The place is Gloucester City; I am on patrol beat number three.
The time is 02-45am, and all is silently
progressing through another lonely night-shift... not a soul around;
the dead streets echo to my footsteps; beyond that, the only sound
is the wind that funnels through the narrow alleys, here and there;
I turn off Westgate Street, down into College Court... the thoroughfare
leading into College Green, where the great Cathedral lies.
The little passageway is shadowed; carefully, I cast my eyes
across the shop-doors... check the locks, shine my torch for better view;
then, by the The House of the Tailor of Gloucester... I walk beneath the arch into
College Green...
the car park empty; and there... in splendid majesty
towers the mighty stone Cathedral, into the night, in front of me.

My footsteps echo like the crack of doom upon the old flagstones
beneath the border of the trees that guard the crouching houses thrown
along the south side of the Upper Green, as I walk down to turn
into the precincts,
skirting round the Great East Window; to discern
how many drunks and dossers I might find within these hallowed grounds...
but as I pass the south transept... something makes me turn around.
There; by a small door, stands a cassocked figure in the shadowy light...
who lifts his hand and calls to me...

"Goodnight, my son; be safe, this night."

I study him; he's sixty-ish; he wears a beard... his face is thin;
As I make to answer him, he turns away and walks back in
through the door into the great Cathedral, and there, echoes, plain...
the screak of ancient hinges, and the rattle of the keys again...

being turned; how very odd. I'd better check all is secure...
it's very late for Godly works; and so, I carefully check the door.
Nothing moves; and so I take up my patrol once more, around
the outer east end of the massive nave, where, in the past, I've found
the dead-beats, and the drunks, and dossers slumped against the buttressed wall...
but tonight, it's silent as the grave... there's no-one here at all.
I quietly walk on down the path towards the ruined infirmary...
a single standing stretch of arched wall; where my footsteps hollowly
echo in the silence as I move on down to Miller's green...
almost as if I'm being followed... but there's nothing to be seen.
But, even if there was... the shadows here are dark, with no street lights,
except the odd, wall-mounted lantern glowing dimly in the night.

This really is a creepy place at night; of that, there's little doubt.
I walk on through the end-wall arch and the echo following me, fades out.
My boots crunch on the gravel as I pass the Little Cloister House;
The ancient, timbered, stepped-up gables loom... all's quiet as a mouse...
when suddenly... a crash and clatter...
WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WAS THAT?
I freeze... and then, a dark shape dashes out...
it's just a sodding cat
rummaging the waste-bins; and I breath again... that was a fright!
Greenly eyeing me, the cat slinks off beyond the pool of light
thrown by the streetlamp on the corner; Miller's Green is dark and still;
before me looms the shadowed, vaulted passageway through which I will
walk back into College Green where, to my right, the Almonry
stands hard by St Mary's Gate; once, entrance to the Monastry...

that stood, in medieval times, here; I resume patrol again...
I pass beneath the gateway's ribbed arch, stepping into Three Cocks Lane.
There before me, in St Mary's Square... the ornate Monument
to martyred Bishop John Hooper of Gloucester... recreant Protestant;
who never would recant, and thus, for heresy... at length, condemned
by Bloody Mary; the, then Catholic Queen; would meet his gruesome end
by being burned alive at this same spot... where now, the only sound
is the mournful whimper of the wind, all softly spinning round
the intricate, carved stonework, as he gazes down towards the gate
as if to say...

"Move on, my son; guard The Queen's Peace... it's getting late."

And so, I walk up Three Cocks Lane, and turn back into Westgate Street;
patrolling up towards The Cross... the City Centre, where the beats
converge...

No sign of Tim on five beat... he must be down by the quay...
Ah!... there's Mike across on four beat...Hey! He's flashed his torch at me...
Hurry on up to The Cross... What's up?... He laughs; "I'm bored to hell...
it's quiet as a bloody grave... what's your patch like?... come on, do tell."
I smile; "It's much the same as yours... the only really big event
was... a damn cat raiding bins... d'you think that's "Loitering with Intent?"
Better not to mention what I think I saw in College Green...
it would rather blow the "Street-cred,"
and... I don't want to be seen
as twitchy... but I'll check it out this afternoon; you never know...
"OK" he says, "I'll see you later." and he turns away, to go
back down Eastgate Street, and I continue on my lonely beat;
shining torchlight into doorways, down the length of Northgate Street.

After I had had some sleep, I came back down to College Green,
and entering the Great Cathedral, told the Verger what I'd seen;
asking him if all was well... he looked at me most curiously
then motioned I should follow him along the nave, to where would be...
the door;
but when I looked, I could see nothing but a solid wall...
where the door should be... indeed, there was no sign of door at all.
He said there once had been a doorway here, three hundred years ago,
where they gave charity to beggars; but times change, alas...
and so
the door was walled up solidly in Cotswold stone; three full feet wide...
the outer door was left in place; so as not to spoil the southern side
of the outer prospect of this Gothic architectural jewel...
I stood; mouth wide in disbelief... staring like some mindless fool.

He watched my face, and then he smiled; "What you saw son, there is no doubt;
was Bishop Hooper... at this time of year he often walks about
his Bishopric...
You aren't the first young Copper... and won't be the last
to meet with Bishop Hooper at this time of year, when you go past
the south transept, as you patrol your patch, on down to Miller's Green;
the old, false door in the south-side nave... that's usually where he's seen
early in the mornings of the first few day of February...
always from that same old door, around the anniversary
of his death down on St Mary's Square, in 1555;
we've seen him once or twice in here... almost as though he's still alive.
It's almost as if he's checking up to make sure all is safe and well
with Diocese, and Dean and Chapter... and not least... his Cathedral.

Coppers come and Coppers go... and Gloucester changes down the years;
So does the Policing; no more foot patrols... just area cars.
College green is gated now... and locked; so they cruise quietly past;
and Bishop Hooper, it would seem, has found his peaceful rest at last.
No hollow echo of footsteps approaching from St. Michael's Gate;
No Constable on foot patrol... no need for him to quietly wait
at the old, false door to bid the Guardian of The Peace goodnight
as he patrols his beat...
expecting drunks, and not a creepy fright!
Yes; Gloucester, it has changed since I patrolled those streets so long ago...
but College Green is much the same; it hasn't really changed, although
the big, old trees are pollarded... the shadows are not quite so deep...
but still... the atmosphere is here... and certainly, the chilly creep
and shiver,
as his Monument looms dark beyond St Mary's Gate...
and the wind gives plaintive whimper in requiem to religious hate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author note:
If you are interested in seeing any of the places mentioned here;
check out this web-site which has a photographic tour of the Cathedral Close.
http://www.livinggloucester.co.uk/histories/cathedral/buildings_of_the_close/