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Correspondence from Aleister Crowley to Edward Noel Fitzgerald
Barton Brow.
April 27. 1941.
Dear Noel.
93
Glad to hear of you, and that it's no worse. I must send you my poem on appendicitis, when (if ever) my stuff comes from Richmond. Thanks for dope, but you're months late! I never use the machine now; no spasmodic attacks since the beginning of November. So I gave the bottle to the daughter of my electrician, and will report what she says. My heart which had got hit, is recovering. Query, will it stand up to the assault of my Vat of Madeira, due here on Tuesday?
London knows nothing of air raids. This week end the Abbey is host to an officer from Plymouth. There is really very little left standing, and the casualties run to four figures. M.O.I. is an ass. Every one is shouting to know what we are doing to them. Have we any bombers left? I await Churchill's broadcast with feelings more grave than gay. We feel that we are being put off with a lot of blah and ballyhoo. I feel inclined to start some kind of trouble if they go on trying to fool all the people all the time.
Afraid I can't suggest any sort of Gov't work. Call on M.A. Sutherland [Maurice A. Sutherland] (Admiralty) Rex House Regent Street. Say you' are a friend of mine, and can he help.
All O.K. here.
93 93/93
Yours,
Aleister.
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