I should have said No

A quiet country lane in SpringNot far from where we lived in Marsden,A village on the edge of the moors.Here the rain clouds often dumped their loadsLike bombers which had lost their way.You could never tell when the rain would come -But today the sky was a picture-perfect blue.As we walked towards a waterfall, neatly framedBy trees and fields, my wife noticed the couple:They had a child sitting quietly in a push chair.The woman walked towards us and I thoughtThat perhaps she wanted to ask us aboutThe road marked ‘private’ which led towards theMain road which wound its way over the moors.But no – she had another question:Would I take a photo of her family standingBy ‘This beautiful waterfall’.I took the camera she offered but then said,Quite casually, ‘I’d better let my wife take it,She’s a better photographer than I am.’The woman walked back to her husbandWhom I noticed for the first time –He was slim and quite tall, wearing a black hatAnd long curly locks of hair which marked him outAs a non-Marsdener, a man from a different tribe.The woman brought the camera backAnd dropped her bomb shell: ‘My husbandWould prefer it if you would take it sir.’

Now this moment has never quite left me –For it has festered slowly to corrupt theFragile self-image I have nurtured down the years.I should have said, ‘No, I will not demean myselfBy colluding with such a disgusting request.’But I didn’t – I meekly took the cameraAnd pressed the button, and in that moment,Out of the blue, dark rain clouds gathered.