The Story
Long ago in the days of King Arthur, the people of Cornwall lived in fear. A terrible giant named Cormoran had made his home on a rocky island just off the coast. Every night he waded ashore and helped himself to the villagers' cattle and sheep, and sometimes he picked up a cartload of provisions just because he felt like it. Nobody dared stop him, because Cormoran stood eighteen feet tall and had a voice like a thunderstorm.
A young farmer's son named Jack decided this had gone on long enough.
He borrowed a shovel, rowed himself out to the island at midnight, and dug a great pit near the giant's cave. He covered it carefully with sticks and straw and a dusting of earth, then stood at the edge and blew his horn as loudly as he could.
Cormoran lurched out of his cave, bellowing in fury, charged straight at the noise — and plunged into the pit with a crash that shook the island.
"So much for you," said Jack.
The people of Cornwall called him Jack the Giant Killer and gave him a sword, a belt, and a coat of fine leather. The belt had words stitched on it: "Here is the right valiant Cornish man, who slew the giant Cormoran."
Jack was pleased, but there were other giants. There was Blunderbore, who had a castle in the forest; Galligantus, who lived on a hilltop; and others besides. Jack defeated each one in turn, not by being bigger or stronger — he was never that — but by being quicker, cleverer, and calmer under pressure.
He used a magic coat that made him invisible, a cap that told him what he needed to know, and a handful of very well-chosen words spoken at exactly the right moment. He rescued knights who had been imprisoned, freed a duke's daughter from an enchantment, and brought word of each victory back to the court of King Arthur.
The king welcomed him warmly, and the people celebrated. But Jack was not finished while even one giant troubled the land.
By the time he was done, the hills of Britain were quieter, the roads were safer, and the name Jack the Giant Killer was known in every village from Cornwall to the northern moors. Not bad for a farmer's son with a shovel and a good idea.