What happened to the Rishi Sunak I knew at school?
Even our English genius for pageantry has failed to find a secure place for George in our national consciousness, except for that brief period of pride in the Empire when we still constructed pantomime dragons to be slain. By that time, of course, he had gone through a period of mediaeval transformation and become a dragon-slayer. With the dragon standing for Satan and all his works, that at least provided the nation with a spiritual legend. But there was a downside. The mediaeval legend also had George rescuing a damsel in distress, which sits uneasily with our developed understanding of the role of women.
But what do we do when a mistake has become enshrined in tradition? Put up with it, like the English rain, on the grounds that there is nothing we can do about it? Defend the choice because tradition is sacrosanct? Or face the fact that we have made a mistake, perhaps even committed a sin, and then repent and start again?
I hesitate between sin and mistake because I don’t for one minute think the ‘choice’ of St George was a conspiracy. I think it was a cock-up. As with so many human faults, it stemmed from an accumulation of human frailty, confusion and ignorance — all manipulated by the sins of greed, pride and chauvinism.
But England needs a patron saint. If George goes, who should replace him? We need only go back to the year of George’s martyrdom to find a suitable English saint. This man was Alban. In 304, he was scourged, then beheaded, for the crime of protecting a priest. He died for the faith. His feast is on 22 June — and June is a rather more clement month than April.
St Alban for England would take some getting used to, but I think it is time to leave George to those he belongs to, our persecuted brethren of the Middle East who certainly need a dragon-slaying champion.
This article is based on a sermon given by the Prebendary Graham Claydon at St Paul’s on St George’s Day.
Dune: Part Two is not a sequel but a continuation of Dune, so picks up exactly at the point you’d started to wonder if it would ever end. All I can remember from the first film is sand, sand, so much sand, and it must get everywhere, and into your sandwiches. But it is set
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