Red’s presence could not be ignored — his deep, bellowing voice, unfiltered and booming across the streets; his warm greetings to complete strangers; his tattooed face and hair dyed red.

Pirate or Red, he lived a life half on water, half on land. His narrowboat was camouflaged with a tarpaulin, flying a pirate flag on the Thames.

A familiar figure on the benches of Abbey Gardens, he shared long hours with friends. He was hired as security at a supermarket during the fair — a presence both trusted and intimidating. I heard he was a keen gardener, proud of his small patch of green. A man who knew suffering yet still helped others. On his Facebook page, he shared a quote: “The depth of your spiritual awakening is very much connected to the amount of darkness and pain you’ve gone through in your life …”

For the last decade and a half, he had been an Abingdon fixture since buying a narrowboat and moving here to start a new life. Somebody once did a video documentary of his previous life on YouTube but I don’t think its there any more. There was kindness and chaos — many saw a friendly soul, some found him threatening. In recent months, people wondered where he had gone. There were rumours about his health.

In the last few days, those rumours turned to news of his death, confirmed by an article in the Oxford Mail.

Those who knew him will remember him in their own way — but no one will forget him.

P.S. I must have a picture of him somewhere but used this one of red tulips in the Abbey Gardens where he often sat.