The pale faded blue of Gary Tomlins's eyes is an almost perfect chameleonic colour match for the dusty pool cue tip he has spent so much of his life peering over.

For 45 years, the limber 78-year-old has held court at the pool table by the windows of the Footscray Club.

As the light waned on Sunday afternoon, he tried to eek out just a few more games before the club shut its doors for good.

"It's sad. It's 132 years of history," Tomlins said.

"It's a wonder I haven't got tears running down my eyes. Maybe those will come later. I'm just hiding them at the moment."

The Footscray Club has survived in some form since 1894.

It couldn't survive this moment.

Like so many community cornerstones around the country, the working-class members club, perched atop 33 narrow steps in Melbourne's inner-west, has become overwhelmed by the new economic reality.

"We've been holding on to all this for as long as we can," the club's 73-year-old president, Neil Lewis said.

"We've tried everything. We're not closing because of choice."

'It's a family sort of thing'

Lewis recently found an old stamp that gives a clue to the club's origins.

A picture of a bicycle with the letters F.C.C. — Footscray Cycling Club — harks back to its earliest 1890s iteration, before it broadened to an (initially male-only) members club.

What that has meant in more recent times is a club for people — typically in their 50s-70s — to gather, grab a soft drink or $7 schooner and feel some sense of belonging.

"It's a family sort of thing," Lewis said.

"There's not many pubs around where you can leave your wallet on the bar or table and walk away and come back and [it's still there]."

It is, by no means, a model business for modern times.

The room is unremarkably furnished.

The offering, limited.

There used to be cheap plates of hot food, but that had to be wound up.

"We kept getting hassled by the health department and the council, it just wasn't worth it," committee member Steven Bartlett grumbled.

The club instead relied on drink sales to remain viable, but found itself pinched at both ends.

As inflation has nudged the word 'recession' back into public debate, recent ABC analysis found the cost of beer has risen 23 per cent since the COVID-19 pandemic.

The tension of soaring costs and a shrinking member base with less money to spend has become unsustainable.

"We don't put the price of beers up or the price of drinks up because if we do that, we're going to lose those members," Lewis said.

"It's an older clientele and they just haven't got the money to spend as they used to."

Club regular and local Cameron, a comparatively younger member at 49 years-old, can feel the cost-of-living crisis changing the community around him.

"Sometimes you've got to cut things out that you can't afford," he said.

"This shouldn't be one of the places."

Crime on the doorstep

Long Huynh used to pay rent to the Footscray Club to run a bakery in the space beneath it.

He now owns the whole building.

When the club badly needed an injection of funds, they sold up to Huynh, who has rented it back to them for almost two decades.

"I want to keep this club," Huynh said.

"But at the moment, Footscray is very bad."

In an economically depressed moment, signs of disadvantage — of homelessness and drug use — are visible from the club's doorstep.

In August, amid growing concerns about community safety, Mayor Mohamed Semra was himself threatened with a knife in the nearby mall, remarkably while waiting to meet the minister of police.

Last year a man with a knife was shot dead by police just metres from the Footscray Club, prompting significant community backlash.

As Victoria approaches a state election where crime looms as a central issue, Huynh has never seen his suburb of 40 years like this.

"You see how many shops in Footscray now, they're closed," he said.

"I think business now in Footscray is very hard. You're lucky to cover the rent."

Former in-house bartender and decades-long member Bartlett conceded anxieties around safety contributed to the club's closure.

"People just won't come into Footscray because of that atmosphere that is around the place," he said.

"They just don't feel safe."

Last drinks

Even as members contended with losing something dear to them, the club's final afternoon was less a funeral and more akin to a boisterous wake.

Manager Roula Glavas had endured an "emotional week," but was a flurry of activity about the room and behind the bar.

"I'll still keep in touch with all the boys. I'll definitely be calling one of them once a week and [plan to] catch up with them every now and then," the 52 year-old said.

"They're definitely part of my family.

"It's the only family most of us all have."

In its heyday, you could scarcely manoeuvre your way to the bar amid the heaving crowds, according to the club's president Lewis.

As he sought to sum up 132 years of history in a closing speech, he once again found himself surrounded by a crowd — this time amid the dozens of members who had come to say goodbye.

"Thank you for being part of the club's history," Lewis said to those in the room.

"You made this as a community, you made it as a family.

"I hope to see you around."