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Correspondence from Aleister Crowley to Edward Noel Fitzgerald
The Gardens.
March 2nd. 1941.
Dear Noel
93.
I'm a cad not to have answered your before now. Sorry about your health: I've had no asthma since Dec, though I've been rotten generally. Not using the machine at all. But I don't seem to pick up, and what would have been asthma last year is now mild heart. I've taken Tincture Digitalis with Gruidelia compound for that. G comp contains Lobelia and other things. Might suit you; that's why I bore you with details. Ask your vet.
There's a glimmer on the horizon: I may start an Abbey of Thelema in April. If so, it would be good to see you on your holiday; I shall make a point of having enough room.
Cammell [Charles Cammell] was at Bideford, but may now be back in town: he wrote that he was looking for another job. But I think he is out of Richmond. The right James is the one that did not answer; but he'd probably be nice on the phone. Of course he might be in Eire.
Two young R.A.F. men at the Chess club, quite first class—Oxford Chess club. No b.s. nymphs; at present I don't need any. The air here is not encouraging even when one feels very fit, which at present I don't. Sorry about raids: looks like a splash coming. I hope like March' 1st final rush of cornered rat.
I'm bored and washed out; don't feel like working or writing or any thing but lounging and reading silly books. The one bright spot, bar chess, is Spelling Bee, at which my aged char is sometimes quite good. Only, like most women (I fear me!) she wants to argue about the game instead of playing it and her only idea of argument is losing her temper.
Write back soon; it comforts me.
93 93/93
Yours.
A.C.
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