Close-up of a fine line black script tattoo reading Non ducor duco across the side of a person's ribs.

Non ducor duco in fine script on the side

Fine line · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

The photograph shows the Latin phrase Non ducor duco written in a thin, flowing script across the side of the torso. The linework is crisp and even, rendered in black or dark grey ink with no shading or added colour. The phrase sits horizontally across the centre of the frame, with a fabric edge at the top left and fingers with painted nails at the top right.

Fine line Lettering Ribs Script Latin text Phrase Lettering

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Tam, The ferry didn't run again today, so I've spent the afternoon in the harbour office with the kettle and Mrs Gunn, who insists the wind has never been this stubborn since the winter of the big storm. Through the window the Mairi Ann sits on her mooring, swinging gently, and every time she turns I think of the words Grandfather cut into the lintel of the boathouse before either of us was born. Non ducor duco. He used to say it meant I am not led, I lead, and that a man who needed the tide to tell him where to go had already lost the argument.

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You went to the mainland with your bag and your certificate and I stood on the pier waving like a fool. I never told you I was glad, because I was also furious. Everyone assumed I'd stay and mind Mother, and I let them. For two years I've taken the post out to the Ardnish skerries in a borrowed dinghy, learning the channels by the colour of the water, and nobody noticed that I'd stopped asking the harbourmaster for permission.

This morning the wind dropped for nearly an hour. I didn't wait for the ferry crew or anyone's blessing. I untied the Mairi Ann myself, took her past the breakwater with the post sack under the thwart, and brought her back in with the tide behind me. Mrs Gunn shouted from the slipway that it wasn't seemly for a girl to handle a ferry. I shouted back that Grandfather would have had something to say about seemly, and she laughed so hard she dropped her shortbread in the harbour.

Come home at the weekend and see for yourself. The lintel still needs its paint touched up, and I've decided you can hold the ladder. Your sister, Morag.