Redd Sullivan was a dear friend and protector to me. When I first arrived in London, a young girl folksinger from Canada in 1964, Redd took me under his wing. He housed me and cooked for me and hired me to play regularly at the Troubadour, and never ever took advantage of my loneliness and vulnerability. He was a mountain of a man, a former sailor, with bright red hair and beard and a seemingly bottomless cache of sea shanties and slightly off-colour stories.

He and Martin were not exactly a duo when I knew them. They toured together (and I with them sometimes) and they loved being on a stage together because it gave them an opportunity to trade quips and tease each other. Martin looked like a pirate, with his flowing hair and flowing moustache - tall, slim, elegant, much given to irony - he and the big fella were the perfect foils for one another.

The last time I was in London, in 1990, I spent an afternoon with Redd in a pub overlooking the Thames. We had a lovely visit. I'm so glad I had that time with him, because he was gone soon after - a great loss for so many - the loss of a very loyal, and very kind, friend.

Joanne Crabtree (nee Hindley-Smith)