St.George and the Crocodile: Being a Discourse on How Some People Have All the Luck

Circa 1630 A.D., a crocodile which was kept for kicks in the Court of Charles I of England, slipped out of its cage and, breathing deep the sweet air of freedom, slithered into the dark English woods and disappeared. That is, until it skulked out of the forest and ventured into the small town of Wormingford where it terrorized the local peasantry who, reasonably enough, concluded that the scaly, green monster was a dragon.

At the same time at which the good folke of Wormingford were vexed thus sorely, it so happened that a Knight errant by the name of Sir George Marney of Layer de la Haye, happened to be traversing through the countryside, and was beseeched by the good people to aid them against this unholy menace. The noble Knight at once agreed, and having pledged the valour of his heart and strength of his arm in defense of the village, commenced mortal combat with the monstrous serpent.

St George and the . . . Crocodile?

Pitched battle was engaged betwixt the stalwart Knight, clad in bright armor with trusty lance, and the foul fiend with fangs bared and murder in its bloodshot eyes. Our valiant hero tipped his sturdy lance, and, spurring his worthy steed, charged full-tilt at his foe. There was a furious clash!—A horses bray!—A hellish howl from the demon!—And Lo!—the seed of the woman had crushed the serpents head!

Elated by victory, our chivalrous Knight cantered round the dragon, lying now quite dead in dust and blood, and lifted the visor of his helmet to wipe the sweat from his noble brow. The peasants thronged their worthy deliverer with shouts of adoration and gratitude. But our hero snapped his visor shut, and, plying his golden spurs to the flanks of his gallant mount, soon disappeared into the rugged countryside.

The tale which I have related is no work of fiction—Faith! It is history, true and sure! Indeed, the town of Wormingford boasts of the tale to this day, even claiming the origin of the St. George mythology, though their story is about thirteen hundred years too late. 

My friends, have not some all the luck in this world? What shouldst thou give?—troth—I wouldst give every penny that ever I earned—to have been a Knight wandering through the countryside when a village needed rescuing from a stray crocodile! It is true, one can purchase Alligator tags for $25 in Louisiana. But no one will hail you as hero and deliverer for bagging one with a shotgun. Give me a steed, a lance, and an escaped carnivorous amphibian in Renaissance Europe, and I, too, shall be a hero sung by the wandering minstrels and bards! But Alas! Deeds of heroism, of song and legend, are more difficult to come by in this age of modernity.

So here’s a toast to Sir George Marney of Layer de la Haye! Raise a glass with me, noble gentlemen, to the heroes who were in the right place at the right time. Hear! Hear!

Some people have all the luck . . .