Traditional colour tattoo on the outer thigh showing a revolver, poppy, roses and a green bottle, with Mum and Dad script.

Poppy, rose and revolver thigh tattoo

Traditional · Thigh · Colour · Photo

The collage shows four views of a thigh tattoo with a revolver, a red poppy, pink roses and a pink lily, a green glass bottle hung with beaded strands, and the words Mum and Dad in script lettering. The flowers and leaves are in bold red, pink and green with dark outlines, while the revolver and lettering are shaded in grey. The composition frames the design across the thigh, with the two script words placed below the main motif.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit down, the lot of you, and stop looking at your phones like they owe you money. Nobody under sixty can tell this one properly, and I was at the back of Miss Pryce's classroom the year it began, so you'll have to put up with me.

Keep reading

Edie Marlow lived at number nine, Sheaf Street, with a husband called Frank who ran the shooting gallery on the Wakes field every August. He won a revolver off a travelling man over a game of cards in 1961 and brought it home wrapped in a tea towel. Edie took it off him at the kitchen table and said it would not be living in her house. So he put it in the coal bunker, and every evening she carried the slop bucket past it and said nothing at all. Along the front fence she grew poppies and roses, and a pink lily her mother had sent from Cornwall, and on the windowsill stood a green bottle of peppermint water for her chest, its neck hung with a string of jet beads.

When the fever took Frank in February, he asked for the gun. She carried it up on a tray with the peppermint water and the beads, and set them all on the eiderdown. He laughed till he coughed, then made her promise she'd shoot the next man who tried to sell her a bad horse. She promised him that. He died on the Thursday, and by the Saturday she'd taken the revolver down to the Wakes field, lined up the tin skittles and knocked the bottom off every one of them, one after the other, with no one to tell her she was doing it wrong.

The bottle she kept. She filled it with sweet peas and stood it on the sill, and it was still there when I last saw the house in 1979. That's the lot. Somebody fetch me a cup of tea before the buffet runs out.

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