THE VAMPIRE OF CROGLIN GRANGE: REVAMPED

Let me introduce you to Augustus Hare, an English writer and raconteur. This story of our legendary vampire comes from his autobiography “Story of my Life” (authored in the 1890s).

Hare recounts the story as being told to him by one Captain Fisher-Rowe, who decided to share the story after dining with Hare.

Fisher tells Hare that while the name ‘Fisher’ might sound plebeian, the family has an ancient history, and land to back up such a claim. The land? Croglin Grange, located in Cumberland.

The Fishers stayed on their land for many years, but as family and wealth began to grow, they needed greener pastures. They decided not to add another storey to the house, or build another, choosing instead to move away.

It seems that the single story home was quite characteristic, and the Fishers did not want to change that. So they chose to rent out Croglin Grange. And this is when our nightmare begins to bubble at the surface.

They found three tenants in the 1870s, the Cranswell family. Two brothers Edward and Micheal, along with their younger sister, Amelia. The Cranswells enjoyed their life in the picturesque estate.

Winter came and went, as did spring, with the Cranswells finding home and community within Croglin Grange, soon becoming a beloved family to all the locals. As summer approached, so too did darker shadows.

During one oppressively hot summer day, the Cranswells retired to their home, trying to enjoy the slightly cooler night air.

Taking dinner, they looked out over toward the small patch of trees that separated the estate from a local churchyard. Growing tired, Amelia decided to try and sleep. She went to her room and locked her door.

Amelia had closed her windows, but without fastening the shutters, thinking that she might want to open them later during the night. As she dozed off to sleep, something caught her eye in the distance.

Two points of light danced in the darkness like fireflies, moving across the bucolic land with a preternatural quickness. They dashed around the trees just beyond the church graveyard, and approached the home.

Amelia was unable to tear herself away from the lights, noticing that these points of light were affixed to something. As it grew terribly closer, the shadows broke around it, revealing a humanoid shape.

Amelia leapt from her bed, watching in terror as those eyes blazed like the fires of hell, unblinking and unmoving. She went toward her door, retreating back as something suddenly stood in front of her window like a flash of lighting.

Slinking back into her bed, a monstrous visage gazed at her through the glass, with leathery brown skin and lurid eyes. It scratched at the window with inhuman claws, the shrill hiss turning to soft ‘pecks.’

Frozen in mortal terror, Ameila watched in horror as the creature picked at the lead from the window panes.

Each pick rang like a roar of thunder, until a pane of glass careened to the floor, shattering into hundreds of individual mirrors, each reflecting back cruel moonlight.

A beastial hand reached through the open pane, turning the window handle. Before she could make a sound, the demon stood over her, shadows reaching out like tenebrous wings to engulf her.

Pain lanced through her body, the stench of rot and death on her nose. Her throat seared with agony, and only then had the fear that muzzled her fell away. Ameila let out a terrible scream.

Her brothers flew to their sister’s aid, pressing their weight into the locked door as she pleaded for their help. With a mighty kick, the door flew open, a shadow bolting out of her window and into the night.

Blood poured from Amelia’s wounds, and she rapidly lost consciousness. Praise be to God, a doctor had been summoned, and her wounds were tended to.

Her doctor, upon hearing such an extraordinary tale, told the Cranswells to rest elsewhere, far away from Croglin Grange. They obliged such advice, staying in Switzerland for a time.

Surprisingly, Amelia had wished to return to Croglin Grange. The community they had found there was missed, and those within it missed them as well. After a time, they eventually returned to Croglin Grange.

Nights came and went without issue, though Amelia had always locked her window, and kept her door unlocked as well. Her brothers armed themselves with pistols at their bedsides, they would not go down without a fight.

Amelia’s eyes shot open, her blood freezing in her veins. A soft picking echoed in her ears. She gathered up her courage, turning her eyes to the window.

Hell stared back at her, replete with those familiar tartarean eyes. She let out a great scream, alerting her brothers instantly. They flew into the room, watching the creature dash away from the window.

Rushing outside, one of her brothers fired off a round, striking the creature in the leg. They gave chase, yet for all their youthful vigor, the beast still easily outran them, leaping over the church wall with ease.

Edward stopped his brother Michael from entering the grounds, knowing full well facing such an agile monster in the dead of night, alone and nigh-unarmed would mean their death.

Ensuring Amelia was okay, they resolved to end this nightmare tomorrow morning.

Gathering up a crowd of young men, the Cranswell brothers entered the old graveyard, searching mausoleums with a vengeful zeal.

Their sister had been attacked, the maiden of Croglin Grange assaulted, and the menfolk would see this beast destroyed.

They scoured the vaults, Edward and Michael delving into one that belonged to an ancient and long forgotten family. Such was its age the stones no longer bore a legible name.

Throwing open the doors, foul effluvia assaulted their senses. Torch and weapons in hands, they descended further into the bowls, bloodstains and bones scattered about.

Long decayed bodies slept in old, broken coffins. A single one stood alone from the rest, propped up in the darkest shadows. The brothers threw the lid open, lunging back in terror.

The vampire awaited them, its hands laid across its hands, inhumanly sharp claws on the tips of each finger. Wearing little more than blackened, moth-eaten clothes, all noticed the wound on its leg.

The coffin and its contents were dragged into the sunlight, and set aflame. Some say the creature never screamed, never even moved as the flames took to its ancient flesh like pitch.

But just before the flames engulfed all, those demonic eyes flashed open once more, as lifeless and void of emotion as they had been for untold centuries.

Quite the story, eh? Folklore, legends; they’re meant to be told and recounted. Stories are the life of a people, the essence of culture. Yet that’s all they are, stories.
Right?

As it turns out, this story has been the topic of much heated debate. The first claim of the story being just that, a story, was by Charles G. Harper. A supposed expert on haunted buildings (and their history).

In 1907, Charles G. Harper published “Haunted Houses” and claimed he found no evidence Croglin Grange even existed. He did find two houses in Cumbria, called Croglin Low Hall, and Croglin High Hall.

However, neither of these buildings matched Hare’s description. Croglin Low came the ‘closest’ but there were two glaring issues.

First, it was two stories tall. A major problem as Hare repeatedly mentioned that it was story tall. So the vampire would have had to scale the wall to reach Ameilia’s window (quite spooky though!)

The second was that the nearest church was more than a mile away, not a short distance from the estate.

Another damning piece of evidence came from Montague Summers, a radically eccentric man and a self-styled priest (no evidence he was ever ordained in any denomination or church).

Summers concluded in his 1929 book “The Vampire in Europe” that the story of Croglin Grange was damn near lifted straight from Varney the Vampire.

Summers showed both chapters, and there is a startling degree of similarity. He concluded Agustus Hare had taken the story from Varney the Vampire.

Quick side note, vampires having fangs first appeared in Varney the Vampire. The story itself is a trainwreck of literature, bouncing all over the place and having no coherent plot.

The full text of Varney the Vampire is also over 667,000 words. It’s a doozy.

Anyway, it would seem that the case is closed, right? Nope. We’re talking about the immortal, the undying, nothing stays dead, especially not stories.

Jumping ahead to 1963, Charles G. Harper’s findings were challenged by Francis Clive-Ross, writing in the journal “Tomorrow.” Ross supposedly found some pretty interesting information.

Croglin Low Hall had actually originally been called Croglin Grange, and that the interior still had corbels that would support a roof, indicating that the second story had been built where a roof once laid.

But it gets a bit more interesting. Nearby Croglin Low Hall, were the remains of an old church. Clive-Ross located foundations and stubs of old walls, indicating a church’s presence.

Moreover, this church was demolished during the English Civil War (1642-1651). But, that’s a bit strange, isn’t it? Hare’s story takes place in the 1870s…

Well as it turns out, local residents confirmed that the Fisher family had indeed once lived in Croglin Grange, but that the story originated in the 1680s, two hundred years beforehand.

So this is where the story really gets thrown for a loop. How the hell did Hare (or Fisher) get the dates so wildly incorrect? Author embellishment? Perhaps not.

Going ahead once more, in 1978, Marc Alexander stated in his book “Haunted Churches and Abbeys of Britain” that records of Croglin Grange mention Rev. Joseph Ireland.

Rev. Ireland officiated Croglin Grange from 1804 to 1837, and was supposedly attacked by a monstrous bat. Ireland managed to wound the creature, chasing back toward a tomb.

This tomb belonged to Rev. George Sanderson, a notorious turncoat after the English Civil War. After the war, Puritan vicars were thrust into many local parishes, and they were...hardly well received.

Parliament put these vicars into place, but after the Monarchy returned, they were sacked and replaced with priests from the Church of England.

Well...Rev. Sanderson sided with parliament, but once he saw their power wane, switched sides, and was tossed into Croglin Grange. His reputation as a power-hungry turncoat earned him few friends.

He remained Vicar in Croglin Grange until his death in 1691, and rumors began to spread that this foul ‘Man of God’ roamed the churchyard ever since his demise.

It was also found in 2005 that the Fisher-Rowe family were actually tenants of Croglin Grange until they bought the place. In fact, they were tenants in the 1680s...

So, with ALL that being said, it seems that the story of this Vampire of Croglin Grange has some truth to it, but like all stories, it has been changed, altered, and embellished as time marches on.

Now, there is truth to the story. Croglin Grange does exist, there was once a one-story house called Croglin Grange, there was a church nearby, townsfolk do remember the old stories.

But the truth to all of it? Well, that isn’t quite as well known. So much has changed and been lost to history, the real story might not ever be unearthed.

Whatever the case, the one who originally told Hare this story, Captain Fisher-Rowe was from an Army officer from a wealthy family.

He was born Edward Rowe Fisher-Rowe 8th November 1832 Wilton Crescent London.
His parents were Thomas Fisher and Anna Berry Rowe. Thomas was born 18th January 1790 at Ainstable Cumberland and from the same area as Croglin Grange.

So Captain Fisher-Rowe was telling the truth, or at least what he knew of it. Augustus Hare did not lie, and neither did Fisher-Rowe. So perhaps...something did happen all those years ago.

Perhaps, lurking in the dead of night, a vampire did rise from the grave to stalk the living. We will never know, but it makes for a good story.
Doesn’t it?