Sadly, as reported in our last issue, Mike Evans, our popular 'Out and About' columnist for more than 20 years, passed away at the Heath Hospital in Cardiff a fortnight ago.

Since then, tributes have been pouring in from readers, telling us how much they enjoyed his regularly weekly column and how much it will be missed.

We will also miss it, but as a tribute to Mike and to help perpetuate his memory, we have decided (and his family have agreed) to offer you something a little different in the forthcoming weeks.

As well as his column, Mike was a prolific writer of many other articles, poems and short stories. And it is one such story, which he penned several years ago - Twilight - A Pony's Story - that we will be serialising over the next few months.

Each week, a chapter will be featured on 'Mike's Page', telling the story of a Welsh Mountain Pony, the local countryside and its people. The story is sure to be of interest to all ages - we hope you enjoy it.

Watch out also for some of Mike's popular poems.

CHAPTER ONE

I was born on May 1, 1964, on a beautiful, warm late Spring day, in a small grassy meadow on the lower slopes of the Snowdonia mountain range in North Wales. My mother and father were just two of over 50 Welsh Mountain Ponies, owned by Mr. Willie Jones, who was a sheep farmer as well as a breeder of Registered Welsh Mountain Ponies. His farm of 40 acres was situated in a sheltered valley below the peaks of the Snowdon range, and he was allowed to graze hundreds of acres of the surrounding mountain sides.

All his ponies wandered free all the year around, except in Spring, when my mother and all the other mares in foal would be brought down to the meadows close to the farm to have their foals. Again, in the Autumn, we would all be brought down to be rounded up ready to be sold before the Winter set in.

My mother's name was Myfanwy, and when I was born she was four years old. I was her second foal and because I was a filly she was very proud of me. She was caring and patient, and as soon as I was born she made sure I was well looked after.

Her milk was rich and she had plenty of it, so that within a few days of being born I felt strong and was able to nibble the tender Spring grass of the meadow, always close to the side of my mother. In those long warm days of May and June, I can remember my mother telling the other mares how proud she was of me. "Look how strong she is, well chested, and fleet of foot, a good mover if ever there was one. She's taking after her father Dai."

Dai was also the father of more than seven other foals, but in that year, I was the only filly. He was a champion stallion who won many prizes at the local shows. Although he spent most of his time with us all on the mountain sides, he was easy to catch and lead on a halter, just like my mother.

One day, when I was just about 10 days old, Mr. Jones, the farmer, called my mother over to the gate which led into the farm yard. "Come on Myfanwy," he called, "And bring your pretty little foal. I want to halter her so that she will be easy to lead as she grows up."

Mother trotted over to him, for he had some oats in a bucket, and I followed alongside her. "Gently, gently," he called, as he opened the gate, "Come on Myfanwy bring her into the yard."

Nervous and trembling I followed her into the cobbled yard, my hoofs feeling strange on the surface. "Now then girl," said Mr. Jones, "let me stroke your little one," and mother neighed gently and nuzzled his outstretched hand.

"Don't worry," she whispered to me," Mr. Jones is a kind man. "Watch him put the halter on me, then let him do the same to you." My nostrils quivered at the scent of Mr. Jones. I could smell a strange odour about him, which I later learnt to be tobacco and pipe smoke. I stood still, rubbing the side of my mother, staying close, as Mr. Jones slowly stretched out his hand and patted me on the head. I watched as he put the rope halter on my mother's head, then gently from his pocket he pulled a small blue halter and slipped it first over my ears then over my nose.

He held it loosely and I could feel the strangeness of the rope. Taking my mother's halter in his left hand he said, "Come on old girl," and moved down the yard. With his right hand he guided me along with them and I felt no fear as we walked around the yard. He did not have to pull or drag me and as we walked he talked quietly to us both.

"Come on my beauties, there now, walk along. Yes, Myfanwy, your little one has no fear," he murmured, "she's going to be an easy one to break when she's coming up a two-year-old."

Twice round the yard and Mr. Jones took off our halters, "That's enough for today," he said. "We'll have another go tomorrow." And before leaving us at the field gate he gave my mother a handful of oats.

"There you are," said mother. "There's nothing to fear from Mr. Jones. He's a gentleman, and has always been kind to all his animals. One day when you are older you will have to leave the farm and go to a new home, but Mr. Jones won't let you go anywhere until he has seen your new owners. If he doesn't like them, then you'll stay here until he finds an owner for you who will be as kind as he is."

Every day for two weeks Mr. Jones led me on the halter until, at the end of the second week, I would come to the gate when he called and stand quietly as he slipped on the halter.

Soon it was the end of May and we were all let out onto the mountain slopes, on to the short springy turf. "Now you'll begin to grow quick and strong," said my mother. "By all means play with the other foals, but watch where I graze carefully and notice the grasses and herbs I choose, for these will make you into a very healthy youngster along with my milk."

From early June we wandered the mountain sides grazing the tender grasses. I learnt how to stand with my back into the wind and rain, how to find shelter from the hot sun and where to find fresh clear water to drink. Soon I became fat and my coat began to shine like mother's.

"You have good strong blue hooves," she told me. "They will stand you in good stead all your life. One day you will have to wear shoes so you can walk on hard roads. Your owner will want you to give his children rides on your back, just as I do when we are home at the farm. They will be kind to you and also because you are a good looker, they will be proud of you."

I have always remembered those words and how true they proved to be, as the years passed by.

More next week