My suburb’s gated enclave is known as the Toorak of the west. It wants to secede

I was an RAAF baby. You don’t have to feel sorry for me, but it did kinda suck. By decree, RAAF families got bounced around the country every few years with the carefree malevolence of a Bond villain stroking his cat, ignorant of a 10-year-old introvert’s terror at once again having to fit into a new friend group.

I saw my fair share of different states, schools and RAAF bases: Sale, Canberra, Richmond (NSW), Laverton and Point Cook. The last, built in 1912, and Australia’s very first Air Force base, was by far my favourite and eventually became my home suburb.

Every RAAF base is its own little gated fiefdom, a self-sufficient universe manned by soldiers, where outsiders aren’t allowed in. At that time in 1996, the population of Point Cook was 580, of which 552 were at the airbase. My life was sealed-in but had a vibe of plenty – shops, cinemas and swimming pools merged with the dozens of picture-book homes. Dad remarried there in the local church, while my stepdad later worked at the RAAF Museum. Family fringe benefits for this starry-eyed 10-year-old once included an interstate ride in a Hercules C-130 military transport plane.

But a radical change came to those sleepy grasslands that were once home to the Bunurong people of the Kulin Nation. The telltale rumble of air traffic became less frequent, replaced by the sounds of nail guns and other power tools, as budget house-and-land deals birthed concrete slabs and their protruding wooden ribs, replicating across the fields, from the freeway to the sea.

Back when a housing deposit wasn’t equal to the GDP of a small nation, first homebuyers came in their droves to the affordable bayside suburb just off the Princes Freeway, about 22 kilometres south-west of the CBD.

Like some emirate that had struck oil, Point Cook’s population exploded from little more than nought to 66,781 at the 2021 census, making it Australia’s biggest suburb by population. It’s predicted to keep growing to about 82,000 by 2040. But not all of Point Cook is egalitarian.

Within the megasuburb lies Sanctuary Lakes, a manicured enclave with aristocratic airs that the blue-collar Werribians call the “Toorak of the West”. It has twice been knocked back by Wyndham council in its attempts to become an official suburb, a status surely befitting its waterside mansions and long, winding fairways. Built around a 60-hectare man-made lake (Melbourne’s largest) and a Greg Norman-designed 18-hole private golf course, the commercial housing estate was a gleaming Valhalla of abundance to this starry-eyed teen.

So when the opportunity arose years later for a mate and I to score a prized waterfront rental on one of Sanctuary Lakes’ gated man-made islands (conveniently linked to land by a road bridge), we jumped at the opportunity – even though neither of us had a job.

The cache was priceless. Officially, I was a resident of plain-jane Point Cook, but my letters and parcels marked me a proud inhabitant of the refined community of Sanctuary Lakes. Personal key cards granted us free gym, pool, golf, tennis, and 24/7 security. I was kayaking with the swans at sunset and looking down my nose at outsiders, realising I’d found myself inside yet another gated realm.

My builder mates referred to Sanctuary Lakes as Legoland and, to be fair, it does have a very Truman Show vibe to it, with its lack of established trees, stringent rules around bins and landscaping, and the dully cosmetic houses themselves, all pale and emptily beaming like Stepford Wives.

But the sunsets are gorgeous, with fiery pastels spreading across the softly rippling lake, itself dotted with random pelicans and stand-up paddleboarders, all of it sharply accented by the occasional roar of resident Lamborghinis, while the speed limit mafia mums watch censoriously from their windows.

As Point Cook grew, we did too, gaining friendly new neighbours from around the world and two new Asian supermarkets. With such a large population, Point Cook has attracted all kinds of titles, including a recent claim to be the mum capital of Australia.

But perhaps most deserving is its title as the most multicultural suburb in Australia. Point Cook leads the nation in diversity, with residents from 146 different countries, including at least 20 people from 86 countries, and the greatest range of languages spoken at home (83). Seventy per cent of Point Cookians have both parents born overseas.

With several shopping centres, 12 schools and endless sporting clubs, everyone in this rapidly multiplying kingdom is catered for, even though getting in and out of the eastern edge of the suburb through the single-lane Point Cook Road remains an absolute horror show during peak hour. Public transport has never been superb here and life remains difficult without a car. Buses are sporadic, and Williams Landing train station on the other side of the freeway feels ages away.

When needing a break, my favourite escape has always been the salt flats and adjacent Cheetham Wetlands across Skeleton Creek in Altona Meadows. Born from the Victorian government’s purchase of the Cheetham Saltworks that operated here from 1924 to 1990, the wetlands dominate the coastline and provide a vital habitat and conservation area for more than 200 bird species. I’ve found myself regularly walking its hard-packed salt pans at dusk, tracing the vast deserted coastline as the city glittered across the bay and seabirds screeched above.

But the true avian stars of Point Cook are Sanctuary Lakes’ swans, showing up regularly to snap up the frozen peas or grass I fed them from my backyard. Swans are confounding creatures. Both vicious and graceful, they have an imperious air, yet they’re also loveable goofballs.

They were my favourite thing about Point Cook before I left the island and moved interstate during the COVID years. Now back in Melbourne, I’m drawn back to my old suburb. While Sanctuary Lakes’ body corporate fees might keep me out of Legoland, I won’t forget the sight of those swans in full flight, wide wings kissing the ripples of the late afternoon tide, before rising slowly into another gorgeous suburban dusk.

David Goodwin is a freelance writer. His debut memoir is Servo, published by Hachette.

The Opinion newsletter is a weekly wrap of views that will challenge, champion and inform your own. Sign up here.