Black and white photo of a fine line geometric tattoo of a horizontal bar with inverted triangles and a small crown motif on the upper back, near the neck.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Fine line triangles on upper back

Fine line · Back · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a small tattoo on the upper back of a person with their hair tied up, seen from behind. The design is a thin horizontal line with three triangles hanging beneath it, the central one holding a tiny crown-like shape made of fine dots and strokes. The black and white photograph is softly lit against a pale background, with the tattoo placed centrally and kept small in the frame.

Fine line Geometric Back Triangle Line Crown Geometric shape Bar

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The last train from Hexley Road was due at twenty past nine, and by nine I had the lamp room half-emptied and a cup of tea going cold on the sill. The company had sold the signal frame for scrap in March. What was left was a box of odds and ends my father had kept for forty years, and I was sorting it into what would go to the museum and what would go in the skip.

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Most of it was easy. Tickets, punch clips, a tin of grease that had set like fudge. Then at the bottom, wrapped in oilcloth, I found a length of iron bar no longer than my forearm, with three brass pennants hung beneath it on fine wire. The middle pennant had a tiny crown punched into it, the sort of mark the old Midland men used on tools they meant to get back. I turned it over and found my father's pencil on the underside: "Walter's bar. Give back when they ask."

Walter Pryce was the driver on the Ardent goods that went off the viaduct in 1961. Nobody died, but Walter never stood on a footplate again, and he never once spoke of that night in front of my father. My father had carried the bar for sixty years and never said why.

In the morning I would take it to the Pryces' terrace on Gorse Lane, though I had not decided what I would say. For now I hung it from the nail above the door, where the lamp used to hang, and let the platform light find the little crown. The nine-twenty pulled in, slow and bright, and I locked up and went to catch it.