This is a photograph of my step-father Richard.
Alongside him on the wall is the tin bath we used for our once a week bath in front of the kitchen fire.
When I was young, times were harsh. The relationship between my mother and Richard was one of unhappiness and constant, incessant quarrelling.
A coldness always pervaded my home. There certainly was never any warmth that I can recall.
I wasn't allowed to have friends in to play, and when times were really bad I would run to my grandmothers house in the next street, crying, with my hands over my ears.
Saturday nights were bad because Richard would come home drunk. My mother and I would struggle to put him to bed.
When I got older, I began to understand him. I realised that really he was a kind man.
For the remainder of his life we were good friends.
For my exhibition, I set this photograph to a poem, which rings so true for me, by a poet called Robert Hayden.
The poem is called THOSE WINTER SUNDAYS