Black and grey realism tattoo of a sundial with Roman numeral clock faces wrapping around the forearm.

Sundial and clock face on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A detailed sundial, shown with its gnomon and engraved dial, sits across the forearm and is framed by curved clock faces marked with Roman numerals. The shading is smooth and realistic, with soft grey highlights on the metal and deeper black lines on the numerals and edges. The design is entirely in black and grey ink and wraps around the arm, with a darker, cloud-like shaded area above the main piece.

Realism Forearm Clock face Roman numeral Compass Clock

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Ruth,

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The clock in the lamp room stopped on Tuesday, the same day the relief boat failed to come, so I have been telling the time by the sundial your father bolted to the south wall. It is a poor instrument in February. The gnomon throws a shadow no wider than a knitting needle at noon, and by three the sun has slid behind the Carr rocks and the dial goes grey as slate. I have taken to reading the Roman numerals by lantern light and guessing at the rest.

Yesterday I climbed out onto the gallery with the brass compass and the pocket watch you left behind, and set them side by side on the rail. The needle wandered. The watch said twenty past eleven. When the cloud finally broke, the sun said nearer half past. I wrote both figures in the log, the way Mr Halloran taught us, and underlined the difference twice because I could not decide which to believe.

The strange thing is that the numerals are older than the lighthouse. Your father copied them from a church clock in Whitby when he was a boy, and I never thought to ask why. Standing there with the wind pushing at my collar, I understood that he had wanted the hours cut into stone whether or not the works kept running.

So I have stopped waiting for the boat. I wind the watch each morning, check it against the shadow when the weather allows, and light the lamp at dusk regardless. The sea has never once asked me for the right time, only that the light be burning when the ships come round the point.

Your loving brother, Tom