Phyllis McKenna

MIND
I was jobless and bored with four kids, well five really if you count my hubby, and a mortgage. No, that’s not fair. He was working his butt off but it was never enough . I needed to find work. I toured around Antrim, knocking on premises doors and eventually my efforts paid off. I landed the role of cook in a house in Rathen Raw estate. It was named Rathen Raw Hostel. Just an ordinary Housing Executive home owned by Holywell Hospital. Residents from the hospital were encouraged to live outside the constraints of the medical building. It was headed by two doctors, Dick and Jackson. Lovely, easy going guys. Always available when needed. I settled in nicely there and spent many happy days in the kitchen cooking up dinners and treats for everyone.
Actually I had two job offers at that time. One permanent in the Bailiwick restaurant in Antrim town. It’s gone now. Well, how permanent would that have been! Also the position in the Hostel. Wow, how popular am I? They probably couldn’t get anyone else! The Hostel placement was never going to be mine. The lady was out on maternity leave and would be returning soon. Why did I choose the temporary post? I don’t know. It just appealed to me. I’m so glad I did. I made good friend there, both staff and residents. Jimmy, one of them was a lovely man. A dedicated Elvis fan to boot. He knew a fact about the King that I didn’t and should have known. Elvis favourite record I Was The One, which will be played at my demise when the kids are hurling me over Graceland Gates. They say they are going to sell all the Elvis pieces I have, book a flight to Vegas, ask the pilot to hover over Memphis and just dump me out the plane window. I might have to tell them that both places are a good few miles apart. If that happens I will know. Well I won’t obviously! On my first trip to Graceland I wrote Jimmy’s name on the Wall and brought him back a little gift.
Another resident I got friendly with and I can’t remember her name. That’s awful but the age I’m at now I’m lucky I remember my own name. Anyway one day I had gone out to empty the kitchen bin, heard a crash, came running back in, fell and completely skidded across the kitchen floor and landed on my back. The lady had decided to come and help me and had lifted the deep fat fryer which unfortunately was still a little warm. Bang! Down I went! Thankfully reasonably unharmed. I think she was more shaken up than I was. All Shook Up! Had to get a bit of Elvis in there. Those two incidents come to mind first before the Saga of the Mad Cow Disease. I was probably the Mad Cow who didn’t listen to the media or chose to ignore it.1994 it was when it raised its ugly head and no beef products were considered safe for human consumption. Well, that’s not quite true. People were afraid to eat them because of all the hype. So what does Phyllis the cook do! She grills beef sausages for dinner. Of course none of the residents would eat them. If I remember rightly, I think Dick and Jackson did have them to try to encourage the rest but no go. Good sausages wasted. My own know best, stubborn fault.
During the time I was employed there my husband’s fortieth happened. I had made friends with two of the housekeepers, Grace and Valerie, lovely ladies. Out of the goodness of their hearts they decided to make a load of sandwiches for the birthday party. I was so grateful but I have to hold my hands up to a bit of criminal activity. All bread and ingredients were snaffled from the Hostel and we didn’t feel the least bit guilty. There was plenty. Unfortunately my two cohorts were unable to attend the function.
I so enjoyed my time there but as I said it wasn’t my job. Time to leave. I did find employment in Holywell Hospital’s large kitchen. Size of a football field. But had no contact with the residents at all. Not the same at all. Everything cooked for a multitude. No individuality.
Most people experience some kind of a downer in their lives, maybe more than one. But nothing compares to the depth depression can take. It’s sometimes named The Black Dog and people telling you to snap out of it is not helping. I have suffered from it in one form or another since before my teens. But at that young age I couldn’t understand what was wrong with me and I told no one. My friends just thought I was odd and very quiet. Later in life it developed into severe depression, resulting in my absence from work for many months .I have my downers in life like everyone else now but thankfully never as bad. If anyone ever feels more than a passing sadness please talk to someone. It really helps. There are many organisations out there ready to listen. I attended a counsellor for a few weeks and look at me now. I’m a complete nutcase and my friend Esther in the audience there would verify that. I’m joking! I think! I’ve got my life back and hoping to return to stand up comedy, I’m writing and have a website, phylliscreative.com. If anyone has a spare minute I ‘d be so grateful if you would follow me. Have to warn you though some content is a little bluey!! Which reminds me. One day, when my granddaughter was in primary school she wanted to show her friends her Nanny’s website. Unfortunately she clicked on one of the adult only stories. Her teacher was standing behind her.
“Keeley, what are you looking at?”
“My Nanny’s website, Miss.”
Flip, I was waiting for the NSPCC to arrive at my door.
Thank you for listening and please look after your mental health and that of others.

I interpret class as a place to attend to further your education, make new friends, learn new things with a teacher as leader. I was five when I started St Terea’s Primary School on the Glen Road. I remember my Mum leaning out the living room window, waving the conscription letter. She looked a lot happier than she really should have been. Ecstatic actually. Motherly love eh?? I was joined on this adventure by my friend Esther, who is actually still my friend, both really excited to see what we were heading into.
I vividly remember not being able to rearrange my desk chair on top of my desk at end of day. It was like a monkey puzzle to me. Should have been easy. Just turn it upside down and set the chair seat on the table. Simple enough! Not for me! My mind went blank. All of my peers seemed comfortable with it. Why not me! Seems really stupid now. I can do it in my sleep.
Wagon wheels were another mystery. Not that I couldn’t eat them. I sure could. Big, round biscuit filled with jam and marshmallow, covered in chocolate. Bigger than a child’s hand. Not now. Not today. What happened? Did I get bigger or did they get smaller? I think the latter. They are like fifty pence pieces in size, well maybe exaggerating a bit but not much bigger. No jam in the middle. Shocking! A crime against humanity and all those wee primary school kids looking for a treat at their break time.
We had a concert in our class one day. Real treat. One girl sang a Lonnie Donegan song. Everyone know who Lonnie Donegan was? Flip! I’m so old! “Rock Island Line” it was called. Then we mimed Jesus carrying the cross to Calvary. Those two incidents don’t seem to fit, do they? I mean, He wasn’t walking to Calvary to the tune of Rock Island Line. Anyway no matter when it was I was cast as Veronica, you know the one who wiped His Face with her soft touch, azure blue new M&S towel.
“Jesus!” she shouted. “ Oh there you are. How am I going to get the stain out of these, eh? Bought just because I thought you were staying over. My home not good enough. I see you’ve brought your own accommodation. Gee I’ve heard of tortoises carrying their homes on their backs but that beats it all. Did the tent blow away?”
Poor Man. He was too tired and sore and His burden too heavy to pay any heed to her.
Sorry. Hope nobody’s offended. Just a wee bit of humour. Back to the class. Do you remember the cane? The dreaded cane! Wouldn’t be allowed now thankfully. Capital punishment or what! I got caned one day for no apparent reason. Frig that’s really sore on the palms of your hand. I think all teachers were sadists in the fifties and sixties. I think it was Ms Owens and do you know what she said when she found out I was innocent.
“Ah well. That’ll do for the next time.” No apology, nothing. I remember that same teacher walking down Andersonstown one day and as I looked at her I wondered what those pointy things were poking out of her chest area. I was very young at the time. Conical bra! Remember them! Now I know I’m getting on a bit but not old enough to have worn one of those. Not any bra actually. God must have forgotten about me when He gave out the attributes.
One incident that really sticks in my mind and will forever, causing me to never have a compost bin or go fishing. It was decided that St Teresa’s School would have an outdoor mass at the back of the church. So we paraded over in our twos, excited to be out of class for a while. The grass must have been newly cut at the time or it probably wouldn’t have happened. We were told to kneel down and as I proceeded to do so, legs slightly bent, I froze. Wriggling among the green were worms! A lot of them! I couldn’t kneel down in that. I just couldn’t! A shout from my teacher:
“ Kneel Down!” and I had to do it. I was nearly sick. No one else seemed to notice or else these wee creatures didn’t bother them. I was traumatised for life! I often wonder if I was hallucinating , you know the fresh air going to my brain. Out of the stuffy classroom! But I don’t think so.
Grammar school wasn’t much better for me .It was a shock to the system initially. Numerous teachers, different classrooms. Some hard to find or so I was told. Pretend you got lost in the corridors and missed the class. Not great advice. I was never one of the elite popular crowd. Skinny with glasses and from the wrong side of the tracks, poor that is, I was shunned except for the two Kathleens. Kathleen Shaw and Kathleen O’ Neil. The three muskateers. I was in the Domestic Science class. I think my two comrades were as well. We had to sew a blouse together one time. Easy yeah! Not! I ended up with a rag of a thing with one sleeve missing and if I remember rightly the back open to the elements. I looked like I’d been attacked by a lion. My Mum being a dressmaker you’d think it would have rubbed off on me. Nope! We had to parade in front of the Headmistress. And to make matters worse I think I was chewing gum at the time. She was not a happy bunny nun!
Then on to the cooking. Yip! This particular Domestic Science day involved some pastry and apples. Apple cakes! Must have been coming up to Halloween. Easy again you say. Nope! Talking of Halloween it seem sixpences hidden in apple cakes not allowed any more. Health and safety reasons! Flip! The fun’s gone out of the world. Anyway on to my catering skills which is none! Then! My tutor got so frustrated with me. I couldn’t get the pastry to roll out without flipping breaking up in pieces. I think after quite a few attempts and a pile of crumbs on my board she shouted:
“Oh for Goodness sake, make it apple crumble!”
I’m a qualified cook now and I’m sure she wouldn’t have predicted that for me.
To finish with two wee incidents. While I was at St. Teresa’s Primary, my Mum was worried about the amount of reading I was doing and she approached my teacher who advised her.
“Mrs Hillen, if she’s reading the back of a cornflakes box let her.” My love of books and writing has never left me. I’m been writing from a very young age.
In St Dominic’s Grammar a nun came into our classroom one day and quizzed us on what we wanted to be when we grew up. There were doctors, nurses, dentists, lawyers. She came to me.
“ I want to meet Elvis Presley.”
“You’re putting nails in your own coffin wee girl.”
I really don’t know what that meant because when I throw off this mortal coil I am being cremated and thrown over Graceland gates.

CLASS

CHEMISTRY
When I first saw the title CHEMISTRY for this month’s TENX9 event I thought:
“That’s not for me. Never been in a chemistry lab in my life unless you call catering a science. And I suppose it is in a way. All ingredients coming together to form a whole, raising agents, coagulation, baking soda and buttermilk. All combined without risk of explosion, well maybe a little too much raising agent may cause a little pouffee!
Then I got to thinking. That’s not the only meaning of the word. Chemistry. Chemistry exists between two people or there would be no marriages, partnerships, a connection of souls, a yearning for the other’s company and a complete abiding love for the other person.
I know you’re thinking of husbands and wives, a child and parent or any other type of bonding. My chemistry, my magnetic pull towards another person, the object of my admiration and steadfast loyalty are none of these. My connection remains to this day with The King, Elvis Aaron Presley. This may seem to you humorous or ridiculous or even bordering on insanity but it is the story of my life.
I discovered Elvis as I was heading into my teens, first film I saw in the Clonard picture house on the Falls Road. G.I BLUES. I was completely hooked. Something in Him drew me like a moth to a flame. I suffered with a form of depression during my teenage years and told no one. As a child I had no idea what was wrong with me. No one ever knew until I was married with children and then my condition became more apparent. Those teen years were not pleasant but I had Him. His songs, his music and his loving presence in my life, lifting my spirits.
He is always by my side. I met my husband when I was 16 and when he proposed, I told him in no uncertain terms that if he married me he married The King as well. Aw! He must have been in love! He didn’t argue. When we emigrated to Australia in 1971all my Elvis LPs came with me. No CDs, or Spotify or downloads then. No record player until December 1971.
Whilst I was in hospital in January 1972 having my first born son Jason, my friend from New Zealand was getting married. In she came to the ward in her wedding dress, with new husband in tow – not from her hometown in New Zealand, I might add. She was carrying a beautiful bouquet of red roses which she handed to me and which I still have pressed between an Elvis biography. I was employed in a place called Tuta Laboratories in Sydney and on leaving to return home I was presented with an Elvis LP, again which I still have. My dedication to The King grew and photos of Him were placed all over my house in Antrim. One day my husband queried:
“If I asked you to take down all those pictures what would you say?”
There was silence for a few moments, then he shook his head and muttered:
“Don’t answer that.”
He was my constant companion (Elvis, not my husband) in times of sorrow, happiness, depression. He would always make an appearance either by song or his image displayed wherever I was. After waiting 25 years I arrived in Memphis to see the splendour of Graceland, unfortunately and with great sadness too late to actually see The Man. With four children to raise and a mortgage to pay , funds were not readily available to travel to a concert. Even if I had been fortunate enough to attend a venue I actually don’t think I would have seen Him. The moment he would have walked on to that stage Phyllis would have flat out fainted. The trip was nostalgic and emotional, a lot of tears were shed (not from my husband.) But there was laughter too. On one of the nights in Memphis, I woke in the early hours of the morning, woke my ever suffering husband and requested that he drive me down to Graceland so that I could take pictures of the gates on the hour. I can’t actually repeat his answer. There were a lot of four letter words, expletives and genuine incredulity plus a resounding NO! As the years passed my collection of Elvis memorabilia grew, my favourite piece being a three foot high statue of him.
Now that’s a funny story. Don’t want to go over my allotted time so if I run over I hope to continue the rest next time. Anyway I was getting dental work done in Belfast, Malone Road dentist OoooH! Posh or what! Expensive or what! Borrowed money or what!

My usual dentist is actually in Romania bit that’s another story for another time. After the treatment the dentist informed me that it could be a little painful when the anaesthetic wore off. I took a wee trip into town and lo and behold, in the window of a little shop at the back of M&S stood the statue of The King. I wanted it, I needed it and I got it! All I had left of my treatment money was one hundred pounds. Statue was one hundred and fifty. I was gutted. But I knew he would come through for me. I walked around and came back to the premises. Reduced to one hundred pounds. He was mine!
Having left my car parked at my Mum’s I had to get the bus back to Andytown. Elvis sitting nicely on the seat beside me. A few funny looks but no extra fare requested. I carried My Man right up to the bottom of my Mum’s street, Andersonstown Park West. And fell! Yip! A little pain and I fell! His microphone broke, my heart broke and I cried. Mum and I attempted to fix him but to no avail. I wrapped him in blankets and pillows and he sat in the front seat of my car with only the broken mike showing. My Mum later told me that a young boy travelling down her way turned a bit pale and shouted:
“Oh! That man’s got a gun in his hand!”
I’ve been to Graceland twice, Tupelo where he was born, Germany where he was stationed for a while, Las Vegas with all his concerts and I hope to be able to visit Hawaii next year. The end of my pilgrimage.
My youngest son has the honour of being named after him- AARON. Although sometimes he gets ribbed at work about how he can recognise the opening bars of an Elvis tune. I used to hold him up in front of the TV screen when he was a baby so that he would remember to whom he was named.
But actually Aaron always thought for a while that the flags throughout our town of Antrim were for him. He was born on the 11th July.
May we never forget The King of Rock and Roll. I know I won’t. My one request when I pass is that my ashes be spread over Graceland grounds. When I asked my Grandkids to put my ashes in each of their pockets, make a wee hole in the bottom and shake me out as they walked round the grounds. My oldest granddaughter was very indignant.
“I’m not putting you in my pocket, Nanny! I want you somewhere were I can go and visit you.”
Love is a wonderful thing!