York is, of course, absolutely packed with history for those who have the time and inclination to go after it. Ghost stories abound. For that matter, ghost stories are not uncommon on RAF Stations, particularly on the ex-operational airfields from WWII, although I suspect an ulterior motive may play a part in their continued persistence. Perhaps the best known in our part of the world is the Middleton (Teesside Airport) Ghost, but there are others; Leeming had (still has ?) its No.1 Hangar Ghost, too.
I keep an open mind. I have never seen a ghost yet (but never is a long time), and am generally sceptical. But there are some stories for which the corroborative evidence is so strong that it almost compels belief. The one I have in mind is now 60 years old, so it may be new to anyone under the age of 70.
York Minster (the largest Gothic cathedral in Europe) was in the hands of the Benedictines for six hundred years up to the Reformation, which it survived, although the great Cistercian foundations in North Yorkshire (Fountains, Rievaulx, Byland, Mount Grace) were destroyed by Henry's Commissioners and are now only picturesque ruins. However, it is not the magnificent Minster which is the subject of this tale, but the Treasurer's House in the Cathedral precincts.
There are many versions (and Google has a whole selection to choose from), but the basic story is always much the same and I will tell it as I heard it (to the best of my recollection, but nearly a lifetime ago). In the Treasurer's House there was a large cellar. It was not at all a "spooky" sort of place: it was quite well lit - the sort of "games room" in which you might find a snooker or table-tennis table. Along one wall were the junction boxes for the house wiring, and on them an electrician was busy working.
The first thing he heard was a distant sound, a single note, which he later compared to an ineptly played bugle (had he been in the Army - or in the Scouts ?) Then it sounded again, but this time much louder and closer.
Suddenly from one end wall there emerged a man in tattered greenish rags and leather, wearing a sword, and mounted on a shaggy farm-horse, who appeared to be the leader of some score of following foot soldiers similarly dressed and armed with pikes. This ghostly platoon shambled the length of the cellar in absolute silence - the petrified electrician, pressed hard against the wall, noted that there was no attempt to keep step; they were dirty, scruffy and seemed utterly exhausted.
Although he was close enough to reach out and touch them (had he dared), they appeared not to see him at all, but vanished through the opposite wall. There was one more faint "call", and that was all.
A gruesome peculiarity of these apparitions was this: all their feet up to calf level (and the horse's fetlocks) appeared to have been cut off: it was if they were walking on the remaining stumps without the slightest trace of pain or difficulty.
Needless to say, the terrified electrician shot out of the cellar, resolutely refused to return (somebody else had to go back for his toolkit), told his story, and applied (successfully) to join the York Police Force (so he must have been of good character).
All the antiquarians, psychics and historians in York were on to this like wasps on ripe plums. The green "uniforms" rang the first bell. These were recorded as being worn not by Roman soldiers, but by some form of local "levies" of around 400 AD - a fact very unlikely to be known by a simple electrician. Then they tried him on various musical instruments: he identified the sounds he'd heard as a ram's horn. It was all checking out nicely.
But the truncated limbs were inexplicable - until they took the bull by the horns and applied to the Consistory Court for permission to excavate the cellar floor. Fifteen inches down they uncovered previously unknown Roman paving, which had become buried over the course of the centuries.
Game, set and match ! That's it. Believe it or not as you wish.
Sleep well,
Danny42C
"There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy" (Hamlet ?)