THE HOME FROM HOME 55

nor did they patronise or laugh at them; they had to
deal with the real native and not the Creole, and
the real native was someone to love and admire. One
didn't have to condescend; one knew more about
some things, but they knew more about others. And
on the whole the things they knew were more
important. One couldn't make lightning like they
could, one's gun was only an improvement on their
poisoned spear, and unless one was a doctor one had
less chance of curing a snake-bite than they. The
Englishmen here were of a finer, subtler type than
on the Coast; they were patriots in the sense that they
cared for something in their country other than its
externals; they couldn't build their English corner
with a few tin roofs and peeling posters and drinks
at the bar.

It might be thought that these men were more
fortunate, that their 'corner', just because it was less
material, demanded less effort to construct. But: one
cannot carry a country's art in one's head, and in the
climate of West Africa books rot, pianos go out of
tune, and even a gramophone record buckles.

Beside the line Sergeant Penny Carlyle, D.C.'s
messenger, swagger-stick under arm, waited for us.
Bare-legged and bare-footed, with a cap like a
Victorian messenger boy's perched on one side, a row
of medals on his tunic, he had the smartness and
efficiency of an N.C.O. in the Guards. He marshalled
his carriers, led the way to the rest-house, squashed
a beetle under his toes, clicked his bare heels and
dismissed. There were egrets everywhere, like thin
snow-white ducks with yellow beaks. They provided,
in their slender Oriental beauty, the final contrast to