Traditional style colour tattoo on the top of a foot showing a pin-up nurse in a red cross cap holding a syringe, with roses above a MOM banner.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Nurse pin-up and roses with MOM banner on a foot

Traditional · Other · Colour · Photo

A pin-up style nurse with curled brown hair, a red cross cap and a syringe in one hand fills the centre of the design. Two orange roses sit either side of a cream banner lettered MOM along the bottom. Bold black outlines and flat, solid colour fills in red, blue, orange and pink give it a classic American traditional finish.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mind the step, the tide's still sliding over these stones, and don't lean on the rail like the Pilchard boys used to, or you'll be fished out with the bait. Right. Where was I? Ah, yes, Nell Carrick.

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Nell ran the cottage hospital up on Gull Hill for thirty years. Her cap was starched so stiff you could have cut bread with it, and she carried a syringe in her apron pocket as if it were a pencil. Every Thursday the trawlermen came up the hill with cut palms and fingers caught in the winch, and she'd have them sorted and swearing before the kettle boiled.

Her boy Danny went to sea at sixteen. Every letter he sent came with a card on the back of a shipping chandler's invoice, and he signed off the same way each time: MOM, in capitals, because he said spelling out MOTHER looked like the name of a boat nobody would hire. She kept them all in a Huntley and Palmers tin on the dresser, and she read them out loud to the cat.

The winter the Mary Ellen went overdue, Nell walked the harbour wall every night with a lantern under one arm and a roll of bandage under the other. The men came in one by one, grey and shaking, and she saw to each of them. Danny came in last, his hand wrapped in a sack, grinning like a fool. She stitched him at the kitchen table by lamplight, humming some hymn she never finished, and didn't cry until he was asleep.

She planted two roses by the wall gate the spring after. They come up orange as marmalade every year, and the tin is still on the dresser, lid rusted shut. Make of that what you like. I make of it that the sea gives back what it's owed, but only if somebody's standing on the wall with a light.

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