Elsternwick

 

Most people are not aware that Elsternwick means Village of the Magpies. Many residents are oblivious. Elstern (German) n. pl. Magpies. Wick (Anglo-Saxon) n. Village. Elsternwick Station rests in a deep cutting, far from the hurly burly of Glenhuntly Road’s west end. It is a green thought in a green shade. A gentler, friendlier ambience imbues this charming hideaway. It is one of the city’s best kept secrets, as they say in real estate pamphlets. Generations ago the level crossing was removed and a trench built for trains to travel below the hurly burly. This saved the government from doing it now, thus avoiding delays and bus replacements and, importantly, the unalloyed expressions of annoyance from so many Jaded Bayside Commuters (JBC) with short fuses and 8.30 appointments. As I sit at Elsternwick, gazing from my oblong pane of train glass, thoughts float up past the ivy, brambles and other greenery of the secluded station cutting. The dinner party we attended in 1995 at a well-appointed apartment in Elsternwick, house-sat by friends. A pleasant red with nose of strawberries but full-bodied with an aftereffect of the floating world of Hiroshige. Medium rare steak and roast vegetables, yes parsnips too, are served with mustard. Conversation takes divergent turns. The understated influence of Sheridan le Fanu’s gothic imagination on James Joyce’s last novel, if it is a novel, residing as it does in a swirling present that cannot escape past or future, a hotel or a churchyard? The neighbours, and their habits, an unavoidable topic of concern for those staying in Elsternwick for the short to medium period, are broached in broad strokes. The guy three doors down who threatens legal action if you park near his verge. The more friendly person over the street with five cats and counting. The family of noise. The hoarder on the corner. Anonymous Magpie Villagers who defy black-and-white portraiture, walk briskly. Apartment blocks of JBCs. Fruit salad homemade to follow, then coffee that rises to the nostrils a noirish aroma. The shimmering sounds of The Blue Nile flow through the soft-lit rooms their Glasgow perfectionism. Workplace relations get a go, let go of when workplace relations get tricksy.  But already, cheerful Magpies in Melbourne Black are strolling up the ramp towards their Village, doors are beeping shut, and the train starts to depart from this green vista and its 1995 dinner party. Only another six weeks of trackwork at Glenhuntly, soon to be Glen Huntly, Station (east end) before return to ‘normal’ on the Frankston line, Elsternwick green thoughts a caption from the past, not a present continuous of connecting buses to and from Brighton Beach and Moorabbin, rain threatening and JBCs shaking out umbrellas.