Black and grey realism clock with Roman numerals and gears on an upper arm, with the script words Time is Money beneath it.

Clock and gears with Time is Money script

Realism · Upper arm · Black and grey · Photo

A shaded black and grey clock face with Roman numerals and visible gears sits on the upper arm, with clouds shaded around it. Realistic greyscale shading gives the metal parts depth, while the cursive script reading Time is Money runs across the lower part of the design. The photo is taken close up on a dark surface, with the tattoo filling most of the frame.

Realism Lettering Upper arm Clock Roman numeral Gear Script Cloud

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit nearer the range, you're letting the cold in with your questions. Aye, that's the clock on the wall above the dresser, the one with no hands left on it. Grandad took the face off the mill when they shut it in the winter of fifty-two, before the men could carry the lot to the scrapyard at Otley. He carried the works home on a sledge through the snow, with the Roman numerals wrapped in a feed sack.

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He kept the gears in a biscuit tin and oiled them of a Sunday. Whenever a neighbour came asking for a day's labour, he'd tap the glass and say time is money, Alfred, so pay me for the hour I've already spent thinking about it. Folk thought it was a joke. It was no joke to him. He had counted every minute of his life since he was twelve years old on the spinning floor, and he meant to be paid for every one.

The February the beck froze to the bottom, the ewes started lambing early and the wind came off the tops like a blade. Grandad was out on the far field with the lantern three nights running. On the third he came in grey as ash, sat down at the table, and wound the clock one last time. He said he'd spent so long keeping the farm alive that he'd never once sat still long enough to see it. He set the key down, and the gears went on ticking for another hour before they stopped.

So I don't pay anybody by the hour here. I still wind it every Sunday, mind. Hand me that key, love. It's the only thing in this house that's never once asked me for a wage.