Mexborough & Swinton Times — Friday 08 January 1904

Death of Father Curran of Goldthorpe

A Genial and Godly Priest

We deeply regret to record the sudden death of Father Curran, the resident Roman Catholic priest of Goldthorpe, which occurred early on Monday morning, after a very brief illness, that is of a character considered serious. The deceased died at his lodgings in Kathleen-street, Goldthorpe, and his mortal remains were on Wednesday removed to Denaby, where they repose in the mortuary chapel of Denaby Catholic Church. They will rest there until Monday, when they will be interred, at three o’clock, in the Catholic burial ground. It is expected that about 40 priests of the diocese of Leeds will be present at the funeral obsequies, which will be preceded by a service in the church. Requiem Mass will be sung for the soul of the deceased cleric on Sunday morning.

The Rev. Martin Joseph Curran, B.A., was a native of Waterford, Ireland, where he was born in 1865, and he had thus attained his 38th year. He was the son of an Irish constabulary officer, who is now a pensioner. He commenced his education at Waterford Grammar School, where he was an exhibitioner, and afterwards graduated at Trinity College, Dublin. He then began his ecclesiastical education at Mount Melleray College, Waterford, and finished his divinity at the Ecclesiastical Seminary, Leeds, where, 13 or 14 years ago, he was ordained by the present Bishop of Leeds, Dr. Gordon. His first mission was at Hill-street, Leeds. Here he was vicar of St. Joseph’s Church. He was there several years, and during his ministry he contracted smallpox by attending the poor in the workhouse. He suffered very badly indeed, and for long was not expected to recover. Fortunately, however, he possessed a magnificent constitution, and fine physique; indeed, before he was attacked by this terrible disease he was a magnificent figure of a man, tall, well set, and handsome. From this illness he never completely recovered, and the self-sacrifice which caused him to contract the smallpox was the origin of the wreck of his stalwart manhood.

When he left the hospital after his serious suffering, he was for some time attached to St. Bede’s Church, Rotherham, where he won the esteem and affection of all who knew him, both Catholic and Protestant. His health failing again, he went to live home in Ireland for some time, and when in a measure restored he was called to Denaby as assistant to Father Kavanagh, who had created a large Catholic congregation at Denaby, and had charge also of a big district, including Goldthorpe, where there was another large Catholic community. Father Curran remained at Denaby more than two years, attending to the needs of Goldthorpe, until such time as Father Kavanagh was able to secure land for the erection of a church there. When this was accomplished Father Kavanagh allowed him to take up his residence at Goldthorpe, and devote himself entirely to the mission in that village. Father Curran was, of course, in residence at Denaby during the recent disastrous colliery strike, and the work which he did amongst the poor and distressed of the parish will never be forgotten.

When he settled at Goldthorpe he at once threw himself enthusiastically into the work of the church there, and so far had he succeeded in his mission that in March next he intended to begin building a Catholic chapel, which would be used for a school when it was possible to erect a church, as well as a house for himself. This enterprise was to cost about £100 for the chapel, and £300 for the house, and that Father Curran should regard this outlay as possible, after little more than six months’ residence in the village, is eloquent proof of the power of his energy and magnetic personality.

His zeal and energy was in fact the cause of his lamented death. For about three months, in fact ever since he returned from an autumn vacation in Ireland, he had been ailing, suffering from heart disease, the consequence of smallpox. But during the festive season he worked with unremitting activity organising first a concert and a party for his people, and then a grand tea. This took place on New Year’s Day, and Father Curran went home from it to his death bed. He was unable to rise on Saturday morning, and a doctor was summoned. Nothing serious was, however, anticipated, and even as late as Sunday evening the medical men in attendance gave an assurance that there was no danger. Soon afterwards, however, grave symptoms exhibited themselves, and at five minutes past three on Monday morning the good, kind-hearted priest breathed his last, death being due to congestion of the brain and syncope. He was unquestionably a victim of over-work, the martyr of his own unselfishness.

One of the most lovable men who ever inhabited it has been lost to the world by the death of Father Curran, and in the little corner of the world which he had the best reason for loving him his loss will be irreparable. At Denaby, even more than at Goldthorpe, the grief of the villagers, irrespective of religious faith, is unmistakable. Father Curran was a priest of the type made familiar in the immortal ballad “Father O’Flynn”—a big man, bluff, jolly, with the heart of a child, the tongue of an angel, and the energy of a giant; always cheery, always helpful, always hopeful, always charitable, and broad-minded, he had but to be known to be loved universally. Like “Father O’Flynn,” he had a wonderful way with him, and he exercised it always to smooth the path of his people, and other people also. During the dark days of distress consequent upon the strike, he repeatedly gave away every penny he possessed, and it touched even the most hardened to see so generous a friend he knew and begged so eloquently for the cause of misery that seldom failed to obtain means for its relief.

Father Curran was an Irishman with every virtue peculiar to that mirthful and mercurial race. He could sing, laugh, joke, and sympathise. His heart was large in comparison to his chest, and he never closed his ears to the plea of poverty. If Irishmen have any failings, he seemed to have inherited none of them. May the earth lie lightly on him, because

Large was his bounty and his soul sincere,
Heaven did a recompense as largely send;
He gave to misery all he had—a tear,
And gained from Heaven, ’twas all he wished, a friend.