Garry Sonny Martin

My name’s Garry Martin, but most people know me as Sonny.

Welcome to my Blog! I will be updating this page with new stories from time to time. 

I write stories about my childhood growing up in western Queensland to show the next generations what it was like growing up as a Blackfulla in the 1950s and 1960s.

I write these stories with the help of my daughter, Angie Faye Martin, to preserve memories of the past for future generations. Above all, I hope my granddaughters – Lailah and Ruby – find joy and meaningful connections in these stories.

I started documenting my childhood when I was in Oakey with my brother, Owen (Poe), and my mother, Zona Martin née Leslie. It was a quiet and nostalgic time for me – I finally felt time and space to really reflect on the past. My daughter was calling frequently from Melbourne during the Covid lockdowns and wanting information about the past for her debut novel, Melaleuca. She was particularly interested in stories from the yumba and how life was back then.

I hope you enjoy these yarns, have a laugh and remember our loved ones. There’ll be more coming soon!

Fly like Zona

By

It was in Cooladdi and the first house we lived in that Zona Merle showed us how she could fly. It wasn’t much of a place, just a small timber house with three bedrooms, a kitchen, bathroom and laundry. The backyard was of a reasonable size where us kids would play. It had a collection of fruit trees with the most delicious figs, a mulberry bush and some bush lemons and a few orange trees.

The drainage from the laundry and bathroom provided a good source of water for the garden, and also provided moisture for the biggest earthworms you could imagine.

We had plenty of chooks that roamed around the backyard, scouring through the long grass, feasting on the worms from beneath the fruit trees. We never had a chook pen for the poor old things to roost or lay their eggs, so they had to find a place of their own.

Occasionally my brother Ray would spot a chook that looked like it was ready to lay an egg, and he would patiently wait until it decided to pop one out. He’d be right there ready to catch it before it hit the ground. He had the patience of a predator stalking its prey, ready to pounce. That was our backyard…

Mum had been in the laundry, washing clothes and just walked outside to the clothes line to peg them out when we called out. ‘Mum, Mum! Come and play with us! We’re bored. There’s nothing to do.’

‘Just wait a minute til I do this last load and I’ll play with ya’s.’

After about five minutes she came back out and yelled, ‘Go and find half a dozen or so sticks.’ She indicated the length of the sticks with her hands, ‘Like this.’ We quickly raced around and found the sticks and then she told us to place them on the ground about a foot and a half apart.

‘Okay. Now what?’ we asked.

‘Well, it’s a game called “Fly” and we used to play it on the mission in Moree.’ We were excited. I could see the Sully boys next door and called them over to join in.

Me, Ray and Poey, and Niecy – with her long boney legs – were all ready to play Fly.

Mum’s instructions were for us to get into a single line, one after the other, jumping between the sticks without touching them, and if you did touch a stick then you were out of the game. She went on to say that the last person in the line can choose one of the sticks and place it on the ground at the point where they had leapt and landed, thus creating the obstacle of the game. If a person touched one of the sticks, they were eliminated. Those were her final instructions before we started playing.

Both Mum and Niecy tucked their skirts up under their pants, showing of their long skinny legs and we were off. Poey was the first one knocked out, followed by the Sully boys, then Ray and with that, only three remained: Niecy, Mum and me.

The sticks were now placed in really tough positions and I was starting to struggle a bit, but I was determined to win, or at least beat Niecy.

Mum was cruising. She’d obviously played the game before.

It got to the final stages where Mum was the last person in the line, so she could place the sticks wherever she wanted. Knowing how big of a show-off I was, she devised a plan to knock me out and teach me a lesson not to be such a smarty pants.

Niecy could out jump me but wasn’t able to break her stride quick enough to negotiate the sticks that were closer together, and Mum knew this and set about her plan to eliminate me.

Ray was in charge of moving the sticks as Mum directed him, and as she was the last jumper, she told him to get the second stick, and move it to the end, and by doing this it made the first jump really long and difficult.

I was the first one to attempt the new jump and I knew it would take all of my might and determination to make it through, so off I went down the runway at great speed. I landed on about where I thought would be the best position on my first stride to make it over the second stick, but my timing was slightly out, and I got the wobbles and instead of clearing it, I put my big foot right in the middle, and that was the end of me.

With only Mum and Niecy left in the game, I reckon Mum deliberately stepped on a stick so Niecy could win.

Isn’t it amazing to think that a mob of kids sitting around bored could lead to such a long and lasting family tradition?

So, the next time you’re sitting around together big noting yourselves about how great you all are at Fly, just remember where it all started – the little girl from Moree with the skinny black legs! Zona Merle.