The Life Of St Margaret

The whole of the land is heartily called to celebrate the XXXth anniversary of the accession of a humble grocer's daughter to sainthood. Hearken unto the tale of this heroic lady, and mark it well.

In the dark age of Britain, which is called MCMLXXIX, terrifying giant unions stalked the land. Our timid ancestors cowered in the streets behind piled heaps of unburied corpses, while millions of bloated unemployeds laughed and taunted them from the unassailable walls of their council castles.

But one plucky woman did steadfastly refuse to live in fear. Riding up on her shining Tory steed, with one mighty blow St Margaret lopped off the head of the ineffectual king Sunny Jim. To resounding cheers from the peasants, she rode forth into the treasure cave of the unions and smote all their assets; whereupon they all did lay down and roll over in their haste to have their tummies tickled.

The very next day, St Margaret faced a terrible decision. A dust-covered herald rode in to tell her that the evil Aarghentine barbarians had seized the distant, holy Land of Falk, which nobody had heard of until then. St Margaret's old friend Ronald the Jester capered around her counselling caution, saying he was sure that wise heads would surely prevail. But St Margaret - still vexed by the ever-swelling ranks of unemployeds - espied an opportunity for crusading glory, and so did send her peasant army south in a coracle to recapture the Land of Falk from the Aarghies.

Much blood was spilled - by the grace of God, none of it belonging to St Margaret - and soon Stanley, the cantankerous hermit of Falk, was free again to go about his business of molesting heathen sheep. The nation rejoiced - rejoiced, and rose up as one to proclaim the wisdom and bravery of St Margaret unto the world. This, then, was the First Test of St Margaret, which she did pass with her colours flying.

But the unemployed still remained in their council castles, growing larger day by day; and St Margaret was sore troubled in her mind (although nobody noticed this at the time).

Then one night, St Margaret recalled a vision of her childhood. When she was but a little girl, in the famine-ridden Years of XL, she recalled how her merchant father Robert the Ealdorman would sometimes, as a joke, put a sign outside his humble stall saying 'Ha'penny Off Tripe - First XXV Customer's Onlie'. How heartily she would laugh, she remembered, as the ragged peasants forsook their patient, queueing ways and wrestled and pulled each other's hair in the fight to get to the counter.

Awakening inspired from her dream, with alacrity St Margaret did issue a proclamation throughout the land to the councils, ordering them to sell the castles to the unemployeds for a half a groat. The craven councillors rent their garments in despair and said unto St Margaret, "But when the castles are all snapped up, coated with the dash of pebble by their occupants and in haste sold on to the villainous Bastard of Yup for many a guinea, where then will the poor of the parish abide?" "Exactly," smiled St Margaret; and the councillors went their several ways, scratching their heads in wonder.

And lo, it came to pass that, ere the year was out, the only castles remaining to the councils were tumbledown sties unfit even for swine. And the unemployeds were now shivering in rented sties; yet they had more shiny coins than they knew how to count, i.e. a couple. And this gave St Margaret another idea.

Soon St Margaret was appearing in the market squares of every town, dressed in the garb of a giant yellow bird, and promising the landless yokelry that if they purchased one of her feathers, then a miracle would be sure to happen. And thus it came to pass that, with the waxing and waning of the moon, many peasants had exchanged their first guinea for a treasured feather, which they worshipped with simple devotion each night.

"May God blind me, it worked," said St Margaret to herself. And she told the yeomen also that one called Sid was moving privily among them, to whom they must deliver some kind of message. And so St Margaret's name was held in ever greater esteem, as the gulled peasants granted her their other guinea.

But, marvellous to tell, the Earl of Stockton was seen to roam abroad one night from his sepulchral tomb, and appeared to St Margaret in her counting-house. And this apparition did say unto her, "Thou ghastly woman, thou art selling off the family silver." But St Margaret was unmoved, and replied that the new tinfoil tableware was every bit as shiny, and verily also less troublesome to clean. And so the shade departed, with a sigh, upon the wind. Such was the Second Test of St Margaret.

But presently an ugly storm settled over St Margaret from the dismal West lands, where wondrous flying toys were made. It was called forth by the dashing Michael of Heseltine - whom St Margaret had raised up, from his lowly origins as a rich landowner, to sit at her feet to give her somewhere to rest them.

Even as the weird lands of the West fell into disrepair, Michael urged his patron to grant them as a boon to her nominal ally, the Holy Roman Empire. But St Margaret seized her dread handbag, and told her court that her loyal friend Ronald the Jester was an avid collector of flying toys of divers kinds; and long had he fixed his covetous eye on the West lands. Hearing this, Michael did grow sore with wrath; and, with a disdainful flick of his glorious golden mane, strode forth into the wilderness and was swallowed up in the mists. And henceforth no more was heard of him, at least for a while. And this was St Margaret's Third Test.

"Verily, the hand of the Lord is shielding me from all harm," proclaimed St Margaret. But she spoke too soon. For her cutlery had all fallen apart.

In her hubris, St Margaret did then issue a decree across the land. And in this proclamation was there announced a tax, upon every head. And now Michael - even he whom she had forsaken - rode out of the wastelands to proclaim that it seemed a bit unfair that he, a rich man, should have to pay no more for his head than a poor swineherd. And, although Michael had never heretofore been heard to say much in favour of the swineherds, yet they did rally to his call and march upon St Margaret in a mighty peasant revolt.

Although the loyal sheriffs and their constables kept the peace by cracking open many heads (no discount available), St Margaret now became sore troubled by a dream in which a dead sheep spoke against her. And when she awoke, she found that it was true; and the dead sheep was challenging her to a duel, along with the rebellious Michael.

So it came to pass that St Margaret donned her blue armour and rode out before the eyes of the nation, to joust against her traitorous underlings. And when the dust had settled, the unseated Michael was calling for physick - afflicted as he was with a broken lance up his privy part; the unwholesome semblance of life was gone from the sheep; and St Margaret was even now victorious. But the great crowd had all departed. And a voice spake from a smoke-filled tent, saying: "St Margaret! The Lords are calling you to their side. Do thyself a favour, for the sake of our party, and heed their call."

And thus it happened that a humble squire named John, who was found asleep in a ditch, succeeded St Margaret. And hence the kingdom fell to ruin.

But a young boy named St Anthony had been watching all this, with his pet basilisk Gordon by his side. And thereupon did he vow to learn by rote all of the lessons of St Margaret. Especially the last bit. And he looked down at his basilisk, and smiled.