An Unexpected Encounter at Newcastle Cathedral

When I was sixteen, I gave an organ recital at Newcastle Cathedral in the north of England.

As is often the case with organ recitals, I requested time on the instrument the day before to practise and prepare. Four hours had been arranged from 6pm to 10pm, after the cathedral had closed to the public. The organist, Russell Missin, explained that he would be locking me in and would return at 10pm to let me out.

I remember hearing the heavy lock turn in the large wooden door behind the organ console as he left, and with that, I found myself alone in the cathedral.

I began work immediately, and as anyone who has prepared on a new organ will know, four hours can pass very quickly. There are stops to explore, combinations to set, and careful decisions to make about registration throughout each piece. Much of the time is spent writing in changes so that everything is ready for the performance.

The only light in the entire cathedral was the small lamp illuminating the music stand, along with another focused on the pedalboard. Everything else was in darkness.

After about forty-five minutes of playing, I heard a voice quietly call out, “excuse me.”

At first, I assumed I must have imagined it and continued playing, but a moment later I heard it again, slightly louder this time. I stopped and stepped out from behind the wooden screen surrounding the console, where I saw a young man standing there.

He explained that he had arrived for bell ringing practice and wondered where everyone was. I told him that I wasn’t aware of any group that evening, and that I was the only person in the building. I also explained that the cathedral had been locked, and that there was no way to exit until the organist returned at 10pm.

He seemed puzzled and suggested that there must be a way out, so I followed him to the back of the cathedral where we tried the large oak doors, but they wouldn’t open. They were firmly locked, and it was clear that there really was no way out.

I explained that he would have to wait until 10pm, which he accepted, although not particularly happily, and I returned to the console to continue practising.

At exactly 10pm, I heard the key turn in the lock behind me, and the organist entered. He asked how everything had gone, and I told him that there was a man inside the cathedral.

His immediate response was, “no there isn’t.”

I said that there was, and he looked at me with some doubt before switching on his torch and walking the full length of the cathedral, calling out as he went. I followed as he checked the pews, the aisles, and every corner he could find.

There was no one there.

He was completely certain, and although I knew what I had experienced, I simply nodded and said nothing more.

To this day, I have no explanation for it. The man seemed entirely real, as real as anyone I had ever met. I didn’t take note of what he was wearing, as at the time I was focused on preparing for the recital.

But I have never forgotten it.