Black ink scrollwork tattoos across the fingers of a man's hands clasped near his chin, with a tattooed forearm and a feather pendant necklace visible.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Scrollwork finger tattoos on clasped hands

Blackwork · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

Close view of a man's hands clasped together, with black ink ornamental scrollwork on the fingers and knuckles. Below, a forearm covered in dark tattoo work is partly visible, alongside a thin chain with a small feather pendant. The image is muted and cool-toned, with the hands and tattoos in sharp focus against a blurred background and a black handle held in the grip.

Blackwork Hand Forearm Scrollwork Finger tattoo Hand Feather Necklace Pendant Knuckle

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Tom,

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I found Dad's ringing gloves in the porch cupboard, the ones he wouldn't let anyone else touch, and tucked behind them the sally rope he always said was too short for the tenor at St Wilfrid's. You'll remember the grip had gone grey where his hands sat, and the red whipping had come loose at the top. I took it to Mr Akroyd on Market Street and he rewound it while I sat on the bench and watched, the same way Dad used to watch the bells come down.

Mr Akroyd asked whether I wanted the old whipping kept or replaced. I said replaced. Then he asked if I'd heard the tenor was going to be recast, and I said no, and he looked at me over his glasses the way people do when they know something about Dad that you don't.

What I didn't tell you at the reunion is what Mrs Pilling said at the wake. She taught us both maths and never once smiled, but she told me the men who rang at the funeral had all been boys in Dad's class, and that before the first pull they'd clasped their hands together and held them there a moment, the way he always did, as if steadying something that might drop. Nobody had told them to. I think they'd just learnt it from him.

I've hung the rope back on its hook in the hall, new red binding and all. Come on Sunday and pull it with me. The tenor's silent now, but the rope still has to go somewhere, and I think he'd want it to be with us.

Love, Jo