149. Friday, 24 September 1948. Unquestionably the greatest boon which men ever conferred on himself was the sanitary toilet and the lavatory system. Every time I wash myself and hurl the dirty water over the balcony rail into the street I have visions of the black death, the plague of London, bubonic and a variety of other things. All the hotels and houses hæ the same lack of equipment; geographically Cooktown is a jewel mounted in a most lovely natural setting. If one leaves the town itself out of the picture and examines only the surroundings, there could be nothing fairer - the blue of the ocean and of the Endeavour and Annan rivers is such a deep and lovely blue, the palms wave with such exquisite grace, the hills and mountains shine red in the daytime and blue and purple at dusk, with the foliage ever green on them. That must have been what Captain Cook saw so many years ago, but why nobody has im- proved the town itself since his era is a mystery. It could be so lovely, far more so than many of the wealthy Florida resorts, but it isn't because of such things as this paragraph opens with. There has been no hitch of any sort develop in our plans so far and our day was one of easy routine, packing and so on; George and Van came in in the afternoon with some specimens but not the rock wallabies they had hoped to get. The rest of the party went for the evening to Dr. Kestevan's place but since I have not met him, I went to my favorite resort, the Royal Sovereign, where we were entertained with the crew of the Lochiel last April. A condition ex- isted there like it does in our place, the Commercial - no water. Water is supplied by wind pumps and there has been no wind for two days, with the ob- vious result. But after a few rounds of beer, the water shortage ceased to have much significance. Joe was there also, very far gone in drink but the landlady, with a great deal of very kindly tact, took him in hand, helped him along and finally had him dancing in the back room. She, Mrs. Malvina John- ston, is a lissome young lady and poor old Joe is a bit creaky in the joints now, but I have rarely seen anything funnier than their team dancing; Joe's shirt tails were hanging out, his trousers at the danger point, his tongue swollen so that every sentence he uttered, and he was uttering most of the time, caused a fine spray to settle everywhere. But it worked and instead of getting morose or sick, Joe found himself having the time of his life and had almost decided to forsake his old love, Portland Roads, and move to Cooktown. Tomorrow there is a celebration in honor of the explorer, Kennedy, who was speared and died up by Jacky-Jacky, in the north. Kennedy was never in Cooktown in his life and there is some argument as to why there should be a monument erected to him here; dark threats have been passed, suggestions that the Committee examine the monument carefully before removing its cover, and such things, but probably that is just talk. Anyway, in addition to that ex- citement, the Wandana, which has plied this coast for forty years, makes her last trip and final call at Cooktown. Sports are to celebrate both events and we are to sit on the speakers dais, as descendants in spirit from good old Kennedy. People are coming from the outback country and the Wandana's passengers and crew will about double the population. I shall have a chance to pay my respects to Andy Paulson, her captain, and I understand young Jack Burke, head of the steamship line, is also to be on board. Relaxation and easing of tension seem to be taking hold quite satisfactorily. Saturday, 25 September 1948. The arrival of the Wandana and the unveiling of the Kennedy Memorial were the two main functions. The latter was done very gingerly and the colors were not taken off the whole monument, but I should take them in proper order. George and Van left in good order and will be away until Monday morning and the remainder of us got on with the routine stuff. The Wandana docked