Ian Waveney Girvan was in London 10 February 1908 to Alexander Girvan, a doctor in the Royal Army Medical Corps, and the former Delia Ellen Woods. I do not know about his siblings. Most of the rest of his bio comes from an excellent bit of research done at “Bear Alley Books” several years ago. His mother died when he was about nine, in 1917. His father had been born in Scotland, and Girvan thought of himself as Scotch, despite his London birth. He spent some years in southwest England, returning to London to become a tutor in accounting. At some point, he also invented . . . well, something. I don’t know what, but he called himself an inventor.
He did not serve during World War II because he was director of a business, Security Steel Strapping, Ltd., that had military contracts. At the same time, though, he was very critical of Britain and the war. He was investigated by Buckinghamshire Police in 1940 because of reports he was defeatist and subversive, arguing peace should have been made with Hitler. In 1941, he helped organize a political faction, the Parliamentary Peace Aims Group, and later that year became associated with the Fortean, pacifist, and German-sympathizer Duke of Bedford. Increasingly, Girvan’s political activity came under government scrutiny, and he was closely watched, his newspaper writings, meetings, mail, and telephone calls monitored. A file was opened on him.
He did not serve during World War II because he was director of a business, Security Steel Strapping, Ltd., that had military contracts. At the same time, though, he was very critical of Britain and the war. He was investigated by Buckinghamshire Police in 1940 because of reports he was defeatist and subversive, arguing peace should have been made with Hitler. In 1941, he helped organize a political faction, the Parliamentary Peace Aims Group, and later that year became associated with the Fortean, pacifist, and German-sympathizer Duke of Bedford. Increasingly, Girvan’s political activity came under government scrutiny, and he was closely watched, his newspaper writings, meetings, mail, and telephone calls monitored. A file was opened on him.
He joined and left a number of political factions on the right, some with more or less sympathy for fascism. He joined the British National Party, for instance, then resigned. He was part of the British Comrades, a pro-Germany group, which was subsequently folded in A. K. Chesterton’s National Front. (“Girvan appears to belong to a great many Parties,” wrote one intelligence agent.) He wrote letters to national papers and columns for smaller, conservative ones, sometimes under a pseudonym: Mercutio, in “The People’s Post.”. He worried that the war had been caused by an excess of democracy, that Britain would win, and the financiers who started the whole nasty business would make out like bandits. He studied Vierick’s “Kaiser on Trial” to reinforce his idea that Britain and Germany were natural allies, led astray by malign groups. He suggested rewriting Dickens’s “A Christmas Carol so that Bob Cratchit was converted to capitalism.
Girvan was accused of being a Fascist and anti-Semite, a secret supporter of Oswald Mosley, and those claims may be true, but the evidence in his file does not support it. The most that can be said was he bemoaned the needless aggression between Germany and Britain. He was very concerned with the spread of Communism, and thought that e war was playing into the hands of socialists, who would use the conflict to impose their ideas. He was connected to the Duke of Bedford; Girvan declaimed being a pacifist, but does seem to have been drawn mostly to the Duke’s peace activism, rather than his social credit-inspired economics. In a 1941 newspaper letter defending the Duke, he wrote, “Although I am not a pacifist, events have made it increasingly obvious that the attempt to cure Hitlerism by force of arms has utterly failed. This disastrous war has merely aggravated the malaise which had plagued Europe before Hitler was heard of.”
In the post-War years, Girvan moved into publishing. He worked first to set up Westaway Books with J. C. Trewin (who edited the company’s West Country Magazine) and John Beckett, formerly with the British Union of Fascists. Financing came from the Duke of Bedford. This association, and his continued—though dimisnished—political activities, meant Girvan remained under government scrutiny. He subsequently moved on to another publishing concern, with offices in the same London building, Carroll & Nicholson. From what I can tell, Girvan moved to Carroll & Nicholson as a result of machinations by Beckett, to get Carroll out and Girvan in, presumably to give them freer hands to publish rightist books by the larger company; and Girvan was very stressed by the changes. Carroll & Nicholson did put out Chesterton’s “Juma the Great”—Girvan had been worried Chesterton would demand to publish too many of his books—as well as a work by the conservative philosopher Anthony Ludovici.
While not necessarily changing his political views, Girvan seems to have become less political in the 1940s; his security file goes until 1948, which may have been when it was closed, or may just be a bureaucratic artefact. At the end of the decade, he became swept up into the flying saucer subculture, a transition that seems to have been fostered by Fortean N. V. Dagg’s magazine “Tomorrow.” Girvan told Eric Frank Russell, “My interest in TOMORROW was long before I had adopted ‘saucerian’ views . . . With its political views I found myself in almost complete agreement, and I was certainly very critical of the propaganda that was dished out to us during the war.”He subscribed to a clipping service to collect UFO reports. In 1950, he was instrumental in Carroll & Nicholson putting out Gerald Heard’s “The Riddle of the Flying Saucers: Is Another World Watching?,” which was later published in the U.S. with the title and subtitle switched. He saw a flying saucer himself the following year, in 1951.
Girvan was concerned with, as he put it to Russell, avoiding “the label of crankiness which keeps circulation small.” To that end, he had the book serialized in the Sunday Herald. “Not, of course, that it kills ridicule, but it does smash the subject well into the face of the multitudes,” he said. He also argued that Heard’s style was an important part of getting flying saucers acknowledged in Great Britain—which was a long-standing concern of his, that there was a lot of saucer activity in the British Isles, but it was disregarded, and the phenomenon seen as American: “Any attempt to load them down with data is doomed to failure . . . They simply have not the intelligence to read through Fort’s books. The matter has to be dramatised; humour is, of course, completely lacking from the British character, as one can see by glancing through any number of Punch. Irony is completely beyond their understanding and any satirical play is a complete failure. Therefore I should say that Heard’s style probably suits the English Public; anyway, the book is selling very satisfactorily.” At the same time, Girvan turned down Donald Keyhoe’s flying saucer book, as his deductions were astounding non sequiturs, and he took satisfaction in its slow sales as proof of his view’s rightness.
There was some shake up at Carroll & Nicholson in 1952, with Girvan, Trewin, and J. C. Nicholson all resigning from it, as well as their place at Westaway Books. I do not know what was at stake. Whatever the cause, Girvan moved to another publisher, T. Werner Laurie, which was considering a couple of flying saucer-related manuscripts, one by Desmond Leslie and another by George Adamski, whom Leslie had encouraged. Girvan combined them into a single volume, 1953’s “Flying Saucers Have Landed.” The book put Girvan out on a limb, since Adamski’s claims to have flown in a spaceship to Venus was derided even among saucerians. Hierophant’s Apprentice, writing in the Fortean Times, notes that Girvan might have been attracted by the Leslie’s Theosophical stew, which imagined aliens as enlightened masters, who guided human development, and Adamski's (also Theosophically derived) Venusians, which were described as Aryan angels—as well as their anti-war stance.
In 1954, Girvan co-founded the “Flying Saucer Review.” Two years later, his firm put out Arthur Constance’s “The Inexplicable Sky,” another flying saucer book. In between, he published “Flying Saucers and Common Sense” with a different publisher, Frederick Muller, with which he was also associated, the timing of his switching firms not clear. Girvan continued to stump for Adamski, as well as other contactees, and cool his eyes at attempts to explain away flying saucers. As he told Russell, the reports were, by this point, far too rich to dismiss: even if, for example, some government admitted that flying saucers were part of a secret weapons program, such admission could not account for the diversity of reports. Much more was going on. He was inclined to the idea that flying saucers were interplanetary craft, originating at the near planets, which were occupied by species very human in appearance; their frequent contact with the earth was hidden by a government conspiracy—an easy enough leap for someone who believed two related nations could be tricked into a horrible war that cost tens of millions of lives.
Girvan continued to edit, going into magazine work at some point. And in 1959, he took over editing “Flying Saucer Review,” which was a slick amid all of the mimeographed ‘zines. He did this work on the side, most of the costs covered by subscription and a few ads. By this point, Girvan was downplaying Adamski’s stories, but not the extra-terrestrial hypothesis: “For 17 years I have studied the subject day in and day out,” he said. “The only hypothesis that stands the test of ridicule and scrutiny is that these objects are solidly constructed, intelligently piloted or controlled, and that these machines and their pilots are not of this earth.” For Girvan, this was a mostly masculine investigation, the application of logic to a strange anomaly: “My wife is not very keen on the subject,” he said. “Women generally are not. I have very few women subscribers. But when they do become interested, oh my God, they go overboard.”
In August of 1964, Girvan slowed down significantly, his health compromised. He stopped working in September.
Ian Waveney Girvan died 22 October 1964. He was 56.
*********
Girvan became aware of Charles Fort from reading “Tomorrow.” He became aware of the Fortean Society when Carroll & Nicholson were putting out Gerald Heard’s book. He knew “The Riddle of the Flying Saucers” was going to get some bad press, particularly a review by the Astronomer Royal, and he wrote to Eric Frank Russell hoping to coordinate a response from Forteans. I do not know if the hope was fulfilled but doubt it, given the anarchic structure of the Society. This was in November 1950. Shortly before, he had written to Tiffany Thayer, in New York, for material on Charles Forte [sic!]; his plan was to write a brief biographical piece on Fort for the magazine “Everybody’s” that would support interest in flying saucer’s generally and, presumably, Heard’s book specifically. Thayer was dilatory in his response and as far as I know, nothing came of Girvan’s plan.
And that can be taken as a succinct summary of Girvan’s Fortean career: nothing came of the plan. Russell had approached Girvan—about getting a copy of Heard’s book—which is what prompted the connection in the first place. A few days later, Girvan then asked for information on joining the Society—though having seen ads in “Tomorrow,” the had apparently never bothered to join. Nor was he following “Tomorrow” very much: he was surprised to hear that it ceased publications. He also wasn’t very familiar with Fort’s works in Britain. He had a copy of the omnibus edition, which he’d gotten directly from the United States, but had to ask Russell if they were available in England.
He sent in his dues for the Fortean Society in mid-November 1950, and Russell sent him his welcome packet immediately. Apparently, Russell also suggested that Girvan look into publishing an English version of Fort’s books—Russell would have known by now how difficult they were to obtain, with import restrictions. On 20 November, Girvan wrote back, “The great trouble here is the enormous amount of paper that would be required and, of course, printing. The price would be very high and this might restrict its sales considerably rendering the venture unprofitable. On the other hand, the publicity which we are building up and which is being followed by other publishers—by next year there will be two other ‘saucer’ books, Keyhoe’s and Scully’s—might be turned towards Fort.”
That equivocating would be another hallmark of Girvan’s Fortean activities: he was drawn to doing more, but also talked himself out of it. He got a number of people interested in Fort (including Trewin) and encouraged media personalities he knew to discuss Fort. But, although he had a number of clippings on saucers, he refused to send them in because he wanted to use them for publicity. He wanted to import six copies of The Books of Charles Fort, but was at a loss for how to do so and had to ask Russell. He was always mulling doing Fort’s books—at least that’s what he told Russell—but he did not present it to his company’s Board, which would need to approve it, and thought that they would too loaded down with citations and details for a British public that preferred breezy writing—science fiction, sure, he thought that was going to overtake mysteries as the dominant genre, but not so dense. He could imagine doing a Fortean magazine in Britain—but paper restrictions made it impossible.
In January 1951, he snooped around Victor Gollancz’s publishing house—Girvan no fan of Girvan’s socialistic leanings—and found that “Lo!” had down very poorly when Gollancz published it in England two deuces earlier. And that was when print runs could be smaller. “If Gollancz had trouble with a pre-war edition then a present day publisher might even have a worse headache,” he said, but then immediately added a caveat: “On the other hand, I am making further enquiries to see if the climate has improved in the meanwhile. It would be impossible I think to publish the Omnibus but it might be possible to start with one of the consistent volumes and follow up.” He mentioned the matter to his board, and wrote Thayer about the possibility of an English version of Fort’s work—Thayer memorialized the moment in doggerel: “Weveney, Weveny, my black hen, may lay eggs for gentlemen. He is dickering to do the omnibus in Inglin”—which led to more hemming and hawing.
“I have heard from the Society in New York about the possibilities of publishing Charles Fort over here,” he told Russell, “and Mr. Thayer is suggesting that it is either the omnibus or nothing. I agree with him from a publishing point of view, but the amount of paper involved renders such an undertaking, I fear, almost impossible in the conditions ruling to-day. However, we shall see.” That was in February. If he needed evidence for why an English version might do well, he got it—as the six copies of The Books of Charles Fort didn’t reach him until May, and that was only because he had queried a number of distributors, most of them failing to come up with the books. I do not know why he needed them—perhaps as part of the presentation to the Board—and he ended up selling them immediately, two copies going to Russell for a little more than thirty shillings each, or about eight dollars each. (Thayer chided Russell for paying so much, and sent over more books to him.)
After an initial rush of activity, Girvan’s Fortean work mostly petered out. The correspondence between him and Russell slowed significantly, from several letters a month to a couple per year. There were still attachments to the Society—an interest in For and flying saucers, a shared conspiratorial world view. But he never sent in those clippings, as far as I know, and his name never appeared in Doubt. He only mentioned that magazine to Russell in relation to publicity for the flying saucer books he was putting out—hoping to generate interest in Forteans for the Leslie and Adamski book while noting that Thayer messed up the dates of Gerald Heard’s book.
He continued ruminating on publishing Fort in England; in 1955, he wrote to Thayer, again—reintroducing himself: “It has occured [sic] to me that, owing to the great interest that the pubic over here is displaying in flying saucers, the omnibus volume of THE WORKS OF CHARLES FORT will begin to be in greater demand than ever before.” He knew that there was no publisher willing to take on doing an English edition of the books, because the price was prohibitive, but he wanted to increase the number of imported copies, maybe starting with 250.
As his bona fides, he underlined how much he appreciated Fort as a forerunner of the entire flying saucer movement (though he must not have realized how much Thayer disliked flying saucers): “I should mention that I am a member of the Fortean Society, and was responsible for launching the subject of flying saucers in this country. My own book, FLYING SAUCERS AND COMMONSENSE, will be published over here by another publisher in a few weeks’ time, and I devote a whole chapter of the book in praise of Charles Fort’s genius. I do, therefore, think we are the right English publishers to launch the book, to publicise it, and to sell it for my representatives are all trained in the Fortean principles.” Thayer was willing to go along with the plan, as he had just gotten a French edition of the Book of the Damned ready to go. But nothing came of it.
A few months later, Girvan had moved to Frederick Muller, and brought the idea of increasing English access to Fort’s books with him. At the time he was still looking at a way to increase imports and lower costs without actually publishing the books. Thayer was amenable to the idea of Muller distributing the obis edition—what mattered to him was that Fort would be read—but he was sour on Girvan’s flying saucer obsession. He told Russell, “His book and others on saucers put out by Muller are at hand, and the stench is something awful.”
This scheme progressed further than Girvan’s other plots. Muller made a conditional agreement with Holt (which had published the books in the States), dependent upon Thayer’s approval, and Muller had gone so far as to draw up fliers advertising the Books, though Thayer had to get them from Russell. Thayer wrote, “Please do get a few of Muller’s fliers and send them air mail to me. Their deal with Henry Holt is still pending, subject to my consent, and I ainta gonna consent if they are making Fort a tramp. I can do that fast enough in my own sweet way. I ask you to get the fliers for me so Muller won’t get shy of me for my interest. Waveney already thinks I’m Beelzebub. But I am not, am I, Bub?”
I do not know that the deal was ever consummated, though I doubt it. Thayer and Girvan seem to have never clicked. The last mention of Girvan doing the books that I can find comes from a letter Thayer wrote to Russell on 28 January 1956, and it was dismissive: “Work, time and old age: aye: they are the culprits. They bear down on me too. If I had a young sprout I could trust I should be happy to turn over the Society to him. Alas, enthusiasm is not as durable as Gibraltar and most of the sparklers are flashes in the pan--or Waveney Girvan!”
Afterwards, Girvan seems to have turned his focus almost entirely to flying saucers, Perhaps he thought Fort was well known enough, or easy enough to obtain—or, simply, no longer useful to the cause, even if he had once been instrumental.
Girvan was accused of being a Fascist and anti-Semite, a secret supporter of Oswald Mosley, and those claims may be true, but the evidence in his file does not support it. The most that can be said was he bemoaned the needless aggression between Germany and Britain. He was very concerned with the spread of Communism, and thought that e war was playing into the hands of socialists, who would use the conflict to impose their ideas. He was connected to the Duke of Bedford; Girvan declaimed being a pacifist, but does seem to have been drawn mostly to the Duke’s peace activism, rather than his social credit-inspired economics. In a 1941 newspaper letter defending the Duke, he wrote, “Although I am not a pacifist, events have made it increasingly obvious that the attempt to cure Hitlerism by force of arms has utterly failed. This disastrous war has merely aggravated the malaise which had plagued Europe before Hitler was heard of.”
In the post-War years, Girvan moved into publishing. He worked first to set up Westaway Books with J. C. Trewin (who edited the company’s West Country Magazine) and John Beckett, formerly with the British Union of Fascists. Financing came from the Duke of Bedford. This association, and his continued—though dimisnished—political activities, meant Girvan remained under government scrutiny. He subsequently moved on to another publishing concern, with offices in the same London building, Carroll & Nicholson. From what I can tell, Girvan moved to Carroll & Nicholson as a result of machinations by Beckett, to get Carroll out and Girvan in, presumably to give them freer hands to publish rightist books by the larger company; and Girvan was very stressed by the changes. Carroll & Nicholson did put out Chesterton’s “Juma the Great”—Girvan had been worried Chesterton would demand to publish too many of his books—as well as a work by the conservative philosopher Anthony Ludovici.
While not necessarily changing his political views, Girvan seems to have become less political in the 1940s; his security file goes until 1948, which may have been when it was closed, or may just be a bureaucratic artefact. At the end of the decade, he became swept up into the flying saucer subculture, a transition that seems to have been fostered by Fortean N. V. Dagg’s magazine “Tomorrow.” Girvan told Eric Frank Russell, “My interest in TOMORROW was long before I had adopted ‘saucerian’ views . . . With its political views I found myself in almost complete agreement, and I was certainly very critical of the propaganda that was dished out to us during the war.”He subscribed to a clipping service to collect UFO reports. In 1950, he was instrumental in Carroll & Nicholson putting out Gerald Heard’s “The Riddle of the Flying Saucers: Is Another World Watching?,” which was later published in the U.S. with the title and subtitle switched. He saw a flying saucer himself the following year, in 1951.
Girvan was concerned with, as he put it to Russell, avoiding “the label of crankiness which keeps circulation small.” To that end, he had the book serialized in the Sunday Herald. “Not, of course, that it kills ridicule, but it does smash the subject well into the face of the multitudes,” he said. He also argued that Heard’s style was an important part of getting flying saucers acknowledged in Great Britain—which was a long-standing concern of his, that there was a lot of saucer activity in the British Isles, but it was disregarded, and the phenomenon seen as American: “Any attempt to load them down with data is doomed to failure . . . They simply have not the intelligence to read through Fort’s books. The matter has to be dramatised; humour is, of course, completely lacking from the British character, as one can see by glancing through any number of Punch. Irony is completely beyond their understanding and any satirical play is a complete failure. Therefore I should say that Heard’s style probably suits the English Public; anyway, the book is selling very satisfactorily.” At the same time, Girvan turned down Donald Keyhoe’s flying saucer book, as his deductions were astounding non sequiturs, and he took satisfaction in its slow sales as proof of his view’s rightness.
There was some shake up at Carroll & Nicholson in 1952, with Girvan, Trewin, and J. C. Nicholson all resigning from it, as well as their place at Westaway Books. I do not know what was at stake. Whatever the cause, Girvan moved to another publisher, T. Werner Laurie, which was considering a couple of flying saucer-related manuscripts, one by Desmond Leslie and another by George Adamski, whom Leslie had encouraged. Girvan combined them into a single volume, 1953’s “Flying Saucers Have Landed.” The book put Girvan out on a limb, since Adamski’s claims to have flown in a spaceship to Venus was derided even among saucerians. Hierophant’s Apprentice, writing in the Fortean Times, notes that Girvan might have been attracted by the Leslie’s Theosophical stew, which imagined aliens as enlightened masters, who guided human development, and Adamski's (also Theosophically derived) Venusians, which were described as Aryan angels—as well as their anti-war stance.
In 1954, Girvan co-founded the “Flying Saucer Review.” Two years later, his firm put out Arthur Constance’s “The Inexplicable Sky,” another flying saucer book. In between, he published “Flying Saucers and Common Sense” with a different publisher, Frederick Muller, with which he was also associated, the timing of his switching firms not clear. Girvan continued to stump for Adamski, as well as other contactees, and cool his eyes at attempts to explain away flying saucers. As he told Russell, the reports were, by this point, far too rich to dismiss: even if, for example, some government admitted that flying saucers were part of a secret weapons program, such admission could not account for the diversity of reports. Much more was going on. He was inclined to the idea that flying saucers were interplanetary craft, originating at the near planets, which were occupied by species very human in appearance; their frequent contact with the earth was hidden by a government conspiracy—an easy enough leap for someone who believed two related nations could be tricked into a horrible war that cost tens of millions of lives.
Girvan continued to edit, going into magazine work at some point. And in 1959, he took over editing “Flying Saucer Review,” which was a slick amid all of the mimeographed ‘zines. He did this work on the side, most of the costs covered by subscription and a few ads. By this point, Girvan was downplaying Adamski’s stories, but not the extra-terrestrial hypothesis: “For 17 years I have studied the subject day in and day out,” he said. “The only hypothesis that stands the test of ridicule and scrutiny is that these objects are solidly constructed, intelligently piloted or controlled, and that these machines and their pilots are not of this earth.” For Girvan, this was a mostly masculine investigation, the application of logic to a strange anomaly: “My wife is not very keen on the subject,” he said. “Women generally are not. I have very few women subscribers. But when they do become interested, oh my God, they go overboard.”
In August of 1964, Girvan slowed down significantly, his health compromised. He stopped working in September.
Ian Waveney Girvan died 22 October 1964. He was 56.
*********
Girvan became aware of Charles Fort from reading “Tomorrow.” He became aware of the Fortean Society when Carroll & Nicholson were putting out Gerald Heard’s book. He knew “The Riddle of the Flying Saucers” was going to get some bad press, particularly a review by the Astronomer Royal, and he wrote to Eric Frank Russell hoping to coordinate a response from Forteans. I do not know if the hope was fulfilled but doubt it, given the anarchic structure of the Society. This was in November 1950. Shortly before, he had written to Tiffany Thayer, in New York, for material on Charles Forte [sic!]; his plan was to write a brief biographical piece on Fort for the magazine “Everybody’s” that would support interest in flying saucer’s generally and, presumably, Heard’s book specifically. Thayer was dilatory in his response and as far as I know, nothing came of Girvan’s plan.
And that can be taken as a succinct summary of Girvan’s Fortean career: nothing came of the plan. Russell had approached Girvan—about getting a copy of Heard’s book—which is what prompted the connection in the first place. A few days later, Girvan then asked for information on joining the Society—though having seen ads in “Tomorrow,” the had apparently never bothered to join. Nor was he following “Tomorrow” very much: he was surprised to hear that it ceased publications. He also wasn’t very familiar with Fort’s works in Britain. He had a copy of the omnibus edition, which he’d gotten directly from the United States, but had to ask Russell if they were available in England.
He sent in his dues for the Fortean Society in mid-November 1950, and Russell sent him his welcome packet immediately. Apparently, Russell also suggested that Girvan look into publishing an English version of Fort’s books—Russell would have known by now how difficult they were to obtain, with import restrictions. On 20 November, Girvan wrote back, “The great trouble here is the enormous amount of paper that would be required and, of course, printing. The price would be very high and this might restrict its sales considerably rendering the venture unprofitable. On the other hand, the publicity which we are building up and which is being followed by other publishers—by next year there will be two other ‘saucer’ books, Keyhoe’s and Scully’s—might be turned towards Fort.”
That equivocating would be another hallmark of Girvan’s Fortean activities: he was drawn to doing more, but also talked himself out of it. He got a number of people interested in Fort (including Trewin) and encouraged media personalities he knew to discuss Fort. But, although he had a number of clippings on saucers, he refused to send them in because he wanted to use them for publicity. He wanted to import six copies of The Books of Charles Fort, but was at a loss for how to do so and had to ask Russell. He was always mulling doing Fort’s books—at least that’s what he told Russell—but he did not present it to his company’s Board, which would need to approve it, and thought that they would too loaded down with citations and details for a British public that preferred breezy writing—science fiction, sure, he thought that was going to overtake mysteries as the dominant genre, but not so dense. He could imagine doing a Fortean magazine in Britain—but paper restrictions made it impossible.
In January 1951, he snooped around Victor Gollancz’s publishing house—Girvan no fan of Girvan’s socialistic leanings—and found that “Lo!” had down very poorly when Gollancz published it in England two deuces earlier. And that was when print runs could be smaller. “If Gollancz had trouble with a pre-war edition then a present day publisher might even have a worse headache,” he said, but then immediately added a caveat: “On the other hand, I am making further enquiries to see if the climate has improved in the meanwhile. It would be impossible I think to publish the Omnibus but it might be possible to start with one of the consistent volumes and follow up.” He mentioned the matter to his board, and wrote Thayer about the possibility of an English version of Fort’s work—Thayer memorialized the moment in doggerel: “Weveney, Weveny, my black hen, may lay eggs for gentlemen. He is dickering to do the omnibus in Inglin”—which led to more hemming and hawing.
“I have heard from the Society in New York about the possibilities of publishing Charles Fort over here,” he told Russell, “and Mr. Thayer is suggesting that it is either the omnibus or nothing. I agree with him from a publishing point of view, but the amount of paper involved renders such an undertaking, I fear, almost impossible in the conditions ruling to-day. However, we shall see.” That was in February. If he needed evidence for why an English version might do well, he got it—as the six copies of The Books of Charles Fort didn’t reach him until May, and that was only because he had queried a number of distributors, most of them failing to come up with the books. I do not know why he needed them—perhaps as part of the presentation to the Board—and he ended up selling them immediately, two copies going to Russell for a little more than thirty shillings each, or about eight dollars each. (Thayer chided Russell for paying so much, and sent over more books to him.)
After an initial rush of activity, Girvan’s Fortean work mostly petered out. The correspondence between him and Russell slowed significantly, from several letters a month to a couple per year. There were still attachments to the Society—an interest in For and flying saucers, a shared conspiratorial world view. But he never sent in those clippings, as far as I know, and his name never appeared in Doubt. He only mentioned that magazine to Russell in relation to publicity for the flying saucer books he was putting out—hoping to generate interest in Forteans for the Leslie and Adamski book while noting that Thayer messed up the dates of Gerald Heard’s book.
He continued ruminating on publishing Fort in England; in 1955, he wrote to Thayer, again—reintroducing himself: “It has occured [sic] to me that, owing to the great interest that the pubic over here is displaying in flying saucers, the omnibus volume of THE WORKS OF CHARLES FORT will begin to be in greater demand than ever before.” He knew that there was no publisher willing to take on doing an English edition of the books, because the price was prohibitive, but he wanted to increase the number of imported copies, maybe starting with 250.
As his bona fides, he underlined how much he appreciated Fort as a forerunner of the entire flying saucer movement (though he must not have realized how much Thayer disliked flying saucers): “I should mention that I am a member of the Fortean Society, and was responsible for launching the subject of flying saucers in this country. My own book, FLYING SAUCERS AND COMMONSENSE, will be published over here by another publisher in a few weeks’ time, and I devote a whole chapter of the book in praise of Charles Fort’s genius. I do, therefore, think we are the right English publishers to launch the book, to publicise it, and to sell it for my representatives are all trained in the Fortean principles.” Thayer was willing to go along with the plan, as he had just gotten a French edition of the Book of the Damned ready to go. But nothing came of it.
A few months later, Girvan had moved to Frederick Muller, and brought the idea of increasing English access to Fort’s books with him. At the time he was still looking at a way to increase imports and lower costs without actually publishing the books. Thayer was amenable to the idea of Muller distributing the obis edition—what mattered to him was that Fort would be read—but he was sour on Girvan’s flying saucer obsession. He told Russell, “His book and others on saucers put out by Muller are at hand, and the stench is something awful.”
This scheme progressed further than Girvan’s other plots. Muller made a conditional agreement with Holt (which had published the books in the States), dependent upon Thayer’s approval, and Muller had gone so far as to draw up fliers advertising the Books, though Thayer had to get them from Russell. Thayer wrote, “Please do get a few of Muller’s fliers and send them air mail to me. Their deal with Henry Holt is still pending, subject to my consent, and I ainta gonna consent if they are making Fort a tramp. I can do that fast enough in my own sweet way. I ask you to get the fliers for me so Muller won’t get shy of me for my interest. Waveney already thinks I’m Beelzebub. But I am not, am I, Bub?”
I do not know that the deal was ever consummated, though I doubt it. Thayer and Girvan seem to have never clicked. The last mention of Girvan doing the books that I can find comes from a letter Thayer wrote to Russell on 28 January 1956, and it was dismissive: “Work, time and old age: aye: they are the culprits. They bear down on me too. If I had a young sprout I could trust I should be happy to turn over the Society to him. Alas, enthusiasm is not as durable as Gibraltar and most of the sparklers are flashes in the pan--or Waveney Girvan!”
Afterwards, Girvan seems to have turned his focus almost entirely to flying saucers, Perhaps he thought Fort was well known enough, or easy enough to obtain—or, simply, no longer useful to the cause, even if he had once been instrumental.
