Northern Weekly Gazette. — 1902-05-03 (Stockton-on-Tees, Cleveland, England)

DENIS WILSON. A STORY OF RIPON BONE riOUSC.  B R. BLAXEBOItOFGU.  Lest some of my Ripon friends should question the correctness of the following story let me explain my position. lam writing from memory. The story as hero given is as nearly as I can remember hearing it told by the late Mr John Burton, a member of the Ripon bench of Aldermen somewhere about 1866, I fancy he 11.4 d in his possessioii an old MS. with a full account therein written, but when given to the writer it was delivered without scrip or book. The dates herein mentioned have been arrived at by taking the average age of mankind, and are therefore only approximate, and in general possibly do not a,pproch being accurate any nearer than ten years either way. Many readers of the "Weekly (lazette" will be aware of the fact, that Ripon once had a bone house and a gruesome place it was. The bones representing many thousands of individuals were arranged from floor to ceiling, if I remember correctly filling several arches, about eighteen feet high and some twelve feet deep. Closely packed were these bones, mainly two crossed thigh bones and a skull, row upon row, so filling the whole space. For the benefit of the curious, no certain history has been handed down, as to how they came there, or even when they were thus symmetrically arranged.. There they were when the writer was a boy, and many were the times he has gazed upon that white grinning collection with, in his earliest days, fear and trembling. However, in Dean Goode& time they were all removed and accorded a burial place in the churchyard. Near the door (which opened on to a pathway leading into St. Agnes-gate) and within the crypt there was a small niche containing two huge thigh bones, Ml ordinary sized skull, having on one side near to the temple a fearful fracture, as if a battle axe, wielded by some mighty warrior had dealt a fearful blow. But it was whispered that it was the mark of a, foul murder—of whom, and by whom done, how, when, or where, none ventured to suggest, and no one knew. The story was as dead as the brown skull itself. There it was, and few ever heard or knew the fearful history which had become attached to the ghastly relic, there being no time to recount the story to the casual visitor.  Somewhere about the year 1680 there was a society of men composed of vergers, clerk, ringers, and sexton, all belonging to the Minster, who on certain nights gathered together at a certain small hostel then known by the sign of "The Old Green Tree." Its exact position is now not known for certain. Some say that it stood in St. Agnes-gate, but I have heard it said that its sign swung before what was, and probably is to-day, the site of "The Slip Inn." If so, it stood in -sight of the old pile, but on the opposite sight of the Skell, I am inclined to believe that it did there stand. Be that as it may, for the sake of the story we will assume that such was the ease. The society of "Church Mates" was in no seals° a secret one, but it was exclusive, those only in some way connected with the Minster being admitted as members. Minutes of any special occurrence oonmected with their craft were eareiully entered in a book at the close  of their meetings, and this book was in existence in the year 1805. On a certain night one blustery November day, in the year 1680, a goodly number of members of the "Church Mates" were gathered together in their private meeting room. The usual bowl of "Church Mates" punch had been placed upon the table. The presiding genius of the evening, the senior verger, had ladled out to each a steaming potion The fire piled with logs, crackled and blazed, and hissed scornful defiance at the hail and sleet, so persistently driving with a continuous patter against the closed wooden shutters. All being thus happily and cosily settled the old sexton was called upon for his story, that night being his turn.