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Correspondence from Aleister Crowley to Montgomery Evans
The Ridge, Hastings, Sussex
2/8/45
Dear Montgomery,
I was so glad to hear from you again. You speak of your return to England, and I am very glad; and hope it will be soon.
My war experiences were very limited, though I was of course within range of various missiles all the time. There was a certain amount of damage done to my place in Jermyn St. but beyond inducing me to sit down suddenly—mostly from surprise when the front door of the house was blown open and I happened to be just inside—nothing really went wrong, but it is lucky that I had not gone to bed, for when I went up to my room for that purpose I found it covered with various sized pieces of glass. It was rather extraordinary because the window was protected first of all by wooden shutters and then by two black-out screens, yet in some mysterious way practically all the glass of the window went through it and on to my bed, and then the curtains and shutters resumed their normal position!
I could tell you half-a-dozen other queer stories. It reminds me of my experience of mountain accidents: once an accident of any sort happens there is no way of telling at all what will be the result.
I have been doing a great deal of work lately; you must get into touch with Germer [Karl Germer] and try and get my Book of Thoth from him. I am now struggling with "Aleister explains everything" [Magick Without Tears] which is a collection of letters written to a beginner; about 70 of them so far; trying to cover the whole ground of my magical work in language suitable to a complete idiot. I am selling these letters at a guinea a time, and really doing very well. I cannot explain it.
I have not seen a Rosa Mundi since I can remember; Rosa Lewis I saw a year or so ago and she was certainly thriving; she is a marvellous old bitch and I regret only that the accent should be on bitch.
I am surprised that Biggs (or is it Jiggs) has still not completed his life's mission of betraying and robbing his friends, and drinking himself to death. It is really an extraordinary circumstance that some people seem to thrive on alcohol as babies do on mothers' milk. I have known I should think at least half a dozen people who ought to have died 20 years ago, and are still going strong. In England at the moment however, you cannot get any drink at all worth calling drink; wine is completely out of the question, and whiskey nearly as bad. We have to blame you, by the way, for that shortage—apparently about two-thirds or our production goes to God's country.
Personally I am not doing so well as I should like. I am having every kind of trouble with my teeth: there is hardly anything I can eat, and it is a serious effort to talk. My system too is full of poison; and you must put that down as my excuse for not writing you a more intelligent and joyful letter.
Would you mind doing me a great favor—that is answering my letters at your very earliest convenience and keeping it up. To hear from you is a great stimulus. Incidentally, if you are in Washington, look up Robert Cecil, one of my alleged disciples, who has got a job at the Embassy. I am sure he would be delighted to meet you.
Hoping to hear from you again within a month. Communication seems to be better than it was before the so-called Victory, but in all other respects life has become more difficult than ever, and I cannot imagine what is going to happen in the political world. Of course the result of the Election is absolutely providential for the Tories: the Socialists have been handed an ugly brat—ill born as ill-begotten, worse mannered and still worse tempered—to bring up in the fear of the Lord Laski. Most of the people who voted Labour expected larks to drop ready-cooked from heaven, but the skies—in this part at least—are still clear of those dainties.
Love is the law, love under will,
Yours Fraternally
With Love
Aleister
Idiot Sect [secretary] left out Greenwich on envelope; so it came back. Sorry. A.C.
Mr. Montgomery Evans, 421 Field Point Road, Greenwich Connecticut
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