Ballan, Victoria

When I drove into Ballan and saw the ‘Watch for Koalas’ sign in the middle of a residential neighbourhood, I knew I was going to like the place. Anyone who looks after these furry little Australian icons gets a pat on the back from me. However, it should be noted early on, that despite looking in every tree I passed, I never spotted a single koala myself.

My visit to this little town, 78 kilometres northwest of Melbourne, was a fleeting one – but not quite as fleeting as the first time I discovered it on a trip to Geelong a year before. I had liked the look of the place then, as I flashed through on my way south, but I didn’t have time to stop. And I was reluctant to visit during the searing hot summer because I had to drive through several forested areas to get there and I was apprehensive about bush fires.

 It was early when I arrived this time – around 9am. Not much was happening. The streets were quiet. I graciously blamed that on the hour of the day, although I suspect not a lot DOES happen in Ballan. It became obvious fairly quickly that it is something of a rural service town – one of those small places the farmers come to for their seeds and manures, their tractor repairs and such, followed by a quick nip into the local agents for a paper and perhaps a Lotto ticket, followed by a quick ale (and maybe a casserole lunch) at the local pub. And like most Aussie towns, Ballan certainly had more than one of those.

As a footnote to that paragraph, many of the farmers in the area are descendants of members of the Australian Defence Forces, who settled their families in the wider Ballarat district after the war.

I probably could have walked around the whole of the township in an hour or so but I chose to drive – after all, I had gauged fairly quickly that unless you had chosen to live there, Ballan wasn’t the sort of place that commanded a lingering visit. That said, it does have a clutch of wonderful old buildings and ‘wonderful old buildings’ always set my imagination to wondering about life in the early days – who lived there and why? How much they had paid to build their handsome dwelling, who lived in it now? Where did they work? Were they one of the hundreds who now commute to Melbourne by train to work every day?

Located near the Werribee River (I never even saw that!), Ballan was established in the 1830s when one Robert von Steiglitz settled in the area. He named the new town that sprang up in 1838, after Ballan in Ireland. Gold was discovered in 1851 and the town’s population more than doubled in the years thereafter. The Ballan Hotel in fact, dates back to that gold rush era.

The first Mechanics Institute was built in 1861 but the current building sits on land that was purchased in 1881 and the building, complete with a new 1922 façade, now houses a hall and library.

 There was another population boost in the 1980s and 90s and with that came new amenities – a hospital, new shops, schools, cafes and more. And by 2016, the Census reported a population of 2985. Whether it has declined or increased since then is hard to tell but there is a lot of new housing (suburbs of awfulness), so I suspect the trend for Melbournites to move out of the city to the quieter, cheaper confines of a small Victorian town on a main commuting line has continued here.

It seems though, that Ballan is a town large enough to have an industrial estate, AND a uniformed meter reader. And judging by the posters around town advertising groups and classes, a lot DOES go on here – from quilting groups and assorted other stitchery to fitness groups, community luncheons, baby groups, floral arranging (single session $50), Hatha yoga, art classes, high teas and belly dancing classes.

For all its quietness, there was something about Ballan that appealed to me – some intangible that ‘dwelt’ in the wide, tree-lined streets, the pretty old houses, the quaint old public buildings and the smiling residents – the few I saw at least. I might not choose to live there at this particular point in my life, but I would certainly visit again.

Armadale, Melbourne – Victoria

When you stand in High Street, Armadale – constantly written about as the epitome of contemporary style and one of Melbourne’s premier blue chip areas – it’s hard to imagine it when it was first settled in the 1850s. Back then, it comprised market gardens and nurseries with a few housing allotments against a bush backdrop.

History notes that it wasn’t until the 1880s, that the boom years came with the first trains into the area. Then, the land was sub-divided for commercial and residential development and by 1890, High Street was populated by bootmakers, tailors, dressmakers, milliners, wheelwrights, blacksmiths, green grocers, upholsterers, iron mongers and the like – a far cry from today’s stylish fashion boutiques and the plethora of Persian rug shops, antique stores, nail and hair boutiques and bridal parlours that line the main Armadale thoroughfare; and the millions of dollars’ worth of high-end cars that park there.

I stayed in Armadale in December 2017-January 2018. I drove into the cool, leafy, tree-lined residential streets, parked my car outside the villa where I was staying and spent the next three weeks walking and photographing. I fell in love with so much of the residential architecture – the huge old homes that lined the streets – usually tucked away behind trees and high brick walls and impenetrable gates – but just enough visible to pique my interest and set me wondering about some other grand lifestyle.

I slipped over into neighbouring Toorak – long recognised as Melbourne’s top suburb – and into adjoining Malvern, Hawthorne and Prahran; all of them known for their expensive real estate. And in every street, I found a house that, externally at least, set me to dreaming and to wondering what it might be like inside.

I’ve always loved big houses and it was only a matter of time before I found a way to explore further – albeit via a computer. Turns out it’s relatively easy to get a glimpse inside many of these enormous, multi-million dollar homes – you just look the address up on the Internet and if they’ve been sold within the last decade, there’s usually a record of transactions, often with real estate photographs supplied. Much less satisfying than an actual house tour but enough to give you a hint of the interior of a $14-million home you wouldn’t otherwise see inside. And yes, I did feel like a nosy pauper – but only for a very short time.

Contrary to (my) expectations, Armadale is also a suburb of apartment blocks – new and old. Its proximity to central city has always made it a popular place to live and I liked the way apartment blocks of all ages sat comfortable and appropriately, side-by-side with top-dollar houses – integrated, appealing.

 Armadale is sited 7 kilometres southeast of Melbourne’s central business district on what was once part of Wurundjeri land. The 2016 census indicated a population of around 9,000 residents; and it was named after Armadale Sutherland, in Scotland, where the 15^th Premier of Victoria, James Munro was born.

It’s a pleasant place to be – from a residential point of view; but the neighbour’s don’t seem that neighbourly nor trusting, tucked away as they are behind their impenetrable high walls and gates with security cameras and microphones to see ‘who’s knocking.’ I guess it’s one way to keep unsolicited ‘doorknockers’ away from your actual door. 

And I certainly did feel  SECURE.

But there’s also something about the pristine, rigidly maintained streets and sections that left me cold. For all the fabulous old architecture, for all the high fashion, expensive, designers, bridal boutiques, antiques (expensive) and posh restaurants, I found these wealthy suburbs lacking in character -  no graffiti to speak of, no rough edges, very few book shops, no grunge, no mess....it's all a bit sanitised for me and my photographic eye. I prefer places that are bit more rough around the edges. Places more ordinary.

Places that encourage people to lives with gusto and colour.

Lyonville – Victoria

I couldn’t count the number of times I’ve driven through the edges of the little settlement of Lyonville on my way to other places.

It’s the ‘so-small-sort-of-place’ that could be missed entirely on a quick drive to Daylesford. A mere spot on the map. Perhaps. If the map is a very detailed one.

The tiny hamlet – population a grand 175 in 2016-  sits in the Shire of Hepburn 5km northwest of Trentham (also small), and 80km northwest of Melbourne. It’s near the headwaters of the Lodden River and on the edge of the Wombat State Forest.

It began life as a sawmilling town in the 1860s to supply timber to the Ballarat and Bendigo goldfields; and at its peak, it had three hotels, several shops, a public hall, a school, three churches and a railway station. By comparison today, it is a ghost town. Little remains from that time apart from a few derelict relics and a town history map that marks former locations in the manner of: Ogden Brothers Mill (Site of), Eucalyptus Stills (Site of), Primary School (Site of).

It was that little old school ruin that drew encouraged me to drive the ten minutes from home. I’d seen a photo someone took of it on social media and I fell in love with it as a potential art studio. It seemed perfect from afar. And as dreams are free, I decided to find it. I figured it wouldn’t be hard in a place as small as Lyonville. And, as luck would have it, I found it in the first street I turned into off the main highway – sitting among the long green grass just waiting for someone to love it.

I’ve since found out that the school opened for millers’ children in 1877 and was originally called Lyon’s Steam Sawmills School – the town itself was named after John Lyon, who arrived in the district in the 1860s and obviously wasn’t shy about naming things after himself.

The old building is as cute as a button, no doubt about that. But it isn’t currently for sale and the realities of uplifting it and transporting and then renovating it quickly put me off it – in a practical sense; though naturally I still harboured the dream as I dawdled my way around the little network of Lyonville streets.

Calling them streets seems a bit of a stretch actually. They’re more your pretty, leafy country lane – narrows thoroughfares bordered by lush, lime green foliage, and great drifts of honeysuckle and blackberry, shining in the aftermath of three days rain. Lots of abandoned fruit trees and orchards with patrolling geese. I can see why increasing numbers of people are drawn to the place.

I saw no one, heard no vehicles. There are no shops, no schools, no noise apart from the birds. That in itself is a charm for many people and the growing number of new houses springing up among the old cottages, is testament to the settlement’s growing popularity as a rural retreat.

The old Radio Springs Hotel (circa 1927), is one of the few large landmarks from earlier settlement days. Even that was stone quiet. It had been closed for fifteen years when an enterprising couple purchased it and renovated to re-open in 2009. Since then, it’s been providing accommodation – along with a growing number of B&Bs in the area – for people who want to be close to Daylesford for a weekend of shopping and exploring. Inside, the rooms are appealing and you can spend a night for $200-$250.

Radio Springs Hotel

There’s a dog bowl outside – with four blue chairs – and two tyre pressure checkers – at least I think that’s what they were. They wouldn’t have been high on my list of hotel requirements but there you go.

The old railway station

The Town Hall

 I drove to the Railway Station next – Site of! A couple of the buildings are still there….to accommodate some sort of tourist train that runs from time to time I think. The original station opened in 1880 to connect the town with Daylesford and Woodend; it closed in 1978. On that note, the Lyonville Post Office opened in 1882 and closed in 1993.

The Old Town Hall – surprisingly – is still there and operational. This is thanks to the good going over it received to the tune of $135,000. The hall is a focal point for community activities. It hosts the annual Firemans’ Ball, Christmas Carols, an annual Bake-off and wood chop, plus small theatre shows, live music and weddings.

I side-tracked then, taking the road to Lyonville Mineral Springs. I’ve noted this sign for at least five years. This time I decided to satisfy my curiosity. Within minutes I was in the middle of huge stands of (very beautiful) Candlebark forest – part of the Wombat Sate Forest. It was dark, gloomy and very, very quiet. I was immediately reminded of my horror trip into the Lederderg Forest but least this road was sealed and the sign had said the springs were only 2km away.

This turned out to be another case of “Site of.”

The stone-lined pit for the springs is still there, with a very murky depth of water fenced off. I imagine it would take a lot to tempt anyone into it these days. That said, they were once “a Lyonville highlight.”

Discovered in 1912 and declared a reserve in 1914, the springs were apparently rich in carbonates, chlorine, magnesium and other trace elements and people visited from miles around. Unfortunately, by the middle of the 19th century, the landscape covering the basalt aquifer that supplied the springs with much of their water, had been cleared for agriculture and the springs days were thereafter numbered.

I stood there, in the silence of the candlebarks, looking at the historical photographs of people dressed in their best Victoria clobber – so impractical for the Australian bush – and tried to imagine what it might have been like to visit and immerse oneself in the murky mineral waters. My involuntary shudder told me all I needed to know.

I photographed gum trees on the way back to the main road, imagining all the paintings these gorgeous trees were going to inspire. Out on the main road, I sniggered, as I always do, in juvenile amusement at the sign for Peukers Lane. No doubt it was named for someone important and probably very pleasant, so it’s inappropriate perhaps, that it always reminds me of a good number of parties I’ve attended, that ended with unpleasant after effects.