‘She had dreadlocks and a ghostly white face’: Meeting a childhood bestie again

In the 1970s, Myfanwy Jones, 52, and Hilde Hinton, 55, used to play while their writer dads drank claret and smoked. Now writers themselves, they’ve reconnected and forged a friendship their kids also share.

Myfanwy Jones (left) and Hilde Hilton. “We challenge each other but in a way that feels loving and safe,” says Jones.Credit: Simon Schluter

MYF: My dad, Evan, was a poet and Hilde’s, Joe, a novelist. They bottled their own wine and talked about books. I’d always be so excited to go to Daylesford [in Victoria] because I got to play with Hildegaard, as we called her then. We built elaborate imaginary worlds and she had real charisma; she had a knack for making things larger. I was in awe of her. She was Dad’s favourite of the kids there. And Joe was lovely.

Life at Dad’s was chaotic. Like Hilde’s mum, Merrill, he was bipolar. There was a lot of drinking. I remember Merrill’s suicide when Hilde was 12. It just sat there as this dark mystery.

I didn’t see Hilde for a few years, until the mid-’80s when she started hanging out with a friend of mine. I was excited to see her in the city one day – and disappointed that she didn’t seem happy to see me. She had dreadlocks and a ghostly white face and that powerful presence still. She seemed more worldly than me, even though I was already stealing cars and taking drugs. She was probably grieving and I didn’t have the maturity to understand or ask.

After a 30-year gap, Samuel [Johnson, Hilde’s brother] narrated the audio version of my second novel, Leap, in 2015 and invited me to join him and Hilde at a prize fight in Melbourne. Afterwards, we went to a pub in Brunswick and stayed until sunrise; we picked up our friendship. My marriage was ending and she taught me how to roll cigarettes. Samuel invited me to Hilde’s porch nights, a gathering of people with music and games, which were an institution. I’d get this slightly imperious invitation. I thought they were all so cool. It felt as if Sam and Hilde were holding court.

We challenge each other but in a way that feels loving and safe. When we talk about parenting, there’s occasionally an edge – but I value how straight our conversations are. Hilde’s unusually good at cutting to the chase. It’s been quite a journey for me as a mother to be less hover-y. She’s incredibly kind but no bullshit. And she’s got a brilliant brain.

‘I find the continuation of the family friendship precious and extraordinary. And with both our dads dead, it’s something that keeps them close.’

Myfanwy Jones

She told me once that it’s always been her life’s principle to never go back, and I challenged her: what about us? Occasionally – and this is my insecurity – I think I’m going to disappoint her by being too timid, but I feel less and less like that. There’s been a settling of our friendship into something more substantial and connected. And she challenges my shyness; she doesn’t do much hiding and cowering. As a prison guard, she shows up with such solidity. She shows immense respect for struggling and flawed people, and that dignity is in her writing, too.

We’ve started having family dinners and my kids just love Hilde. She plays this magical aunt role. The talk is always far-ranging and deep: “How are you really?” “Why aren’t you doing that?” It’s so rewarding. Fortifying, as well. I find the continuation of the family friendship precious and extraordinary. And with both our dads dead, it’s something that keeps them close. There’s this limitless feeling when you’re with Hilde – like anything is possible.

HILDE: Mum and Dad bought an old, ramshackle house in Daylesford and people used to come up for weekends. Myf was big-eyed and quiet – an adorable little girl. It took a while to draw her out, but we’d be having such good fun when it was time to leave. I called her Myffy. Play – shops, shows, puppets, hide-and-seek – was very important to me and you had to take it seriously because I don’t do halves.

I loved Evan but he could be cold and overbearing – all the things Myf’s not. I felt privileged that he liked me. I think the effect [of a mentally ill parent] on Myf was greater than it was on me because mine died: I can’t imagine dealing with that for years. Mum was jolly, whereas Evan was more strange. He was always proud of me, no matter what I did, though; I don’t know that Myf was so lucky.

We fell out of touch and then, when I was about 16, I met Myf’s friend Jess – we both liked Marilyn, Boy George’s mate. It wasn’t that I was unhappy to see Myf: I was embarrassed. I was wearing a green dressing gown and ridiculous clothing. I didn’t have any friends at school. I didn’t fit in, not even with the misfits, and Jess and Myf were very cool. The way she looked – she was just f---in’ schmick.

I guess I’ve always wanted Myf to like me. In 2015, I hadn’t started writing, but she was encouraging. I was a bit forceful trying to get her to come to my porch nights, and I think she said it was a bit like a bikie gang. Cultish. I felt mortified, but I knew it was kind of true. After that, it became family dinners at her place.

‘What Myf and I have now is not what we had: I’m not going anywhere. I adore her.’

Hilde Hinton

As a mother, she’s more embracing; I’m very, “Pull your socks up.” My favourite car game with the kids was “Name five things you don’t like about each other”; it gave me a chance to point out their weaknesses. Myf’s much more “Let’s talk it out.” She’s considered, interested – all those things that Dad was. She’s got that quiet grace. I like her gentle way of thinking and speaking. She models a different way of being effective, and I use that quieter approach when I’m not with her. I’ve upskilled.

I don’t like to go backwards. You can’t relive the past. I don’t know why I say things like that out loud – some kind of defence mechanism, perhaps – but I can’t have a lot of people in my life. I don’t want to help you move house; I’m not that friend. I do help people, but I can give you what I can give you. But what Myf and I have now is not what we had: I’m not going anywhere. I adore her.

Our family dinners are a place to be yourself. We get right into what people are feeling and doing and everybody melds so well. I come out of them feeling braver – and elated. My middle child, Sullivan, and I skipped down the street last time because he gets the same out of it. You feel like you’ve got armour on.

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