Black tattoo on the inside of a wrist showing three flying bird silhouettes above the script words Let it be.

Three flying birds and Let it be on a wrist

Lettering · Other · Black and grey · Photo

Three solid black bird silhouettes in flight sit in a diagonal row above the words Let it be, written in a flowing script. The birds are filled in with solid black ink and the script is in dark black linework with slight variation in thickness. The tattoo is shown in close view on a pale wrist against a dark leather surface, with the black ink standing out clearly.

Lettering Other Bird Flying bird Silhouette Let it be Script

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Wenna,

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You will not believe what the Abbot has done. He had the founder up from Carrow on Tuesday with his hammers and his pots of tar, and he means to recast the Great Tenor before the feast of Saint Brannoc. I told him the crack only runs through the lip and the note would hold another winter, but he would not hear me. Mother used to say that bell had sung through two wars and a flood, so it could manage one more Lent, but the Abbot has never listened to anyone who hasn't been ordained.

Yesterday I climbed the tower alone with a heel of bread and a flask of mead, meaning to say goodbye to it. The swifts were there, the three that nest under the louvres every summer, perched on the beam with their wings folded like cut card. I sat with them until the sun dropped behind the dunes. Then they lifted off together, one, two, three, and slanted out over the reeds in a neat row, and I thought of Mother's voice saying let it be when the milk turned or the boat went out in fog.

This morning I went up again. The founder's men had not started yet. I left the hammers where they lay in the straw and rang the tenor myself, once, hard, so the crack would have its say.

When the swifts came back in April, three black shapes over the marsh, the bell was still cracked and still rang every Sunday, a little hoarse, the way old things do. Write soon. Tell me the herring boats are back.

Your loving sister, Anneke