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As Related by Kenneth Grant
from
THE MAGIC OF ALEISTER CROWLEY John Symonds Frederick Muller Ltd., London, 1958. (pages 577-579)
I asked Grant how he came to meet Crowley.
I found a book of Crowley's in a bookshop in Charing Cross Road. It was Magick in Theory and Practice, published by the Lecram Press in Paris. I had read widely for my age—I was then fourteen—Blavatsky's [Helena Petrovna Blavatsky] Isis Unveiled and The Secret Doctrine, Evan-Wentz's book on Tibetan Buddhism etc. I had not previously heard of Crowley when I picked up Magick. I felt an instant attraction, a curious sense of familiarity. Soon afterwards, I discovered the Atlantis Bookshop by the British Museum and, more importantly, its proprietor, Michael Houghton, from whom I bought several Crowley items. We had many discussions, during which he warned me against Crowley and he resolutely refused to put me in touch with him. He didn't mind selling me Crowley's books but, I suppose, he didn't want to incur bad karma for himself by introducing me to Crowley. He was more concerned with his own spiritual integrity, I imagine; but he himself had regular traffic with Crowley.
In my copy of Magick was a glossy sheet which gave details of the book, a picture of Crowley in Arab dress, circa 1924, and advising those interested to get in touch with the Master Therion at 9 Carlos Place, Park Lane, W.1. I wrote to him there; the letter was returned, the envelope marked "unknown", and there the trail ended. It wasn't until I walked one summer day into Michael's chop—it was 1943—and he gave me a brochure of the forthcoming The Book of Thoth, that a new trail appeared. I bought a pre-publication copy of it; it gave Crowley's address at 93 Jermyn Street, W.1. I wrote to him there. I didn't hear immediately because he had left that address and gone to the Bell Inn, Aston Clinton, Bucks; but my letter was forwarded to him. I gave him an account of the major occult works I had studied, including his own, and details of various astral experiences I had had from childhood onwards. I asked him if I could be of any help to him. He replied briefly, suggesting I go down to see him. I did so towards the end of 1944.
What impression did he create on you?
A very favourable one. Given my age, and the aspirations I had, I saw in him the embodiment of the ideal guru. I had not previously met anybody who could even remotely fulfill that roll. Michael Houghton was eager to give me some guidance in the occult labyrinth, but he was a candle compared to Crowley's sun.
What happened after your first meeting?
I met him again a few weeks later, just before Christmas 1944. Grady McMurtry, in his U.S. Army uniform, was there, on leave from Germany; he left that evening. Crowley was going to move to Hastings; he suggested that when he was settled there, I should move there too, live in the same place—Netherwood—and in return for magical instruction, I would act as his secretary, nurse, factotum, everything. In other words, do service to the person of the guru, gurusev.
Did he give you a wage?
No, I did everything for magical instruction which mainly took the form of his helping me to understand Magick. We went through that great work page by page. The questions I asked him he currently used in the writing of Magick Without Tears which, as you know, was written in the form of letters, some of them which I took down to his dictation, and which were sent to Mrs. Anne Macky, Soror Fiat Yod.
I wish I'd been aware at that time of the great importance in his system of sexual magick, because I would have asked him a lot of questions on that subject while we were going through the book. When I did bring up the subject, he was evasive. I remember on one occasion he brushed my query aside with the words "There'll be a time for that later." Although I was a member of the O.T.O., I had not yet been invited into the Sovereign Sanctuary, in which repose the mysteries of sexual magick, and therefore he was bound to observe secrecy. Later, Crowley suggested that what ideas I had on the subject I put in an essay. This I did, and when he read it, he exclaimed, "Why are you asking me all these questions, when you already know the answers?" And that was the end of that subject of conversation, but it led eventually to my having to take the oath of the IX° O.T.O. Crowley's sexual magic was not his own invention; it has been practised from time immemorial and recorded in a consistent form in many Tibetan, Indian and Chinese Tantras.
Crowley stayed at the Bell Inn until the following January, when he was recommending a boarding-house at Hastings, Sussex. He asked the Yi King if he should go there and received hexagram XLIX, Ko, for an answer which he interpreted as "You bet!"
I asked Grant if he thought Crowley was happy at Netherwood.
He found the food meagre. I was always being sent down to the kitchen for more sugar, biscuits etc., and Richardson [Ralph Richardson], the manager there, took umbrage. The war was still on, and sugar was rationed. His cup of tea was a mountain of sugar and a few drops of tea.
As Related by Kenneth Grant
from SERVANTS OF THE SNAKE: ESSAYS IN HONOUR OF KENNETH & STEFFI GRANT Edited by Henrik Bogdan Starfire Publishing, Ltd., London, 2018. (plates section)
10 Dec. 1944. SUNDAY.
The Place. A.C. Bucks. Room No. 11. 1st Landing.
The Time about noon.
The Man. He is smaller than I expected with a shrewd penetrative glance and a straggly goatee. His hands are beautifully delicate and brownish (freckled here and there). Upon the end finger of his left hand he wears the large gold Scarab Seal.
Almost bald his head is displayed as a beautiful philosophic dome with the Brahmarandhra lump delicately accentuated. He moves deliberately, slowly, and yet somehow fleetingly. His voice is very cultured and slightly nasal at times. Sometimes a high-pitched tone enters therein.
He wore on this day—the first day I saw him—a woolen jacket, a white shirt with heavy pink stripes lending it a reddish hue, a bright scarlet striped tie with a Tree of Life tie pin set therein. Greenish corduroy breeches and curious clasps below the knee and long grey woolen socks, brown brogue shoes. In the evening this was supplemented by a greenish jacket. He reminds me compositely of 3 persons:—the lat Prof. Freud, President Kalinin and Prof. Toad, and yet in a way he is unlike any of them for his lips are beautifully formed and his eyes very penetrative and profound.
The Room. A little larger than my own. The door opens onto the right wall against which is first a waste-paper basket, then . . .
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