Thank you Llywydd. Wales is a small nation, but every now and then we breed giants. I got to know Steffan Lewis first over 20 years ago in light of the Islwyn by-election. We heard talk of this incredible young boy from the Gwent valleys who was not only a member of Plaid Cymru, but of the SNP and Mebyon Kernow too, and had managed to get the WRU to note this in the programme for the Wales-England game when Steffan was a mascot for the Wales team. Steffan never did things by halves.

Within a few years, Steffan was addressing the Plaid conference for the first time, at 14 years of age—two years younger than William Hague and, as he was keen to point out, he was far more effective. And, even at that time, he wasn’t little Steffan—Steffan was to be great. There was incredible depth to his character from the outset. His mother, Gail, at the ironing board, and him as a nine-year-old asking all sorts of questions, flowing like water from a well. Where, why and when—and most often, the 'why', like some sort of apprentice Vincent Kane. The potential was spotted and the roots were nurtured and took hold. Gail would highlight articles in the Western Mail and would buy him books on Welsh history. But writing stories or history books wasn’t his destiny; he was to make history.