Modern Tattooing Titled Ladies, Clergymen and Actresses

Hawke's Bay Herald-Tribune, Issue 85, 27 April 1937, Page 15

Modern Tattooing Titled Ladies, Clergymen and Actresses

^HE taii*ouj£t% shop stands in an obscure street full of running children who seem as though they must ,be ■ Jdlled by . the next "bus or tram (says a wrlter in the Manchester Guardian. And overhead. there is the everiasting rumble of tralns crossing a bridge. In the street in a 'bus stop, overlooked by little dingy shop, which often piqued my curiosity as I waited fdt the beiated 'bus. PhotograpHs of strangely decorated men and women ahd almost heraldic dedgns of dragons, birds, and lizards fill itt windows. On the door is "L , Tattoolst." And one foggy, dathp aftemoon last week, when a 'bus was partlcularly overdue, my morbid curiosity waa too atrongr I mounted the iew steps And rang. .Thfcre was a pause, then a shujEtle, theh the door opened a little to show— a big cut-throat razor. Fright made it seem enonnotis. But ifc was followed by a small grey man, spectacled, wizened, and with shaving soap on half his face. He beamed mildly. rfi was reassured. I said I wanted to ask him about tattooing. He was' niost genial; asked me in — would I look round ■ while he finished shaving? I might flnd somethlng to interest me. I did. . Shaying over, the tattoolst began to speak, rapldly, unemotionally. And first, aa if clearing .the cheap goods off the counter, he told me what he thought I Jcnew. • . A ^HAT by no means only sailors came to him; that oomparatively few clients wlshed to be done for show (though there was money to be made by the all-tattooed man or — stil more — woman) ; that the rest came for fun — -titled ladies (he mentioned two), clergymen, wilters, actors, actresses, and many business men, more men than women, though some women were the greatest addicts; that they came in pairs, sweethearts, who came again, separately, to have the incrlmlnating signs removed; that yemoving marks. was as much his business as putting them on. AU this the tattoolst said quickly, and then took a deep breath. It was what he next said that showed me how lmportant he must be. Not that he boasted; his dry unemotionaism continued until it almost hypnotised. People, he said, came strange dlstances to him: last week a Dutch lady arrived at a West End hotel, spent three days ln having "creepy-crawiies" put on her (she loved them), then departed for Hollahd; a man flew from Belfast; a French offlcer had written— he showed me the letter — "My serpents are lovely now;" a Spaniard, "fed up with the war," had just been tattooed first thing on arriving in London. "How he knew me I don't know. But it's like that. I get letters with just 'London' as address, and I'm always answering questions from tattooists in Holland, France, Germany, and— Burma. Yes, Burma and India are the top places. They do it with hammers and hoards there" (he showed me how), "a cruel way. I try to teach them better ways. There's more done in London ttaa other places in- Europe." ' >

"There are queer people come to me," he said: "Some bring thelr designs— queer ones. A lady wants 'somethlng saucy;' one wanted a hlgh-heeled shoe on her back. But I'ye only done two men completely— for show, of course. Wouldn't touch another head — disfigurement, you see, and trouble. Worst chap I knew— a forelgner— came ln and said he wanted a dagger oh his arm, with three drops of blood and 'Revenge* written. Said he'd shoot me if I did lt wrong. Dldn't want to do it, but he made me. Glad when he went." There was another pause whlls he flddled at a drawer of the table. He pulled out a photograph; sat down. "A lovely piece of work that -was," he said, " 'Home of the Gods* " (the picture was of Venus, Mars, and the goatfoot god reclining among follage and snakes). "Put that on a lady." He showed more pictures— one was of a man tattooed back and front. "That was a funny one," he said. "Man said he'd done some on himself— made an awful mess. So I said I'd better tidy it up, and I put a few lizards on and he liked it, so I put more and he liked it more. And now you see he's done all round. A lovely work pity he was so thin; he didn't show it off well, "A^D some like it and some don't. Most -can't stand more than two hours a day, so it takes years to do them all over. Did one mah, though, in six months. Then there was a glrl being done for show— a man pald for her. She hated It. Was crying all the time. She was only half done when she went off. Never came back. Spoilt it all, I thought. "Been here now 35 years. Here in the war. A grand time that; the Tommies were bringing their girls all the time for a lark. Working all the time. But I did a lot of other stuff in the war. Had to put blue shave-marks on chins as were taken from legs to put on smashed-up faces. Same things go on now. I go out a lot — West End mostly — to make eyebrow llnes, and to line lips better and tlnt cheeks. Going out when you're gone, as a matter of fact." r£HE time, I could see, had come for me to go too. But I had to ask him: "Would you show me how you do it?" He took me to the outer room. "I do the lads here," he said; "two-and-six a lizard. Quick work." Suddehly he took my arm with a strong movement, the more frightening since it was so much a contrast to his previous gentle style of talk. And a little motor like a particularly venomous dentiSt's drlll began to buzz. "Won't touch you," he said, with a grim little laugh. I was relieved. But in spite of his promise not to touch me the buzzing needle drew very near my arm. "I don't want to be done," I said, getting worried again. "Quite right," he said, almost passionately, dropping my . arm ; "don't you ever!" Fpr the first time he spoke wi '1 a direct glance at mc and conviction