Traditional style colour tattoo of a pig's head with red and white flowers and a red banner reading I AM NOT BACON, on a limb.

Pig head with flowers and I AM NOT BACON banner

Traditional · Other · Colour · Photo

A pig's head in profile sits above a red banner that reads I AM NOT BACON, with two flowers with red petals and yellow centres tucked behind the ears and beside the snout. The design uses bold black outlines with flat areas of pink, orange, red and yellow, plus some black shading on the head. The tattoo fills most of the frame against a blurred background with a tattoo machine visible at the top right.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Right, sit down, and mind the goat, she bites. Have you heard of Mrs Gorman's sow over on the far side of Inishbeg? No? Well. Her name was Biddy, and she was the finest pig that ever rooted in a potato drill, and she had opinions about it.

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Every November the boat came over from the mainland with the men in their oilskins and the knives in their bags, and every November Biddy heard the engine cough at the harbour wall and went straight to the back of the byre and would not come out. Mrs Gorman would stand in the doorway with a bucket of meal and say, Biddy, love, it's only a bit of ham. And Biddy would look at her over a poppy that had blown in off the hedge and stuck behind her ear, and say nothing at all, which was worse.

That spring the poppies came up through the stone walls like someone had been spilling paint. Biddy had gathered herself a crown of them, and a length of red cloth off the washing line, and the schoolmaster's boy, for a penny, had lettered it for her in black paint: I AM NOT BACON. She tied it round her middle and set herself on the sea wall facing the harbour with the air of a woman about to read out the proclamation.

The men took one look and sat down on the quay. Tam Doyle, the eldest, took off his cap, turned it round twice, and said, Well, I'm not eating that. The rest agreed, and the boat went home without a single pig. Biddy lived to be twenty-two. Mrs Gorman always swore the sow could read, and that she read the paper on Sundays, and if you ask me, that's the only story on this island that's ever been entirely true.

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