The year was 1996. I was in Norwich, England, as a participant in the Pipe Club of Norwich's annual pipe smoking contest. The events took place at the Lansdowne Hotel, and as part of the festivities, a luncheon was given on, I believe it was, the second day of the contest.

After the main course was served and cleared, the dessert appeared, and as it was a delight to be savored, some lively conversation began to flow. After finishing my dessert, over coffee I began to pay more attention to what the distinguished gentleman seated next to me was saying. He appeared to be well-educated and in his late forties, I reckoned.

As the talk carried on, the subject of “old Aleister” came up. I, finally able to take part in the conversation since I knew a bit about the great occultist, mentioned that I'd read a few of Crowley's works but didn't understand them very well.

It was then that the gentleman, whose name I can no longer remember, gently corrected my pronunciation of the Great Beast's name. With the proverbial twinkle in his eye, he said, “Ah, it's CrOwley like 'holy', not 'Craowlee' like 'fowly', lad. That's what the old boy used to tell them.” Apparently he'd learned this from one of Crowley's followers, with whom he'd studied.