Traditional style pin-up boxer tattoo on the outer thigh, with boxing gloves, a red bow and the script 'Came out swinging'.

Pin-up boxer with 'Came out swinging' on thigh

Traditional · Thigh · Mixed · Photo

A stylised pin-up woman in a green swimsuit and red bow stands in a boxing pose wearing large black gloves, with short dark hair and red cheeks. Bold black outlines fill the design with flat colour, and blue linework patterns decorate her arms and legs, with red and yellow stripes at the hips. The black script 'CAME OUT SWINGING' runs diagonally beside her on a skin-toned background.

Traditional Thigh Pin-up Bow Woman Script

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The Miners' Welfare hall at Hetherley smelled of liniment and wet coats, and on the second Saturday of March it smelled of trouble too. My sister Dolly laced her gloves with her teeth while the men at the bar pretended not to watch. She wore a green costume her Nan had cut down from an old bathing suit, with a red bow at the waist she tied in a hurry, and nobody had ever told her a woman boxer should look less pleased with herself.

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Mr Garside from the colliery office had come up to see the bout. He sat near the front with a notebook open on his knee, the way men do when they expect a result to be written down for them. He had told the committee the welfare would close by summer, that the seam under the Top Field was worked out, and that a bit of ladies' boxing would look good in the papers before the men were moved to Ashworth. Dolly had heard him and said nothing, which I knew was worse than shouting.

The bell went. She came out of her corner with her chin down and her gloves up, and for the first round she only moved, bouncing on the balls of her feet. In the second she let him come to her. He threw a wide right. She slipped it, the way Dad had taught her in the back yard with a coal sack hung off the washing line, and hit him once under the ribs. The room made a noise I had never heard a room make, half laugh and half groan.

Afterwards she sat on the bench with her gloves in her lap and her hair stuck to her forehead. "He'll have his notebook out tomorrow," she said. "Let him write this down." Mr Garside did, in the car park, under the lamp. I watched him scratch out a line and start another. Dolly tied her shoes, laughing, and walked home up the hill without once looking back at the pit wheel.