Monday, 30 August 1948. Laura, and what a place is Laura. We arrived soon after 1 P.M. after the sort of drive that has now become a daily event, not only for the past four days, but ever since we passed Brown's Creek on our way to Wenlock. Last night was a trifle warmer and today was correspondingly hotter - so much hotter is it that in spite of the fact that we have all been living in the open for several months and are leathery and weatherbeaten, we all developed new sunburns on our faces. All except the blacks, that is, and it was rather amusing to see them slowly change from their rich ebony shade to a dull white as the dust of the jour- ney settled over their features. We passed the usual number of dry river beds and dry gullies; in fact we passed no running water of any kind at all, and about 1 P.M. we crossed the Laura River, a hundred yards of dry, coarse sand. After surmounting the steep bank of the further side, Laura itself swam into view through the heat haze. There are four houses, of the uniquesitous corrugated iron, surrounding a really lovely mango tree, under whose shade a solitary drunk was sitting. One of the four shacks is a pub. But there are the railway lines and we are now installed in the station, another corrugated iron shack which, with our- selves and our baggage, is now filled to overflowing. Soon the people who live here arrived to call on us; some of them we had met at the Coen Races and many, knowing our odd desires, brought gifts of specimens they had pick- ed up here and there. As a result I was busy from the time we moved in, at 1.15, until well after 8 P.M., fixing specimens and doing up my books. In a minute or so I am going over to the pub with Joe for a nightcap. The Hann River was a fly- and mosquito camp; both were very bad though here we are clear of the flies. I went out in the evening, following the river to a spot where a twelve foot croc had been reported; of course there was no sign of it and probably the report is fifteen or sixteen years old. But I did manage to get a bit of work on my mail - I cannot answer ful- ly and have had to abstract the letters and note the things that were of chief importance. I hope that somehow I can fit in time tomorrow to get answers done but in any event we leave here somewhere about 1.30 and travel along those lines that stretch so seductively toward the civilization of Cook- town. What the train will be like and what our Cooktown movements are going to be, I must leave until tomorrow. Tuesday, 31 August 1948. One thing that I forgot to state yesterday was that there was a water famine in Laura when we arrived. We had to take the truck out about four miles, borrow a forty gallon container and fill up there. Our morning passed without event and at 11.30 the rail-motor arrived. It looks much like one of the old-time open trolley cars and drags a closed bag- gage van behind it. Our party and baggage filled the train to a great extent but perhaps a total of twenty passengers got aboard somehow, including three nurses who had come up with the train just for the ride. The journey from Laura to Cooktown is about seventy miles and we left at 12.30, to arrive about 4.30. Our agent here, Lewis, met us and our baggage now repose in his ware- house, waiting repacking and replenishing tomorrow. It was about the middle of April when we put in for a few hours during the Lochiel journey; at that time I did not see Cooktown by daylight and electricity lends fictitious values. The place, even after our months in the bush, looks more like an oversize Laura than anything else I can think of. From Laura the country was the same arid sort of land that we have had ever since leaving the Tozer district and while there is a nice little bar here, Joe is on the verge of falling down now, the light though electric is so dim that I can barely see what I am writing. Now I shall quit and try to get some mail done.