Markets 
The heart of my suburb calls itself a village, which sounds ambitious for a place where the number 59 tram regularly barrels through its centre and aircraft pass overhead, interrupting conversations like an opinionated local.
But it is a village in the traditional sense: everybody knows everybody and nobody’s business remains private for long.
That is part of its charm. Old bungalows, trams, little shops and cafes sit only minutes from the freeway and Essendon Fields Airport. North Essendon feels both old Melbourne and extremely practical.
I grew up here before leaving and spending years living in regional Victoria. When I eventually returned, I discovered something unexpected: the part of Melbourne I had come back to has an intimacy that makes it feel more like a country town than the country towns I had left.
Having spent years reporting the news in regional Victoria, where appearing on television afforded me the dubious status of minor local celebrity, I became accustomed to being recognised in the street. Years later, back in North Essendon with its population of just over 3000, everyone can enjoy that status without ever appearing on television.
North Essendon is the smallest suburb in Moonee Valley City Council, and a wedge about 10 kilometres north-west of Melbourne’s CBD, between Keilor Road, the Calder Freeway and Bulla Road.
A comfortable pocket amid some of Melbourne’s busiest transport infrastructure, it has a strong sense of “this is my neighbourhood”. When the Tullamarine Freeway was built in the late 1960s, the northern ends of many streets were simply cut short, leaving an unusual collection of no-through roads, and thankfully, very little passing traffic. There’s even a beautiful little secret passageway running alongside the fence line of the freeway, connecting the closed-off streets with Bulla and Keilor roads – hakuna matata, until you hit the traffic.
Then there is the minor problem of where North Essendon really is. The name dates back to the 19th century: churches were built in the 1880s and 1890s, a tram service reached the end of Mount Alexander Road in 1906 and Essendon North Primary School opened in 1920. The suburb was well established long before Essendon North was formally gazetted in 1998.
Pieces of that old-world North Essendon remain protected under heritage laws: Essendon North Primary School on Keilor Road, North Essendon Uniting Church and even the Canary Island palms along Duffy Street.
Essendon North Village, the shopping precinct around which much of local life revolves, is now technically in Essendon. But many businesses happily disregard the map, and describe themselves as being in North Essendon. (The suburb’s name is Essendon North on a map, North Essendon to locals, Essendon when you are in a hurry or “near the airport” when speaking to somebody from the other side of town.)
The Lincolnshire Arms can seem an oddly grand presence looming over the junction of Mount Alexander and Keilor roads. Built in 1852 to catch trade from gold seekers, it feels for all the world like a North Essendon landmark, although it is just across the official border too.
Compared with its neighbours, North Essendon has a character of its own. Essendon feels grander and more established. Moonee Ponds is busier, with its bustling apartments, restaurants and shops. Niddrie stretches along Keilor Road with the scale and anonymity of a shopping strip. North Essendon feels like somebody accidentally dropped a country town between them.
It’s a mix of families, old-school residents and unabashed bogans, often sharing the same footpath, and coffee queue. When it comes to opinions about football, not everyone barracks for Essendon, though. And those who do have been a scarce sight – perhaps too embarrassed to flaunt the gear this season.
My local cafe, Friends of Ours, feels like an unofficial town hall, newsroom and home away from home. The regulars know one another’s routines, coffee orders, moods and relationships.
I’ve spent years reporting and running television newsrooms, yet some of the most efficiently distributed breaking news I have encountered began beside the coffee machine in North Essendon. News (and rumours) break between the counter and the communal table, then spreads through a sophisticated network of regulars, relatives and whoever happens to be walking past.
Occasionally, we have actual breaking news. One afternoon, I was on a lunch break when a power pole came crashing down onto a parked car around the corner. I abandoned my matcha and ran outside, instantly reverting to reporter mode. Emergency crews arrived, businesses lost power and I lost myself in the news cycle. Thankfully, nobody was hurt … except my matcha, which passed away in the line of duty.
For outsiders, North Essendon’s most recognisable feature may be the notorious roundabout at the south-east point of Essendon North, where Keilor, Bulla, Mount Alexander and Lincoln roads converge, along with every driver’s fight-or-flight response converge.
Calling this precarious jumble of trams, cars and pedestrians an intersection understates the experience. Thankfully, an upgrade is under way, which is welcome news for anyone who has attempted to navigate it using only road rules, eye contact and the sign of the cross. Room will be made for the new low-floor G-Class trams, dedicated turning lanes and improved pedestrian access.
At the moment, parts of the wider North Essendon resemble the “before” shot in a renovation show. One of the village’s older buildings, previously a beloved Essendon clothes store and hairdresser, has been demolished to make way for a Chemist Warehouse. On one surviving wall, ghost signage remains in a soulful remnant of the precinct’s old-world character. When a cafe was destroyed by a suspicious fire in the village last month, its doors closed but the rhythm of life carried on. If anything, the upheaval brought the community closer.
There are disadvantages to living in a small community like North Essendon. It can be difficult to reinvent yourself when three different people you bump into remember your previous haircut. But it’s comforting compared to many suburbs across this city, where it’s possible to live beside someone for years without learning their name.
That is why the word “village” fits. It is not about architecture. It’s the feeling that for better or worse, people are paying attention.
Alison Fonseca is a Melbourne journalist, comedian and filmmaker.
The Opinion newsletter is a weekly wrap of views that will challenge, champion and inform your own. Sign up here.
Alison Fonseca is a Melbourne journalist, comedian, actress and filmmaker.From our partners
Read the full article here
