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!

Cocky

By

The saddest part of the whole ordeal for me was going home from school at year’s end knowing that I would never see her again, my beautiful Jenny. Like most every other boys in school I imagined that they were also in love with Jenny.

The other sad part was finding my beautiful pet galah Cocky dead. As I was walking passed the service station near home the attendant, Mrs Glennon, called out to me and gave me the news that a car had ran over Cocky. She knew Cocky belonged to me as nearly everyone in Cambooya did because he would follow me everywhere I went and to find out that he was run over just break my heart and I burst into tears.

I threw my school bag over the fence on my way passed our house on the way down to the creek. The creek was just beyond, about two hundred metres, and at a moment like this I just wanted to be alone and the best place to be was down by the creek.

I loved the creek for its beauty, its clear clean running water was in complete contrast to the muddy waters of the Quilberry at Cooladdi. Since my early days of living in Cambooya I would sometimes take a trip down memory lane and revisit the old town and as I cross over the traffic bridge where I played the day Cocky was tragically taken from me, I am very disappointed that there is no water in the creek.

And, when I think of the reasons why there is no water my disappointment turns to anger. How can this be I thought, once a vibrant healthy environment and to be reduced to a dry riverbed is a disgrace.

What would the Traditional Owners, the Jorowair people think if they saw the Hodgson in the current state?

All the food they would collect along the creek to feed their families, muscles, yabbies, shrimps and the water itself so plentiful and natural, I’m sure they would be appalled to see it now…

It would be easy to blame the farmers for the disaster with their continuous irrigation of crops along the creek, but in my humble opinion I believe the government is to blame as they are the ones who make the decision on water allocation and in doing so have allowed an environmental catastrophe to occur.

But anyway, I found a good spot under the big willow tree near the traffic bridge and sat down and shed a few more tears, I was heart-broken. It was a good place for me to hide as I didn’t want anyone to see me crying over a silly galah as I was supposed to be a tough guy. Maybe if I hadn’t cut his wing feathers off to stop him flying away he would have been able to move more quickly and get out of the way of the car.

If the driver had looked around before driving off he would have seen Cocky behind him and waited for him to pass by as he made his way to meet me after school.

Most afternoons he’d make his way in the direction of school hopping and skipping and occasionally stopping for a rest. He couldn’t fly properly as I cut one side of his wing feathers to stop him flying away and joining other birds in the wild… Granny also taught me this trick.

I was searching for answers to why my beautiful Cocky was taken from me and I couldn’t find one accept that it must be a very cruel world to allow this to happen to me and Cocky.

I didn’t feel like going home, I wanted time to be alone and not talk to anyone.
Continuing to play by myself along the creek throwing stones into the water and jumping from rock to rock and trying not to fall in as my head was filled with confusion and anger over my loss.

I knew that I had to go home eventually, so I collected my thoughts and started in a homeward direction when I looked up and saw Ray, my brother, coming towards me.
Ray loved Cocky also as he was there the day I took him from his nest and I think he was very saddened by what had happened and when we met I could see that he wanted to console me, but Ray being Ray, he just said, ‘Mum’s looking for you, You’re in trouble.’ And with that we walked along home.