Just had a flashback to form 1 in school. In English, we learned about writing stories, plot devices, good ways to start, how to end, clichés, metaphors, and at the end of the section, we had to write a story using all of those lessons we'd learned. I started mine right away...

I wanted it to be perfect. Every day after school, I'd spend an hour on all other homework, then rush to log onto my dad's computer (one of those proper computers from the early 00's) and work diligently on my piece. At the end of the 6(?) weeks, everyone handed in their 1-2 page

story, and I began to sweat.

"Oh God, I'm an actual idiot. Everyone had written their stories and they're not like mine."

I was not what you would call 'socially gifted' as a child, and I also had the deep understanding of this, and hadn't worked out how not to care about it.

I was also (and still am to a lesser degree) terrified of people losing faith in me, or labelling me as a 'bad child', so to me, not handing in my homework was tantamount to the original Sin. I had to do it.

Luckily, the homework was handed in towards the end of the lesson, so

I didn't have to worry about being made fun of (don't judge me, I was 11) for too long.

I opened my then stylish yet extremely physically uncomfortable one strap bag pack, and pulled out all 70 pages of my (let's not call it anything but what it was), and discreetly deposited

it on the teachers desk. It was noticed immediately. How could it not be?

70 pages of 12pt single spaced (I'm sorry about that, Mrs Smith), complete with a title page, which was easily thicker than everyone else's work combined, was wapped out and slapped on the desk, and

in and instant, poor Mrs Smith's workload was probably quadrupled, if not more.

But to her credit, after some gentle yet very public ribbing, she took it, and over the weekend, she read the whole thing. It was marked end ready to hand back at the same time as everyone else's.

Before you say anything, I know she read all of it; every page had annotations. There was even a question mark where I started writing in an addition and forgot about it, and ended a paragraph mid-sentence, without finishing my train of thought (proofreading is important, guys).

Anyway, despite the odd blunder, I got full marks.

I wasn't seen as a burden. Mrs Smith took an active interest in my ability, and did everything she could to encourage my passion. It bolstered my confidence in a way that I don't think I can put into words effectively.

And I'm acutely aware that in tweet five I missed out a word (I was going to call what I produced a novella), and then a couple later, I espoused the merits of proofreading.

I am an imperfect person.

But to wrap it up, big thank you to Mrs Smith.

The whole department was supportive and wonderful, but you were the first person outside of my family to take an active interest in my ability, and an integral part of the story of Me and my desire to do an MArts in English Lit and

Creative Writing. Thank you.

I understand Mrs Smith has retired so she'll never see this (probably), but in this horrible time, I think it's important to highlight how much impact teachers can have on personal development, and how integral they are to society as a whole.

And yes, I'll tag ya, why not. @YdhDept @DavidHughesYDH

Thank you all (but Mrs Smith, Mrs Thomas, Mrs Dennis, Mrs Baynham, and Mrs Stoddard-Jones especially). Diolch, o'r galon.