York Audio Tour: Bishophill Echoes—Minsters, Markets & Mysteries

Look for the open paved plaza anchored by a striking building with bold red walls, tall white pillars, and a golden crest resting near the roof. That prominent building is the Mansion House, and through the gateway right beside it is the York Guildhall we just left.

This wide open space is St Helen's Square, but it has not always been so grand and orderly. Long ago, during the Roman era, the massive south-western gate of their fortress... the porta praetoria... stood right where you are standing. Centuries later, this spot completely transformed. Until the mid-eighteenth century, this very ground was entirely swallowed up by the sprawling graveyard of St Helen's Church. People used to trudge along a narrow dirt footpath directly across the graves to get between Davygate and Blake Street.

The nearby street junction even had the rather cheeky name of Cuckold's Corner. Eventually, the city needed more room. In 1745, they gave the church a new plot of land on Davygate, moved the graveyard, and paved right over this space to create the square.

It quickly became a vital hub. By 1770, stagecoaches rumbled out from the new York Tavern here, embarking on long, bumpy journeys to London. A few decades later, the famous Terry's opened their chocolate shop on the square, delighting locals for over a century, and today the elegant Bettys tea rooms sit proudly on the southeastern corner. From a quiet resting place to a gathering spot for rallies and massive holiday celebrations, this intersection truly holds the heartbeat of the city. Soak in the bustling atmosphere of the square, and once you are ready, our route continues just ahead on Blake Street.

Look to your left at the smooth pedestrianized paving curving gently past tall brick storefronts, anchored by the grand classical stone pillars of the Assembly Rooms just down the way. Just a minute ago we were in St Helen's Square, which actually sits right where a massive ancient Roman gate once stood. This path, Blake Street, originally emerged as a simple muddy shortcut between that Roman gate and another entrance to the north.

But beneath this very street, a secret lay hidden for nearly two thousand years. In 1975, excavators dug into the earth right here and uncovered the Blake Street Hoard, a collection of thirty-five silver denarii. Denarii were ancient Roman silver coins, the everyday pocket change of soldiers and merchants in the first century. A Roman soldier likely buried his savings in the dirt, entirely unaware he would never return to claim them.

As the centuries passed, the city built over that forgotten silver. The name Blake might come from a local Viking named Bleiki, or perhaps from an old word for bleaching cloth. By the Georgian era, this quiet shortcut had utterly transformed. The air here would have been filled with the loud clatter of horse hooves and wooden wheels, as this became a bustling departure point for stagecoaches heading north. Wealthy travelers would gather at those elegant Assembly Rooms, built in 1732, to dance and socialize before their long journeys. You can still feel that Georgian elegance in the late eighteenth century brick buildings lining the street.

It is wonderful how a simple ancient shortcut grew into such a vibrant piece of the city. Enjoy the beautiful Georgian brickwork before we wander on to our next destination.

Just down this narrow paved passage, you will spot a pair of dark wooden double doors set beneath a pale stone archway, with a glass lantern suspended right above the entrance. The York Medical Society was formed back in 1832, two years before the city even had a medical school. For decades, this pioneering group of doctors wandered. They rented rooms in hospitals and houses around the city, dragging their medical texts with them. But in 1915, they finally found a lasting home right here at 23 Stonegate.

The building itself is a late sixteenth-century house. Up near the roofline, there is a rainwater head from 1590, which is actually the oldest surviving one in all of York. Inside, the old dining room, beautifully decorated with classic circular wall ornaments known as paterae, now serves as their lecture hall.

The society purchased the building outright in 1944, but its medical history goes back even further. In the late nineteenth century, this was the home of a truly fascinating man named Tempest Anderson. His plaque is still visible by the entrance. Tempest was a respected surgeon by trade, but he had a remarkably dangerous passion. He was a volcanologist. You have to admire a man who spent his days delicately operating on patients, and his holidays hiking up active, smoking craters.

The society is also known for its annual oration, a formal speech that began in 1890. I love the story of the 1909 gathering. The famous physician Sir William Osler arrived to give a serious talk titled The Beginning of Medicine. He stepped up to the podium expecting to see a room filled purely with medical professionals. Instead, he found a wonderfully diverse crowd staring back at him, which even included the local Dean of York. Osler was absolutely delighted by this curious mix of everyday thinkers. At the banquet that followed, he stood up and raised a glass to the city, specially praising the brilliant, eccentric medical minds who had built this society from the ground up.

It is wonderful to think of all those curious individuals gathering behind these heavy wooden doors to share their discoveries. Take a look at the intricate stonework, and let's stroll on to see what lies ahead.

Look for the striking black and white timber framed building with its upper floors stepping outward, and spot the unique wooden sign above the door shaped like an open book that reads Holy Bible 1682. This beautiful structure at 35 Stonegate holds centuries of eclectic stories.

Just a minute ago we were at the York Medical Society, but here we step back even further. The front section of this building was constructed in the 15th century, though the land was owned back in the 1300s by the Prebend of Bramham, a senior administrative official of the church. See how the first and second floors jut out over the street? That overhanging architectural style is called jettied. It was a clever medieval trick to gain more floor space upstairs without having to pay for a wider ground level plot.

By 1682, a man named Francis Hildyard opened a bookshop right where you are standing, famously known as At the Sign of the Bible. In 1759, a later owner sold the very first two hundred copies of Laurence Sterne's famous novel, The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman.

The building eventually fell into the hands of John Ward Knowles in 1872. He was a stained glass maker who gave the facade its ornate, Tudor inspired decorative makeover. Later on, things took a rather curious turn. In 1999, an astrologer bought the shop, eventually teaming up with Uri Geller to open the Museum of Psychic Experience, and even running a haunted house attraction. Today it is a peaceful shop, quietly hiding all those ghosts and stories inside its medieval timber. Take a moment to soak this in, and our next destination awaits just ahead at York Minster.

You'll easily spot York Minster on your left by its massive, creamy-white limestone exterior, towering Gothic spires, and the striking, intricate circular rose window set high in the central facade. Just a short stroll from 35 Stonegate, which we saw earlier, we now find ourselves standing before a true giant of human devotion and history. This is the largest Gothic cathedral completed during the medieval period in Northern Europe, and taking it in all at once is almost impossible. The stone you see is magnesian limestone, quarried nearby, which gives the building its luminous, pale glow. Generations of stonemasons dedicated their entire lives to this structure, as the bulk of what you see was built over two and a half centuries, between 1220 and 1472.

Inside, this building holds one of the greatest surviving collections of medieval stained glass in the world. The Great East Window alone is the largest single expanse of medieval glass in the country. It was designed in 1405 by a master glazier named John Thornton. He was paid sixty-six pounds for his work, which would be roughly sixty thousand dollars today. It depicts scenes from the Book of Revelation across over three hundred individual panels. Then there is the Five Sisters window in the north transept... the transept being the arm of the church that crosses the main hall to form a cross shape. This window features five tall, narrow, pointed openings known as lancet windows. Instead of colorful Bible stories, they are filled with grisaille glass, which is a beautifully subtle, grayish-green glass painted with delicate geometric patterns.

But the story of York Minster is not just about ancient triumphs... it is also about survival. In the early morning hours of July ninth, 1984, a devastating fire broke out in the south transept. A subsequent investigation found an eighty percent chance that the fire was sparked by a lightning strike to a metal electrical box on the roof. The heat was so intense that the glass of the beloved rose window shattered, though its lead framing miraculously held the pieces together. To save the rest of the great cathedral, firefighters had to make a heartbreaking choice. They deliberately collapsed the burning wooden roof of the south transept by pouring tens of thousands of gallons of water onto it. It was a drastic measure, but it worked, saving the heart of the Minster.

The restoration that followed brought out the best in the community. When it came time to replace the roof bosses... the decorative carved wooden blocks where the ceiling beams intersect... the cathedral used new designs. Five of these were actually designed by children who won a competition on a popular British television program. It is a beautiful reminder that this ancient building is still a living, breathing part of the community today, and if you would like to explore the vast interior, the Minster is generally open to visitors from nine thirty to four Monday through Saturday, with a shorter window on Sundays. Look up at the magnificent spires one last time before we follow the path to our next destination.

On your right, you will see a modern red brick building with wide glass windows and the distinctive signage of York's Chocolate Story. Since opening here in King's Square in March 2012, this museum has celebrated a delicious piece of local heritage. York is quite literally a city built on chocolate. This place explores cacao's incredible journey from modern-day Mexico all the way to Europe. But the real heart of the attraction lies in the stories of the everyday people who worked in the legendary local factories. It shares the lives of workers at the Rowntree's factory, which opened in 1890, and the Terry's factory from 1926. These chocolate empires had a massive social impact, funding places for their workers to thrive, like Rowntree Park and the Joseph Rowntree Theatre. It is so wonderfully done that it won gold in the 2018 VisitEngland Awards. The museum is open daily from 10 AM to 5 PM if you want to create your own treats. The legacy of these factory workers still beats warmly at the heart of the city. Let the sweet history settle in, and let's make our way over to the famous Shambles Market.

On your right, you will spot a wide, arched metal sign spelling out Shambles Market, suspended high between the brick buildings and guiding the way toward a corridor of canvas-roofed stalls. After treating ourselves at York's Chocolate Story, wandering through a local market feels just right. The story of this space is actually quite bittersweet. Back in the 1950s, the city needed a new home for vendors after closing the market at St Sampson's Square and scaling back the one on Parliament Street. To create this open space, the city made a choice that still frustrates historians today. They demolished an entire street of medieval buildings known as Little Shambles. So much centuries-old architecture was lost forever to the wrecking ball. Initially, planners almost named the new space Gell Garth, an old medieval term for the area, but they settled on Newgate Market instead. It wasn't until a one point six million pound refurbishment in 2014 that it finally became Shambles Market. Today, eighty-six stalls and several food kiosks fill the area, and the heart of this market is its people. Families here have been setting up shop for generations. At the permanent stalls built for meat and fish, you will find Cross of York, a fishmonger that opened in 1957 and took home the national Fishmonger of the Year title in 2020. Nearby, Swain Family Butchers celebrated their fiftieth anniversary in 2022. It is wonderful to see that deep dedication to a craft. The market is open every day from nine to five if you want to browse. It is a wonderful community that keeps the city nourished. Take your time exploring the stalls, and let's continue on to The Blue Bell whenever you finish browsing.

You will spot it by its slender red-brick facade, the elegantly arched windows on the ground floor, and the lovely hanging sign shaped like a blue bell. Just a short stroll from the Shambles Market we explored earlier, we find one of the city's most stubborn little treasures.

The building began in the late seventeenth century as a timber-framed house with a jettied front. It was eventually refronted in brick and opened as The Blue Bell in 1798. But the real charm lies in a 1903 remodel by a local pub chain. Amazingly, the inside has not changed since. It is one of the very few pubs awarded a Grade II star listing entirely for its interior, which is a high British designation protecting exceptionally rare historic buildings. If you look inside, it still has the original varnished wood panels, glazed screens, and a tiny entrance lobby. For nearly ninety years, it was fiercely protected by one family. George Robinson, who actually helped found the York City Football Club, passed it down to his wife, and then to their daughter Edith, who finally retired in 1992. The pub is wonderfully tiny, holding just sixty-five people. To this day, it bans large groups, swearing, and music. They used to hang a fake private party sign on the door to scare off loud crowds, though loyal regulars knew they could just ignore it and walk right in. It remains an inexpensive spot, open every day from noon to eleven at night. Admire this wonderful survivor, and let's take a quick walk over to the Golden Fleece.

Look to your left for the pink-grey brick building with wide, three-part windows and a hanging sign showing a golden sheep. This is the Golden Fleece, an inn whose history stretches all the way back to 1503. Back then, it was originally built as a coaching house and got its name from the local wool traders who gathered here.

If you look closely at the front, you will see it is decorated with glazed tiles and ashlar, which is simply a term for large, smoothly cut blocks of stone. But the real stories are hidden inside. The Golden Fleece claims to be the most haunted pub in York. One famous resident spirit is Alice Peckett, the wife of a former Lord Mayor, who is said to wander the halls. You might even feel her presence in the back alley, appropriately named Lady Peckett's Yard.

There is an even darker tale, too. In 1800, a woman named Elizabeth Johnson forged a one pound bank note, which was roughly the equivalent of one hundred pounds today. For this crime, she became the last woman hanged at York's Tyburn, the city's execution gallows. A replica of her skull is actually displayed inside the pub. Oddly enough, someone stole the skull in January of 2022, but thankfully returned it later that same month.

If you are feeling brave, they serve moderately priced food and drinks from ten in the morning until midnight every day. It is a wonderful place to soak up centuries of local folklore. Soak up the centuries of local folklore, and let's stroll on to our next stop, the Merchant Adventurers' Hall.

Just a few minutes ago we were stepping away from the cozy corners of The Blue Bell, and now, we find ourselves at the back of something truly magnificent. Peeking through the surroundings here on your left, you can catch sight of the Merchant Adventurers' Hall.

Even from this partially hidden vantage point, you can sense the sheer weight of history. Built in 1357, this is the largest timber-framed building in the entire United Kingdom still standing and used for its original purpose. Imagine the labor it took to construct the Great Hall over five long years. Its massive roof is held up by a grand row of central timber posts and complex crown posts, all locked together with wooden pegs instead of iron nails.

What touches my heart most is why it was built. A group of influential men and women created this space not just for business, but for care. Down in the undercroft... the lower supporting floor... they established a hospital in 1371 to care for the poor and ill of York. There is even a beautiful attached chapel there that is still used for worship today.

Over the centuries, this group gained royal charters from King Henry VI and Queen Elizabeth the First, eventually becoming the Company of Merchant Adventurers in 1581. Remarkably, that company still exists today as a charitable membership group, keeping their ancient records safe inside.

If you want to look inside, the hall is open from 10 AM to 4 PM every day except Saturday. Take a moment to admire these ancient timbers before we take a short stroll to explore some of York's medieval parish churches.

As you look to your right, you will see one of the many beautiful stone structures that make this city so special. We just left the Merchant Adventurers' Hall a few minutes ago, where we talked about the busy world of medieval trade, but now I want to share a much quieter side of York with you.

In the year thirteen hundred, York was a city reaching toward the sky. There were around forty-five parish churches crowded into these compact, winding streets. Today, twenty of those medieval churches survive in whole or in part. That is a magnificent number, surpassed in all of England only by the city of Norwich. Twelve of them are even still used for worship today.

Each of these surviving buildings holds such intimate, human stories. Take Holy Trinity on Goodramgate, for example. It sits completely secluded behind rows of old buildings, and you have to walk down very narrow alleyways just to find it. Inside, it is dark, quiet, and wonderfully homely. The stone floors are completely uneven from centuries of footsteps. It is filled with high box pews. Those are tall, enclosed wooden seating areas with little doors, designed to keep families together and protect them from cold drafts during long services. Above the altar, there is a glowing piece of stained glass donated by a rector, or senior parish priest, named John Walker back in fourteen seventy.

Then there is All Saints on North Street. It is famous for a stained glass window called the Prick of Conscience, which dramatically illustrates the fifteen signs of the End of the World. But what I find most deeply moving is a small space attached to the west end of the building. It is the site of a former anchorhold. An anchorhold was a tiny, enclosed room where a religious hermit chose to be permanently walled inside. A person actually lived their entire life in that tiny space, dedicating every waking moment to prayer, watching the years go by through a single narrow slit in the heavy stone.

Sadly, not every church made it to the modern day. Saint Crux was once the largest medieval parish church in York. But by the eighteen eighties, the massive building had become structurally unsafe. The community tried desperately to raise enough money to repair and save it, but they fell short. The grand church was completely demolished in eighteen eighty-seven. But the story does not end there. The people gathered up the stonework and used those very same stones to build a small parish hall at the bottom of the Shambles. Even in loss, the city found a way to hold onto its memory.

These quiet sanctuaries hold the prayers, the fears, and the hopes of countless ordinary people. Take a moment to reflect on these quiet sanctuaries, and let's make our way toward the Grand Opera House.

Look across the street for that striking red brick building with an asymmetrical front and a lovely row of linked, round-headed windows on the upper floor. It is hard to imagine now, but when this Italianate structure, a design inspired by classic Italian architecture, officially opened on October 28, 1868, it was not a theater at all, but a corn exchange with a massive main hall measuring 74 feet long and 63 feet wide.

When British agriculture declined, so did the corn exchange. But in the early 20th century, a man named William Peacock bought it along with a warehouse out back. He spent 24,000 pounds, which is over three million today, to merge them into a grand music hall. The architect, John Priestley Briggs, added raked seating, which means the rows are angled gently upwards so everyone gets a perfect view, and a proscenium arch, the beautiful architectural frame around traditional stages. It opened on January 20, 1902, with a pantomime of Little Red Riding Hood starring Florrie Forde.

Taxes forced the theater to close in 1956. Then, a local named Ernest Shepherd ripped out that beautiful seating to turn it into a bingo hall and roller skating rink. You can almost hear the rumble of skates echoing through the old auditorium. Thankfully, in 1987, the India Pru Company spent four million pounds to restore the theater, reopening on September 26, 1989, with a majestic performance of Macbeth.

If you want to look inside, the venue is usually open Monday through Saturday from 6 to 8 PM. It is wonderful to see such a storied place still alive with drama today. Whenever you are ready to continue, our next stop is just steps away at The Water Lanes.

We just stepped away from the Grand Opera House, and now you are standing in an area that holds the ghosts of York's medieval past. Look around you. Today, the streets are open, but if we could peel back the layers of time, you would be standing at the entrance to the Water Lanes.

These were three narrow medieval streets leading right from Castlegate down to the waterfront of the River Ouse. Imagine stepping into an alleyway that looked very much like the Shambles, which we walked through earlier. They were lined with jettied buildings, hanging heavily over the narrow street below until the opposing rooftops nearly touched.

In the nineteenth century, people simply called them First, Middle, and Far Water Lane. But their roots go much deeper into York's Viking past. Back in the twelfth century, they had names like Kergate, Thrush Lane, and Hertergate. That suffix, gate, comes from the Old Norse word gata, meaning street. Kergate comes from a Scandinavian word for marshy ground, and Hertergate meant the street of the stag.

To Victorian artists like John Ruskin and the early photography pioneer William Henry Fox Talbot, these lanes were incredibly romantic. They loved drawing and photographing the ramshackle, leaning structures. But the reality of living inside those leaning walls was very different. The Water Lanes were notorious slums. They held the city's highest rates of poverty and crime. Police reports from the era are filled with terrible offenses, ranging from muggings to murder. There was even a bizarre case of a lady who visited a house on Water Lane to have her fortune told, only to find that her money had been smoothly stolen from her right during the reading. I suppose she did not see that coming.

The unsanitary conditions were the true tragedy of the Water Lanes. When a devastating cholera epidemic struck York in 1832, a full tenth of everyone who died in the city lived in these three small streets. Investigators later found that toilets were almost non-existent. Residents had to sneak into their neighbors' yards or simply use the street itself.

Because of this immense suffering, the City Corporation finally decided to tear the lanes down. The demolition began in 1852, widening First Water Lane into what is now King Street. The clearance lasted decades, finishing after the Castlegate Improvement Scheme of 1875, and eventually replacing the lanes with Cumberland Street and Friargate. Sadly, the displaced families were just pushed into other overcrowded districts like Hungate and Walmgate, bringing their struggles with them.

While the lanes are mostly gone, a few pieces survived down by the waterfront opening, known as King's Staith. Down by the river, you can still find Cumberland House, the Kings Arms Pub, and a rebuilt Tudor building called The Ship, all marking the very edges of these infamous medieval alleys.

If you wish to explore the municipal area here, keep in mind it is open Monday through Friday from eight in the morning to six in the evening, and closed on weekends. Picture the leaning timbers and shadowy alleys of the past one last time, and let's take a short walk over to the York Institute of Art, Science and Literature.

On your right, look for a grand brick building featuring a large rounded Romanesque archway and a distinctive central tower soaring upward. This is the York Institute of Art, Science and Literature.

Back on July 18, 1883, the Prince of Wales laid the foundation stone right here using a secret Masonic ritual. Architect Walter Green Penty designed this beautiful Clifford Street frontage, complete with an eighty five foot tower and carved capitals, the decorative stone tops resting on the entrance columns. When the Marquis of Lorne opened the building in 1885, it was a true palace of learning. The basement held a gymnasium, and the main floor featured a magnificent hall fitting five hundred people.

After later serving as the York Technical College, the space completely transformed. Today, it houses Kuda nightclub and the York Dungeon, which is our next destination. You can brave the Dungeon Thursday afternoons or from 10 AM to 5 PM most other days, though it is closed Tuesdays and Wednesdays. It is wonderful how a strict Victorian educational space evolved into a venue for modern thrills. Whenever you feel brave enough, we will head over to the Dungeon just steps away.

Right across from where we just admired the Institute of Art, Science and Literature, you will spot a tall, red brick corner building with large rectangular windows and a dark, dramatic banner hanging just above the main wooden entrance doors. This is the York Dungeon, sitting right here at 12 Clifford Street.

It opened back in 1986, making it only the second attraction of its kind, right after the original London location. Over the years, it transformed from a traditional museum into a live action, interactive horror experience loosely based on actual history. In 1997, a massive three and a million pound investment brought the lost Roman legion to life, and soon after, exhibits detailing brutal Viking attacks and historic witch trials were added to the lineup.

Today, actors lead visitors through different chilling eras. You might find yourself in a 1551 plague doctor surgery, listening to a rather unfortunate medical assistant, or sitting in the Dick Turpin area where sudden drop benches jolt downward to simulate a crashing stagecoach. It certainly keeps visitors alert.

But the dungeon has faced very real terrors of its own. Because it sits so close to the River Ouse, it has flooded severely several times, including twice in 2012. Those deep waters forced a massive redesign and a triumphant reopening in 2013, making the shows even more interactive and replacing damaged sets with clever character comedy.

The attraction also loves stirring up a bit of local trouble. In 2007, management made headlines by offering free weekend admission to anyone with an ASBO. An ASBO was an Anti Social Behavior Order, a strict legal restriction given by British courts to individuals causing public trouble or nuisance. The manager claimed he wanted to shock the offenders by showing them what medieval punishment looked like. Local politicians and crime victims were absolutely outraged by the stunt, but in the end, not a single person actually showed up to claim a free ticket.

They also ruffled feathers in 2004 with a Christmas show named Satan's Grotto. Local church leaders worried it might do real pastoral harm, though the Dungeon insisted the whole production was completely tongue in cheek.

If you ever want to brave the dark, they are generally open daily from eleven to four, and a bit longer on weekends. It is certainly a uniquely theatrical way to experience local lore. Whenever you are ready to continue, we can easily make our way over to Castlegate.

Look to your right down this narrow street, framed by flat red brick facades with traditional shopfronts, all drawing the eye toward a sharply pointed, pale stone church spire reaching into the sky.

Leaving the dark tales of the York Dungeon behind us, we are now standing at Castlegate, the historic approach to York Castle. This little stretch of road actually follows an ancient Roman route that once linked the great Roman fortress of Eboracum down to the River Ouse. Archaeologists have dug up old Roman homes here, and even unburied a glittering hoard of Viking treasure from the Jorvik period.

During the Middle Ages, Castlegate served as the vital link between the everyday city and the castle bailey... the bailey being the enclosed, fortified courtyard surrounding the main castle structure. By the Georgian era, this became a highly desirable address. Wealthy families built elegant mansions right along this stretch, and you can still see handsome brick buildings from the 1730s, like the one housing the Blue Boar pub.

But high society living did not last forever. In 1826, the street was abruptly cut short. The nearby castle prison needed to expand, so they simply extended the jail walls right into the neighborhood. Imagine living in a grand Georgian mansion and having a growing prison as your new neighbor.

Today, it is a much more peaceful pedestrian route, home to cozy homes and even a small chocolate factory. It is a lovely, quiet survivor of the city's sweeping changes. Take all the time you need to admire the architecture, and let's wander up to the castle itself whenever you feel like moving on.

Just a short walk from Castlegate, we arrive at our final destination. On your left, you will spot York Castle, a pale stone tower with an unusual clover-like shape perched high atop a steep grassy mound, with a long, straight flight of stairs leading directly up to its entrance.

This iconic ruin is commonly known as Clifford's Tower, and it represents nine centuries of royal power, political maneuvering, and profound tragedy. The story begins way back in 1068. William the Conqueror ordered a wooden motte and bailey castle built right here. A motte is a large, artificially raised earthwork mound, like the grassy hill before you. Because York was a densely packed Viking city, hundreds of homes were abruptly torn down to make room for this hasty construction.

The original wooden tower on this mound was the site of the darkest day in York's past. In 1190, the city erupted into a pogrom, which is an organized, violent attack against a specific ethnic or religious group. Fueled by religious prejudice and local merchants wanting to erase their financial debts, an angry mob targeted the local Jewish community. Around one hundred fifty Jewish men, women, and children fled to the wooden keep for safety, but the mob quickly laid siege. Realizing their position was hopeless and refusing to face capture and mutilation, their religious leader proposed collective suicide. The wooden keep was set ablaze, and the vast majority took their own lives rather than surrender to the mob's brutality.

The castle was rebuilt, and in the middle of the thirteenth century, King Henry the Third ordered a new stone keep constructed. He chose a unique quatrefoil design, meaning the building has a four-lobed footprint, much like a four-leaf clover.

By the seventeenth century, locals had grown to deeply resent the military garrison stationed here, mockingly calling the castle the Minced Pie. Then, on a spring evening in 1684, a massive explosion tore through the tower's ammunition magazine, completely gutting the interior. The military claimed a celebratory cannon salute accidentally set the roof on fire, which then ignited the gunpowder. Locals, however, had their doubts. Suspiciously, several soldiers had moved their personal belongings to safety just before the blast, and not a single garrison member was injured. The sheer heat of that massive fire actually baked the limestone, giving the tower the faint pinkish hue you can still notice today.

In 1825, the county bought the ruined tower and the surrounding land for eight thousand eight hundred pounds, which is roughly seven hundred ninety thousand pounds today, to build a massive, forbidding prison. That prison was eventually demolished, leaving behind the striking, solitary tower we see now.

If you would like to explore the interior and look out over the city, the site is open to the public every day of the week from 10 AM to 5 PM, except on Mondays when it opens at 11 AM.