Our ghost story competition has prompted a great response, so much so that we've decided the entries we have been publishing each month in Yorkshire Ridings magazine deserve an even wider audience here on the web.  So - are you sitting comfortably? Then we'll begin...with The Lady Vanishes by Rosy Daley.

The human race is divided into those who believe in ghosts and those who do not – people also argue over whether ghosts are evil or benign. Having spent a few days in York visiting historical spots and hearing the ghoulish tales of torture, beheadings, deaths from plague and starvation, and terrifying ancient medical practices, I could be considered to have been in a receptive mood. I will leave you to decide on the reality of my experience.

On the last day of the holiday I went to Fairfax House, the Georgian house in Castlegate. As I bought my entrance ticket I noticed a young woman in a severely styled costume which was certainly not Georgian. Her blonde hair was neatly tucked up under a military style cap and she carried a large torch. I learned that before its restoration Fairfax House had been a cinema, and this volunteer was dressed as an usherette of the 1940s. In the large salon of the house there was to be a showing of old films as part of a celebration of the cinema in York.

I spent a delightful afternoon strolling through the elegant rooms, marvelling at the furniture and decorations. I then decided not to go back to my hotel, but to have supper in town and return to Fairfax House for the evening film performance – Hitchcock’s ‘The Lady Vanishes’. I am a pensioner and I had done a good amount of sight-seeing that day, climbing uneven steps to the Roman wall and clinging to wooden ladders in medieval houses, and therefore was looking forward to sitting down for a while.

My chair was elegant but not that comfortable; after 15 minutes or so my arthritic knee began to ache. Seated at the end of the row I was able to extend my leg into the side aisle. The inevitable happened: trying to alleviate one pain brought on another and my right leg went into an excruciating spasm of cramp. Trying not to cry out I staggered to my feet and clung to the adjacent door frame. I heard a step behind me and a woman’s voice whispered: ‘Come through here – take my arm.’ It was one of the usherettes and she opened the door just enough for us to pass through into an ante room. She was a very pretty girl with dark curly hair down to her shoulders.
‘Take off your shoe and put your foot on the cold tiles,’ she instructed and held my arm in support as I pressed my cramped toes to the floor. She bent and touched my knee and calf muscle and I was struck by how cold her fingers were. She said dreamily – ‘The pain will pass’- and made a strange movement with her hand, a stroking motion down the left side of her own face.

I realised the cramp in my leg had ceased and bent to replace my shoe. I turned to thank the girl for her help but she must have gone back into the salon, though I had not heard the door close. I flexed my toes and, when I was sure I could walk normally, went back into the salon and took my place again to watch the film.

I did not see my helpful usherette on the way out and asked the receptionist if she would thank her for me; when I described her she looked puzzled and explained that only one volunteer had been on duty that evening, the fair-haired young lady I had seen earlier in the foyer. The receptionist suggested that in the dim lighting I had not seen the girl clearly.  I reiterated that she had dark hair, not blonde, and I had seen her clearly in the ante-room.
‘There is no ante-room to the salon,’ the receptionist said. ‘The back rooms of the house were demolished when it was converted into a cinema.’ She obviously thought I was heading for senile dementia. As I left I noticed a leaflet appealing for people who remembered the time when Fairfax House was a cinema to write in with their recollections. York was clearly a place which valued its history.

I travelled home the next day. Despite my somewhat unnerving experience I had slept well and there had been no further recurrence of the pain in my leg. At the station I bought a local paper to read on the train and on the letter page there were several communications in response to the appeal for memories of St George’s cinema at Fairfax House.

I was particularly struck by the story from a woman who had written about her recently deceased aunt. The aunt had lived for many years as a recluse, but was known for her charitable works. Her deeds of mercy were done only at night as she did not wish people to be upset by seeing her face, which had been badly scarred. When clearing her aunt’s house the niece had come across a packet of old playbills from the cinema amongst which was a press cutting from the 1940s. It reported a fire in the cinema and as I read on a chill spread through me and my hands holding the newspaper began to shake...

One of the usherettes (the writer’s aunt) had taken a cup of tea to the projectionist during the run of the film and – strictly against rules – had lit up a cigarette. As she leant over to put down the teacup her cigarette touched the band of film running between the two reels and the celluloid flared up immediately. The flames caught her hair and the left side of her face was badly burned. This had been a great blow to the girl, who had been well known as a beauty before the accident. There was a photograph: it showed a young woman with long dark hair framing her charming face.

The film showing at the time? Hitchcock’s ‘The Lady Vanishes’.