Small fine line black tattoo of an upward triangle crossed by a horizontal line, on the side of a foot near the heel.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small triangle with a bar on the foot

Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A small tattoo of an upward-pointing triangle with a horizontal line crossing its upper section sits on the side of a foot near the heel. The linework is thin, even and dark black, with no shading. The skin is pale against a dark leather-look background, and the tattoo sits near the centre of the frame.

Fine line Geometric Other Triangle Line Symbol

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The bench mark was cut into the stone pier below the chapel, a small triangle with a bar drawn across its upper half, and my father said the surveyors had made it in 1912 when they levelled the whole valley. He showed me how to sight along the bar with one eye shut, the way he'd been taught by a man who was dead before I was born. "Nobody reads that line now," he said, "except the river."

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The river came up that August after three days of rain. By the Thursday the water stood over the figure nine on the gauge board at the mill, and Tommy Pell had gone down to the sluice on a dare, with nobody watching but the gulls. Mrs Ackroyd ran into the post office with her apron still on, shouting his name at the wrong end of the street. My father took the lamp and the coil of rope from the back of the van, and I followed him down the bank with my shoes full of mud.

We found Tommy on the wrong side of the weir, one arm hooked round the iron rung that ran up the pier beneath the old mark. Father went down the ladder with the rope knotted under his arms and talked to him the whole way, low and steady, about nothing at all: the price of coal, a dog he'd once had called Sergeant. When they came up the bank together, Tommy was coughing up river water and crying, and my father was not.

The next morning the water had dropped a yard. Father stood on the pier with a pencil and a rule and drew a fresh line beneath the old one, level with the rust-brown stain the flood had left. The bar of the triangle sat exactly on the high-water mark of that night, as if the surveyors had known all along where the river would one day turn back on itself.