Black and white photo of two people with arms linked, each showing solid black bands on the forearm in a blackwork style, with dotwork on one arm and small script on the wrist.

Black bands and dots on two forearms

Blackwork · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two people stand close with their arms linked, so their forearms are shown in the foreground. Each forearm carries bold solid black bands separated by thin white gaps, and the left arm has a row of dotwork dots above the bands. A small script lettering piece sits on the right wrist, below two black bands.

Blackwork Dotwork Lettering Forearm Band Stripe Dot Script Wrist Arm

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You learned the knots before you learned to swim, which is what Mrs Abernethy liked to say when she handed you the mop at Gull Rock House. Six rooms sat above the harbour in Hollin Bay, the dining room smelt of vinegar and wet wool, and every morning you counted the lodgers' boots on the landing, because boots told you who was leaving before anyone said a word.

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The summer the Carrick Lass came in with a sprung mast, a quiet man in a navy jumper climbed up from the quay asking for a room for three nights. He paid in coins he had dried on his trouser leg. Mrs Abernethy said the black bands on his sleeves meant he had once been a bosun's mate, and you believed her, because she had buried a husband who wore the same. He called himself Mr Lowe. On the second evening he asked whether the tide was still making at eleven, and when you said it was, he asked if you would row him out.

The boat was a dinghy with a split thwart, and the water lay black and glassy under a moon like a dropped plate. Past the buoy Lowe pushed back his cuff and showed you the small words inked on his wrist: Juno, 1931. Then he lifted a brass bell from beneath the seat and let it hang on its lanyard above the water. He did not ring it. He said the crew had never had a proper funeral, and somebody ought to say their names aloud. You said them, all seven, and he nodded and let the bell go.

Next morning there were eight pairs of boots on the landing, and only seven rooms were let. You counted twice. Mr Lowe's door stood open on a bed made tight with sailor's corners, and on the sill lay a single dried coin beside a pair of navy boots, toes to the wall, waiting for nobody.