York’s Magnificent Minster

York’s cathedral or ‘minster’ comes with a list of superlatives: largest medieval Gothic church in the United Kingdom, greatest survival of original medieval stained glass in Europe, one of the oldest British cathedrals, and, of course, the question: Why is it a ‘minster’ rather than a ‘cathedral?’

The answer it turns out, is that it’s both. The official title is the Cathedral and Metropolitical Church of Saint Peter in York, but nearly everything in print and in the cathedral’s own branding calls it York Minster, a title that reflects its origins as a Christian mission in northern England in the years after Rome and before the conversion of English rulers and people to Christianity.

Cathedrals are never really finished, and York has an active stoneyard working at replacing damaged images… and begging money for the work!

The building we know was built between 1220 and 1472 on the foundations of a previous cathedral built around 1080 on or near the site of a wooden church built for the conversion and baptism of Edwin, King of Northumbria. Also beneath the Minster are remains of the Roman Principia or headquarters: York was an important city in Roman Britain as well.

So much so, in fact, that Constantine the Great, the first Roman emperor to end persecution of Christians, was in York when he was proclaimed emperor. His statue stands just a little away from the cathedral entrance.

York is noted, as mentioned, for its original medieval glass. The East Wall, first above, depicts the Last Judgement; it’s the largest expanse of medieval glass in the world. Just below it, the Five Sisters window; each of the five lancets is over 53 feet tall. Clearly, not everyone has been happy with the maintenance!

England’s 16th-century Reformation was hard on churches and monasteries; many were destroyed and their ‘idolatrous’ decoration stripped away. York was spared largely because Henry VIII saw it as the northern anchor for his new Church of England, with Canterbury at the south. It is still the seat of the Archbishop of York, second-highest cleric after the Archbishop of Canterbury.

The small ‘buttons’ that are part of the ceiling decoration are each elaborately-worked gold-leaf-covered sculptures of religious and historic scenes. The dragon fixed to one wall is actually a pivoting hook for a pulley system to lift large objects to a balcony.

Two clocks are not as old as they may seem. The clock set high in the wall above figures of two knights is from well into the 1600s, when minute hands were first added to clocks. On the quarter hour, they move toward each other and their weapons clash. The astronomical clock, though old in style, was built in 1955 as a memorial to airmen who had flown from nearby in World War II.

The Chapter House, meeting place for the cathedral’s brothers and priests, dates to the early stages of the building; the octagonal room with stained glass reaching up into almost the center of the ceiling is just amazing, as is the fact that there are no pillars supporting it. The hundreds of small sculptures, above, on the Chapter House walls are each different and range from comic to sad.

The great nave is split, as was common, by a wall across the cathedral, separating the common folk who attended but did not participate in services in medieval times from the religious and the wealthy, who passed behind the screen, sat in the ornate choir seats, and took part.

The choir stalls above are actually a reproduction. While the Minster escaped the worst of England’s religious and civil turmoils, in 1829, an arsonist with both religious and mental issues burned the stalls and damaged other parts of the cathedral; he was easily captured because he left his name and address on threatening placards he left on the railings.

Another fire, this one accidental, in 1840 did considerable damage and left parts of the church without a roof. At that time, the cathedral was deeply in debt and for the next fifteen years or so much of the damage went unrepaired and eventually services were suspended. Only in the 1860s was the last of the damage undone.

Another fire, in 1984, appears to have been caused by lightning striking an electrical junction box on the roof. Firefighters purposely collapsed the roof of the south transept to save the building; the damage was restored by 1988.

Beneath the main church are two underground areas. The first, the crypt, is, well, a Gothic crypt, and contains a number of exhibits, including the Doomstone, a carved scene of lost souls being pushed into a boiling cauldron by devils and demons.

Also in the crypt are remnants of the current church’s Norman predecessor, on which the new church was built—but not as well as one might have hoped. In 1967, an engineering survey revealed that the entire building, and especially its central tower, was close to collapse.

Emergency repairs were undertaken, filling in spaces that had been left by early builders and installing a system of rods and supports, whose ends can be seen in the picture below. One wag called it “a concrete solution.” During that work, engineers found portions of the Roman Principia that can now be seen.

There’s room for a bit of fun as well; a kind staff member memorialized our visit and perhaps created a model for future statuary…