Black lettering tattoo in a typewriter-style font reading I was a drizzle and she was a hurricane, running diagonally across the upper back near the shoulder blade.

Quote tattoo across upper back

Lettering · Back · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo is a line of text set in a typewriter-style font, reading I was a drizzle and she was a hurricane, and it runs diagonally across the upper back from the shoulder towards the neck. The letters are crisp, solid black lines with even weight and no shading. The photograph is warm-toned, showing only skin, a little dark hair and a plain dark green wall behind, with the text as the clear focus.

Lettering Back Text Quote Word Typewriter font

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Nobody in Skerrow Haven would sit beside Tam Gillies on the quay after the herring boats came in, because he talked about the weather as if he had arranged it himself. He called himself a drizzle and said it the way a man names his trade. For twenty winters he had kept the harbour wall dark and wet and the gulls quiet, and in all that time he had never once raised a keel.

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Then Ailsa Marrin came back from the Orkney crews with salt in her plait and a voice like a slammed hatch. Folk said she could whistle a cutter off the Skerries. She stood on the pier and told Tam to get out of her light. He did not get out of her light. He followed her for a month, a fine grey following that soaked her oilskins and her mending and her temper, and by the end of it she had stopped shouting and started laughing, which was worse for the men who had bet against him.

In November the fleet was caught past the Skerries with the sky gone the colour of pewter. Ailsa's cutter, the Morag, was last in and the wind had her by the throat. Tam came down off the hill and lay himself over the water, flat and soft as oil, so that she could read the swell and find the gap in the rocks. Nobody saw him do it. They only saw the Morag come through the gap with her sails in ribbons and her skipper standing at the tiller, shouting at the sea.

The minister wrote it down in the parish book that winter, in the typewritten hand the church had bought from Aberdeen. He copied out what Ailsa said on the pier that night, when she had come ashore and found Tam sitting on the wall like a wet dog. I was a drizzle, Tam had told her, and she had answered, and you were a hurricane. The minister's clerk typed the line twice, once for the book and once for Tam, who kept his copy folded in his cap until the paper went soft as cloth.