“I have come to this newly created vista in the dead of night at the request of Mabel Hawkes, resident and owner of a lodging house on High Petergate, just yards from the Minster’s west face. A very striking and elegant older lady, dressed to the nines, which seems a little strange at this time in the evening, she had served me a sherry and showed me several of her rooms before beginning her tale.

She has been plagued of late by unusual occurrences and the feeling that she is not alone. Rooms within her lodgings are either unusually hot or cold, with no explanation , accompanied by strange noises such the distant sounds of an organ being played.

“It’s disturbing some of my gentlemen who are here in the city for work and not getting a wink of sleep. Major Carlyle, my Scottish gentleman, remarked that it was very hot in his rooms the other night and was having to sleep on top of the sheets with the window open. I had to check on him twice last night just make sure he was comfortable” she said in a most aggrieved manner. I assured her I would get to the bottom of the cause of her troubles.

I assembled my clockwork lantern in the street outside Mrs Hawkes’ establishment, and as was the case previously, the addition of moonlight to the lantern’s purple glare made several apparitions become visible. The first was an unusual sight to behold, looking clearly like an archbishop complete with mitre and crosier, or crook to you and I. He seemed to glide towards me blessing anything and everything as he passed by. I can only assume that this was Archbishop Walter De Grey whose sightings are manyfold in the area and usually regarded as harmless. This placid scene was then corrupted by the smell of burning and the crackle of cinders and flickering light, soon turning to fire. A figure spinning and flailing came into view, seemingly ablaze, his shroud rippling with licks of flame engulfing its entire length. There was an anger and malevolence about this spirit which was both shocking and startling but I could not help but feel that this person was in the most terrible pain and anguish which could only engender my pity. This had to be the notorious arsonist Jonathan Martin, his mind tormented by visions of a fiery hell and it seemed to me that he was trapped in that place now.

In my research into the ghosts which may or may not inhabit York’s magnificent Minster, I had come across the story of the disturbed Mr Jonathan Martin. Martin hailed from Hexham and was raised by his aunt Anne Thompson who instilled the young Martin with the fire and brimstone vision of hell. His early years were beset by trauma, having witnessed the murder of his sister, and the first signs of fractures in his fragile mind started to become apparent. He was sent to his uncle’s farm to recover where he learnt the trade of a tanner.

Being once again in the wrong place at the wrong time, Martin was press ganged into the Navy where he served 6 years on HMS Hercule, where the crew remarked upon his strong religious views. Seeing action in the battle of Copenhagen, his religious views became the catalyst for many of his life’s troubles.

Becoming a Wesleyan preacher he took issue with the Church of England, describing them as “Vipers from Hell”. His mind wracked with torment and seeing conspiracies all around, he disrupted many a church service and at one time threatened to shoot the Bishop of Oxford. For this deed he was committed to a lunatic asylum, from which he promptly escaped, twice!

He returned to a normal life for a few years until 1829 when he visited York, and the final cracks in his already broken mind resurfaced. Taking issue with the sound from the Minster’s great organ - as a local myself I cannot disagree, the organ has a most peculiar sound - Martin hid within the building after a service and after stripping off his clothes piled several pews and set them alight. A great section of the Quire and East Window suffered damage in this fire and it was by luck alone the Minster did not burn to the ground. A manhunt for Martin ensued and he was captured near his hometown of Hexham. His trial received national acclaim and even though he was found guilty by a jury for a capital crime he was not condemned to death, but was instead found guilty on grounds of insanity, and was detained in Bethnal Royal Hospital until his death some nine years later in 1838.

It would seem Martin did not find peace of any kind, his tormented soul forever battling the fires of hell.

Discussing my findings with Mabel did not calm her, and she became increasingly concerned for her new curtains, thinking the apparition of Martin would set them alight. Trying my utmost to reassure her that spirits tend not to completely cross over from the other side, and the increase in heat would merely be a feeling rather than the risk of combustion. For her sake and that of her upholstery, I hope that I am correct. It would indeed put York residents in great danger if the damaged mind and spirit of Martin were to be let loose in the present.”