Black and white photo of a fine script tattoo reading make it count on the upper back, with a hand resting against the neck.

Make it count script on upper back

Lettering · Back · Black and grey · Photo

A person with hair tied up is photographed from behind, showing a thin black script tattoo that reads make it count on the upper back below the shoulder line. The linework is fine and even, with smooth lettering and no shading. The monochrome photograph has a dark background and soft light on the skin, with one hand resting near the neck.

Lettering Back Quote Script

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The snow came over the top of Cragg Hollow on the Tuesday, and by Wednesday noon the lane to the Fell Inn was gone under a drift as high as the stable door. Dad always said the road closes when it likes, so you'd best have the kettle on before it does. I was nineteen that winter and I had the register, the coal book and the key to the cold room, which meant I was the one who had to tell the four stranded walkers there would be no bus until the thaw.

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They took it better than I did. Mrs Abernethy, who had booked the blue room for a week and was not going anywhere, sat by the range with a jigsaw of a lighthouse and asked me to read her the weather from the wireless. The young man from the surveyors' firm wrote his name in the register in pencil, then rubbed it out and wrote it again in ink, and under the line where guests were asked for their business he wrote, in a slanting hand, make it count. I asked him what he meant. He shrugged and said it was what his grandmother used to say whenever she handed him a pencil.

Over the next three days I thought about that more than I expected. I walked the top field with the dog and counted the fence posts poking through the white like the teeth of a comb. I learned to make a proper loaf without Dad's recipe card, which had got wet and gone blue at the corners. On the fourth morning the plough came grumbling up the valley, and I went out to meet it with my hair full of snow.

Before the surveyor left I gave him the register to carry down to the road. He tapped the line with one finger. 'Still there,' he said, and grinned, and was gone before I could think of anything clever to say back. I wrote the day's date beneath his words in my own hand, then went to fetch the coal scuttle, because the fire had been let down and somebody had to see that it was made to count.