Black and white flash sheet of bird designs, including flying birds, perched birds on a swirling branch, a swallow-style pair, a hummingbird and script reading freedom, take me far, and we only part

Bird flash sheet with script phrases

Fine line · Black and grey · Flash

The sheet shows a set of bird designs drawn in solid black on white, including a flock of small flying birds, three birds perched on a curled branch, two birds facing each other beneath a heart, and a small hummingbird. Several pieces pair the birds with handwritten or serif script, such as freedom, take me far, and If you're a bird, I'm a bird. The linework is fine and mostly unshaded, with simple silhouettes and decorative swirls.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The ballroom at the Pavilion smelled of pomade and wet coats, and Stanley Dunn was the only man in Margate who could make the floor tilt with a waltz. I worked the cloakroom hatch that summer of 1958, handing out tickets and coats, so I watched him for most of the season before he noticed me watching.

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He had a habit of saying things that were half a joke. The night he asked me for the Gay Gordons he leaned close and said, If you're a bird, I'm a bird, which made no sense at all, and I told him so. He said the swallows nesting under the pier roof had the right idea: they went wherever the weather was kinder and came home when it wasn't. In September the ferry company wanted deckhands for the Channel run, and he signed on without asking me first.

On his last night he sat on the cloakroom counter and drew on the back of a spare ticket with a borrowed pencil. He sketched a flock, a pair of birds on a curled branch, and a small hummingbird he swore he'd seen in a library book about Brazil. We only part to meet again, he wrote underneath. I said that was the sort of thing people wrote on postcards and never sent. He said he'd send one anyway.

The postcards came every few weeks, each with a swallow stamped in the corner. Every one ended in the same pencilled words, take me far, and the last arrived in March with a Dover postmark and nothing else. I still count the swallows over the pier at dusk, and when there are eleven, I lock up the hatch and walk down to the harbour to watch for lights.

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