Plenty of people were sad to read in The Argus about the death of Bruno Crosby, king of the Brighton squatters, at the early age of 51.

Even those who by no means approved of everything he did or said were impressed with his sincerity, amused by his eccentricity and delighted by his commitment.

Squatting has taken many forms over the years in a resort that has had housing problems ever since fishermen were huddled together in little huts back in the Middle Ages.

The first of them were vigilantes, led by Harry Cowley, after both world wars who commandeered empty homes so families could have somewhere to live. The movement turned ugly in the Sixties and early Seventies.

It's hard to believe, looking at Wykeham Terrace near the Clock Tower in Brighton, that this was the scene of such violence that people ended up facing serious cases in the crown court at Lewes.

A siege in Terminus Road in Brighton ended with bailiffs being showered with soot and flour. Bruno, who was at his peak in the Seventies and Eighties, adopted a more co-operative attitude.

It was also more organised, although looking at the Open Cafe in Victoria Road, which became his headquarters, you would not think so. He would not squat council houses and he was prepared to co-operate with private landlords.

Some of the houses Bruno and his supporters took on had been empty for far too long. Their occupations often forced the owners into doing something about them.

There are still today, many years later, several people living in former squats where Bruno came to some arrangement over the tenancy. His own home for most of those years in Argyle Road near Preston Circus was a good example.

It had been empty for five years and was in a ruinous state. Most people in the area were pleased to see it put to use by Bruno rather than continuing to moulder away.

He fixed the water and the electricity and was just about to claim the building under squatters' rights when the owner, a woman in Dorset, emerged and served notice on him.

Bruno wasn't an easy person to know well and there was an element of mystery about him. Some said he had money and certainly his mother, apparently well off, was never all that far away.

He had been addicted to drugs and drink at some stage and it was unclear whether he ever completely conquered these two huge problems in his life.

In the end Bruno decamped to Cornwall where he spent his last years in a peaceful hippie haze. But by this time some of his main work had been achieved.

Nationally the passing of housing legislation meant all families were entitled to a home and locally landlords realised if their properties were ostentatiously empty, they were liable to be occupied.

The problem since Bruno's departure has become far more focused on the single homeless who still do not have the security offered to people with children.

While there has been a real effort by the Government, the city council and housing charities to tackle this crisis, there are still far too many people on the streets and everyone knows the recent official count of just six is a gross underestimate.

Bruno's bequest of half the proceeds from the sale of his Cornish house to Brighton Housing Trust was typical of the man.

He was a member of the trust who continued to take an interest in its work even when he was living more than 200 miles away.

He may have realised that while squatting is good at drawing attention to an acute problem and can be effective in the short term, it seldom provides lasting benefits unless operated by someone like him.

Latter-day squatters in Brighton and Hove have often been keener to make a political point than to take practical steps.

There couldn't be a better recipient of his largesse than the trust whose director, Jenny Backwell, is one of the city's great unsung heroines.

Meanwhile, I hope many of Bruno's former friends are there to raise a glass to him in a pub with the £200 he left for this purpose in another unexpected but characteristic gesture.