Black and white photograph of a black and grey tattoo of the bones of a foot and ankle, shaded in a realistic anatomical style, on the top of a bare foot.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Foot skeleton tattoo on the ankle

Realism · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

A black and white photograph of a bare foot with a tattoo of its skeletal bones, including the toes, metatarsals and ankle joint, drawn across the top of the foot and up the ankle. The linework is fine and the bones are shaded with soft greys to give them depth and a realistic, anatomical look. The foot is set against a plain black background, with a second leg visible behind it.

Realism Ankle Skeleton Anatomy Ankle Toe

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Ruth,

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You will think I have lost my wits, but Mr Pardoe came into the shop on Tuesday with his boots under his arm, swearing the left one had begun to pinch, and while I knelt to measure him he told me the names of every bone in the foot, one after another, as if he were reciting the football results. Talus, navicular, the five long ones he called the metatarsals, and then the little phalanges like a row of dominoes. He had learned them at night school in Keighley, he said, so that he could argue with the doctor when he was sent to the infirmary with his bunions. I did not have the heart to tell him the doctor had never once argued with anybody in his life.

I have been thinking about those names all week. Dad used to say a good boot is only a skeleton with leather round it, and I laughed at him for it, the way you laughed at everything he said. Now I stand at the last in the back room with the lamp pulled low and I can see it, the arch bowed up like a bridge over the river, the joints bending where they ought to bend.

Pardoe came back on Friday for the new pair. He had a drawing on his ankle, done in biro by his nephew, he said, a bone picture like the ones on Dad's chart, and he pulled his sock down to show me while I was tying the laces. It was neat work, the toes drawn fine as pen nibs. He asked if I could make a boot that would let the bones breathe. I told him no such boot exists. He paid me in coins warm from his pocket and went off up the hill, walking very straight.

Write soon and tell me if the Leeds shops have anything better than our wretched leather. I shall keep the chart up on the wall.

Love, Margaret