Sarah Martin, my dad’s mother, was a Kooma woman, born on the Nebine River. She was the daughter of Susan Andrews and Jack Mitchell. She had many siblings who lived in and around Cunnamulla. She was mother to Jack, Marie, George, Sarah, Gordon, Les, Doris and Allan.
My dear and beloved Granny Martin: she fills my heart with so much joy and, as I sit here contemplating the thought of what I could possibly write about someone who has influenced my life in so many ways, I am mindful of the importance of portraying her truly beautiful soul.
The most kind and gentle person you could ever meet. She spoke softly with a wonderful caring nature and a steely determination with no equal.
I remember one time when Poey was a baby. He was always crying, pointing at something and saying, ‘There she is, I can see her!’ To make matters worse, the Turnbull girls were so spooked, they’d jump at their own shadows. They were always seeing ghosts… Dear old Granny got tired of all this carry-on with her grandchildren and decided to smoke us all.
She gathered a heap of sandalwood, threw some hot coals from the fire on top to create smoke, and then she marched us into the side bedroom of her house, where she piled all us kids together to commence the smoking ceremony.
She made us stand together in one corner of the room with our heads down, and before leaving us alone for about fifteen minutes, she spoke a few words in the lingo. The smoke was suffocating and I was so glad when she opened the door to let us out.
To this day, I’m still not sure if it was the smoking ceremony itself, or just the thought of being stuck in that room breathing in the ghastly sandalwood smoke. But whatever it was, it sure as hell worked because there was no more crying and pointing from Poey at night! And I never recalled the girls being as scared afterwards.
Garry Sonny Martin 