The long-tailed swallow has been a symbol of luck and resilience throughout history. For Anna Campbell-Jones, they also represent beauty and a way of protecting the planet

Photography by Reuben Paris

I met an eighty-year-old man in a pub recently, with tattooed ears and a twinkle in his eye. We struck up a conversation, as you do, and before long we were comparing our tattoos. It’s not often you see an older chap with inked ears, but that wasn’t even the most striking part — we both had swallows, sweeping in synchrony across our hands, tails skimming our wrists, as though the only thing keeping them from taking flight was the ink pinning them in place.

There’s something ineffably moving about the swallow. They’ve flitted through folklores from Portugal to China, often bringing good fortune or safe returns. In the world of tattoos, swallows are as debated as they are beloved. For some, they must be earned by conquering the high seas. Others argue that only the brawniest of streetfighters are worthy of them. But I’ve never been one to follow rules when it comes to symbolism. Meaning, for me, is personal — layered, lived in, and shaped by resilience.

With Ally Mitchell from Ocean Plastic Pots

When my marriage ended, I marked the moment with my first tattoo, a swallow. A permanent talisman, etched in ink, representing my ability to survive a difficult journey and return to myself. The swallow didn’t commemorate an ending, but rather my endurance — a commitment to rebuilding, to coming home, to growing through change.

But that tattoo wasn’t my first swallow. That honour goes to an ornament I found as a child at a church fête — a single swallow, crafted from metal, painted with uncanny realism. Not a flying duck — those kitschy 1950s wall staples that so many kitchens once proudly displayed — but something more singular, more searching. It was, to my young eyes, utterly exquisite.

My father was an architect, a modernist, firm in the conviction that my bedroom could be any colour… as long as it was white. So I curated my rebellion quietly, through objects. A growing collection of colour, character and contrast — a silent self-portrait assembled through things. That swallow became a cornerstone of that collection. It moved with me from house to house, surviving every relocation-fuelled declutter. It’s lived on every wall everywhere I’ve ever called home — a resilient little beacon of individuality and ability to endure.

Years later, I met Ally from Ocean Plastic Pots — we met at a climate conference in Glasgow. Over coffee in the West End, he floated the idea of doing something with flying ducks or seagulls. I laughed — maybe snorted, even. And then, I had a brainwave, and I knew. I bolted from the café, dashed back to my flat, yanked the swallow off the wall, sprinted back, and slammed it on the table. “BOOM!” I might’ve shouted. We still laugh in amazement about that day, that moment when we knew we were on to something and our collaboration set sail.

We are both passionate about transforming ocean waste into objects of positivity, beauty, activism and meaning. And what better symbol than the ‘Lucky Swallow’? Migratory, hopeful, loyal. They return, season after season, no matter how far they’ve travelled or what storms they’ve weathered.

Swallows mean different things to different people. For some, they symbolise bravery or distance travelled; for others, they represent family, freedom or fidelity. But what unites all those meanings is resilience. That quiet insistence on continuing. On coming home.

So, if you hang one of our ocean plastic Lucky Swallows in your home, let it hold your story. Share that story with your friends and I guarantee — they’ll have one to share with you. Because when we share stories of resilience, something beautiful happens: we remind one another that we’re not flying alone.

Find the swallow collaboration with Ocean Plastics Pots at annacampbelljones.com