Prince Henry Hospital Nursing and Medical Museum

Prince Henry Hospital Nursing and Medical Museum Contact information, map and directions, contact form, opening hours, services, ratings, photos, videos and announcements from Prince Henry Hospital Nursing and Medical Museum, Museum, 2 Brodie Avenue, Matraville.

The museum was established in 2003 to preserve, educate and display the history of nurses, medical staff and infectious diseases throughout the hospital’s 122 years of operation.

Bedpan diaries of PHHLong before packets of disposable wipes sat neatly stacked in supply rooms…there was the wash basin...
31/05/2026

Bedpan diaries of PHH
Long before packets of disposable wipes sat neatly stacked in supply rooms…there was the wash basin.

And every nurse who worked the old wards remembers it well. The ritual was always the same.
Warm water carefully poured and tested. A stack of clean washcloths folded nearby.
Then the quiet, steady work began. There was nothing quick about it.
Every bed bath took time, patience, and care.
You tested the water with your hand. Made sure it was just right.
Then came the careful rhythm every nurse knew by heart —wash, rinse, wring, fold, repeat. Gentle hands. Soft reassurance. Quiet conversation to ease embarrassment.
Because these moments were about far more than cleanliness.
They were about dignity. Comfort. Human connection.
It was often during those quiet bedside moments that patients talked most openly.
They shared worries. Memories. Stories from their lives.
And nurses listened while they worked. That was the heart of nursing back then.
Hands-on care that could never be rushed.
Because before convenience came compassion packaged in plastic…
there was skill, patience, and the kind of bedside care that took real time.
Who remembers giving full bed baths with nothing but a basin, soap, and washcloths?

Bedpan diaries PHHThe Weight of the Wool: A Forgotten Badge of HonorThey call them "vintage" now, but to those of us who...
24/05/2026

Bedpan diaries PHH

The Weight of the Wool: A Forgotten Badge of Honor
They call them "vintage" now, but to those of us who lived in them, those capes were so much more than a uniform. They were a sanctuary.

The Midnight Armor
I remember the feeling of stepping out of the ward after a grueling shift. Your legs felt like lead, your head was spinning with patient charts, and the scent of hospital antiseptic seemed etched into your skin. But then, you’d reach for it—that heavy, navy blue wool.

The moment you fastened that clasp at the neck.
The Shield: It caught the biting wind and held the winter frost, acting as a barrier between you and the world you’d just spent all night caring for.

The Pride: In those days, a nurse didn't just walk to her car; she marched. The cape forced you to stand a little straighter, even when your soul was exhausted.

A Symbol of Trust
To the patients, that silhouette meant safety. To the families in the waiting room, it was a signal of authority and compassion. And to the wide-eyed students? It was the ultimate "arrival." You didn't just buy a cape; you earned it.

We didn't just survive the shift—we wore the victory over our shoulders.

Is yours still there?
Tucked away in a cedar chest? Hanging in the back of a guest closet? Or maybe it’s still draped over a chair, a quiet reminder of the lives you touched and the nights you conquered.

Drop a "Yes" if you still have your original cape? Let’s see those vintage photos in the comments.

You can go on line E-hive.com type in Prince Henry Hospital Nursing and Medical Museum and see our capes and medals our volunteers have cataloged.

23/05/2026

On holidays with nursing friend who has just turned 80! At the pool but still discussing people around us and their medical conditions lol!
You Don’t Clock Out of Being a Nurse

You can clock out of the shift.

You can take off the badge.
Change out of the uniform and walk out those hospital doors.

But you don’t clock out
of being a nurse.

Because in the grocery store,
you still notice
who looks unwell.

In a crowded room,
your eyes still find
the one person struggling to breathe.

In silence,
you still hear
what others miss.

It never really leaves you.

Not the instinct.
Not the awareness.
Not the need to help.

Being a nurse
was never just a job.

It became
the way you see the world.

And once you see it that way…

you never unsee it.

This National Volunteer Week, we want to give a heartfelt thank you to our amazing museum volunteers. From welcoming vis...
20/05/2026

This National Volunteer Week, we want to give a heartfelt thank you to our amazing museum volunteers. From welcoming visitors to caring for our collection, cleaning, maintenance and guiding tours you make our museum a place of learning, connection, and community.
We’re so grateful for you.

Bedpan diaries PHHThe Job New Nurses Will NEVER Experience… Before everything became disposable…Before “single-use” was ...
17/05/2026

Bedpan diaries PHH

The Job New Nurses Will NEVER Experience…

Before everything became disposable…
Before “single-use” was the norm…

There was one task every nurse remembers —
and nobody ever volunteered for it.

The glass suction bottle.

You’d see it filling up…
And you already knew — yep, that’s mine

Just you and that heavy glass bottle.
The routine was always the same:

• Carry it carefully to the sluice
• Empty it (trying to keep it clean)
• Take it to the utility room
• Scrub it until it passed inspection
• Then send it off to be sterilized… and used all over again

And if you dropped it?

Game over.
That sound still lives in your head.

You learned fast:
How to spot the tiniest crack in the glass
How to check if the seal was just right
How to clean it well enough that no one sent it back

It wasn’t glamorous.
It wasn’t easy.
But it was part of the job — and you did it.

New nurses will never know that kind of shift.

NURSES, LET’S HEAR IT:

Did you ever drop one? Be honest…
What was your “trick” to getting them truly clean?

12/05/2026

Happy International Nurses Day!

"Before we understood germ theory, Florence Nightingale designed hospital wards with massive windows. Doctors mocked her. Then mortality rates dropped from 42% to 2%. She was right about everything—decades before science could explain why."

The Crimean War.

British soldiers were dying—not primarily from battle wounds, but from infections and disease in the military hospitals.
The mortality rate was a staggering 42%.
Then Florence Nightingale arrived.
She wasn't a doctor. She was a nurse—a profession that, at the time, was considered barely respectable work for women.
But Nightingale had radical ideas about what made people heal.
She looked at the overcrowded, dark, poorly ventilated hospital wards and immediately understood: the environment itself was killing patients.
So she started making changes that seemed absurd to the male doctors around her:
She opened windows. Insisted on constant fresh air.
She demanded rigorous cleaning. Everything. Constantly.
She brought in more lamps, maximized natural light, rearranged beds so patients could see outside.
The doctors thought she was wasting time on superficial nonsense.
Then something extraordinary happened.
Within months, the mortality rate dropped from 42% to 2%.
Forty-two percent to two percent.
Nightingale didn't know about bacteria. Germ theory wouldn't be widely accepted for another 20+ years.
But somehow, she knew.
After the war, Nightingale returned to England and became obsessed with hospital design.
She created what became known as the "Nightingale Ward"—long, rectangular rooms with massive windows on both sides, high ceilings for air circulation, and beds arranged to maximize each patient's access to natural light and fresh air.
Her principles were revolutionary:
Fresh Air: She insisted that stale air was dangerous, that constant ventilation was essential. (We now know stagnant air allows pathogens to concentrate and spread.)
Cleanliness: She demanded meticulous hygiene—of spaces, of linens, of hands. (Decades before we understood infection transmission.)
Natural Light: She observed that patients in sunny rooms recovered faster. She called sunlight "the best disinfectant." (We now know sunlight produces Vitamin D, regulates circadian rhythms, has antimicrobial properties, and measurably speeds healing.)
For over a century, hospitals around the world were built following Nightingale's design principles.
Those beautiful old hospital buildings with the enormous windows? Those long, bright wards? That was Nightingale's legacy.
Then, in the mid-20th century, we got "smarter."
Modern hospitals became sealed environments with artificial lighting, climate control, and windowless rooms. More "efficient." More "scientific."
And guess what happened?
Hospital-acquired infections increased. Patient recovery times lengthened. Depression and anxiety in hospitalized patients became epidemic.
Now, in the 21st century, we're finally returning to Nightingale's wisdom.
Modern research has proven what she somehow knew 170 years ago:

Natural light accelerates wound healing (proven in multiple studies)
Access to nature views reduces recovery time after surgery
Fresh air and ventilation dramatically reduce infection rates
Circadian rhythm disruption (from artificial light) impairs immune function

We're building hospitals with windows again. With gardens. With natural light.
We're calling it "evidence-based design."
Florence Nightingale called it common sense.
Here's what astonishes me about this story:
Nightingale didn't have the scientific tools to understand why her methods worked. She didn't know about bacteria, viruses, Vitamin D synthesis, circadian biology, or immune function.
But she trusted her observations. She paid attention to what actually helped patients heal.
And she was right about everything.
The male doctors of her era dismissed her as emotional, unscientific, overly focused on "comfort" instead of "real medicine."
But her "comfort measures" saved thousands of lives.
Her "superficial" concerns about light and air turned out to be fundamental to human health.
Her "feminine" attention to the patient's environment was more scientifically sound than the mainstream medical approach of her time.
Florence Nightingale died in 1910 at age 90, having revolutionized nursing, hospital design, and medical statistics (she was also a pioneering data scientist, but that's another story).
Her principles influenced hospital architecture for over 100 years.
Then we forgot them. Got "modern." Built sealed boxes.
Now we're remembering. Building windows again. Letting the light in.
Sometimes the most revolutionary thing you can do is pay attention to what actually works—even when you don't understand why.
Sometimes intuition based on careful observation is more valuable than theory divorced from reality.
Sometimes the wisdom everyone dismisses as "soft" or "unscientific" turns out to be the hardest, most scientific truth of all.
The next time you see an old hospital with those beautiful, enormous windows, remember:
That's not just architecture. That's Florence Nightingale saying "I told you so" across 170 years.
And she was right!
Weren’t you fortunate to train and work at Prince Henry Hospital.
Today we are releasing our medal and uniform collections on e-Hive. Com under Prince Henry Hospital Medical and Nursing Museum.They have all been catalogued and archived by our wonderful volunteers.

Bedpan diaries of PHHIf you trained back when hospitals were built different… you already know.Back when stretchers were...
09/05/2026

Bedpan diaries of PHH

If you trained back when hospitals were built different… you already know.
Back when stretchers were basically metal rockets with wheels.
No fancy steering.
No smart brakes.
No “glide assist.”
Just you…
A long hallway…
And a trolley that picked up speed like it had somewhere VERY urgent to be.
You’d give it one confident push leaving the unit—
And suddenly you’re speed-walking behind it like:
“Please let me make this corner without taking out anything.”
Those waxed floors?
Ice rink smooth.
Those hallways?
Endless.
Those elevators?
Always on the other side of the building.
And somehow… we still made it to X-ray on time.
The new equipment might be high-tech now —
But it doesn’t build character like those old stretchers did.
Drop a if you survived the runaway stretcher era.
Tell me your best “back in the day” PHH transport story especially the wheeling beds outside on Curie and Darwin Avenues.

Bedpan diaries of PHHBefore computers…before scanning meds…before clicking boxes…There was paper.Real paper charts.Heavy...
03/05/2026

Bedpan diaries of PHH

Before computers…
before scanning meds…
before clicking boxes…

There was paper.

Real paper charts.
Heavy folders.
Pages stuffed with notes.
Tabs worn out from being opened 50 times a shift.

And the Kardex…

If you know, you KNOW.

That little card held the whole patient story.
Meds. Diet. Treatments. Allergies. Notes.
Everything you needed—right there in your handwriting.

And handwritten doctor’s orders?

Half the time it looked like a secret language.
But somehow… nurses always figured it out.

You didn’t “check the chart” on a screen.

You walked to the desk.
Flipped through papers.
Used your brain.
Used your memory.
And double-checked with your team like your registration depended on it…

because it did.

Back then, nursing wasn’t digital.

It was hands-on.
It was teamwork.
It was messy… exhausting… and REAL.

And somehow… it made you sharper.

Old-school nurses… tell me the truth:
Do you miss paper charts and the Kardex days?

Bed pan diaries of PHHCalling the doctor at home.Standing there for a second before dialing.Made sure another nurse was ...
25/04/2026

Bed pan diaries of PHH

Calling the doctor at home.
Standing there for a second before dialing.
Made sure another nurse was there to double check orders.
You checked the chart one more time.
Rechecked the vitals.
Ran the situation through your head — twice.
Because once you picked up that phone, it had to be right.
The line rang into a quiet house.
You pictured the lights off, dinner dishes done.
Someone half-asleep on the other end.
Your voice stayed steady even if your heart didn’t.
You reported facts, not feelings.
You chose your words carefully.
No rambling. No guessing.
There was a pause.
Then orders — clear, firm, final.
You wrote fast, read them back, and said “Yes, doctor,” with a confidence you learned through experience.
Asked them to repeat to second nurse.
You didn’t make those calls unless they mattered.
And when you did, you owned them.
If you remember standing by that phone, holding your breath while it rang…
you remember what responsibility really felt like.
What was the hardest call you ever had to make?

The Coast Chapel and car park were overflowing this morning as our community gathered in large numbers to remember and p...
25/04/2026

The Coast Chapel and car park were overflowing this morning as our community gathered in large numbers to remember and pay their respects at the ANZAC Day Dawn Service in Little Bay.

We extend our sincere thanks to our special guests, the Reverend Ryan Austin‑Eames, for his poignant and moving commemorative address, and Councillor Bill Burst for his attendance and contribution to this morning’s service.

It was deeply touching to witness our community come together at first light, share in the solemnity of the occasion, watch the sunrise over Little Bay, and then join us at the museum for Anzac biscuits and a cuppa.

Lest we forget.

Address

2 Brodie Avenue
Matraville, NSW
2036

Opening Hours

Tuesday 10am - 2pm
Sunday 10am - 3pm

Telephone

+61290190784

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