My suburb is the South Yarra of the north. But good luck trying to find it

4 hours ago 3

Opinion pieces from local writers exploring their suburb’s cliches and realities and how it has changed in the past 20 years.

See all 53 stories.

Here are some things a real estate agent will tell you about Montmorency. It’s less than 20 kilometres from the city (well, it’s 18). Its main strip, Were Street, is “a vibrant entertainment hub” (at least, until 9pm on Fridays and Saturdays). It has trees, parks, buses and trains, three great primary schools, and a much-loved footy team (all true).

What the agent might not tell you is that if you move here, no one outside the outer north-east of Melbourne will know where you live. They will think you live bayside, or near the Dandenongs. Only when you say “out near Eltham” will they get it. I’ve heard more than one outsider call us “Little Eltham” and I sometimes say that we are the South Yarra to Eltham’s Toorak.

People here like to imagine that we are the closest thing to a country town this side of the green wedge. I’m not sure anyone wants Were Street to be too vibrant an entertainment hub. (Except for that one day a year when the QWere Street party happens and our sedate street fills with bubbles and rainbows and drag queens). After the only bar on Were Street closes, the most nighttime action happens 10 feet above us, where powerful owls pluck hapless ringtails from the rooftops and power lines.

Were Street is far from the traffic of Main Road and not well sign-posted. You need to know which turns to take through our undulating streets to even find it. When you do, it’s like stumbling across a country town hidden in the suburbs, full of small independent stores. Within its two blocks, there is one great coffee place and three OK ones. You will find different views up and down the street about which is which.

Coffee isn’t the only thing that divides us. People have mixed views on the recent “upgrade” of the street. This saw the loss of some of the quirky homegrown artwork that made it feel unique. It also saw the installation of paving tiles that many think look too much like genitalia or at the very least, match the bloodless aesthetic of the gigantic new train station at the end of the street.

When double white lines were painted down Were Street, some people were cranky. They saw it as a violation of their right to swing their SUVs into angled parking spots opposite. I’m in the other camp – every time I frown and shout the words “double white lines” at an offending vehicle, I feel like a true local.

I’ve only been here for 10 years, and Monty is the kind of place where generations come and stay or return – the demographic skews towards older people and young families. More and more, though, young adults are remaining at home. Late nights and early hours on weekends see a steady stream of Ubers ferrying our young back from night spots in the inner north.

It’s also the kind of place where people unite and fight hard to keep the things that they love about living here. At the end of every year on my street, the longest-standing residents hold a party in the park where there is always a re-telling of the battle they fought to save the park from development.

Little hidden bush reserves and parks like this one are everywhere in Monty, each with their proud defenders. We spent our first couple of years here trying to find Peck’s Dam – so hard to locate that we started to think it must be a legend.

It turns out to be a tiny reserve, ringed by back and front yards, with an unassuming little dam that locals remember swimming and yabbying in. A relic of Monty’s former post-colonisation days as farmland, the dam is now surrounded by trees and is home to frogs, waterbirds and the occasional discarded Gatorade bong.

Like others across Melbourne recently, we’ve battled to protect the suburb and its trees from a bluntly conceived rail project. Five years ago, you could stand on the small single platform at the end of Were Street and wave to the butcher and the baker.

Now the platforms are so long, it feels like the entire Monty population could fit. We wouldn’t want to do it on a rainy day though, the pitch of the roof being at an angle that offers no protection from the weather.

We’re told we had to have a new station because of the duplication of Monty’s single rail line. Keen-eyed locals stymied the plan when they found endangered Eltham copper butterflies in a patch of reserve marked for clearing. That an Eltham butterfly could get in the way of the project is a source of resentment for some. To add insult to injury, the public artwork we were promised ended up going to Eltham instead. A monument to their butterfly that took our train track.

The loss of natural habitat for the birds, butterflies and marsupials that make Monty such a beautiful place remains an issue. Were Street, like everywhere else in Monty, used to reek of possum pee. Maybe it still does, and I’ve grown immune, or maybe they just have fewer places to live now.

I have a lot of faith in this community’s ability to rally. There are so many stories about schools and habitats and community hubs and sugar gliders saved by the community coming together. My kids’ primary school has partnered with traditional owners to ensure our kids know they are on Wurundjeri country, and the importance of respecting and protecting it.

When I asked our local Facebook group what they thought were the best things about Monty, the trees came a close second to the Rattray Road hedge. Every December, the hedge displays words like “Love” or “Hope”, woven from baubles and flowers. The person responsible deserves an OAM for weaving the words “be kind” during the COVID lockdowns. A source of comfort while we went on our daily walks, shell-shocked from the battle at Lower Plenty Aldi for the last roll of toilet paper.

When I first moved here from the inner north to this place that no one knew, I mourned the loss of easy, flat, paved walking access to pubs and bars and restaurants. Sometimes I contemplate moving back.

But then I hear and see the king parrots and lorikeets and rosellas beefing with myna birds in the tree outside my window. I think about the calm that comes of walking these hilly streets dotted with 100-year-old gums. I think about the stranger on Were Street who helped me get a huntsman out of my car (where there are trees ...) and how the woman at the little supermarket notices if I haven’t been in for a while.

And I think, yeah, nah. This is a pretty nice place to land. But good luck trying to find it.

Belinda Johnston is a resident of Montmorency.

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