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Set during the Gold Rush days, The Promised Land concludes Mudrooroo's fantastical voyage through the history of Australia around the time of its colonisation by the British. This is satire at its most cutting, and entertaining. Sir George Augustus returns to the Great South Land with his young wife, Lady Lucy, intending to establish a mission to educate and 'Christianise' the native people. When he hears that gold has been found on the land, his missionary zeal increases. Accompanied by the mysterious white woman, Amelia Fraser, and a troop of native police, he sets out on an expedition to the diggings. As Sir George journeys into what he hopes is a golden future, his past begins to creep up on him, and those he thought were dead return to confront him. The final book in the Master of the Ghost Dreaming series.

(Author's Preface)I should like to state at the beginning of my book that what is stated in it on controversial matters is my own firm opinion, except where in a few cases the views of other people are published and their names given.I wish to make it clear that though there were, and are, sharp differences of opinion on the subject of Fast-Leg-Theory bowling between myself and some Australians, there was always an atmosphere of complete cordiality between the teams on both sides. Although we differ seriously over my Fast-Leg-Theory bowling I have done my best in the following pages not to disturb that atmosphere.Until now my side of the matter has not been heard. I have refused many tempting offers to break silence. As a fast bowler and a hitter by nature I have written strongly because I cannot express myself otherwise.I hope very much indeed that in doing so, though I was one, of the aggrieved parties in Australia, I have given nobody half the offence from which I suffered so often on the last tour.A belief exists that some of the things I have written about are not yet to be discussed.Obviously I differ from that view. I do so because I feel that in a matter of such vital interest to cricketers as the possible admission by legislation of such a far-reaching principle as that bowlers may not bowl as they like, no cricketer can keep silent. I believe I have only written here what very many cricketers are saying. But I have written supported by first-hand knowledge.For the many imperfections of style and language in my first book I beg the indulgence of my reader.Yours Sincerely,H. Larwood

(Author Note)Forty Fathoms Deep is part of the story of the pearl seas of north-western Australia. In all but a few instances, I have used names well known in the pearl world of Broome, but have taken care not to hurt susceptibilities. I am conscious I have only gleaned in a field rich with romance. There is material for many books in the adventurous lives of the men who have built up the history and industry of Broome. It is to be hoped that someone more persuasive than I will induce them to sit down and write, or, failing that, sit and talk for the enlightenment and entertainment of fellow Australians. I am greatly indebted to numerous friends in Broome who have helped me with material and who went to such pains to get for me authentic data. Hail and farewell, with a warm heart, to Con and old Sebaro, and to all the divers and tenders and seamen who were so patient at explaining the many things I desired to see and know. To all, a fair wind and a hungry market when the fleets put to sea! ION L. IDRIESS.

In this witty and entertaining memoir, Alister Kershaw describes the pleasures of his prolonged residence in France - a country of villages - from 1948, when even Paris was a series of villages. In post-war Paris, Kershaw lived a penniless but joyous existence, tramping streets he had long imagined from the poets and novelists he had read. 'Village to Village' captures a Paris long gone but vividly remembered. The author conjures Paris prior to the triumph of the technocrats and town planners, and the major redevelopments that changed the provincial cities for all time. It also traces the author's move into the Berry, two hours south of Paris, where he lives in a hamlet of six houses and finds a rural life amongst a small group of traditional winemakers. What will his neighbours make of this intruder - a writer, a poet, a broadcaster - and an Australian into the bargain?

(from The Spectator, May 1936)In his introduction to Lasseter's Last Ride (Cape, 7s. 6d.) Field-Marshal Sir William Birdwood writes : The annals of Central Australian exploration are tragic and heroic, but it is long indeed since I read a more moving story of endurance and heroism in the face of terrific odds than the epic which Mr. Ion Idriess has woven out of the last few months of the life of L. H. B. Lasseter. The reader will agree with this, and wonder why he has not heard of Mr. Idriess before. He is well known in Australia, but this is his first book to be published in England. It will not be his last, if the present one meets with the success it deserves. Having himself been a prospector, the story he has constructed out of the fragments of documentary evidence - a few reports, the barely legible diary and letters found buried near Lasseter's last camps - is probably very close to what actually happened. Harry Lasseter had once discovered a rich gold reef in unexplored west Central Australia. Owing to a faulty watch, the bearings he took were useless. An expedition was fitted out to locate it. From the first, misfortune dogged the steps of the party. Food ran short and they returned to the base-camp - all except Lasseter, who went on alone. When his two camels bolted he was left waterless in the desert. Blinded by sand and tortured by dysentry, he found the reef, but died shortly afterwards, deserted by a tribe of aborigines with whom he had tried to make friends. Mr. Idriess tells this story in a simple, virile style which is, in its intense economy, comparable to Hemingway at his best.

For a long time I have been intending to write down earliest memories to discover how many I retain clear-cut before my memory is too moth-eaten. I meant to do this as a diary for myself alone, as sailors in the doldrums erect full-rigged ships in bottles just because the mind is an instrument that sanity cannot leave idle. I must find some kind of exercise for a mind unused except on chores or with the triffle-traffle of housewives.' Miles Franklin wrote this delightful autobiography in 1952-1953. She was unable to arrange for publication before her death in 1954 and the MS. came to Angus and Robertson Ltd from her executors, the Permanent Trustee Co. Ltd of New South Wales. It was first published in 1963.