|
Thursday, 21 March 1940
I had arranged to meet Crowley at the York Minster in Dean Street, He arrived, preceded by an overpowering smell as of an old-fashioned operating theatre. This, he told me, was his daily eye-opener, half a pint of ether. He was dressed like a duke in a musical comedy in swallow-tail coat and sponge-bag trousers. Asked what he would drink, he announced automatically: 'Triple absinthe, please.'
It was summer and war was getting very near. Various dug-outs from the Kaiser's war were starting to appear unexpectedly. One of these, a genial naval captain in uniform, greeted Crowley:" 'Aleister, old top! I haven't seen you since the days of the Ragged Ragtime Girls!' These, I learnt, were a troupe of English violinists and dancers, whom Crowley had managed on a tour of Tsarist Russia in 1914. They opened up vistas of an improbable swinging Crowley phase.
Two more triple absinthes followed the first. At luncheon in the Escargot he ate three dozen snails, wild duck pie, and camembert, drank a bottle of burgundy and several brandies. The cigars weren't strong enough and a waiter had to be sent out for his favourite black Mexicans. We parted on the friendliest terms, and that was the last I saw of him.
From Fits and Starts by Maurice Richardson, Michael Joseph Limited, London, 1979. |