Proud Pascoe Vale resident Joe Comer has a woodcut of the suburb on his wall. Credit: Joe Comer
It’s a place of banal comforts, a bit stubborn, insular, not-really-anywhere-special – yet still somewhere that readily attracts the use of superlatives.
See for example what are arguably the steepest streets in suburban Melbourne. Gaffney, Bolingbroke, Pardy and O’Hea streets – where the gradients hit an extreme 30 per cent – have seen countless broken wrists and scraped knees, as well as occasional tragedies.
Local dog walkers as well as intrepid cyclists from further afield know the challenge of heading uphill on any of the so-called “Gaffney four”. Many who grow up here are familiar with the thrill of fanging their BMX downhill (or on Northumberland Road nearby). Note, concerned Pacco parents: this is not an endorsement of risky behaviour! (Please, kids, at least make sure your helmet is on.)
Pacco thrillseekers were also long able to claim they were home to the best diving boards of any Melbourne pool – at least before the top platform was closed by what some locals have called “the fun police”.
And don’t forget what must surely be the most contentious 320-metre stretch of bike lane in the city. The feverish attempts to rip up the Kent Street lane show just how fiercely Pacco’s residents are willing to defend it from changes they consider unwelcome.
Without doubt, Pascoe Vale’s demographics and density are in a time of transition. Ten years ago, it was a suburb that exemplified why Bell Street was considered a “hipster-proof fence”, and yet the state electorate of Pascoe Vale is now in the Greens’ sights.
The lingering charm of Pacco beckons at a distant past, but this does come at a cost – it has always been less ethnically diverse than its neighbours. There’s plenty of outstanding pizza, but jump in the car for good kebabs or baklava.
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Only a couple of generations ago, locals had Gilmour’s milk delivered from the dairy nearby, bought locally made soft drinks from the corner milk bar and – bizarrely, perhaps – got potatoes from a man driving his ute slowly from street to street, hawking them with a megaphone.
My childhood milk bar has since been demolished. Locals decried its inevitable replacement with “identical”, “ugly” townhouses. Meanwhile, the big backyards have been built over and countless construction sites illustrate this story at street-level. Anywhere you look, a post-war home is gone – a large block subdivided. Not even Wentworth House’s big block was safe.
Though I want to support higher-density development in a suburb only 10 kilometres from the CBD, sometimes it feels like its breakneck pace dominates the conversation as I walk with my mum on these familiar, often-hilly streets.
Maybe it’s just my suburb’s grumpier, NIMBY-ish qualities simply burrowing under the skin. But there’s one thing more constant than change: as much as I spend plenty of time in exciting places far away, Pacco always feels the most special.
Joseph Comer is an academic researching language, landscapes and communities.
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