Botanical anchor tattoo with pink roses, purple blooms and pink blossom wrapped around a black anchor on the inner wrist.

Anchor and roses on the inner wrist

Botanical · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A solid black anchor runs vertically across the inner wrist, with its ring at the top and flukes at the bottom. Pink and magenta roses, purple flowers, small pink blossoms and green leaves wind around the shank and stem, with the colour sitting over the black outline. The composition is centred on the wrist, with the flowers filling the upper and middle sections and the flukes framing the lower part.

Botanical Forearm Anchor Rose Flower Blossom Leaves Floral

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The bosun's wife had sent the cuttings in a biscuit tin, wrapped in wet newspaper, and by the time the Marigold cleared the Azores the roots had gone soft and grey. Tom Hasell knelt on the foredeck with a bucket of seawater and a bent teaspoon, coaxing life back into them while the watch sang something filthy about Bristol girls. He had promised Ada a garden of roses at Mudeford before the year was out. He had not promised her a garden in the middle of the Atlantic.

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The captain found him at dawn, sitting with his back against the windlass and a row of green stubs laid out on a folded sail. Hasell expected a bollocking. Instead the old man crouched beside him, looked at the pale little shoots for a long while, and said the anchor was the only thing on the ship that had ever stayed put in a storm. "Roses want to be tied to something heavy," he said, "or the wind has them."

So they lashed the cuttings to the iron shank of the spare anchor, bound them in twine and tallow, and hung it over the bow where the spray could reach. Through June the flowers came: a magenta one first, then a violet, then a clutch of pink blossom the colour of a healing burn. The men stopped joking and began to check on them before the bell.

When the Marigold docked at Poole, the anchor was still crusted with salt and the roses were in full bloom, scrambling up the chain as though they had always meant to. Ada came down the quay with her skirts in her fists and stopped dead at the sight of them. Hasell never did tell her about the weeks he'd spent believing they would die. He simply unwound the first rose and gave it to her, and let her work out for herself what had kept it alive.