No, I’m not talking about the gorgeous, little Prince George, but about his namesake, Saint George, the Patron Saint of England. Today is St. George’s Day and no doubt it has blissfully passed you by as you carry on with your normal Wednesday activities. Unlike St. Andrew’s Day, St. David’s Day and St. Patrick’s Day, the day of George seems to go by somewhat unnoticed each year. There are few, if any fireworks, or mass street party-esque celebrations, just perhaps a humble nod to him and his dragon slaying ways in an article, probably hidden deep in the central pages of today’s paper. I always think this is somewhat of a shame, and no doubt if George was here today he would suffer from some sort of inferiority complex. Perhaps we all do need a good Morris dance to celebrate our heritage and show some national pride on this of all days, which is, coincidentally, also believed to be Shakespeare’s birthday.
Flower-wise, of course, the English red rose is the day’s symbol and in time gone by, it used to be popular to mark St. George’s Day with the wearing of one on your jacket. I’m not sure how many people still do this today but wearing the red rose seems more probable than a casual Morris dance, so high five to the flower for being the mainstay of the tradition. Isn’t it amazing how much significance they hold, and continue to hold over centuries? Their symbolism will never fail to astonish me.
