My suburb is mocked relentlessly. But people can’t stop talking about it

Elizabeth and I found my suburb over 30 years ago. Elizabeth’s mother, Marie, was becoming frail, and we were looking for good secondary schools. Moving from Doncaster, which had little in the way of public transport, we were delighted to find a classic brick veneer near a tram line, a local aged care facility for Marie and high schools for the children.

What we didn’t realise was that the suburb we had chosen was, for many Melburnians, a punchline.

In the 1990s, I had forgotten about The Skyhooks’ 1974 hit, Balwyn Calling: “Hey boy that’s Balwyn Calling … Get on the phone and do a bit of stallin’ … And now you’ve got the Balwyn Blues … A brick veneer prison is waitin’ for you … And you ain’t safe when you get home … Get off the phone and get out of Balwyn.”

Those less-than-favourable characterisations of Balwyn as the heart of Melbourne’s dull suburbia have never quite gone away. Larissa Dubecki (who has written for this series), wrote in The Age in 2008 about the persistent mockery of my suburb.

“Balwyn has been a byword for dullness for half a century,” said Graeme Davison, a leading urban sociologist and former North Balwyn resident). Appreciatively, he did conclude that “it has become more diverse and a bit livelier”.

Local author Tony Wilson, who lived in Balwyn (and has also written for this series – does everyone have an opinion on Balwyn?), said: “It’s unfair that Balwyn cops so much flak: Surely the Balwyn of the North, North Balwyn, is just that fraction more boring. At least Balwyn has a library.”

There are other differences between North Balwyn and us. As a Balwyn friend once told me, North Balwyn was once known as “Mortgage Hill” by residents in Deepdene and Balwyn, as many of its houses were larger and paid for with big bank loans, while their southern neighbours had more modest expectations. “My parents and neighbours … never had a loan for their 14-square [130 square metre] Balwyn brick veneers,” he told me.

For much of our initial 30 years in Balwyn, I remained blissfully ignorant of boring Balwyn perceptions. I now have an overwhelming desire to counter this negative impression.

Balwyn flourished into the suburb we now know about a century ago, after the extension of the tram along Whitehorse Road and a tax on vacant land, which resulted in Camberwell becoming the fastest-growing municipality during the 1920s.

At the time, the Balwyn Church of Christ pastor spoke eloquently of the evils of alcohol, and a 1920 poll overwhelmingly agreed to keep Balwyn and its surrounds dry. I don’t know if the vote to make Camberwell a “dry zone” in 1921 helped or hindered growth, but Balwyn now has an excellent coffee culture. That church is now a cafe, and the pastor would be horrified to know it may soon gain a liquor licence.

Why do we enjoy living in Balwyn? Overwhelmingly, it’s our interactions with fellow residents, often great storytellers. They included “Gus” Kaminski, a neighbour who, with her family on the Dutch German border, hid and helped escape 37 Jews during the Holocaust. There is a portrait of “Gus” at the Melbourne Holocaust Museum in Elsternwick.

Or there is the neighbour who worked at Model Dairy in Kew, and would walk up to Whitehorse Road before 6am each morning, where the tram driver, early in his journey to the city, often waited for him. His eldest son’s happiest day was the Balwyn Primary School fire in 1951, when he thought he wouldn’t have to return to school until it was rebuilt.

Or, there was the friend who, with his brothers, had sneaked into Balwyn’s landmark Mary’s Mount estate to fish in the ornamental lake, only to be chased off by the sisters.

It was the local services that brought us here, and we still have most of what we need nearby. I can’t imagine what I’d do without that library, which has meeting rooms used by local community groups, including the Balwyn Historical Society. As a movie buff, it’s a pleasure to be able to walk to Palace Cinema on Whitehorse Road.

Balwyn’s shopping strip has many friendly conveniences, including my barber, doctor, physio, butcher, green grocer shop and more. If you happen to be after a kilt or sporran, we even have a specialist Scottish clothing shop, the only one of its kind in Australia. I rarely make a purchase but love to pop in and chat with the owner, Bill.

We’ve also seen the emergence of more and more real estate agencies on our strips, but we’re probably not the only suburb to experience that.

Many of the challenges of living in Balwyn are common to other parts of Melbourne. Recently, both our cars were stolen, and a fortnight later, a neighbour’s car was also stolen. A few days ago, our next-door neighbour asked if his builders could use our power supply, as someone had stolen the electrical equipment needed to work on their foundations.

Traffic congestion is a problem here, and road rage is all too common. But there is rarely a need to drive into the city when you can get the 109 tram straight in.

It has also been sad to see lovely old homes, with big gardens and trees, demolished and replaced with McMansions with no garden or trees. But we do have excellent nature reserves at Beckett Park, Maranoa Gardens and other parks with native plants and trees.

According to a recent list of the suburbs that people never leave, neighbouring Deepdene was ranked fifth in Melbourne. While Balwyn didn’t feature, I can assure you that we will stay. We are downsizing to an apartment just 80 metres from our present home, and hope to make the move in early 2027. It’s not exciting in Balwyn, but it’s still calling us.

Matthew Etty-Leal is the president of the Balwyn Historical Society and is looking for more stories.