Black and grey tattoo of a skeleton drum major in a plumed shako hat and tunic, holding a baton in a high-kicking pose, on the side of the torso.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Skeleton drum major on the side of the torso

Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

A skeleton drum major in a plumed shako hat, dark tunic and braided shoulder detail strides forward with one leg raised and an arm outstretched, gripping a baton in the other hand. The design uses bold black outlines with grey shading on the tunic and hat, and the skeleton's bones are picked out in pale highlights. The figure is centred on a pale patch of skin with a small section of trousers and a navel visible at the edges of the frame.

Ribs Skeleton Plume

Find an artist for this

Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Nell, the ice on the horse trough has been thick enough to stand on since Tuesday, and Dad has stopped pretending he'll get the ploughing done before the thaw. I've shut the hens in the lean-to and wrapped the pump in sacking, so you needn't write to ask.

Keep reading

You'll remember Stanley Pike, who led the Hollinwood Silver Band down the high street every Whit Monday with that great plumed hat on, baton going round like a windmill. He died in November, and by then there was little left under the tunic but bones, which the vicar said was no reason for the band to stop. His widow gave the uniform to the church jumble, but nobody wanted the hat, so it hangs on a nail in our barn now, feather bent and moth-holed, looking down at the calves as if it still has views on their stepping.

Last night the wind dropped and I heard it: a tap, tap, tap against the byre door, then a rattle like sticks drawn across a drum. I took the lantern out expecting a fox. There was nothing but frost ticking in the rafters and the hat, which had slid off its nail and landed right side up in the straw, as though someone had set it down for a rest.

I put it back and didn't tell Dad. This morning the cows were all standing in a neat line facing the gate, and the hay in the far corner had been trodden flat in a square the size of a parade ground. I've decided not to ask who's keeping time out there now. I only hope he keeps it down a bit, for the sake of the calves.