there in the guise of a squashed bug. But she was not dead. The desk ornament I flung was only the size of my shoe. Spes, that dramatist, may have been slightly hurt but was far from dead. She only wanted me to think she was to observe me at my most distraught, like a leech feeding on misery. “Get up.” Staggering toward the bed, I said. “You wanted passion? I showed you passion. ‘Shoved it right into your head. Of course, we both know who that gesture was meant for. . .” I fumbled to find my wit. Cold skin met my hands as I stroked her face, unable to resist checking her pulse, even though she was not dead. “I love you, Spes,” I said. Rain pelted against a nearby window. “Spes, please. Please.” No vibration answered my plea. I lifted my hand, sitting next to her now. Tears did not come. There was not any blood on the trophy, but when I picked it up, it felt to be now only a cruel instrument. It depicted a younger me in white marble, with my glasses and collared shirt being the only things painted. Both were in pink. It was a favorable color. I scrambled from the bed to vomit pure digestive bile on the rug. My stomach heaved. I ran my nails along every piece of myself I saw, a dog chasing my tail. As I slammed myself against walls and convulsed, my own heart grew ever louder in my chest. “Dad? I heard–” Ari’s slippered feet hammered across the floor. “Mom? Mom?” I kept my eyes on the storm. Silence fell. “She-She isn’t—your—.” Gasps interrupted every syllable she spoke. “You’re a murderer. Bad. Like they said,” she breathed, “ You beat her!” The words became mush, alphabet soup. Ari ran back down the hall. “My-My mom is dead. . . .Yes. . . Manor of the Trials Sovereignty. . .Ari Sorkin. . . I’m afraid he’s going to hurt me,” she said, presumably over the phone. It was all too fast. I crawled onto the windowsill, opened the glass, and let myself plummet into the alley below. Gusts of wind howled. The lack of motion or sensation informed me I had passed and again lived. Another Palatium Infra, another strange planet in which the celestial endowed rotting men with the opportunity to inhabit. Was this it? Was it all just an impossible limbo of galactic traveling? My surroundings were overwhelmingly gray, an abyss of clouds. Perhaps I had now met the real coming world, and my family and old friends lived here, ready to rush to my sides, lift me up, and jump for joy. Spes would be there. She would be enraged, but at least she’d be there. You are a bad man. You are a bad man. My eyelashes fluttered. There was a tugging sensation in my leg. The fog was wavering along with my ascendance. “No,” I yearned, trying to grip the clouds and stick them in place. “Stay with me.” But the peace was fleeting. I felt the cement under me and the moist garments clinging to my figure. My leg burned. Carefully, I craned my neck, only to observe the promenade as my surroundings. The most underwhelming of filth and danger, individually Infran. Forever my coming world. What a fool I was, having forgotten my blessing. Those idiot Gods could not tell the difference between assassination and self-infliction; a faulty insurance plan. The urge to cry at last set over me, and so I sat and wailed hot salvia into my palm, shielding my mouth to muffle the noise. Thunder echoed my hushed howling. Raindrops turned to pebbles. Under the ambiance of the stormy night, I could have sworn I heard troops stomping, guns cocking, and the chanting of my name. They had all been waiting for this. Billboards came to life, and I could only sit and spectate as the scenery flashed red. I inhaled fear and sobriety through runny nostrils. “Trials Sovereign Vsevolod “Knox” Sorkin is currently at large for the suspected homicide of Spes Sorkin, breaking the first term of the Sovereignty Charter. We now instruct you to report any sightings of the Earth-born, caucasian, roughly 195 centimeters tall, brown-haired, and brown-eyed man to your local Guard post. One can identify the suspected convict specifically by an occult tattoo of Purity’s Coronet on his lower back. No attempted execution or elongated punishment will take place until our Guards conduct an autopsy proving his guilt, per Life’s 1238 commandment. We cannot be sure when or if the Gods will revoke his blessing. Remember, when Gods frown upon strife, opt for a peaceful life. We permit all grieving festivities until Cagidus 4th. Good year!” towering buildings sang out in broadcast, repeating that same convoluted message quicker the instant it ended. Sometimes, the announcer spoke in Latin for the Infran children, other times in Chinese, Hindi, or Spanish to cater to those of irrelevant tongues. You aren’t a bad man. You are a stupid boy. Puddles sloshed. Somebody was approaching. I didn’t dare waste any remaining energy avoiding the Guards and their prodding blades. How did that phrase go? You dug your grave. Now lie in it. And so I embraced the cement. “Knox?” said the Guard. No, her tone was too sincere, and no authority would proceed in such a manner. There wasn’t confirmation on whether or not I was armed, and it wasn’t as if she could shoot me first. She was a partygoer, having just left from the cellar’s backdoor. I shooed her away with my hand. She hovered, and I discerned her shadow hesitating over my body. A man could not rot in peace. “Come on, get up! They’re after you!” Hands reached around my torso, struggling to handle my weight as they urged me onto my feet. That leg, the burning one, my right, trembled and bent unnaturally upon impact with the ground. The partygoer slung my arm over her shoulder, balancing me. My eyes caught a glimpse of a cyan mop. “Anwen?” I rasped, “hu-who let you out?” Keys jangled in her hands–my keys. “I escaped,” she said casually, coercing me to walk beside her. “Quicken your pace. I just heard somebody on your front porch. ‘You see that compost bin down the alley? We’re gonna burrow right down into the depth of that. If they open it and uncover us, I’ll be on top, and I can hide you and act like I’m just a homeless amica trying to take a nap.” With a tightening grip, she led me like livestock to the stinking crate. “I don’t understand, Anwen,” I said. “They’re going to torture and kill you, stupid. You know they’ve been wanting to, and you just handed the opportunity to them!” “I understand that.” It was becoming increasingly challenging to hide the fragility emerging in my voice. “You said you were escaping. Why stop and help your captor?” “What else could I do? Leave you there?” Attempts to shove my wounded body inside its mass of discarded fruits and vegetables began. She yanked down upon my head and submerged me in the fertilizer sea. The evidence grows indisputable, I thought as I stared at the abruptly humane Infran girl, diving in after me, that I belong here. “Damn me to hell! I’ve killed her! My love is dead!” an uncontrollable cry leaped from my mouth. “Shut up! Soon you’ll be, too, if you don’t quiet down.” The actual noise of the Guards darted past us: disorientated marching, guns clanking against each other, cluttered belts rattling, the Latin squawking. One paused to open the bin’s lid, though only rummaged through the surface layer of peat before carrying on. “What are they talking about? I struggle with my Latin,” I whispered. “The search, mainly.” Aggression remained firey in Anwen’s clenched jaw. Though she sat on top of me, there was a monumental distance between our rain-soaked forms. I curled up into a ball, ducked my head between my knees, and dreamt of Spes, ignoring the stench of spoiled food rising from every crevice of my dwelling. The next coming world was due to adopt me again as I forced sleep. I prayed for a canyon of fluffy haze, where I waltzed with pale memories but found nothing but the petrifying stillness of my mind. Killed and ran. Violent as a Guard just to prove a point and watch it backfire. Why would any heaven want to welcome me? I clung to the picture of Spes in my head like it was the last ember of an extinguished flame. “Did you mean to kill her?” Anwen interrogated. “Someone like you would immutably believe yes.” “And who is someone like me? You can’t even treat me like a person for a moment, can you?” grating drama decorated her words. “You know my opinions. I have not seen much of your or your breed’s faces besides that of cruelty and ignorance.” I retorted. “I just saved you! Does that make me cruel and ignorant?” “It makes you an idiot, which is another word for somebody ignorant.” “And why am I an idiot?” She asked. “Because you helping me does no good. Thank you anyhow. Now, do yourself a favor and scram.” As she bent her leg in anticipation, preparing to strike me on the forehead, I sensed an invisible withdrawal widening the gap between us. “You never answered my question,” Anwen took me by the end of my tattered tie suddenly and started her game of shepherd and sheep over again, pulling me back up to the crate’s exit. It appeared as a shining light at the end of a maze of rubbish and mold. “No. Of course not. Spes was my everything,” I sniffled. “I knew it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to hit us, let alone murder your wife. The girls and I always figured you were sensitive.” My heart rate quickened. Today was one of humbling and misery–one to pray a hail spike would fall from the sky as sharp as a needle, pierce into my eyelid, and lobotomize me. I wished I could have merely died or hit my head hard enough not to have to deal with it all. No, I wished I was Anwen with her snarky, careless glow and lack of depth in her eyes. As we emerged from the compost bin together, I fantasized about strangling her until her face turned purple, her weakening spirit no longer categorizing me as “sensitive”, but the thought could only remind me of wielding that trophy and the microscopic traces of my wife’s tender skin tainting it, which turned my guts inside out. “That’s why I think you could use a little help,” Anwen said, “It seems like you can’t walk, either. Your leg is all twisted up.” She undid one of her trim pigtails and handed me the band. “Take off your tie and put up your hair. ‘Will make you less recognizable. Then swallow your pride and stick with me.”

YouGov found 44 per cent were proud of Britain's history of colonialism, with 21 per cent regretting it happened and 23 per cent holding neither view. The same poll also found 43 per cent believed the British Empire was a good thing, 19 per cent said it was bad and 25 per cent said it was "neither". At its height in 1922, the British empire governed a fifth of the world's population and a quarter of the world's total land area. Although the proponents of Empire say it brought various economic developments to parts of the world it controlled, critics point to massacres, famines and the use of concentration camps by the British Empire. 1. Boer concentration camps During the Second Boer War (1899-1902), the British rounded up around a sixth of the Boer population - mainly women and children - and detained them in camps, which were overcrowded and prone to outbreaks of disease, with scant food rations. Of the 107,000 people interned in the camps, 27,927 Boers died, along with an unknown number of black Africans. 2. Amritsar massacre When peaceful protesters defied a government order and demonstrated against British colonial rule in Amritsar, India, on 13 April 1919, they were blocked inside the walled Jallianwala Gardens and fired upon by Gurkha soldiers. The soldiers, under the orders of Brigadier Reginald Dyer, kept firing until they ran out of ammunition, killing between 379 and 1,000 protesters and injuring another 1,100 within 10 minutes. Brigadier Dyer was later lauded a hero by the British public, who raised £26,000 for him as a thank you. 3. Partitioning of India In 1947, Cyril Radcliffe was tasked with drawing the border between India and the newly created state of Pakistan over the course of a single lunch. After Cyril Radcliffe split the subcontinent along religious lines, uprooting over 10 million people, Hindus in Pakistan and Muslims in India were forced to escape their homes as Some estimates suggest up to one million people lost their lives in sectarian killings. 4. Mau Mau Uprising Thousands of elderly Kenyans, who claim British colonial forces mistreated, raped and tortured them during the Mau Mau Uprising (1951-1960), have launched a £200m damages claim against the UK Government. Members of the Kikuyu tribe were detained in camps, since described as "Britain's gulags" or concentration camps, where they allege they were systematically tortured and suffered serious sexual assault. Estimates of the deaths vary widely: historian David Anderson estimates there were 20,000, whereas Caroline Elkins believes up to 100,000 could have died. 5. Famines in India Between 12 and 29 million Indians died of starvation while it was under the control of the British Empire, as millions of tons of wheat were exported to Britain as famine raged in India. In 1943, up to four million Bengalis starved to death when Winston Churchill diverted food to British soldiers and countries such as Greece while a deadly famine swept through Bengal. Talking about the Bengal famine in 1943, Churchill said: “I hate Indians. They are a beastly people with a beastly religion. The famine was their own fault for breeding like rabbits.”

According to 〜によれば add to 増やす add up 合計する after a while しばらくして against the idea その考えに反対して all of a sudden 突然に all the time いつも all through the night 一晩中 along with 〜と一緒に apply for 〜に申し込む apply to 〜に適用する as a rule 原則として aside from 〜のほかに / 〜を除いて at any cost どんな犠牲を払っても at heart 心の底では at last ついに at least 少なくとも at length 詳細に at most 多くても at once すぐに / 一度に at the sight of 〜を見て at times 時々 attach to 〜に付ける / 〜に結びつける back up 支援する、バックアップする based on 〜に基づいて be absent from 〜を欠席している be against 反対する be based on 〜に基づいている be confident of 〜に自信がある be curious about 〜に好奇心を持つ be derived from 〜に由来する be filled with 〜で満たされている be full of 〜でいっぱいである be made up of 〜で構成されている be pleased with 〜に満足している be short of 不足している be similar to 〜に似ている because of 〜のせいで / 〜のおかげで before long まもなく break out 突発する break out in （急に）〜になる break up 解散する / 別れる bring out 引き出す / 公表する bring up 育てる / 持ち出す burst into 急に〜し始める by heart 暗記して by mistake 間違えて by now 今頃までには by the way ところで by way of 〜を通じて call for 要求する / 呼びかける call out 大声で呼ぶ carry on 続ける carry out 実行する、行う catch up with 〜に追いつく close to 〜に近い come across 偶然出会う / 見つける come into 〜に入る / 〜になる come out 出てくる / 公表される come up with 〜を思いつく compared with 〜と比べて depend on 〜に依存する do him good 彼に利益をもたらす drive at 意図する、狙う drop by 立ち寄る drop down 落ちる feel at home くつろぐ feel like doing 〜したい気分 feel sorry 気の毒に思う figure out 理解する find fault with 〜に文句をつける find out 知る、解明する for fear of 〜を恐れて for free 無料で for good 永遠に、完全に for once 一度だけ / 今回だけは for sale 売り物の for the best 最善のために get over 乗り越える get ready 準備する get rid of 〜を取り除く give away 与える、寄付する give in to 〜に屈する give off 放つ give out 配る / 発表する go ahead 続けて行う go down 下がる / 沈む hand in 提出する hand over 手渡す hang on 待つ / 頑張る hang up 受話器を置く hear from 〜から連絡をもらう help yourself 自由に取る / 自由にどうぞ hold back 控える hold on 待つ / 持ちこたえる hold up 停止させる、遅らせる in a jacket ジャケットを着て in a word 一言で言えば in advance 前もって in case 〜の場合に in common 共通して in detail 詳細に in hand 手元に in part 部分的に in place of 〜の代わりに in return 見返りに in terms of 〜の観点から in the distance 遠くに in the habit of 〜する習慣がある in the way 妨げになって instead of 〜の代わりに keep a secret 秘密を守る keep an eye on 見守る keep away from 近づかないようにする keep on Ving 〜し続ける keep pace with 〜に遅れずについていく keep the change お釣りはいりません keep track of 記録をつける / 追跡する keep up with 〜に遅れずについていく lay it down それを置く / 規定する less than 〜未満 / 〜より少ない look after 世話をする look back on 〜を振り返る look down on 〜を見下す look like 〜のように見える look up 調べる / 見上げる made up of 〜で構成されている major in 〜を専攻する make efforts 努力する make it out 理解する / 成し遂げる make out 見分ける、うまくいく make progress 進歩する make sense 理解できる、意味を成す make up your mind 決心する mind your own business 自分のことに集中しろ move on 次に進む no longer もはや〜ない not always 必ずしも〜でない nothing but ただ〜だけ on air 放送中 on behalf of 〜を代表して on business 仕事で on fire 火がついている on purpose わざと on the point 〜の点で on time 時間通りに one another お互いに out of the question 問題外で pass by 通り過ぎる pay attention 注意を払う play a part in 〜で役割を果たす pour out 注ぎ出す、溢れ出る prefer A to B BよりAを好む put away 片付ける put off 延期する put on 着る / 演じる　(weightで太る） put out 消す / 発表する reach for 手を伸ばす rely on 〜に頼る result in 【自動詞】結果として〜になる run it over それをひく / 読み返す run out of 〜を使い果たす run over ひいてしまう、走り回る see about 手配する / 調べる see off 見送る see through 見抜く / 見通す set out 出発する、始める set up 設置する / 設定する show off 自慢する、見せびらかす show up 現れる / 到着する sit up 座る、起き上がる speak up はっきり話す stand out 目立つ stand out 目立つ stand up for 〜を支持する suffer from 〜に苦しむ take away 持ち去る / 奪う take in 理解する、取り入れる take notice of 注意を払う take on 引き受ける / 挑む take out 取り出す / 持ち帰る take over 引き継ぐ、乗っ取る take part 参加する take place 起こる / 開催される take risks 危険を冒す take turns 交代で行う talk over 相談する tear off 引き裂く the second largest 二番目に大きい think better of 考え直す throw away 捨てる try on 試着する turn in 提出する turn off 消す / 切る turn on （スイッチを）入れる turn out 結果的に〜になる turn over ひっくり返す under control 制御下にある up to date 最新の with ease 容易に with regard to 〜に関して

The advantage of direct method is that the teacher can control the class and fit in a lot of activity into a short class period. This leaves plenty of opportunities for the students to hone their skills, especially new ones. On the other hand, because the class is centered around the teacher, some students may not receive proper feedback, and creativity is limited. Also, the lesser talented athletes often tend to get lost in the shuffle while the great athletes shine. However, there are now a multitude of various teaching strategies that can be employed in addition to that method. Ex: Announcements, Module/Unit introductions, Descriptions/modeling of assignments and learning activities, Written or video lectures, Demonstration videos, Presentations, Discussions moderated by instructors, Interactive tutorials. Indirect Method The Indirect Teaching Style allows students to be involved in their own learning through experience and other peer’s knowledge. Students can use critical thinking to expand their learning capabilities by seeing what others may be doing correct and adjusting this to their own knowledge. The Indirect approach is the opposite of what the direct style suggests, but they are both strictly related, meaning you can’t have one without the other. Direct teaching: The instructor stands in front of the class or group and lectures or advises. Indirect teaching: The instructor assumes a more passive role and guides the student interactions. Movement exploration: Incorporates the use of equipment that involves movement. Movement Exploration The movement exploration class is founded on developing a strong, positive association to physical activity. Classes are aimed at developing movement skills and foundational strength through fun and engaging activities. The activities are age appropriate and include games, challenges, and exploration that positively challenge children’s competency while improving their physical capabilities. Skills such as the ability to climb, hold animal shapes, gymnastic style activities, and the introduction to athletic motor skill competencies are the foundations to youth training. This class provides the introduction to strength training to give children the opportunity to learn the skills required to safely and confidently engage in resistance training. Cooperative Skills Cooperative activities teach students to work together for their group's common good. By participating in these activities, students can learn the skills of listening, discussing, thinking as a group, group decision making, and sacrificing individual wants for the common good. There are two primary objectives guiding the teaching of cooperative activities. First, cooperative activities allow students to apply a variety of fundamental motor skills in a unique setting. Students are typically asked to perform motor skills in a specific way, such as “skip in general space” or “balance on one foot and one elbow.” Cooperative activities ask students to perform different activities such as skip with their hands on the shoulders of someone in front of them, walk with big steps while placing their feet on small spots, or walk across an area blindfolded while someone directs their moves. Due to the uniqueness of such experiences, students often find cooperative activities exciting and motivating. Second, cooperative activities are a wonderful medium for teaching social and emotional learning (SEL). SEL offers students an opportunity to understand and manage their emotions. In addition, such activities offer an opportunity to show empathy for others and develop positive relationships. Cooperative activities demand that all students play a role in completing the task or solving the movement problem. Every student, regardless of ability level, is important and contributes to group goals. 9 traits a PE teacher often needs Here are nine essential traits of an effective PE teacher: 1. Athletic ability Athletic ability is an essential trait for a PE teacher because they're often showing kids how to perform exercises. To demonstrate proper form and encourage the kids to continue their fitness education, it's important they can perform the exercises themselves. Having experience with fitness training can enhance a PE teacher's lesson planning because they're familiar with how each exercise affects a person's body. Athletic ability can also refer to an aptitude for sports and games. PE teachers can instruct students on how to play these games or lead after-school activities involving them, like soccer or basketball. An aptitude for sports and games can help a PE teacher encourage students to participate in the activities during class. If the PE teacher enjoys physical activity, they may make the lessons more enjoyable for the student. 2. Teaching ability A PE teacher is a member of a school faculty, so it's essential they have the teaching ability that allows them to communicate lessons to students. There are various skills involved in teaching, including the technical capabilities associated with each professional's particular field. Learning these skills can help PE teacher plan their lessons effectively and connect with their students, meaning they can encourage students to practice fitness skills in optimal ways for their health. Here are some important teaching skills for PE teachers: Having an engaging classroom presence  Real-world learning  Project building  Lesson planning  Technology 3. Interpersonal skills PE coaches are part of faculty teams, so working alongside other teachers is an essential part of their job. They often collaborate with a student's general education teacher to address any behavioral issues that arise. They can also team up with other classes to plan activities for students, like field days and special field trips. Communicating with peers can ensure these interactions remain productive and create opportunities for more fulfilling lessons. Teachers can also model emotional skills for their students by displaying positive social interactions. Interpersonal skills can also help PE teachers interact with students and their families. If a student can make a student feel comfortable expressing their needs and preferences, they can often perform physical exercises or play games to the best of their individual capacities. Understanding how to soothe nerves and support students' emotional needs are important examples of interpersonal skills. When interacting with family members, you may use some of these same techniques to communicate effectively and best uplift students. 4. Written and verbal communication Both verbal and written communication is important for PE teachers because they often communicate with students, families and various personnel on a day-to-day basis. For example, a PE teacher uses their communication skills in a lesson plan to describe any student assignments or expectations accurately. They may also write instructions in a document, then explain them in a classroom lecture. They also use communication skills to share their lesson plans with other PE teachers during conferences or classroom development exercises. Many teachers continue to learn their trade even after working as a teacher for many years. They may share tips with each other or special lessons they've developed if they feel another teacher may benefit from it. Creating a community can help PE teachers continue to expand their teaching methodology and receive feedback on their lessons. 5. Patience and adaptability Working with children can require patience and adaptability because they're encountering many new concepts at the same time and learning how to regulate their emotions. As a result, it's important to treat them with patience and care while they're in your class so they can feel comfortable and feel motivated to complete assignments. As children become teenagers, they may require patience and adaptability to account for their changing bodies and attention spans. Like any job where you perform tasks in real-time, certain circumstances may occur that require you to adapt lesson plans. For example, if the weather turns from sunshine to rain on a day you planned for students to run a mile outside, you may need to adapt the lesson plan so they can practice endurance sports inside a gymnasium instead. 6. Organization PE teachers can use organization skills to improve their lesson planning sessions. For example, they can keep their plans in one place, and determine which parts of a semester or quarter to introduce new concepts. Throughout the year, these objectives may change because of unforeseen setbacks, but organizational skills can help PE teachers control the trajectory of their class curriculum. PE teachers can also use organizational skills to maintain their classroom space. Physical education frequently requires balls, equipment and tools to play games that may be on a lesson plan. They also organize equipment and decide where to store it within their classroom or storage space. 7. Creativity Creativity can help a PE teacher develop fun ways to introduce new material to their students or reinforce previous lessons. They can teach new games or devise interesting ideas to change the rules of a game to help keep students engaged. To find inspiration for their lesson plans, they can turn to personal hobbies or media aspects they enjoy, like movie scenes, songs or dances. A varied lesson plan can foster more engagement among students who prefer action- based learning activities, rather than lectures. 8. Focus Focus is an essential trait of a PE teacher because students often require their full attention during class, especially if they're learning a complicated physical task. You can focus your lesson plans around specific elements of physical education you believe are essential for students of a certain age group or skill level. If students require mentorship, you can also focus on each student's needs to supply them with a steady support system. Focusing on your students can help guide your career purpose. It can give you a core value system that informs your lesson plans and mentorship activities. This passion for your student's well-being can also help you become an advocate for each student in your class. You can also help organize funding for different field trips or establish after-school activities to support their interests. 9. Enthusiasm for teaching sports and fitness Enthusiasm is essential for a PE teacher. Many physical education activities require high energy and may suit someone who enjoys teaching them to others. Being an effective PE teacher also requires an enthusiasm for working with kids and making a positive impact on their lives.

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