Let’s call this unfinished business.

I recently told the story of Rev. Henry “Father Pat” Irwin who, in my mind, is one of B.C.’s most remarkable pioneers ever. A man who, as you have read, never gave less than his all; a minister of God who thought nothing of riding all day and all night in all kinds of weather in the middle of nowhere on an empty stomach.

Rev. Henry “Father Pat” Irwin is among the giants of British Columbia’s pioneers. — www.anglicanhistory.org/canada

Despite often being cold, wet and hungry, he seemed to be unstoppable, almost superhuman. No wonder that those who knew him thought the world of him.

How ironic then that it was his unrelenting willpower, coupled with grief for his wife and baby, that brought him down when only in his 40s.

What follows are two tributes; the first appeared in the Toronto Globe, Dec. 10, 1898:

"It is something to be part and parcel of a growing country like this. There is, after all, more honour in it than in descent from the men that spurred by William's side when he smote Harold's followers at Hastings. Here at Rossland is one pioneer whose career and personality endear him to the Kootenays, and whose memory will ever be a tradition and a blessing.

“And he is an Episcopalian minister, and an Irishman, the Rev. Henry Irwin. He is known from Fort Steele to Okanagon Landing. There is not a trail through the mountains, nor a road through the valleys, that he has not trudged over and over, and always on errands of mercy and of love.

"He has been the friend and confidant of every pioneer and prospector that has lived in the Kootenays for [15] years. He saw them come here, poor, eke out a hard existence far from towns and cities and refinement and civilization, but he was always among them with a cheery voice and a kindly smile, and they all loved him, and in pure affection called him 'Father Pat.'

“He has seen multitudes of his old friends grow rich and famous. He tells of the bacon-and-bean days of the log cabin, and talks kindly of the old friends now dwelling in palatial mansions, and sitting round tables laden with the richest viands and luxuries drawn from every land and clime. But Father Pat prefers the bacon and beans, and hard luck, and black coffee, in the miner's log cabin to the banquet halls of the rich, the great, or the famous. He could have grown rich like others, but he says he wants to be like Him whom he preaches, 'Who had not whereon to lay His head.'

"And thus he 'gangs his gait,' going about doing good with cheerful words and kindly smiles, and a warm clasp of the hand for the Jew and the Gentile, for the orthodox and the heretic, and thus he has won the hearts of the young people who are engaged in up-building this glorious young country."

Here’s another extract from an unidentified newspaper:

"Were all the stories of endurance, self-sacrifice and bravery about Father Pat published, it would make an interesting volume. The latest one is very characteristic of him.

‘A prospector lay sick away out on the lonely mountain side, [30] miles from doctor or medicine. Father Pat heard of it. He gathered together medicines, and hit the trail.

While nearing the cabin, he came across three mounted miners who saluted him with the question, 'Hello, Parson, where are you going?' He told them. 'Bill needs a doctor instead of a parson!' They commenced to abuse the minister. They would not let him pass. Quicker than lightning the parson jerked one of the miners off his horse, knocked another one off, and cleared the trail.

"He reached the sick man's side, and ministered to his wants. On returning the next day he met the three miners, who had camped on the trail bent on revenge. While being abused he appeared meek as a lamb. The trio surrounded him in a threatening manner. Then the parson spoke: 'Will you see fair play if I will fight one at a time?' said he. 'Yes, yes, yes,' exclaimed they, chuckling with delight at the prospect.

"A ring was formed, and soon one of the three measured his length on the ground. 'Come on,' said Father Pat, pleasantly, as the other two seemed somewhat dazed. One came on, and followed the first. 'Next,' said Father Pat. But the third miner took to his heels as though his Satanic Majesty was behind him instead of only a meek minister. The Father bathed the bruises of the two prostrate miners, and after preaching them a sermon on the iniquity of fighting, went on his way."

This was Father Pat who ministered to one and all without exception and, when he had to, made his point with his fists. There’s never been anyone like him.

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