Emily 'Beryl' Henson (1887 – 19 June 1969) was born in Newcastle
Emily 'Beryl' Henson (1887 – 19 June 1969) was born in Newcastle, N.S.W. She was one of Australia’s wonderful nurses – Australian Army Nursing Sisters (AANS - AIF), and served during the Gallipoli Campaign as well as in France.
Strictly speaking, this poem is not part of the AGWP cannon, but, I think it should be included under the heading of - Poems about Australia and Australians by Foreigners. Sister Henson was obviously loved by her charges, and I can tell you first hand, that the Australian Army nurse is worth her wait in kisses. I was cared for by these angels when I served, and I won’t forget them.
The following poem was written in 1917 by a soldier in the Black Watch - R. Marshall – he was very grateful for the treatment he received from Sister Henson. Marshall, a Scott, dedicated the poem to Sister Henson after the words:
“The poem is addressed to Sister Henson, whose kind and unfailing attention to the boys under her care, at the 25th General Hospital has won for her esteem by all with whom she came into contact.” The poem is by no means a masterpiece, but it is still quite good. Its importance lies in the fact that it was inspired by an Australian nurse, who is even mentioned in the final stanza.
A rhyme, I crave, my thanks to express,
As one who came under your care,
A finer nurse, your name I will bless
In days that will follow, Apri La Guere.
Your missions are all deeds of mercy
In the hospital ward, or the field,
To succour some fallen young hero,
And from pain some brave warrior shield.
We know that it is your sole mission
To give some poor sufferer relief:
We respect your devotion to duty
Your endurance, we cannot conceive.
You come to his bedside at midnight
To give some prescribed remedy;
Or to write down his last dying message
To some loved one, far over the sea.
Or perhaps, just a drink of cold water
Or perhaps just a stroke of the head
O’er the brow of some wounded soldier
About to depart from this land.
A poor mother’s heart will feel lighter
When she knowns that her son’s in your care,
And babes when they kneel at their bedside,
A blessing they ask for you there.
We speak of your actions with reverence,
Your deeds they are more than sublime.
Your benevolence will ne’er be forgotten,
Your biography last for all time.
With bullet-holes, fractures or fevers,
All day long you have to contend,
Each battle fought brings you more patients
Of the wounded, there seems not an end.
You may hear some delirious ravings,
And some for the Hun have a curse,
But believe me, my dear Sister Henson,
I’ll bless you, my Red Cross Nurse.
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