Brought up in a Welsh-speaking community, the former national poet of Wales began winning writing competitions at seven years old. Behind the scenes, however, she experienced serious emotional abuse

The last thing my mother, Eryl, told me on her deathbed was to shut up. I laughed, not because the command didn’t hurt, but because she’d been telling me to be quiet, in one way or another, my whole life. For someone who only ever wanted to be a writer, this has been a serious problem.

I was brought up in the small Welsh-speaking community of 1960s and 70s Cardiff, a dispersed village within the city. Eryl was a highly respected English teacher and we were immersed in books from childhood. Every time I meet one of Eryl’s former pupils they rave, rightly, about her ability to bring set texts to life. She was known to be strict but fair, didn’t have favourites and treated everybody the same.