Nowadays, of course, I rely on my trusty mobile phone for taking photos. One of my absolute favourite crypts to photograph lies beneath Winchester Cathedral, and with an annual pass in my pocket I can happily take hundreds of snaps in every single visit. You can probably see why I tend to go crypt‑hunting alone – it feels a bit much to ask family or friends to loiter politely while I vanish into the shadows for “just one more shot”.

What makes this space so special is that it only reveals itself fully during the driest of summers. For most of the year, the crypt floor lies underwater, and visitors must remain on the viewing platform perched at its edge, gazing into the flooded chamber. Set low in the valley of the River Itchen, the cathedral rests on marshy ground with a stubbornly high water table that has never made life easy for the building.

In the early 1900s, the cathedral was quite literally at risk of collapsing. It was rescued by a diver named William Walker who spent six relentless years working in darkness, often at depths of up to six metres. He packed the foundations with an astonishing 25,000 bags of concrete, 115,000 concrete blocks, and 900,000 bricks. Thanks to his steadfast labour, the cathedral still stands today, and the beautiful crypt is there to be discovered.

Inside the crypt stands Sir Antony Gormley’s mysterious sculpture, Sound II, a lone figure cupping water in its hands as though guarding a secret. When the waters rise, its reflection mingles with the arches above, creating an otherworldly display of form and light on the flooded surface. The serenity here is immersive – a rare pocket of calm where you can step away from the rush of daily life and find a moment of true stillness.

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As yet, I haven’t managed to visit the cathedral on one of those rare days when the crypt floor lies dry and visitors are allowed to step beneath the arches and uncover its whispered secrets. Sometimes the crypt is flooded for eighteen months without pause, so finding it open will be a special moment – and a story for another day.

As a small side‑note – if crypts aren’t your only love, you can wander through some of my photos in glass coasters over at www.etsy.com/shop/CoasterClubUK

Close your eyes for a moment and imagine that you are by my side as I plan my next visit to a new crypt. My typical to-do list begins with identifying a crypt and finding it on the map – not so easy as you might think! From there, I fall down a happy rabbit hole of history, architecture, local tales and intriguing quirks, jotting down the details I want to investigate once I’m there in person. After double-checking the visiting hours, I mark a date in my diary and prepare my supplies: a generous supply of snacks and a fully charged mobile phone, ready for note‑taking and photo‑snapping.

With preparations complete, I arrive at the building entrance – whether it’s a church, cathedral, cemetery or castle – fully focused, slightly breathless, and with a barely supressed sense of anticipation.

The crypt is waiting for me…. or at least it would be if I could actually find it!

Who knew it could be so challenging to find the entranceway to a crypt once you’re inside the building? They seem to have a habit of lurking in dark corners, hiding down narrow stairways, or slipping behind cunningly disguised archways. And whilst it’s true that there is usually some wonderfully curious signage, it is often positioned right next to the entrance itself which is not especially helpful when you’re still trying to locate the crypt.

Somewhat surprisingly, I have recently discovered that a crypt entranceway is not always inside the building at all. My favourite not-inside-the building-entrance has to be St John on the Wall. For the eagle-eyed reader, there’s a clue in the name here. St John’s is the only surviving one of five churches built directly into Bristol’s city walls, serving both as part of the city’s defences and a place where travellers could pause to pray for a safe journey by sea. The entrance to its humble fourteenth century vaulted crypt sits discreetly in the side of the city wall - so subtle that you could stroll past it a dozen times without ever realising what lies beneath.

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If there were an award for the most fascinating entranceway to a crypt, I would happily present it to St John the Baptist Church in Berkswell, tucked away in the West Midlands. Step inside the church and make your way along the north aisle and, about halfway along, you’ll find the stairs to the crypt are quietly concealed within one of the box pews. This discreet opening leads down into one of England’s finest Norman crypts: rib‑vaulted, atmospheric, and beautifully preserved. But it all begins with that wonderfully unassuming entranceway - a secret door disguised as a pew, hidden in plain sight.

So, next time you step into a church, let your eyes wander toward the shadowy corners, the half-forgotten stairways, and even the most ordinary-looking pews. You may find your own doorway waiting – an invitation to descend and discover.

When you descend the steps into the chamber beneath the church, the temperature drops and the light dims to a muted glow. The air is still and silent. The bones lie waiting, time layered over them like dust. It’s the perfect setting for our investigation to begin.

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Before long, the question of who the bones once belonged to becomes the main thread of hushed conversation. Over the centuries, antiquarians and local storytellers have tried to make sense of the thousands of skulls and bones gathered in the crypt. Today, the crypt custodian steps into the role of detective, applying a logical process of elimination to help us solve the mystery of whose remains lie here.

Three well-established theories have been proposed:

1) They are the remains of men killed in 1645 during the nearby Battle of Naseby.

2) They represent a monastic burial place for members of a religious order.

3) They belong to victims of a plague epidemic.

Although each theory has its own appeal, closer examination of the bones – combined with some good old-fashioned common sense - casts doubt on the validity of all three claims. The condition of the skulls does not reflect the kinds of injuries that would have been sustained on a battlefield, and the presence of women and children strongly suggests that this is not a resting place for soldiers. The quantity of bones represents around 2500 individuals which would be considered too large for monastic burials, even over several centuries. And finally, it is highly unlikely that anyone would have been motivated to move the remains of plague victims, given the fear of contamination.

With a brisk dismissal of the prevailing theories of his day, an article with the wonderful title “Remarks on a Collection of Skulls from Rothwell in Northamptonshire” by George Busk, published in The Journal of the Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland in 1872, offers a more straightforward explanation. Busk writes: “It is not improbable that it merely represents the gradual accumulation, through a long series of years, of skulls and bones removed from the adjacent churchyard. The remains therefore might be taken as fair representatives of the population of the surrounding district for a very considerable period.”

This interpretation is still regarded as the most plausible account of the origins of the collection today although it has since been extended to include other churchyards in the local area.

And so, the mystery is - more or less - resolved. There has been no ‘body’ in this particular tale, only the bones of those who once lived, loved, worked and worshipped in the surrounding landscape. The crypt at Rothwell remains one of only two surviving in situ medieval charnel chapels in England, and it continues to offer rare opportunities for researchers to learn more about the people who rest here.

And as for the traditional red herring to lead us astray, I’ve yet to uncover one… but the search goes on.

Anyone who visits my home will quickly recognise that the mantra “everything in its place and a place for everything” is more than a saying for me; it’s how I like to live – tidy and organised.

Starting out on this journey, I fully expected the crypts to conform to that same ideal. Now, I can feel those of you who are familiar with old buildings shaking your heads with an amused sigh. But for me, discovering that this particular crypt lay beneath the flat piazza beside the cathedral - rather than directly below the main building - was quite a shock.

To make sense of this architectural curiosity, we need to trace a timeline of events whose twists and turns span more than a century. Stay with me… all will be revealed.

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For the first attempt to build a Catholic cathedral for Liverpool, Edward Putin created a striking neo-gothic design in 1853. However, only the Lady Chapel had been completed when building work stopped after three years as the urgent need for new schools and orphanages to support the rapidly growing population took priority.

Subsequently, Liverpool underwent a dramatic transformation, gaining official city status in recognition of its growing significance in global trade and technological innovations. In 1929, Sir Edwin Lutyens was commissioned to design a magnificent cathedral that would dominate the city’s skyline. His scheme for the building was breath-taking: a dome of 51 metres; an external height of 158m; and a main altar rising 4m above floor level with no less than 53 side altars.

Construction of the crypt began, but the outbreak of World War II halted building work once again. By the time Lutyens died in 1944, the estimated cost of completing the cathedral had risen from £3m to a staggering £27m, and the above-ground part of his grand design was abandoned. The stunning crypt was the only part of Lutyens’ vision to be realised.

In 1960, architects throughout the world were invited to enter a competition to create a new design for the cathedral. Their entries had to meet three criteria: 1) the building should be completed in less than five years; 2) the total cost should be no more than £1m; and 3) the layout of the building must incorporate Lutyens’ already-built crypt. Quite a tall order! Frederick Gibberd’s modernist design was chosen and the Cathedral we see today was built.

This wonderful blueprint of Gibberd’s ground floor plan shows how the whole of the crypt extends to the right of the circular cathedral building, underneath the piazza which features pyramidal towers in the corners to enclose Lutyens’ floating staircases that descend underground.

And that, in the end, is why the crypt sits quietly beside the cathedral rather than resting directly beneath it: a survivor of an abandoned ambition, waiting for a building that never came.

It actually began with a nostalgic trip ‘up-North’ to revisit our childhood winter day trips to the Blackpool Illuminations. We chose to stay in Liverpool rather than Blackpool so that we could explore some of the city’s heritage exhibitions and historic buildings.

Top of our to-do list was the Liverpool Metropolitan Cathedral where we hoped to witness the much-documented, awe-inspiring light shining through its coloured glass windows. Alas… the heavy rain and overcast skies meant that not a single ray of light pierced the subdued atmosphere inside. Wandering around the perimeter chapels with a touch of despondency, we came upon a welcome desk staffed by two cheery ladies whose enthusiastic offer of “Would you like to visit the crypt?” instantly restored our smiles and marked the moment when this project truly began.

I have always been fascinated by crypts, not just for the history behind why they were built and who was laid to rest there, but for the otherworldly atmosphere and quiet sense of mystery that pervades them. Opening the door and descending the staircase feels like stepping into the past where secrets are waiting to be discovered if only we can stay for a while and listen patiently.

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Every successful adventure needs a little structure, so I have already begun the practical work: setting up folders on my computer, creating a spreadsheet and finding a map that divides England into nine regions:

And surely every shiny new project needs a logo:

Over the coming months, I’ll be travelling around England to explore crypts of every kind - grand, humble, ancient, restored, and occasionally repurposed. I’ll be researching their histories, contacting archivists, learning about architecture, meeting with crypt custodians and taking many, many photographs. I’ll share with you the unexpected challenges and the joy of finding things that I didn’t even know we were looking for!

I invite you to come with me on this quest to explore the subterranean spaces beneath some of England’s churches and cathedrals. I can promise you historical intrigue, glittering treasures, stories of remarkable people… and many funny moments along the way. And at the end of the journey, every secret corner and unexpected discovery will eventually settle into the pages of a new book.

This is the beginning. Let’s uncover what lies beneath the stone and history.