St Magnus the Martyr

St Magnus the Martyr, dedicated to the Norwegian earl and saint Magnus Erlendsson, stands at the foot of what was once Old London Bridge, the medieval structure that served as London’s only Thames crossing for 600 years. The present church, designed by Christopher Wren and built 1671-1676 after the Great Fire, replaced a medieval structure dating to around 1067. For centuries, the church’s western entrance actually served as the pedestrian approach to London Bridge, with foot traffic passing directly through the building. When the medieval bridge was demolished in 1832 and replaced by a new structure, the church lost its unique position as the gateway to London but retained its intimate connection to the river and the watermen who worked its tides.

The most frequently reported spirits are those of Thames watermen, the working-class boatmen who ferried passengers across the river before bridges became common. Witnesses describe figures in rough 18th and 19th-century clothing appearing in the church vestibule, as if waiting for the bridge approach that no longer exists. These apparitions look confused or lost, presumably searching for the familiar route through the church to the bridge beyond. The sound of feet tramping through the church—thousands of footsteps as if a crowd is crossing London Bridge—echoes through the building when it is empty and locked. The phenomenon recreates the centuries when 20,000 people daily walked through St Magnus on their way across the Thames.

The church’s crypt, which survived the Great Fire and dates to the medieval structure, experiences intense supernatural activity. Built partially below the Thames high water mark, the crypt historically flooded during high tides, and bodies were buried in conditions that often saw coffins floating during flood events. The space generates overwhelming sensations of cold and damp, unexplained sounds of water when the modern drainage is functioning, and apparitions of distressed figures presumably connected to plague burials. The church’s proximity to Billingsgate Fish Market (operational for 1,000 years until 1982) manifests in the occasional smell of fish when none is present. During evensong services, clergy and choir members report seeing additional figures in period dress among the congregation. T.S. Eliot immortalized the church in “The Waste Land” as a place where “inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold” contrasts with the gritty river commerce outside—a spiritual threshold where London’s sacred and commercial histories merge, and where the ghosts of working Thames remain bound to the church that once marked their passage.