Families once fled my ‘struggletown’ suburb. Then the gentrifiers arrived

On my first morning in Richmond, the window of my Corolla was smashed. I had left an empty Reebok shoebox on the back seat and an opportunist had broken in. Welcome to Richmond!

It was the end of the 1980s and I’d landed a job in the big smoke. I wasn’t a total stranger to Melbourne, having taken the 5am Vinelander train in from Ballarat to uni twice a week for years, but hadn’t driven beyond Ascot Vale and certainly hadn’t attempted a hook turn. Where would I live?

Richmond was the sentimental choice.

A semi-industrial suburb in the eastern shadow of the MCG, the Yarra River meanders along the perimeter. To the north, it is bordered by Victoria Street, a bustling Little Saigon where the Vietnamese community found refuge after the war, and in the centre is the historic Pelaco sign.

I vividly remember riding a tram down Victoria Street in the 1970s, Abbotsford to the left and Richmond to the right. Atop a three-storey building, Audrey skipped her little heart out.

As a teen, my mum had lodged with an aunt in Richmond when she trained at the Hollywood School of Dressmaking in Collins Street. Everyone worked in the rag trade or at shirt manufacturers Pelaco, Bryant & May matches, Rosella Preserving Company, or one of the other factories.

Legendary Richmond player Jack Dyer was also my mum’s first cousin, so I had been an early draftee to the Tiger Army.

Now a Richmond resident in a share house at the back of GTV 9, I would get off the tram at Bridge Road to wafts of Cussons Imperial Leather soap from the factory. Later, in 1994, it became the home of Australia’s first Officeworks.

Early in my life as a Richmondite, I came across two instructive books. Janet McCalman’s Struggletown, a social history of the suburb published in 1984, added to my appreciation for the tough times endured by the working-classes who had lived here for more than a century.

Tom Noble’s Untold Violence, and its chapter about murderous Richmond drug baron Dennis Allen was less comforting. While Allen was dead by that time, his crime family lived locally, and the pace of my jogs would pick up around Stephenson and Chestnut streets.

I soon witnessed the gentrification of Richmond as those who couldn’t get out of “Struggletown” fast enough were replaced by new cycles of owners and renters who loved the convenience of its location, along with the shopping, pubs and lack of pretension.

In the early 1990s, Bridge Road’s clearance outlets were famous. Shopping tour buses lined Church Street on Saturdays full of bargain hunters keen to snare clothes, footwear, chocolate, and homewares.

I made the leap from tenant to mortgage holder in a tiny flat. Across Richmond, empty warehouses were converted to New York-style apartments and architect Nonda Katsalidis transformed the pigeon-filled Daly’s silos into the Malthouse Apartments. Kylie Minogue was rumoured to own one. I never saw her at the Malthouse, but she was often spotted in Richmond with then-boyfriend Jason Donovan and, in recent years, on Bridge Road. Her grandmother Millie lived in a Victorian cottage next door to the silos.

The quality of food also rapidly expanded. Bridge Road’s offering expanded beyond late-night fast-food haunts like Hollywood Palace, Zorba’s and Silvio’s Pizza. We didn’t even need to go to Victoria Street for our Thy Thy Vietnamese fix. Bridge Road and Victoria Street now struggle with high vacancy rates due to high rents, generational change where offspring don’t want to run the family restaurant, consumer shift to shopping outlets and much more.

The medically supervised injecting room, up from Victoria Street and near a primary school, has divided residents and been blamed for the demise of the once-dynamic strip. It is confronting to see drug-affected people but I don’t have to go to the Victoria Street precinct to see that – they’re present in the CBD and other suburbs.

For more than a century, the Dimmeys department store, with its clock tower, has been a beloved feature. Peak celebrity spotting was watching Molly Meldrum steer a super-sized trolley overflowing with toys and crockery one Christmas Eve. In later years, it limped along before closing in 2012. The building is now a Coles, though campaigners were successful in a bid to stop the supermarket from putting their logo on the tower.

Richmond feels like a big country town as you spot familiar faces at the bowlo, walking to the ’G to barrack for the Tiges or shopping at the Gleadell Street Market each Saturday. When there is a big game at the MCG, the suburb comes alive. Living in Richmond when the Tigers won the 2017 and 2019 premierships is up there in my all-time favourite moments.

Two of my children went to schools beyond their home suburb and in the early years said they wished they lived out in the greener parts of Melbourne, where their friends had swimming pools and huge rumpus rooms to host sleepovers and parties.

As time went on they realised the advantages of living in Richmond, where access to the 75, 48, 78 and 70 trams and railway stations was better than a long commute. Mind you, they now wonder where they will live given the continued gentrification of the suburb.

There’s no way I could afford to buy here now. Richmond’s median house price is $1,377,500 and the unit price $590,000. I fear young families may be missing out on the experience of raising a family in Richmond. It’s beginning to feel like there are more “fur babies” than the human variety. While people shift out once kids arrive or feel that they have outgrown the suburb, there can be huge benefits in staying. Kids can walk to school, to sport training or part-time jobs, encouraging their independence and helping us avoid many hours stuck in traffic.

Richmond continues to evolve as we enter a new cycle where many of our older friends give up the inner-city lifestyle and move out. The thought of leaving has crossed my mind, but the convenience of being so close to the city, medical services, shopping, recreation, trams and trains and varied food offerings makes it as hard to give up, as are the friendships forged over decades.

Claire Heaney is a freelance journalist.

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