When I was young, I was quite shy and wasn't great at school. Mrs. Kerswell was my English teacher. It's hard to1her exact age. When you're a child, every adult is2. She must be past middle age with grey hair and a (n) 3face. Her lessons were in a stress-free environment. However, I was really4because I was from a village school.
I didn't5anyone. No one from my primary school went there. I really struggled in my first year to 6. Thanks to Mrs. Kerswell, she was really the sort of humorous teacher, who read materials just for7.
She managed to make Beowulf interesting to a number of8.She was key in keeping my love of reading going. It certainly wasn't a9thing for a boy of that age to love reading as an entertainment. Actually, I just treated it as a learning task.
When I was 13, I wasn't excellent at writing. But she allowed and10me to write in a natural way. Unlike my other teachers, she told me not to use the fanciest11. "Writing is not about flowery language but about real communication.12, you're having a conversation on a page," she said. So it made me realize that I didn't have to13about it too much.
I saw her once, over 10 years ago. My writing career was going well, and she was proud of my achievements and14as a writer, and I really15her for keeping the fame on.
