Black and grey photo of two fingers on a hand, each with the phrase til my dying day in script lettering across the finger.

Til my dying day script on two fingers

Lettering · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

The photograph shows the side of a hand with two fingers, each carrying the phrase "til my dying day" written in a single line of cursive script. The linework is black and fairly even, with simple lettering and no shading. The photo is in greyscale and the framing is close, with the fingers filling most of the frame.

Lettering Hand Script Phrase Text Finger

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lock-keeper at Stannock Weir charged Ada Renshaw a shilling for the use of his vestry and told her she was a fool for paying it. It was the spring of 1953, and the village had not forgotten the flood that drowned the Pratt sheep, or the quarrel that followed between their mothers, who had been sisters. Her cousin Tom had come up the towpath with a sewing needle wrapped in black thread and a bottle of vinegar he had taken from his aunt's pantry. He wanted something that would hold.

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They did it with the door bolted. Ada held the vinegar and Tom held the pin, and soot scraped from the chimney of the mill house went into the needle's eye one drop at a time. It hurt less than Tom let on and more than Ada admitted. They worked the words in the slanting hand the nuns at Kelsall had beaten into them, two letters on each finger, and when they were done the skin was red and the phrase ran along both of their hands in one unbroken line. Til my dying day. Tom said that was how long the thing would last. Ada said she would hold him to it.

He went down to the collieries in Wigan that summer and to Canada the year after. Ada married the signalman, Harold Mott, who never once asked about the marks on her fingers. Letters came from Tom every Christmas, folded into thirds and signed with the same four words in the same careless script. The last one arrived in January 1979 from a hospital in Ontario. Ada read it at the kitchen table, then turned her hand over under the lamp. The ink had gone blue and soft at the edges, but the words were still there.