Traditional style colour tattoo of a Ford V8 badge with a red, blue and black shield and orange flames, on a forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Ford V8 badge with flames

Traditional · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A colour tattoo of a Ford V8 badge with a grey Ford nameplate across a shield divided into red, blue, white and black panels with yellow lions and dots. Bold black outlines frame the flat colour fills, and orange and yellow flames rise behind the emblem. The design is centred on the skin with a plain background.

Traditional Forearm Flame Shield Lion Badge Emblem

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dessie had the bonnet up at the Kirkby Lonsdale siding when the last Leeds train pulled out without her, and the eight-cylinder engine under her hands was ticking like a wristwatch someone had dropped. The car had been her father's. Twelve pounds and a promise to keep the crest bright had bought it from a widow in Carlisle, and the crest was the reason she had bought it at all: a shield split red, blue, white and black, three little gold lions padding across its panels, and across the top a grey plate with the name in square capitals.

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Stationmaster Hollis came out along the platform with a paraffin lamp and a tin of Brasso he had no business carrying. "Your carburettor's flooding," he said, "or your nerve is." She told him to hold the light. He held it. He had known her father from the old days, when the two of them drove ambulances over the fells with the hedgerows burning orange on either side and the windscreen full of sparks.

The fault was a cracked fuel line, the sort of thing a child could mend with the right spanner and a bit of patience. They mended it together in the lamplight while the signal lamps blinked green over empty rails. When she turned the key the engine caught with a roar that rolled off the station roof and came back off the hills.

Hollis wiped his hands on a rag and nodded at the shield. "Your dad painted those flames on himself, you know, the spring they came home from France. Said the lions looked like they were running from something." She let the engine idle and the glow of the dashboard settle over her knuckles. "Are they?" "Only the fire," he said, and lifted the gate, and she drove out past the goods yard, the last thing moving in Kirkby Lonsdale that night.