Black and grey tattoo of a woman's face inside a solid black circle, with the words STRANGE and I MYSELF AM and AND UNUSUAL, on the outer thigh of a person wearing denim shorts.

Strange and unusual portrait on a thigh

Blackwork · Thigh · Black and grey · Photo

A black and grey tattoo sits on the outer thigh, showing a woman's face with short spiky hair framed inside a solid black circle. The word STRANGE is set in large white letters across the circle, with I MYSELF AM above and AND UNUSUAL below in smaller black lettering on the skin. The bold, high-contrast blackwork shapes are set against pale skin and a black background, with denim shorts at the top of the frame.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear diary, Tuesday 9th March 1954. The fen wind came off the drain again and took the washing from Mrs Pargeter's line, so all of Watling Row watched her chase her bloomers across the allotments. I wasn't watching. I was watching Iris Coyle, who has come to live with her aunt above the chemist's and who sits on the churchyard wall with her hair cut short as a boy's and a face like a closed letter.

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At dinner break she drew a circle on the playground wall in chalk, big as a cartwheel, and rubbed it black with the side of her shoe until it shone. Then she wrote STRANGE across the middle in capitals. Sister Hilda came out and asked who had done it, and Iris only said, "I didn't do anything. I'm just what I am." Sister Hilda made her scrub it off with a yard broom, but the chalk only went grey and the letters came through like ghosts.

After school I walked her home past the sluice. She told me the words come from a film her cousin saw in London, where a man says I myself am strange and unusual and the whole cinema laughed as if it were a joke. Iris didn't laugh. She said it was the most honest thing she had ever heard anyone say on a screen.

Mother says I shouldn't walk with her, that strange is what people are called once they've been talked about and then talked about some more. I have decided that I will. Tonight I borrowed Father's fountain pen and wrote the whole line on the inside of my wrist, backwards in the hall mirror so it reads true when I hold it to the window. It will wash off by Sunday. Iris says that doesn't matter. The point is you know where it is.

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