Close-up of a black script lettering tattoo reading Mrs. on the side of a finger, beside a diamond ring on the same hand.

Mrs. script on a ring finger

Lettering · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A close-up photograph of a hand with a black script tattoo reading Mrs. along the side of one finger. A diamond solitaire ring with a thin band sits on the same finger, next to the lettering. The ink is solid black with smooth, fluid strokes, and the background is dark and out of focus.

Lettering Hand Script

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit nearer the range and mind the coal dust, for this tale is about pay packets, and a pay packet carries more trouble than any man who ever walked home with one. Up at Scar Pit, in the winter the cage stuck, there was a clerk called Emrys Dunn who sat behind the wages window with a steel nib and a brass lamp at his elbow.

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Emrys had one rule the lamp room laughed at. Every wife's envelope got her title in full, Mrs., with the stroke over the s and a little tail on the M, because he said a woman's name deserved a proper word in front of it, the same as a man's shift deserved his boots. Lads would lean on the sill and dare him to write Missus for a joke, and he never would. He just blotted the ink and slid the envelope through.

The winter the cage stuck, Bronwen Hughes came to the window with her husband's last envelope in her fist and asked him to drop the title. Emrys said nothing. He took a fresh sheet, wrote her name plain, and then, before she could argue, he wrote Mrs. in front of it, slower than he had ever written anything, so the tail on the M hung over the line like a rope over a shaft.

When Emrys died, the ledger went to the new clerk, a boy called Idris who could not yet spell pit. On the last page, down the margin, somebody had written Mrs. a hundred times, each one the same, and the last one shaky as a lamp in a draught. Idris kept it, and to this day the wages window at Scar Pit still writes the word in full.