Like everyone else who knew and cared for and about Alun, I have found the past few months difficult. Since I was told by Wendy about Alun's illness, things seemed unreal.

My earliest meeting with Alun - or Wally as he was inevitably known to his friends - was in 1964 in a lock up garage in Trafalgar Street, when I went to meet the group called The Valleymen at the place they practised. I'd been invited along by Chris Williams who I knew from the air cadets a couple of years before. Chris and Ray Rees played guitar, Gwyn Jones sang, and of course, the bass player was Alun Walton. Roy Sanders was also there.

We hit it off as a group of boys, in particular me, Wally and Roy - we were a group within a group if that makes sense - close friends very quickly - as Roy has said in this Tribute, Alun was "...like a brother...".

I lived at the bottom of Pontymister in Tanybryn, so I'd walk up and call for Wally and then we'd both call on Roy and head off wherever - caff (Boss's), pub (Railway Tavern), group practice (Trinity Church Hall). When I called at 21, Trafalgar Street, there was always a welcome. Mr.and Mrs.Walton were lovely people. If I went in to wait, I seemed to be surrounded by sisters - mostly little sisters!

So from the age of 16 onwards, two great friendships began - there was Wally and there was Roy - and of course me. Those friendships have never faltered over the years: Even if we didn't meet for longish periods, getting together was always easy - that's what close friendships are like. 

In terms of what stories to relate, there are many. However, what goes on in the group stays in the group, as they say. But I was struck by a couple of links in Wendy, Natalie & Adam's opening story "A Short Story of Alun's Life", the first in this part of the Tribute to Alun.

In that story, a brush with the law is mentioned, as is a teacher who had one hand: Now these things come nicely together after Alun had left school.

Yes, there was another brush with the law - more than one, but nothing too serious - and this one led to a group of us being taken to court for Obstruction - we had apparently ignored a policeman who had asked us to move on as we were obstructing the pavement. Now this is where Alun's wit wasn't helpful. He started singing "Don't You Know We're on the Eve of Obstruction", much to our amusement, but not the P.C. involved.

So as we entered the courtroom at Pentonville in Newport, who should be the magistrate, but a certain one-handed former teacher. Bad luck or what? The case was over quickly, and went something like this:

Magistrate - "I'm shocked to see boys whom I have taught here before me today, blah blah, blah...."

When asked to speak, one of us, Guy Dixon, pulled out a long scroll of paper.

Magistrate - "What's that boy?"

Guy Dixon - "The truth".

Magistrate - "Put it away"

I recall that the policeman was allowed to read his version of events in full, so first taste of British justice for us all - no right to speak, and I think fined a quid each or something!

Moving on, as well as the infamous former ambulance with siren mentioned earlier, that was preceded by a couple of Bedford vans. I was never really sure how they were paid for, bit I believe Alun's dad was trying to be supportive, and he probably stood much of the cost.

The first van was one with windows in the sides as well as the back doors: One night when the Stones were playing the old Capitol Theatre in Cardiff, Rod Farmer had made some signs which said 'Rolling Stones'. Alun was driving the van. We put the signs in the side windows and thought it a good idea to drive around the back of the theatre after the show. It was mayhem.

A very large crowd of screaming teenage girls in a pretty confined space meant that the van and we in it were surrounded. The van certainly rocked and rolled. I remember Alun yelling above the noise that if the engine stalled, he wasn't going to get out and try the starting handle! I think a few expletives were thrown about. Trying to get through the crowd safely wasn't easy, but we managed it. It wouldn't have been a pretty sight if the crowd had rumbled us. We survived.

That van met its nadir when Roy was driving up the lane between Ynysddu and Pontllanfraith one evening. Roy drove very quickly. Roy was supremely confident in his driving ability. As the lane narrowed, a car was approaching in the opposite direction. We thought we'd squeeze through the gap. we didn't. A fence post saw to that. Alun wasn't best pleased about his van. Nor was his dad, understandably. It need a lot of attention.

And a final story - in a later Bedford, we were on our way home after a performance in the early hours, and I was last drop off, so only Alun and I were still in the van. Alun was driving.

At the Bowling Green in Pontymister, a policeman flagged us down - there is a bit of a theme here isn't there?

That conversation went something like this:

Policeman - "I've stopped you as there have been a number of scrap metal thefts in this area recently"

Alun - "Well you're the only copper we've seen tonight" (followed by laughter from us both).

Policeman -"Ok boys. Let's see what's in the back shall we?"

Of course the van was full of all the band's gear, which, surprise surprise, we were asked to remove from the van onto the pavement, and of course, put it all back in again!

Alun's quip hadn't gone down well with the law. Again!

But we all remember Alun as funny, happy and generous to a fault. Those traits never changed. His love of music never left him. His friendship is one of those things you are privileged to have enjoyed. He will be hugely missed by all who knew and loved him.

I will miss a wonderful friend. Both Jan and I send our sincere condolences to Wendy, Natalie and family, and Adam, and to all of those sisters I mentioned earlier.

Dai Hopkins