Close photo of a small black lettering tattoo reading "let it be" on a person's forearm, with a grey and red sleeve and a blurred background.

"let it be" lettering on a forearm

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A close view of a person's forearm resting on a pale surface, with a sleeve in grey and red at the top of the frame. The tattoo is small black lettering reading "let it be" in a blackletter-style typeface, with clean, solid linework. The background is softly out of focus, and the image is shot in muted, natural tones.

Lettering Forearm Text Lettering Word

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dougie Pascoe had a rule about the wind, and the rule was that you did not argue with it. We were six boats strung across the grounds off Newlyn that October, and by four in the afternoon the sky had gone the colour of wet slate and the swell was coming in long and grey from the south-west, the kind that lifts a hull slowly and then lets it fall.

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I was nineteen and on my first winter, and I had the trawl warp wrapped round my glove before anyone thought to tell me not to. Dougie came down the deck with his sleeve shoved above the elbow, the old words inked along his forearm in that heavy blackletter the parlour in Plymouth had been so proud of, and he put one hand flat on my shoulder. Let it be, he said. Not unkindly. The way you'd talk to a pony that had seen a bag blow across the yard.

I wanted to fight the net. I wanted to haul the lot aboard and prove something to the men watching from the wheelhouse of the Shannon Rose. But he cut the warp himself with the gutting knife, and we lost four hundred fathoms of gear to the bottom of the bay, and the boat came up light and quick and rode the next sea like a gull. Nobody said a word about it for a week.

Years later I am the one standing at the wheelhouse door with the forecast crumpled in my fist, and a boy I don't know is arguing with a rope. I hear myself say it before I think. Let it be. He looks at me as if I've told him the sea is a kindly uncle. Then he lets go, and the water takes what it wants, and we come home with what we came for.