St Kilda

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A smiling woman with short hair wearing a grey-blue cardigan

“Community takes people being involved” – a profile of kindergarten educator Tarryn Holland

Tarryn Holland loves her job. As the Coordinator of St Kilda Balaclava Kindergarten – affectionately known as ‘Nelson Street’ or ‘SKBK’ by those on the inside – she heads up one of the suburb’s oldest community-run kindergartens, operating in a Balaclava back street since 1911. Tucked behind the wooden front gate lies a childhood sanctuary: an enchanted garden full of trees and vegetables, sandpits and building blocks, learning and imagination. “Every AGM I cry,” Tarryn tells me, “because I just...

“People want to connect” – community development worker Robyn Szechtman tells her St Kilda story

In the park beside the National Theatre stands The Great Wall of St Kilda. A patchwork of ceramic tiles, the central mural shows our eclectic suburb: palm trees, Palais, pier and people all presided over by Bunjil the eagle.  Around the outside, 600 smaller tiles were designed by members of the local community. Bright and inviting, passersby often stop to stare up at the Wall, examining its detail.   The close observer may notice the name Robyn Szechtman painted on...

Attracted by the buzz, beach and breeze – a profile of philosopher and beekeeper Karen Green

The swarm of bees chose the right St Kilda resident. “They lodged themselves in the ceiling of the balcony,” says philosopher Karen Green, pointing out the loungeroom window of her apartment on Robe Street. After a professional failed to remove them, Green, knowing something about bees, got a protective suit and a box and tried to cajole them inside herself. “They didn’t move for weeks,” she tells me, “Until one day they swarmed – flew over the road and completely...

Intersection of Fitzroy and Grey Streets in St Kilda on a cloudy day

The Other Side of Fitzroy Street

I didn’t always love St Kilda. I grew up in quiet leafy Middle Park; my high school was in Windsor. St Kilda lay in between, a kind of Badlands to be crossed, every weekday, from behind the safety of Mum’s car windows. When the lights at the intersection of Fitzroy and Grey Streets turned green, she would release the hand break and the car would, for the briefest moment, roll backwards, like a horse retreating from a shadow-filled place: the...