Thank you Mrs Hillier.

When I was at sixth form college, we were encouraged to do works experience. Knowing at that stage that I wanted to train to be a teacher, I contacted my old primary school and got a placement, every Tuesday afternoon for the two years I was studying my A levels.

I was placed into a Year 3 classroom - Class 7, with Mrs Hillier, a teacher I'd never had when I was there as a pupil, but one who Nic had been taught by and who was greatly respected by my parents.

Inspirational, I suppose, is the typical choice of word to use to describe her, but I'm not even sure that's the right one. I decided very early on, that if I was to succeed as a teacher, I needed...actually, wanted to be like her. She respected each child and treated them as individuals. I loved the way she talked to them. She always smiled and had the messiest desk ever! Her sense of humour and gentle nature shone through whether she was talking or teaching.

She trusted me and encouraged me. She was interested in me, not just as an ex pupil, but as a person, on a level. She throw out the 'Mrs Hillier' routine and insisted on first name terms.

I once remember making symmetrical butterflies with her children. Once they were finished, she shared her vision. A tree would climb up the wall and creep across the ceiling, the leaves would be folded so as to be 3D and the butterflies would be scattered amongst them. I spent ages, cutting out the leaves and then, together, we arranged each component with utmost discussion and accuracy! It was brilliant. She still talks about how we cried with laughter as I stood on the table pinning to the ceiling while she directed the exact position. It was the talk of the school!

When I went to University, I promised to visit when I came home. I wasn't sure whether she meant it, but I did and eventually a holiday time cuppa and a chat at her house in Marske was an absolute must!

The last time I saw her was Christmas. I hadn't been for a while. Mum being ill meant that seeing other people when I was at home wasn't really a priority. I kind of feel bad about that now, but I suppose retrospect can do that to you. At Christmas, when I told her about Mum she admitted that she had been through exactly the same thing. It was the reason she had taken early retirement. I felt bad that all the times I'd been to see her she hadn't told me. She said she hadn't wanted to burden me, that I was still young and she didn't want to upset me. She explained that me jabbering on helped her to relive her teaching days and she captured my enthusiasm. I still feel bad.

I rang tonight to see if I would be able to go and see her. Although clear for a couple of years, she's had a couple of strokes and her illness has returned. She's been in and out of hospital and hospices. She admitted that she really isn't very well and I would probably not want to see her: "I don't move very much, I don't talk very much and I haven't got much hair!"

On the contrary, I'd be delighted. She's part of the reason I'm the teacher that I am and I'm honoured that she still wants to see me - and apparently is always telling people that I still go and see her. In the brief conversation we had on the phone she managed to ask about me, my Mum's health and Nic's baby! She is amazing.

I know that seeing her will be difficult. I know whatever I expect won't prepare me, but I can't imagine not going.

I owe it to her to make sure she knows what an inspiration she has been to me. I may never again get the chance and that's a very strange feeling to have.