Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Bomb and flowers on an upper arm
Traditional · Upper arm · Mixed · Photo
A black bomb with a shaded grey highlight and fuse cap sits at the centre of the design. Pink and yellow five-petalled flowers and green leaves wrap around it, with a red glow behind the bomb. Bold black outlines and flat, solid colour fills are visible across the piece, which is photographed straight on against a white background.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Dear Nell, the bomb is still lying in the bottom field, and Dad has put a stake in the ground beside it with a strip of red rag tied on so the carter keeps wide of it. Mr Pryce from the council came on Tuesday in a grey van and stood at the gate with his hands in his coat for a long while before he would walk down. He said it was a fifty-pounder with the nose fuse still in, and that the Engineers would come when the ground thawed enough to dig.
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Mum says we are not to go near it, which I told her was no hardship, since the frost has turned the whole field the colour of a cold kettle. I went down anyway this morning with the ewes' bucket. The thing sits in the furrow like a black apple somebody dropped and forgot, its little brass cap catching the light. Someone has wound wire round its neck. Along the hedge the hips are still hanging red, and I stood there thinking how the bottom field used to be pink with ragged robin before the men went off to the war.
I have been cutting tissue into petals for the Christmas table, the way you showed me, and there is a jar of them on the sill now. Yellow for the marigolds, pink for the apple blossom. Mum says they look like sweets. I keep thinking of the bomb out there with nothing but frost for company, waiting on us to come to it.
The Engineers come Monday. Mr Pryce says I may watch from the wall if I keep my boots on the stones, and I have promised him I will. I am taking the jar down with me to set along the wall, so that when they lift it out there will be something bright to look at. Write soon, and tell Ruth the hens are laying again.
Love, Margaret
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