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!

The Exorcism

By

(Consider yourself warned! This story contains scary material and some swear words.)

I was lying on my bed reading a Phantom book one evening and noticed it was unusually quiet and I asked Dad where the other kids were. He said he thought they were at a church gathering two doors down. I knew exactly where they were, so I ran to join them.

When I arrived, everyone was gathered around in the living room listening to an old guy delivering a sermon about Jesus and the Bible and I took up a spot next to my brother Ray on the floor.

As the service went on, the old preacher guy asked his granddaughter to come and sit at the table and she did.

There were a few empty chairs left at the table, so my two brothers Ray and Poey, sister Niecey and I perched ourselves in them for a better look and to see what was happening.

The young girl, our friend, who was about ten or eleven years old at the time, sat with her head down on the table when the preacher stood over her and started talking. I found it peculiar that he wasn’t talking directly to her – that’s why I thought he wanted her positioned at the table.

As he continued speaking it became obvious to me that he was directing his comments to something inside the girl. And, when his communications changed from comments to aggressive commands of, ‘I know you’re in there and I want you out,’ that’s when I began to get a little scared.

‘I know you’re in there Lucifer and I demand you to come out,’ he repeated. He continued this assault for some time until a voice deep inside her started talking back.

It certainly wasn’t the girl who was doing the talking – it was a voice that appeared to be coming from deep within and it spoke in a man’s voice: angry and abrupt.

Such a petite little girl, so frail and helpless with her grandfather standing over her quivering body calling out to the devil and demanding he leave her alone, when suddenly she raised her head from off the table with a look of savage rage in her eyes. She brought her hands to her face, moving uncontrollably, and then the most hair-raising screams you’ve ever heard came out of this little girl. It was too much for us and we decided to take off.

They were a family of Indian decent, but there was one white guy there who grabbed Niecey and asked her where she was going as we ran towards the door.

She was very quick to reply, saying, ‘I’m getting the fucking hell out of here,’ and shoved him out of the way and ran outside to join the rest of us.

The house was an old timber place with about five or six steps to negotiate, but on this particular night, in my haste to get out, my feet never touched any of ‘em.

The next day at school I remember looking at the little girl, but I didn’t say anything, I noticed that she appeared really fatigued and lost, and I felt like giving her a hug to try and offer some kindness and support.

Her family were obviously affiliated with the Boskeys, a well-known religious group from Charleville, as they would often hold church services at their house in Cooladdi and the Boskeys would attend.

We remembered them for their gospel music from our days on the Yumba in Charleville and we knew it was them in Cooladdi as the music began playing. There was one auspicious occasion when things got completely out of control and we could hear women and kids screaming and shouting for help. Dad and Mum ran over to see what all the commotion was about, and us kids were right behind them as we didn’t want to miss out on the action.

Mum was only weeks away from having a baby, and Dad beckoned her to stay at the front gate with us kids and not go any further as he could sense something seriously wrong, but Mum couldn’t resist and marched on in.

Well, she didn’t stay long inside the house – next thing, she flew out and jumped over the neighbour’s fence (which was the closest means of a safe escape).

Mum looked terrified as she called out to us kids to go back home and stay there. Later in the evening, when Dad came home after calming the situation down somewhat, it was revealed that three young girls were on the floor crawling around snarling and growling like lions and the preachers lost control and that’s when people started to panic. Obviously, another exorcism was taking place.