My suburb has a mountain on one side and high-rises on the other. And the odd python

April 27, 2026 — 4:59am

You have reached your maximum number of saved items.

Remove items from your saved list to add more.

Save this article for later

Add articles to your saved list and come back to them anytime.

Every morning, I am woken by birdsong. An absolute cacophony of kookaburras, currawongs, magpies, butcher birds and other tweeting, squawking things that start about dawn.

My back garden is frequently trespassed by scrub turkeys, possums, and that one unsettling python my neighbours have dubbed “Campbell”, who leaves me the gift of his skin every time he grows another couple of centimetres. We’ve all had a visit from Campbell over the years: sometimes curled in a garden bed, but sometimes hanging on the front screen like the arm of an overenthusiastic religious pamphleteer. Somehow, he always finds his way back to the bushland behind our houses.

The other thing I can hear in the morning is the Western Freeway, as I’m only a kilometre from the notoriously chaotic Miskin Street roundabout. I live in Toowong: West Toowong to be precise, which is where my story of “two Toowongs” begins.

To the west, in the foothills of Mount Coot-tha, you’ll find suburban cosiness, wildlife, a community garden, and an iconically daggy bowls club, where you can get a very fine rib fillet. To the east, on the banks of the Brisbane River, you’ll find high-rises and shiny buildings, none so shiny as Toowong Tower, which sits above “the Vill” (Toowong Village to those not in the know).

Somewhere between the two is the flood zone. I’ve lived here through two floods, anxiously monitoring the creek behind my house; but the suburb tilts up towards the mountain, and West Toowong sits just high enough to watch the turmoil from a distance. Brisbane is shaped like a bowl, and when it fills, you suddenly understand your city in a way no map ever showed you.

Brisbane is shaped like a bowl, and when it fills, you suddenly understand your city in a way no map ever showed you.

I moved to Toowong shortly after my son, Luka, was born, primarily because it was cheaper than St Lucia (where I worked) and because it was in the catchment for two incredible public schools: the bilingual Toowong State School, where my daughter learnt fluent Auslan; and the uniform-free Indooroopilly State High School – arguably Brisbane’s most queer-friendly.

In those 20 years, much has stayed the same. It is so close to the city, yet teeming with natural beauty. The giant gums and camphor laurels still line Toowong Creek, which is home to approximately one billion noisy birds.

The cemetery is still an oasis of sombre quiet bracketed by relentless traffic. It’s also where an enthusiastic photographer once dragged me for a gothic photo shoot timed for the release of my first novel. In a cape and bodice, with miles of winged eyeliner, I wasn’t sure if I looked smoking hot or ridiculous. Either way, the dead tell no tales.

My strong and warm community is still great, tending a market garden and an active neighbourhood Facebook page with the same love.

One summer, my cat Pangur went missing just two days after I adopted him. January was wet and muddy, and after a month, I was dejectedly preparing to take down the “LOST CAT” notices when he turned up at a neighbour’s house. Within the hour, I had him back. Skinnier, muckier, but safe in a kind and connected community.

West Toowong is, in fact, remarkably unchanged since 2006, when my daughter, Astrid, was born. There are a few more cars parked in the street, perhaps, but the trees keep growing, the possums keep visiting, and Campbell the python is still hanging around.

The other Toowong, though: well, that’s a different story. It looks completely different down by the river. You have to remember, I have been shopping at Toowong Village for more than 20 years. I’ve seen it go from a shabby, stained-carpet shopping centre to an upmarket place of gleaming tiles, free Wi-Fi, and excellent eating options. I still mourn the loss of the fish tank, though. Walking into the Village and letting my kids “find Nemo” for half an hour is one of my fondest memories of their childhood.

No one has heard of my Brisbane suburb, but it was good enough for Elvis

Gillian WillsContributor

Opposite the Vill, along Coronation Drive, paint-peeling old Queenslanders have been replaced by shiny residential towers. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t see a crane along that stretch.

The old ABC site has been levelled and high-rises seem to be popping up daily. The fate of the old Woolworths site, and just how high the council will allow new developments, is still under consideration. Things can’t stay the same forever.

I’m blissfully unaware of most of the construction noise and traffic chaos here in my West Toowong oasis. Sometimes I say to my kids, “I wonder when I should sell this place and move”, given that they are both adults now.

My daughter says: “When you can see the first high-rise from your bedroom window.” Some days, it feels like it’s not that far in the future; other days, I’m just listening to the birds.

Get alerts on breaking news as it happens. Sign up for our Breaking News Alert.

You have reached your maximum number of saved items.

Remove items from your saved list to add more.

© Brisbane Times