Always dressed in a 2-piece suit with a satin blouse buttoned up to her neck, smart shoes that buckled at the side. She kept her silvery-greying hair short, with a sweeping side parting. She was never without her handbag, which she carried over her right forearm and contained her straw-stuffed black and white toy dog, which had been her companion since childhood. To my knowledge, Phyllis had never married and she was not regularly visited by any family members if at all. She had been moved from her home into residential care as a result of living with dementia.
Everyday, she would wait by the front door for her father to return home from work and if you asked her how old she was, she would tell you that she was just 6 years old.
I regularly took Phyllis to my home after a morning shift, which was a good 20 minute walk away, for a cup of tea and biscuit and then I would walk her back home in time for supper. At the end of an evening shift I loved nothing more than tucking her up in bed and taking her a cup of her favourite bedtime drink, Ovaltine, which she drank from a rattly cup and saucer.
Although my time with Phyllis was limited to just a few months, she has stayed with me in my thoughts for over 30 years.
My Music Works is only here because of Phyllis, as without her, I would never have experienced the deep routed desire to help her and now others living with dementia, their families and carers.
