POSTSCRIPT IN MONROVIA 293

far as the Cabinet Ministers were concerned, a
depressing example of sobriety and attention to
business; you couldn't womanise, for the range was
too embarrassingly limited; there were no games to
play, no strangers regularly bringing the gossip of
one's own country; there was no ambition, for
Liberia, whether to the diplomat or to the store-
keeper, was about the deadest of all ends; there was
really nothing but drink and the wireless, and of the
two the drink was preferable.

But, nevertheless, all the English had wireless: at
six o'clock they would turn on the Empire Pro-
gramme from Daventry, but even that limited and
depressing choice of entertainment was inaudible;
the West Coast defeated any instrument; and as a
background to every drink and to all conversation
the powerful instruments would wheeze and groan
and whistle until eleven o'clock. This was the nearest
they got to Home, this piercing din over the Atlantic.
By eleven o'clock one was too drunk to mind, anyway.

As for the intrigues which brought a little liveli-
ness into the hot damp day, a little activity, a small
sense of importance, there were .two while I was there.
A gentleman with a great financial reputation had
arrived in Monrovia to try to obtain for a big British
trust the concession for all gold and precious minerals
that might be found in the interior and to drive out
such small lonely prospectors as Van Gogh. It was a
confirmation of the story I had heard in Bo. He had
arrived at the right moment, within two months of
the Presidential election, when money was urgently
needed, and he was prepared to spend £30,000 on
easing the concession through. The only danger* was