Mike Rhodes

Young George were a Turk and a soldier
There's not many folk as knows that.
He hithered and tithered round th'otlands
And on his head he wore a tin hat.

Right dapper he looked in his armour
A good shine he gave all of his gear
A long sword with a knob ended handle
But his pride were his long shafted spear.

T' hoss he rode were called 'Thunder'
A dappled great muscular steed
He clopped and he clipped under t'master
At a push he could crank up some speed.

Like I said, he were roamin round th'otlands
George were right parched and he knew
He could murder a pint something desperate
But would settle for a hot milky brew.

Up yonder a cave and some shading
"This'll do us, Thunder..." he said.
"A ten minute snap'll be champion
This tin hat is poachin me head.

In t'cave were an old, wrinkly Hermit
His sackcloth were ragged and dire
"A cuppa'd be favourite owd fella."
"Come in lad, I'll get kettle on t'fire."

"How's tha fettlin?" George asked th'owd hermit.
"None too good lad." the Hermit replied.
"All t'lasses round here have been eaten
Now there's no chance of getting a bride!"

"Eaten tha says?" surprised like
As George's back snapped straight as a rod
"Aye eaten..." replies th'owd hermit
"Be a right nasty dragon, that sod!"

"Kings daughter is t'last one remaining."
The hermit imparted right sad.
"Nay we cant have that, can we owd fella?
'Tis a champion tha needs... I'm the lad!"

So off George trotted to venue
Where t'maiden were meeting her fate'
An' up popped dragon all firey
His eyes piercing bright... full of 'ate.

"Tha can begger off!" hissed dragon to t'hero,
"Lass is mine as tha can plainly see,
I don't like to be disturbed at me dinner...
So be off or it'll be thee for me tea!"

Right vexed at this insult our George was,
So he tilted his spear at the beast
It shattered on th'impact o' dragon
An t'dragon thought "Oh, what a feast."

Our hero saw red when t'spear broke,
He jumped up and down in disgust.
"Tha's made me right mad, thee has...
That spear had not one bit o' rust!"

So now t'sword with a knob ended handle
Were drawn while on 'Thunder' he sat.
He thrust and he parried with t'dragon
And sweated like mad under t'tin hat.

At last George saw what were needed
Sword hitting scales just made a ding.
He swept in when t'dragon weren't looking
And thrust up... and under the wing.

"Ah'm done for!" cried the great dragon
"Tha's not fightin fair tha' aint."
"That'll teach thee to eat all t'young maidens!"
And for that... we made him a saint.

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