Black script reading Do you suppose she's a wildflower, with a colour daisy and green leaves, tattooed on the top of a foot in a lettering and botanical style.

Script line and daisy on a foot

Lettering · Other · Mixed · Photo

A close photograph of the top of a bare foot with a flowing black script line reading "Do you suppose she's a wildflower" in an ornate hand, with curling flourishes at each end. Below the text sits a small daisy with white petals, a yellow centre and green leaves, the only colour in the design. The foot is shown from the toes to the ankle against a white towel and dark floor tiles.

Lettering Botanical Other Script Daisy Wildflower Flower Leaves Flourish Quote

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Now sit down, the lot of you, and mind the kettle. This is the business of the Pell brothers and the girl off the Penzance boat, and I'll tell it once without the tide talk.

Keep reading

Old Amos Pell kept the signal hut at the end of Scarrow Quay, and every June he walked the cliff path with his pockets full of barley sugar for the children. One summer a girl came up the steps with a battered case and no coat, asking after lodgings. Nobody knew her name. Amos gave her the room over the chandlery and said nothing about it, which was how things got done in Scarrow.

His nephew Tom, who hauled the lobster pots and drank the Anchor dry on Fridays, took one look at her hands and said she'd be gone by the equinox. Tom liked to be right, so he bet the whole round that she'd leave before the first frost. Amos only leaned on the bar and asked him, 'Do you suppose she's a wildflower, Tom, or only a weed that's lost its bed?' Tom had no answer, so he said nothing, which was the one talent he had.

She didn't leave. She cut back the rosemary against the chandlery wall, painted the shutters the colour of a robin's egg, and every morning walked down to stand where the daisies pushed up between the cobbles. When the November gales took half the quay wall, she was first there with a bucket and a shovel. Tom paid his bet that winter, sliding the coins across the bar with the face of a man robbed. The daisies come back every year, and I've never heard anyone argue with them. Now, who wants the last of the ginger biscuits?