logo
My suburb's gated enclave is known as the Toorak of the West. It wants to secede

My suburb's gated enclave is known as the Toorak of the West. It wants to secede

I was an RAAF baby. You don't have to feel sorry for me, but it did kinda suck. By decree, RAAF families got bounced around the country every few years with the carefree malevolence of a Bond villain stroking his cat, ignorant of a 10-year-old introvert's terror at once again having to fit into a new friend group.
I saw my fair share of different states, schools and RAAF bases: Sale, Canberra, Richmond (NSW), Laverton and Point Cook. The last, built in 1912, and Australia's very first Air Force base, was by far my favourite and eventually became my home suburb.
Every RAAF base is its own little gated fiefdom, a self-sufficient universe manned by soldiers, where outsiders aren't allowed in. At that time in 1996, the population of Point Cook was 580, of which 552 were at the airbase. My life was sealed-in but had a vibe of plenty – shops, cinemas and swimming pools merged with the dozens of picture-book homes. Dad remarried there in the local church, while my stepdad later worked at the RAAF Museum. Family fringe benefits for this starry-eyed 10-year-old once included an interstate ride in a Hercules C-130 military transport plane.
But a radical change came to those sleepy grasslands that were once home to the Bunurong people of the Kulin Nation. The telltale rumble of air traffic became less frequent, replaced by the sounds of nail guns and other power tools, as budget house-and-land deals birthed concrete slabs and their protruding wooden ribs, replicating across the fields, from the freeway to the sea.
Back when a housing deposit wasn't equal to the GDP of a small nation, first homebuyers came in their droves to the affordable bayside suburb just off the Princes Freeway, about 22 kilometres south-west of the CBD.
Like some emirate that had struck oil, Point Cook's population exploded from little more than nought to 66,781 at the 2021 census, making it Australia's biggest suburb by population. It's predicted to keep growing to about 82,000 by 2040. But not all of Point Cook is egalitarian.
Within the megasuburb lies Sanctuary Lakes, a manicured enclave with aristocratic airs that the blue-collar Werribians call the 'Toorak of the West'. It has twice been knocked back by Wyndham council in its attempts to become an official suburb, a status surely befitting its waterside mansions and long, winding fairways. Built around a 60-hectare man-made lake (Melbourne's largest) and a Greg Norman-designed 18-hole private golf course, the commercial housing estate was a gleaming Valhalla of abundance to this starry-eyed teen.
So when the opportunity arose years later for a mate and I to score a prized waterfront rental on one of Sanctuary Lakes' gated man-made islands (conveniently linked to land by a road bridge), we jumped at the opportunity – even though neither of us had a job.

Orange background

Try Our AI Features

Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:

Comments

No comments yet...

Related Articles

‘Sorry sign' spotted in front of Victorian school as National Reconciliation Week ends
‘Sorry sign' spotted in front of Victorian school as National Reconciliation Week ends

Sky News AU

time03-06-2025

  • Sky News AU

‘Sorry sign' spotted in front of Victorian school as National Reconciliation Week ends

Sky News host Caleb Bond comments on a 'sorry sign' spotted in front of a Victorian school. This comes amid National Reconciliation Week. 'I think it's gone a little bit too far in this case, and I have no problem in saying that as a country, of course, we should all strive towards reconciliation,' Mr Bond said. 'The activists, of course, mean that we should divide people. 'They've taken it one step over the marker, I think, and have put a sign out the front of the school … which says 'sorry'.'

‘Good for business': Boeing Defence Australia's recruitment secret
‘Good for business': Boeing Defence Australia's recruitment secret

The Australian

time02-06-2025

  • The Australian

‘Good for business': Boeing Defence Australia's recruitment secret

This article is sponsored by the Department of Veteran's Affairs. Boeing has the broadest portfolio in Australian aerospace, from manufacturing of commercial aircraft components to design and development of defence systems, modelling and simulation, and more. Of its 4500 employees in Australia, more than 1000 were formerly in the armed forces. 'We find veterans really excel at leading and making decisions, particularly in time-critical environments,' said Amy List, managing director of Boeing Defence Australia and a veteran of the Royal Australian Air Force. 'Military people have a really strong work ethic and strong discipline, and they show up and always bring their best. Veterans excel at adaptability and problem-solving skills. There's also that mindset of safety and compliance to the regulations, particularly in aviation: not everyone is suited to working in that environment, but our veterans have lived and breathed it for years, and they're perfect for the role.' As a trained aeronautical engineer, Ms List had a distinguished career in the RAAF, but she said her technical training is not her most important asset. 'The most important skillsets I acquired as a RAAF officer were the ones that had little to do with thrust or aerodynamics,' she said. 'It's about making decisions in uncertain environments. The military, across all levels, provides some really outstanding leadership training, and not only training on how to be a leader, they provide a lot of training in how to be a good teammate.' Ms List said veterans are very connected to the work they do and play a key role in supporting customers. 'While we might recruit them to come into a job that's directly relatable [to their past skills], hopefully their career path will open for them and they can go in different ways,' she said. Boeing Defence Australia is one of the Australian Defence Force's most important partners. From the F/A-18F Super Hornet fighter, P-8A Poseidon reconnaissance aircraft and helicopters such as the CH-47 Chinook to cutting-edge development programs including the uncrewed MQ-28 Ghost Bat, the company is maintaining and developing weapons systems that need to be both complex and reliable. Ms List said the ability to contribute to a dynamic organisation is what sets ex-service people apart. 'While the specific technical skills, like being able to fix a Super Hornet or understanding the way the software works on a particular aircraft are valuable, I actually find it's those soft skills that really come to the fore when we're determining what it means to be a great employee here at Boeing,' Ms List said. That's why the company is making itself as attractive as possible as a post-service employer. Boeing Defence Australia is now recognised as an Employer of Choice, alongside more than 350 organisations that have joined the Department of Veteran Affairs' Veteran Employment Commitment. 'It formalises what we are agreeing to do to make sure that we're a great place for veterans to work; that we have those support mechanisms in place; that we're able to help them translate their military skills to the civilian environment,' Ms List said. Veterans and Boeing employees Dave Wilson, Jodi Reid and Lisa Sheridan at the Shine of Remembrance in Anzac Square, Brisbane. However, she said many ex-servicepeople often struggle to sell their abilities and experiences to employers. 'I think one of the key elements of serving in the military and being part of something that's bigger than yourself is an inherent humility and an understanding that you rarely achieve anything by yourself,' she said. 'They're always wanting to give the credit to someone else. 'One of the things we work on with veterans as we're helping them translate their skills, is to really make sure they own those key skills, the benefits they bring, and are able to go to job interviews and put their best foot forward.' Boeing also has a global Veterans Engagement Team with an Australian chapter. 'It's a central point for all our veteran activities. It helps give them support if they need it, and helps them network,' Ms List said. 'We have a lot of activities to make sure veterans can connect, and share some of those unique challenges they might face, particularly as they transition to civilian employment. 'One of the things that we look to do with our BVET group is to make sure they can come and work for us and immediately find that community of people who understand what they've gone through, and can help connect them to other people, and resources that might help.' Ultimately, Ms List said it is hard-headed business that drives Boeing to employ so many ex-service people. 'It's absolutely good for our business to have veterans in here.' Hiring a veteran is great for your organisation. Find out how to recruit and retain veteran employees at

'I didn't know the word lesbian': How LGBTIQA+ lives have changed across decades
'I didn't know the word lesbian': How LGBTIQA+ lives have changed across decades

The Advertiser

time16-05-2025

  • The Advertiser

'I didn't know the word lesbian': How LGBTIQA+ lives have changed across decades

When Laura Martinez, 27, introduced her girlfriend to her family, they welcomed her with open arms, a stark contrast to what coming out was like in years past. Cheryl Szollosi, 62, who stayed closeted for 10 years to keep her job in the Air Force, said she found it amazing that young people today could just be themselves. "They are so lucky - I wish I could have done that at my age," Ms Szollosi said. "It's just a sign of the times." ACM masthead, The Courier spoke with three people from different generations about their experiences growing up LGBTQA+. Helen Watson, 77, grew up in a small country town near Shepparton, VIC. "I didn't know anyone who was LGBTQ+. It's not to say they weren't there, but I didn't know them," Ms Watson said. "I think a lot of people lived quietly and out of sight." Ms Watson realised she was different in her early 20s, around the 1970s. "I didn't know the words, lesbian, gay, trans. None of those were part of my vocabulary. None of them were part of what I understood," she said. But Ms Watson's father told her a story about a family in Melbourne who were extremely well-known. "The tragedy that befell them happened when the daughter had left her husband and gone off with another woman. It was very clear. That was bad," she said. The 77-year-old said she spent years finding a community for her to belong to. "It was not easy. I was in my late 40s to find one," she said. Ms Szollosi knew "there was something wrong" when she was in primary school. "I just knew I was different, but don't know what it was," the 62-year-old said. "Then I joined the Air Force. This was in the 1980s when it was illegal to be gay. So I had to be closeted for 10 years. "I was just mortified that I could lose my job just for being who I was." Ms Szollosi finally came out and told her mum when she was 33 years old. "My mum never spoke to me after I came out to her," she said. Ms Martinez started talking to her friends about being queer when she was 15 years old. "For me, I think it just means how I choose to live and who I choose to be with, and it's just different from the norm," the 27-year-old said. "I had a very close community of friends who we flocked together - some of my friends were queer or some were straight, but very comfortable with everyone. "It's a very diverse community as well. I just think it's free to be whatever you want to be." Last year, Ms Martinez first introduced her girlfriend to her family. "[They] were all fine with it. Some of them said that it was not new information to them," she said. Ms Martinez said each year she would do something with the community to celebrate the International Day against Homophobia, Biphobia, Intersexism, and Transphobia (IDAHOBIT) on May 17. It was the day that homosexuality was removed from the World Health Organisation's list of psychiatric diseases in 1990. Having witnessed society's changing attitudes toward the LGBTIQA+ community, Ms Szollosi said things were getting better and better. "Now, we have got equality rights, marriage rights. But we are still a minority," Ms Szollosi said. "As a community, we all bond together. We look after each other." When Laura Martinez, 27, introduced her girlfriend to her family, they welcomed her with open arms, a stark contrast to what coming out was like in years past. Cheryl Szollosi, 62, who stayed closeted for 10 years to keep her job in the Air Force, said she found it amazing that young people today could just be themselves. "They are so lucky - I wish I could have done that at my age," Ms Szollosi said. "It's just a sign of the times." ACM masthead, The Courier spoke with three people from different generations about their experiences growing up LGBTQA+. Helen Watson, 77, grew up in a small country town near Shepparton, VIC. "I didn't know anyone who was LGBTQ+. It's not to say they weren't there, but I didn't know them," Ms Watson said. "I think a lot of people lived quietly and out of sight." Ms Watson realised she was different in her early 20s, around the 1970s. "I didn't know the words, lesbian, gay, trans. None of those were part of my vocabulary. None of them were part of what I understood," she said. But Ms Watson's father told her a story about a family in Melbourne who were extremely well-known. "The tragedy that befell them happened when the daughter had left her husband and gone off with another woman. It was very clear. That was bad," she said. The 77-year-old said she spent years finding a community for her to belong to. "It was not easy. I was in my late 40s to find one," she said. Ms Szollosi knew "there was something wrong" when she was in primary school. "I just knew I was different, but don't know what it was," the 62-year-old said. "Then I joined the Air Force. This was in the 1980s when it was illegal to be gay. So I had to be closeted for 10 years. "I was just mortified that I could lose my job just for being who I was." Ms Szollosi finally came out and told her mum when she was 33 years old. "My mum never spoke to me after I came out to her," she said. Ms Martinez started talking to her friends about being queer when she was 15 years old. "For me, I think it just means how I choose to live and who I choose to be with, and it's just different from the norm," the 27-year-old said. "I had a very close community of friends who we flocked together - some of my friends were queer or some were straight, but very comfortable with everyone. "It's a very diverse community as well. I just think it's free to be whatever you want to be." Last year, Ms Martinez first introduced her girlfriend to her family. "[They] were all fine with it. Some of them said that it was not new information to them," she said. Ms Martinez said each year she would do something with the community to celebrate the International Day against Homophobia, Biphobia, Intersexism, and Transphobia (IDAHOBIT) on May 17. It was the day that homosexuality was removed from the World Health Organisation's list of psychiatric diseases in 1990. Having witnessed society's changing attitudes toward the LGBTIQA+ community, Ms Szollosi said things were getting better and better. "Now, we have got equality rights, marriage rights. But we are still a minority," Ms Szollosi said. "As a community, we all bond together. We look after each other." When Laura Martinez, 27, introduced her girlfriend to her family, they welcomed her with open arms, a stark contrast to what coming out was like in years past. Cheryl Szollosi, 62, who stayed closeted for 10 years to keep her job in the Air Force, said she found it amazing that young people today could just be themselves. "They are so lucky - I wish I could have done that at my age," Ms Szollosi said. "It's just a sign of the times." ACM masthead, The Courier spoke with three people from different generations about their experiences growing up LGBTQA+. Helen Watson, 77, grew up in a small country town near Shepparton, VIC. "I didn't know anyone who was LGBTQ+. It's not to say they weren't there, but I didn't know them," Ms Watson said. "I think a lot of people lived quietly and out of sight." Ms Watson realised she was different in her early 20s, around the 1970s. "I didn't know the words, lesbian, gay, trans. None of those were part of my vocabulary. None of them were part of what I understood," she said. But Ms Watson's father told her a story about a family in Melbourne who were extremely well-known. "The tragedy that befell them happened when the daughter had left her husband and gone off with another woman. It was very clear. That was bad," she said. The 77-year-old said she spent years finding a community for her to belong to. "It was not easy. I was in my late 40s to find one," she said. Ms Szollosi knew "there was something wrong" when she was in primary school. "I just knew I was different, but don't know what it was," the 62-year-old said. "Then I joined the Air Force. This was in the 1980s when it was illegal to be gay. So I had to be closeted for 10 years. "I was just mortified that I could lose my job just for being who I was." Ms Szollosi finally came out and told her mum when she was 33 years old. "My mum never spoke to me after I came out to her," she said. Ms Martinez started talking to her friends about being queer when she was 15 years old. "For me, I think it just means how I choose to live and who I choose to be with, and it's just different from the norm," the 27-year-old said. "I had a very close community of friends who we flocked together - some of my friends were queer or some were straight, but very comfortable with everyone. "It's a very diverse community as well. I just think it's free to be whatever you want to be." Last year, Ms Martinez first introduced her girlfriend to her family. "[They] were all fine with it. Some of them said that it was not new information to them," she said. Ms Martinez said each year she would do something with the community to celebrate the International Day against Homophobia, Biphobia, Intersexism, and Transphobia (IDAHOBIT) on May 17. It was the day that homosexuality was removed from the World Health Organisation's list of psychiatric diseases in 1990. Having witnessed society's changing attitudes toward the LGBTIQA+ community, Ms Szollosi said things were getting better and better. "Now, we have got equality rights, marriage rights. But we are still a minority," Ms Szollosi said. "As a community, we all bond together. We look after each other." When Laura Martinez, 27, introduced her girlfriend to her family, they welcomed her with open arms, a stark contrast to what coming out was like in years past. Cheryl Szollosi, 62, who stayed closeted for 10 years to keep her job in the Air Force, said she found it amazing that young people today could just be themselves. "They are so lucky - I wish I could have done that at my age," Ms Szollosi said. "It's just a sign of the times." ACM masthead, The Courier spoke with three people from different generations about their experiences growing up LGBTQA+. Helen Watson, 77, grew up in a small country town near Shepparton, VIC. "I didn't know anyone who was LGBTQ+. It's not to say they weren't there, but I didn't know them," Ms Watson said. "I think a lot of people lived quietly and out of sight." Ms Watson realised she was different in her early 20s, around the 1970s. "I didn't know the words, lesbian, gay, trans. None of those were part of my vocabulary. None of them were part of what I understood," she said. But Ms Watson's father told her a story about a family in Melbourne who were extremely well-known. "The tragedy that befell them happened when the daughter had left her husband and gone off with another woman. It was very clear. That was bad," she said. The 77-year-old said she spent years finding a community for her to belong to. "It was not easy. I was in my late 40s to find one," she said. Ms Szollosi knew "there was something wrong" when she was in primary school. "I just knew I was different, but don't know what it was," the 62-year-old said. "Then I joined the Air Force. This was in the 1980s when it was illegal to be gay. So I had to be closeted for 10 years. "I was just mortified that I could lose my job just for being who I was." Ms Szollosi finally came out and told her mum when she was 33 years old. "My mum never spoke to me after I came out to her," she said. Ms Martinez started talking to her friends about being queer when she was 15 years old. "For me, I think it just means how I choose to live and who I choose to be with, and it's just different from the norm," the 27-year-old said. "I had a very close community of friends who we flocked together - some of my friends were queer or some were straight, but very comfortable with everyone. "It's a very diverse community as well. I just think it's free to be whatever you want to be." Last year, Ms Martinez first introduced her girlfriend to her family. "[They] were all fine with it. Some of them said that it was not new information to them," she said. Ms Martinez said each year she would do something with the community to celebrate the International Day against Homophobia, Biphobia, Intersexism, and Transphobia (IDAHOBIT) on May 17. It was the day that homosexuality was removed from the World Health Organisation's list of psychiatric diseases in 1990. Having witnessed society's changing attitudes toward the LGBTIQA+ community, Ms Szollosi said things were getting better and better. "Now, we have got equality rights, marriage rights. But we are still a minority," Ms Szollosi said. "As a community, we all bond together. We look after each other."

DOWNLOAD THE APP

Get Started Now: Download the App

Ready to dive into the world of global news and events? Download our app today from your preferred app store and start exploring.
app-storeplay-store