Black line drawing of an ornate filigree heart with a fan shell, with chains, stars, anchors and small shells hanging below it, shown as a tattoo design.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Hearts, shells and anchors dangling from chains

Fine line · Black and grey · Flash

A black line drawing of two ornate hearts with scrolled filigree and a fan shell, from which chains of beads and dangling charms hang. The charms include a star, a mirror, two anchors, several small shells and a row of dots. The linework is fine and even on a plain white background, with no shading or colour.

Fine line Heart Shell Anchor Star Chain Mirror Bead Filigree

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The bosun wanted his tea before the tide turned, and I was still scraping the porridge pan when Ada came down the companion ladder with the chart box under one arm and salt in her hair. She set it on my scrubbed table as if it held a cake. Inside, wrapped in a square of oilskin, were the charms she had been collecting since we left Hull: a mirror no bigger than a biscuit, two anchors cut from tin, and a little cone of a shell that she swore sang when you held it to your ear.

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She wanted them strung from two hearts she had cut out of a lard tin and scalloped with the point of a nail file. A fan shell from Skegness sat between them like a sunrise. I told her the galley had no room for jewellery, and she said the galley was the only place on the ship where anything was ever kept properly. So we sat in the heat of the range and threaded beads onto darning needle and cotton while the tea went cold in the enamel mugs and the lamp swung on its hook.

Halfway through the second chain she held the mirror up to the porthole and frowned. There was nothing in it but grey water and the slow swing of the lamp. 'It's only showing where we've been,' she said, and dropped it into the pocket of my apron before I could tell her the sea made a poor sort of looking glass.

Forty years on, the chain still hangs from the hook beside the range in whatever galley I am working. When the swell rolls, the anchors knock against the tin hearts and the whole shelf rings like a cheap little bell. I never look into the mirror. I just listen for the ring, and I know the ship is still ours to bring home.