There’s much more to my suburb than gangsters and footballer’s wives

It’s full of gangsters and footballers’ wives, someone quipped when I said I’d bought a place in Essendon. It made me laugh – there was some truth in the idea.

Essendon is considered one of the posher western suburbs, thanks to city views, the wide, tree-lined streets, and stunning Marvellous Melbourne-era mansions later commandeered by private schools.

That landscape is changing dramatically as period homes are knocked down to make way for massive, contemporary builds; it’s shocking to see long-standing grande dames razed to the ground in a single day.

Jokes about old money and new – the said footballers and gangsters – have been a thing since the 1980s. Back then, the Morans were the notorious local family of note, a couple of suburbs away in Ascot Vale (and later immortalised in the TV series, Underbelly). I heard a whisper that the priests in this parish have media training, as a result of the many crime-related funerals conducted locally.

Truth be told, I didn’t lose any sleep over the underworld connection. Years later, I would meet someone who did: a mum at my son’s kinder lamented living so close to Roberta Williams – then still married to drug kingpin Carl. She worried about drive-by shootings going wrong, not without good reason.

Essendon has an abundance of green: Woodlands, Lincoln and Montgomery Parks, and is on the cusp of Strathmore’s Napier Park, with its magnificent river red gums. Nearby are Queens Park and the not-much-changed-since-I-was-a-teen Essendon pool.

When I was growing up, Essendon was home to many families of Anglo, Greek and Italian descent, and recent census figures show that Italian and Greek are still the main languages spoken after English. Though there were fancy houses and some parts were grander than others, it seemed egalitarian to me; maybe that says something about youthful perception.

We all knew where Sally Boyden – of Young Talent Time fame – lived, near St Therese’s, not far from legendary Bombers the Madden brothers, and the Keytes, home to newsreader Jennifer.

Every second weekend in footy season meant the median strip became chock-full of fans in cars watching the Bombers play at Windy Hill. Mates and I went along in our early teens but there wasn’t much spectating: it was all about socialising. We also hung out at the now-demolished Essendon Bowl, Fletcher Street’s ten-pin bowling alley complete with drawcard arcade games Space Invaders and Frogger.

Coffee culture hadn’t yet reached the burbs but Mrs Smith’s cake shop on Keilor Road in neighbouring North Essendon supplied sweet treats – a close friend working there would bring home armfuls of sweet stuff on closing most Saturday afternoons.

Windy Hill, spiritual home of the Bombers.Credit: Joe Armao

After school, Frank’s in Russell Street alongside Essendon station sustained us with dim sims and Big Ms; Me Wah, the Chinese takeaway opposite, sold the best chicken rolls in town. The latter only recently closed, apparently a victim of COVID-19 shutdowns.

The station itself, where trains, buses and trams converged, then as now, brought together students from schools near and far. Many a romance and no doubt as many break-ups occurred with it at the epicentre, as did rendezvousing with friends, surreptitious ciggie smoking and occasional fisticuffs.

As I got older, after finishing school productions or HSC exams, we would meet at the Royal Hotel. Later still, we made a pilgrimage to see the band, Running Bears, play at the Brickmakers Arms; it’s now home to a cafe and apartments, like much of that strip along Mt Alexander Road.

Dining options today are plentiful, including restaurants, a few wine bars and many cafes, near the station, in Rose, Buckley and Albion streets, and a few tucked away randomly. There’s no high street proper, just little pockets of shops here and there.

Nearly two decades after moving away, I decided it was time to take the plunge and buy. I’d lived across Melbourne, mainly beachside, plus a few years elsewhere in the world. Essendon was the one location not on my list – until week five of house-hunting.

At my Northcote share house on a Saturday, I was trying to work when the phone rang. “I’ve found your place, Kez,” Mum said.

Funny thing about mothers – sometimes they just know. I don’t remember if I filed my story that day but I did inspect the place my intuitive mother had spied as she drove around my old ’hood. It was perfect.

Backing onto Moonee Ponds Creek, it was a north-facing, mid-century beauty with big windows and lovely views. It ticked all my boxes, except for the postcode. I got over myself and signed on the dotted line, soon finding the suburb had changed and yet not, a bit like me.

Mum (and later my dear stepdad) living just around the corner has – of course – proven an absolute joy. I have to thank her for spotting such a gem and returning me to the fold.

We don’t have any gangsters close by, but my 17-year-old and his girlfriend love playing Aussie rules at the local club. So I guess we are continuing something of the football tradition my cheeky mate alluded to all those years ago.

Kerrie O’Brien is a senior writer at The Age.

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