Black and grey tattoo of a shaded rose with a stem and leaves, and the word Strenght in cursive script above it, on the side of a hip.

Script word and rose on a hip

Lettering · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A black and grey tattoo of a rose with a long stem and two leaves sits on the side of a hip, with the word Strenght in cursive script above it. The rose has soft shading in the petals and fine outlines, while the lettering is a thin, flowing script. The photo is cropped to the torso and includes a screenshot of Facebook comments beneath the image.

Lettering Botanical Other Rose Script Lettering Word Leaves Stem

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Pargeter swore the trouble was the stencil, and for a fortnight the whole of Brewery Lane believed him. The board was ash, the gilt had come up from Leeds in a tin, and Tobias, his youngest, had traced the letters off a paper pattern with the care of a boy threading a needle. Nobody checked the proof against the shop's own ledger, where Ada Quayle had written the word a thousand times on the backs of invoices in her square capitals.

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It was a schoolgirl who saw it first, standing on the kerb with a satchel full of dinner money, her finger moving along the gilt as she sounded it out. She stopped at the middle of the word, then laughed so hard she had to sit on the step. By teatime the chapel had heard, the bakery had heard, and Councillor Brierley had written to the Gazette with a letter that began with the word disgraceful and ended with a demand that the sign come down at once.

Ada wouldn't have it. She stood in the doorway with her arms folded and told the councillor that the shop had sold hooks and hinges and the odd bit of nerve to this town for sixty years, and it could stand a bit of misspelling on the lintel without falling down. Pargeter offered to scrape it and redo it. She told him to leave it. People will come in to read it, she said, and they'll buy something while they're at it.

They did. Forty years on the board still hangs above the door, its gilt gone the colour of weak tea. Nobody on Brewery Lane has ever corrected it, and the children who learn their letters there tend to learn that word first, the wrong way, and never forget it. Ada's ledger still spells it her way on the first page.