A St George's Day service puts past and present into perspective for Scouts in Bishop Auckland.

IT'S St George's Day, the bairns who are to take part in the Scouts' re-enactment of the Golden Legend lined up either side of the pathway to St Paul's church in Spennymoor.

The little lad who is to play the sheep, which in a pageant about a dragon with a blood lust may not necessarily be considered star billing, wears white socks on his hands and, appropriately, a fleece.

His bleating naught availing, his mum's zipping him up. "Sheep don't usually wear T-shirts, " she says, gently. The knight's waving a little red and white flag, to show whose side he's on; the dragon looks quite affable, really.

Around 1,700 years after his beheading at the hands of the Roman emperor Diocletian, England may be hearing more of St George than ever before.

Whereas St Patrick appears to have been hijacked for its own purposes by the Guinness Brewery, so poor George is threatened by an army of flatulent football fans and (cause and effect, perhaps) by the makers of John Smith's Smooth.

For several reasons, among them that the beer in question may bear a passing resemblance to dragon's water, this is not necessarily a good thing.

Had George realised the spurious jingoism for which his good name would be assigned, it's possible that he'd have left the dragon to its dinner.

Last Sunday, of course, was different.

This was the Bishop Auckland scout district's annual St George's Day service, green jumpered boys with great armfuls of badges like Tony Hancock once had of blood. George has been the movement's patron saint since its inception 99 years ago.

Right from the start, Baden Powell sought to identify with the saint's values. "When he faced difficulty or danger, " wrote the founder, "he didn't avoid it but faced it with all the power that he had."

It's a patronage spread liberally, from Germany to Georgia, Portugal to Beirut and among butchers, chevaliers and (for reasons not wholly explained) those who suffer from herpes.

The Bishop Auckland district has six groups - divided into Beavers, Cubs, Scouts and a couple of Explorer packs for 14-18 year-olds - hundreds on parade for the service.

Last year's service had been at the much smaller St Helen's Auckland church. "I had to sit on the floor, " recalls Ian Johnson, the district commissioner.

Numbers in the district are 20 per cent up in the four years since the Scouting agenda was nationally reviewed, an attempt to make the movement more relevant - and more appealing.

On Ian's belt there's a mobile phone where once a sheath knife might have been; another leader wears his shirt outside his trousers.

"You certainly wouldn't have got that a few years ago, " says Ian . "In some ways things are less disciplined, less formal."

The service is led by the Rev Lynda Gough, St Paul's vicar, who by way of preamble to the play - Georgian theatre, as probably they say in Richmond - produces a tin of what appears to be Pedigree Chum ("the best dog food there is") and invites the bairns to have some.

Much mirth ensues, much feigned disgust, before - as if to underline that every dog food has its day - one or two are persuaded to try it.

"You're very brave, " says Lynda before revealing that it isn't really dog food at all.

"What is it?"

"Cat food, " mews a small voice.

It's actually a mixture of Mars Bars and lemon jelly, suggesting not only that those of us without a sweet tooth might have preferred Pedigree Chum but that (as the vicar puts it) not everything is as it seems.

The play's performed by Beavers and Cubs from Byers Green, narrated by Lynda. The sound effects are - well - effective, the dragon sounding rather like the Night Mail on the haul to Beattock Summit.

Lynda tells how the dragon eats two little girls every day, how it has problems with halitosis - "its breath smelled of poison" - and how the terrified villagers think George neither big enough nor strong enough to form much of a fire brigade.

Wrong, of course. The poor dragon is simply misunderstood. '"They all want to fight me, no-one wants to play with me. It's so lonely all alone in my cave."

St George gives the reward money to the poor and since on this occasion it's made of chocolate, the dragon has some, too. Thus saved from itself, the dragon plays games with the maidens instead, though it's still thought to like a drop of mutton stew now and again.

"We don't have many dragons around, do we, " says Lynda, "but there are things which we are a bit afraid of, things which are scary and things which are hard."

It's all very jolly, the vicar - prepared for anything - perhaps the most courageous of all. We sing Give Me Joy In My Heart and Colours of Day - Football's Coming Home perhaps having been thought inappropriate - pray for a damaged world, for peace and for the Scout movement, talk of the armour of God and the helmet of Salvation.

For the centenary, a true jamboree, 40,000 Scouts are expected at a worldwide camp in Surrey. Ian Johnson anticipates a yet greater surge in interest, wants to recruit more leaders to meet it.

Afterwards, however, the talk is not of the Scout Law but of the Child Protection Act, another necessary reflection on the 21st century way of the world. All must be familiar with and faithful to its provisions; here be dragons yet.