The Godfather: Peter Corris on Earlwood
Jean and I are now living in Earlwood. Over the years, when in Sydney, we have lived in the inner west – Glebe, Annandale, Petersham, Marrickville, Newtown. Earlwood is often referred to as being in the inner west but this is technically incorrect. The boundary of the inner west is the Cooks River, and Earlwood is on the other side of that border.
As far as I can recall I only became aware of Earlwood when playing golf at the Marrickville course. For some reason I knew that the suburb began on the opposite bank of the river, which runs through the greens. When teeing up at the 10th and 12th holes I prayed that my ball wouldn’t leave Marrickville in the direction of Earlwood. It did, more than once. A two-stroke penalty.
The physical differences between Earlwood the inner western suburbs, Newtown in particular, are many, especially the width of the streets and the size of the single-storey houses. The area was originally a land grant to a family of loggers and if a single stand of trees dating from before European settlement remains I’d be very surprised.
Sparsely occupied until the period between the two world wars, Earlwood attracted many migrant families in the latter part of the 1940s and into the 1950s and beyond. Large houses and sizeable blocks of land were available and Greeks and Italians took advantage of the opportunity. At the 2011 census almost 25% of the residents were recorded as having been born overseas, with Greeks making up the largest component, followed by Italians and Chinese.
The effects of this influx can be seen in the styles adopted for many of the houses and the modifications made to existing structures. Pillars, elaborate tiles and concrete forecourts are common. The influence is also apparent in the many businesses, particularly cafés, run by Greeks.
To us as newcomers this was very welcome. To sit in the sun outside a café amid elderly Greek gentlemen speaking their own language and gesturing in their characteristic way is interesting. The shopping precinct includes numerous cafés, a pub, a bottle shop, a supermarket, a farmer’s market, a delicatessen, a barber (my beard needs a fortnightly trim), two banks, a library, and much else. High priorities for me with my health issues – a medical centre and a chemist are provided.
There is a corner shop only minutes away from our flats for the morning paper and a litre of milk. A pleasant park and playground where I can sit and listen to my audio books is also a manageable walk away. The park includes a huge concrete structure, which a local (who declares it ‘an eyesore’) tells me is a water tank. I’m determined to investigate its history.
All in all I’d say that the place is cheerful; the shops are busy and the shopkeepers affable; the noise of the children in a preschool near our flats is agreeable and the postie delivers parcels to the door. One of my friends commented that it lacks the pizazz of Newtown.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but at my age I don’t need a lot of pizazz.’
