My suburb’s name is a mystery, but it’s how you say our main drag that reveals if you’re a local

7 hours ago 3

Opinion

November 3, 2025 — 7.00pm

It’s the question that divides the outer north-east suburb I live in. Not whether we really need another barber or fish and chip shop. Not how many potholes there are on the Windy Mile, or how we pronounce the name of that road (that’s not a matter for debate). But ask how Diamond Creek got its name and no one can really tell you.

There is a popular legend that Diamond Creek was named in the late 1840s in honour of a cow – or a bull – named Diamond, who drowned in the creek. The story is so embedded in local lore that the primary school’s emblem is the head of a bull (or is it a cow?) partially submerged under waves. Other locals swear the name came from the glimmering of quartz in the creek.

Ask how Diamond Creek got its name and no one can really tell you.

I’ve heard Diamond Creek referred to as “Tradie Town”, and while there are heaps of utes and Pete Murray covers played at the local pub, I don’t hear locals calling it that. To us, it’s Diamo.

“What brought you to Diamo?” asked my friend’s mum at a barbecue. I explained I’d taken the urban northern crawl to the next level: Carlton North to Brunswick to Northcote to Thornbury to Preston, then on to Diamond Creek. “My partner is from Echuca,” I said as way of explanation. She looked confused, so I added, “We wanted more of a country lifestyle.”

“Diamond Creek’s not the country!” she exclaimed. I get her point, but it’s hardly a bustling metropolis either. I was once passed by a ute full of goats. The teenager next door has fixed a motor to an Esky and likes to ride it up and down our street. Another time we found someone standing on our nature strip cracking a stockwhip. We have a rotary town fair, kids on motorised bikes gun it down main roads, and I’ve had a kangaroo bound past me as I shuffled along on a morning jog.

The abundance of nature and wildlife is largely what brought us to Diamond Creek, so I could hardly complain when a tiger snake appeared in our backyard. Snakes are everywhere in Diamond Creek and they’re of the highly venomous variety. I’ve shared a walk with one alongside the creek, and my cats ended up sharing their cat enclosure with one as well (they are now indoors-only cats).

Possums keep me awake as they run along our fence at night, while the distinctive laugh of kookaburras help me start the day earlier than I want to. In summer, ducklings paddle down the lanes of the outdoor pool while swimmers watch on. I’ve seen a long-necked turtle making its annual pilgrimage to the pond and an echidna waddling through the reserve at the end of our street, while a celebrity platypus that only the keen eye can detect weaves up and down the creek. A blue-tongued lizard lives in our front yard, and there’s sheep down the road. Deer hide in the bushes among the Monster cans. Then there was the time my daughter, a birdwatching checklist in her hand, went looking for galahs and cockatoos, but we discovered a sacred kingfisher instead.

Diamond Creek feels far from the city, even though it’s only about an hour on the train (or heaps longer when there are replacement buses, which is frequently). On the home stretch from Eltham to Diamond Creek, I look out the window and take in the rabbits bounding away from the train tracks, the stretches of bush and canopies of trees. The makeshift BMX jumps that keep rising up no matter how many times council knocks them down, the walking paths and the open space. I feel myself unwind.

Diamond Creek is getting busier, my friends who grew up here tell me. The supermarket car park is a nightmare, peak hour traffic is crazy, and pockets of land are getting snapped up for new builds. But this hasn’t resulted in a livelier atmosphere – there’s only one spot to go out at night (the pub), the shopping plaza remains desperately in need of an upgrade, and there’s not much in the way of entertainment. Even sleepy Hurstbridge, further up the train line, seems more happening.

Diamo so far has evaded full gentrification – while the paddocks are disappearing, you don’t have to look far to see its history. Ellis Cottage, built in 1865, still stands. Our nearest primary school sits on the same site it has since 1870, retaining its original schoolhouse. Down at the shops, the faded Blockbuster sign surely deserves heritage status.

After seven years of living in Diamo, I’m on my way to feeling like a local. I know not to panic when the fire siren goes off on Sunday at midday when the signal gets tested. I’ve grown accustomed to the fortnightly waste bin collection, and look forward to the town fair, with its street parade of smiling children and the CFA tug of war competition. Locals know the local stretch of Diamond Creek Road as the “Windy Mile” and I’ve stopped saying it like the wind and now say it like a winding road. It makes no sense to me, but I’m working hard to fit in.

Just like the real-life Erinsborough in which I grew up, Diamond Creek is a great spot to raise a family. My child’s hand in mine, we walk to award-winning playgrounds, a recently refurbished outdoor pool, fantastic sporting facilities and a parkrun that’s one of the most popular in Melbourne. We have a community childcare centre that’s been around for over 40 years. My family and I are on first names basis at the post office, get extra potato cakes at our favourite fish and chip shop, and always bump into someone we know.

Every day as we cross the bridge on our walk around town, I glance down into the water below. I’m always hoping to see that elusive platypus, but it hasn’t happened yet. I’ll keep looking. Diamond, whether a cow or bull, is long gone, but the creek continues to flow.

Samantha Allemann is a Melbourne-based freelance writer and editor.