Two people seen from behind with matching infinity symbol tattoos on their upper shoulder blades, each with the words Mother and Daughter and a watercolour feather in green and blue.

Matching mother and daughter infinity tattoos

Fine line · Shoulder · Mixed · Photo

Two women are seen from behind, each with an identical infinity symbol tattoo on the upper shoulder blade. The words Mother and Daughter are written in fine black script along the loop, with a soft watercolour feather in green, blue and pink above, and tiny black birds along the lower curve. The black linework is crisp and thin, while the colour is softly blended and sits lightly on the skin against a plain blue wall background.

Fine line Lettering Shoulder Infinity Mother Feather Bird Script Matching

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The pit at Hollin Dene took Tom Fairlie in the wet spring the chapel roof fell in, and his daughter Nell was nine and had never been down the shaft. What came up on the cage the morning after was his coat, folded by the banksman as if someone meant to return it, and tucked inside the collar a feather. It was green at the quill, blue along the vane, with a rim of pink at the tip, like the sky over the slag heaps when the sun gets under the cloud.

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Her mother, Ada, said feathers came off hens and pigeons and that was the end of it. But Nell kept the feather in a tobacco tin and took it to the pithead wall each morning before the hooter. Small black birds sat along the coping there, quick and restless, and they always numbered eleven, though she never saw them arrive or leave. Her father used to say the birds counted the men down and counted them up again, and as long as the count matched, nobody was lost.

Years passed. Nell learned the screens and the weight of a full tub, and her mother's hands went stiff over the washing. When the east drift flooded in the winter Nell was nineteen, the cage stopped, and the men below did not answer the bell. Nell went to the wall with the tin open in her palm. The birds came down one at a time, eleven of them, and she counted them twice. Then the chain moved and the first boots rang on the iron.

She walked home in the grey light and pinned the feather to her mother's shawl, where it caught the lamp. "They're all up," she said. Her mother looked at the feather a long while. "Then it's your turn to count," she said, and that was how it passed.