Yesterday, I set out on a quest. I made a promise 26 years ago to the P7 teacher who had transformed my experience of school and I had every intention of keeping it. But before I could I needed to find her. Trouble was all I had was a name - Mrs McGlennan - and the power of the internet.

Here’s what happened and why I was determined to keep that promise I made when I was 11.

In primary school, I was a frequent visitor to the headteacher’s office.

I had two friends. One, due to preconceptions about his background, was blamed for anything bad that happened that there wasn’t an obvious culprit for and, at age of 7, got so frustrated with the constant accusations he stormed down a corridor shouting, “I am the Antichrist!”.

My other friend asked questions in class constantly and was branded disruptive (he wasn’t diagnosed with autism until later in his life after being kicked out of high school for the same reasons).

Early in my school career, a teacher called one of my friends “stupid”. I swore at her. She sent me to the headteacher’s office. It started a bit of a trend.

Other children would pick on my friends, I’d stand up to them, I’d get sent to the headteacher’s office.

We’d sneak off the playground and play in the woods away from the bullies, and I’d get sent to the headteacher’s office.

We’d climb the fence and hang out in the graveyard next to the school (because I was a little goth even then), and I’d get sent to the headteacher’s office.

Whenever I finished my work early I’d flip to the back of my wallpapered jotter and write stories. I’d always written stories for my parents. From before I was even old enough to know the alphabet I’d scribble stories in crayon and recited them based on the memories the colours held.

I’d sit in class and write or draw characters in the margins of my maths work. My teacher considered it vandalism. I couldn’t stop doing it, it was me. Just who I was. I got sent to the headteacher’s office over and over again.

I never got the whole story, so I don’t know exactly what happened, but my teacher in primary school got let go. It had been discovered that for a whole year of our lives she hadn’t really done anything, just kept us busy, wasting our days and teaching us nothing.

We weren’t told that at the time, of course. All we were told is that we’d have a new teacher when we came back after the summer.

Over that summer I wrote a story. I worked so, so hard on it. It was only three pages long but I agonised and agonised over every single word. I was so proud of it, and my parents were so proud of me. I spent all summer on it.

When I got back to school I found out my friends had been moved to another class. They’d fallen more behind than I had and wouldn’t be able to keep up in my class anymore.

On my first day back I found myself friendless and alone. But I had my story, and I was proud of it, so I took it to my new teacher, Mrs McGlennan, to read. She took my story, read it wordlessly, wrote a note…And then sent me to the headteacher’s office.

I was devastated. I walked to the office feeling sick. I’d really tried this time. I’d worked so hard. I’d done nothing wrong. My headteacher gave me a weary sigh. She took the note.

It said: “I want you to read this story Kenneth has written. It shows real ability. I think Kenneth deserves recognition for his hard work.”

Mrs McGlennan knew the headteacher had met me many times for all the wrong reasons. She wanted her to meet me for the right ones. She was the first teacher who ever made me feel like writing wasn’t wasting my time.

Mrs McGlennan helped students with the areas they struggled at and elevated and celebrated them for their strengths. I didn’t dread going to school anymore, I looked forward to it. The last thing Mrs McGlennan said to me at the end of Primary 7 was, “Promise when you get your first book published, you’ll send me a copy.”

It’s been 26 years…and my first book is out in May. It’s called The Tick and the Tock of the Crocodile Clock and it’s about feeling like an outcast. And I owe Mrs McGlennan a copy.

I told this story on Twitter yesterday and the world of teacher Twitter really sprung into action!

My little story got shared all over every social media channel. Eventually, I got contacted directly by Mrs McGlennan’s granddaughter. She told me Mrs McGlennan remembered me and gave me an email address. I can’t tell you how much it meant that she remembered me as well.

A little later I got sent a picture from her nephew’s wife - Mrs McGlennan reading the tweets I’d written.

Something that really stuck out in all the comments was the number of people saying “I was taught by her too! She changed my life as well!” or the number of people saying that they had a teacher who did the same for them.

As I wrote this article I got a reply from Mrs McGlennan. She’s teaching refugees and asylum seekers now. I’m so glad she’s still teaching and I know her students are in such incredible hands.

Just now I’m still calling her Mrs McGlennan, instead of Margaret, and she’d still calling me Kenneth, instead of Kenny, but we’ve got 26 years of catching up to do and I’m sure that will change!

We’re going to meet for coffee soon, and I’m going to keep my promise and give her that book.

Teachers are going through a very tough time just now. This pandemic and the demands placed on teachers during it has left so many of them in tatters. But a good teacher can change the trajectory of someone’s life.

If you’re a teacher who lifts your students up, then: thank you. Please know you’re making changes in the lives of the people you teach that you aren’t even aware of. You deserve so much more recognition. 

Here’s to teachers who change the world, one student at a time.   

Kenny Boyle is an actor and writer living in Glasgow. His first book, The Tick and the Tock of the Crocodile Clock, will be published in May and is available to preorder from Eye Books, Amazon or Waterstones