My parents were both teachers. My dad was a headteacher and my mum taught violin. When I arrived at my senior school, Ysgol Gyfun Gymraeg Glantaf in Cardiff, I was already playing piano and the violin. Pupils used to take part in Eisteddfod, which is the biggest festival of music and dance in Europe and Miss Jones, our music teacher, would put it all together.

Oh, Miss Jones. Beautiful lady. She was in her mid-twenties, energetic and hugely attractive, so we all wanted to impress her. She was also an incredibly talented musician - she played piano and was a brilliant harpist.

No matter how nervous we were, she made us feel that everything was going to be all right. We used to go on stage with smiles on our faces, which took away the nerves. I don’t remember her putting any pressure on us. If we won, it was brilliant and if we didn’t, that was still OK because we’d done our best. We were national champions in the choir and I came third in the recorder.

I went to Welsh-speaking schools. I learned English in Welsh and studied Shakespeare in Welsh. We did an Elvis show called Elfis, because there’s no “v” in the Welsh language. [The actor] Matthew Rhys was Elfis - and I can still sing Elvis’s songs in Welsh.

Old-school approach

Not all my memories of school are good, though. I was bullied because I wore NHS glasses, had braces and a bowl haircut, played the violin and was a weedy little fellow. Maybe I was an easy target. Then, the summer before the sixth form, I asked my parents for some weights and started working out. I also got lenses, a haircut, lost my braces, put a bit of weight on, started playing rugby and the bullying stopped.

As a child, I had the attention span of a gnat. Aside from Miss Jones, the other teacher who managed to get the best out of me and commandeered my instant respect was Mr Morgan. He was old school: strict, clad in tweed, with a cackle that could crack the sky, flicked salt and pepper hair and long fingers that he would point at people.

He was about 6ft 2in, 50ish and you wouldn’t mess with him. I’m not quite sure what he taught officially, because he seemed to take us for every class - history, geography, woodwork, PE. He was everywhere.

Getting a nod from Mr Morgan meant the world. If you focused and he knew you were trying, he’d have your back. I guess that’s what I liked about him. If you didn’t, he didn’t want to know you.

He had a very slow, purposeful walk. I never understood how he’d be out in the field getting us in and by the time we ran into the classroom, he’d be there waiting. I thought: “How do you do this?”

The way Miss Jones and Mr Morgan taught got different results and without them, I don’t think I would have done as well. When I have public appearances I always start by smiling, because if you’re not smiling, no-one else is. That’s a lesson I learned from Miss Jones. And thanks to Mr Morgan, I have a lot of respect for people when I first meet them, especially anyone older than me.

I never saw Mr Morgan again after school but I saw Miss Jones the other day in Cardiff Airport. I said “Hi Miss Jones” and she said: “Call me Delyth.”

I said, “I can’t. I’ll never be able to call you Delyth.”

Gethin Jones was talking to Kate Bohdanowicz. His charity supports people with autism. To find out more, visit www.nai.wales