Someone once said to me that you need a teacher who believes in you, and who you see as a kind of role model - and Mr Verney was that. He was my shining light at senior school.

I was thought of as one of the less bright ones at school, although I started off in the ‘A’ form when I arrived at Knaphill County Secondary School, which then became The Winston Churchill School. In Woking, there was a girls’ and a boys’ grammar, and we at the comp were definitely second class.

He was always the first person I’d talk about if anyone asked me about school - I don’t think he’d even been aware of just how important he was

I was sent down to the ‘B’ form for the third year. That was when Mr Verney arrived on the scene. He started extra English lessons for the people who weren’t doing very well - of which I was one. So we signed up for them. We all liked him - when we were older, he even came to our parties when we asked him. He was a brave man.

My parents were concerned about me at school, but not in the way we are now. I was consistently in the bottom five of the class and never gave my homework in. Every report said “absolutely appalling work” or “lazy”. My mother might have asked me if I’d done my homework and I may have said “yeah”, but she’d never have actually checked. It was always left to us, but that was the level of parental concern in those days - I’m not blaming her.

Mr Verney, who was in his early 30s, instilled confidence in me - he made me believe in myself. He said to me, “You’ve got something - you’re not doing any work, but there’s definitely something there. Don’t waste it.”

I wrote these ridiculous essays - they were probably terrible, but they were quite off the wall and inventive. He asked me to enter the Rotary Club debating competition, which was totally absurd - the winners were always from the grammar schools. But I won. The head immediately suggested I apply to the Italia Conti Academy of Performing Arts, but I think that was more about wanting me to leave!

‘I loved school. It’s just that I didn’t work’

Mr Verney set up something called the tape-recording club to record the schools programmes on the radio. My friends and I decided that the club would be about us making silly sketches in the style of John Cleese and Bill Oddie. Mr Verney just let us get on with it.

Miss Lightfoot started the drama club and then suggested I join the Byfleet Players, which I did, and loved. So between the two of them, I’d say they’re responsible for me ending up where I am today.

Due to their guidance, I became confident and observant enough to realise that my failure was due to my lack of application, not my lack of brains. I think that’s why I signed up for A-level maths with Mrs Norris. She was the one who invited me back to present prizes, too, when I was reasonably well-known.

For some inexplicable reason, although I was the only sixth-former never to be made a prefect, I was made house captain. Bladon was the “alternative” house. Our Christmas panto made fun of the teachers and they quite enjoyed it - we had custard pies made from foam.

My parting shot at school was switching the signs on the loos, so the boys and girls had the wrong signs. It felt like an act of true anarchy. I wasn’t properly anarchic - I was more of a bothersome, slightly anti-establishment figure. I didn’t misbehave and I wasn’t constantly in trouble. I actually loved school. It’s just that I didn’t work.

I got an email from Mr Verney last year when I was touring Australia - he’d heard I was coming to Perth and said he’d love to meet up. I didn’t realise it was from him at first - he was talking about his daughters, who’d also been at the school, and how they’d remembered me. It was almost like he didn’t think I’d remember him! In reality, he was always the first person I’d talk about if anyone asked me about school - I don’t think he’d even been aware of just how important he was.

He hadn’t changed a bit, apart from the fact that he was pretty old. It was a bit difficult because he called himself Mick and not Mr Verney - he’ll always be Mr Verney to me. He said to me that I used to frustrate him so much because the only person limiting myself was, well, me.

Peter Davison’s autobiography, Is There Life Outside the Box?, is published this month. He was speaking to Camilla Palmer