{"id":652,"date":"2015-10-01T11:57:00","date_gmt":"2015-10-01T11:57:00","guid":{"rendered":""},"modified":"2023-10-24T16:12:51","modified_gmt":"2023-10-24T16:12:51","slug":"tha-mo-churam-nas-fheorr-na-mo-chuimhn-life-death-and-the-mighty-mackay-part-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/dalriada.scot\/en\/tha-mo-churam-nas-fheorr-na-mo-chuimhn-life-death-and-the-mighty-mackay-part-2","title":{"rendered":"THA MO CH\u00d9RAM NAS FHE\u00d2RR NA MO CHUIMHN: Life, Death and the Mighty MacKay PART 2"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n<\/div>\n
\nBEATHA <\/b>LIFE<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nMrs Gallagher?<\/span><\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nYes<\/span><\/i>. An almost regal-looking
\nlady, with a youthful complexion, white hair and a keen eye, regarding me with
\ncuriosity, but not suspicion.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nI\u2019m sorry to bother you. I\u2019m cutting about
\nlooking for people with the local Gaelic<\/span><\/i>. A bheil
\nG\u00e0ilig agaibh?<\/b> (Is Gaelic at-you?)<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nTha<\/span><\/b>. ([It] is). The MacKays
\nreturned triumphant! And Hope slunk back out of the Kyle, somewhat self-conscious,
\ntrying to look casual and hoping not to be seen.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nth\u00e1naig mi seo bho cheann \u00f9ine mh\u00f3ir a\u2019
\nr\u00f9rachamh Alick George<\/i><\/span><\/b>. I had been here before
\nseeking Alick George, but he had been out when I\u2019d called, ach tha e air
\nfalbh a-nis, nach eil?<\/b> (but he\u2019s away now, isn\u2019t he?)<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\ntha, theirig Alick George<\/i><\/span><\/b>. (yes, Alick George died). I had arrived in Melness late one afternoon in
\n2010 and had gone to the door of their most knowledgable son, the house of the
\nmagical man that was Alick George MacKay<\/span><\/a>, whom I know only from
\nrecordings lifted by those lucky enough to meet him. My daughter Eilidh <\/b>and
\nI had knocked at the door, waiting for the roar of the retroflex R under those
\nunmistakable black eyebrows, but got nothing. We had somewhere to be that night
\nand had to leave and so it was we missed the great man, most likely by a matter
\nof minutes.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nC\u00e0it \u00e1s an d\u00e0naig u?<\/span><\/b> (Where have
\nyou come from?) asks Nan.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\n\u00c1 taobh Ghlasachamh, tha mi \u00e1s Arra-Gh\u00e1idheal
\nbho th\u00f9s ach tha gu le\u00f2r de mo mhuinntir, ‘s ann \u00e1s an taobh seo a tha ead<\/span><\/b>. (from Glasgow way, I\u2019m from Argyll originally but plenty of my people,
\ntis from this side that they are)<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\n\u00d3 seadh. Bheil u ‘g iarraidh tighinn a-staigh?<\/span><\/b> (oh aye. Do you want to come in?). It is rare that the famed hospitality
\nof the Gael, second only perhaps to the Arabian desert people, is found
\nwanting, not that I would have been put out at all had I not been invited in. I
\nwas after all a random 30-something male appearing mar chlach \u00e1s an \u00e0r<\/b>
\n(like a stone out of the air).<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nSeo a-nis cl\u00e0r-si\u00f9cair a reinn mo bhean air son
\nduine sam bith air an tiginn a\u2019 ch\u00e9ilidh<\/span><\/b>. (Here now
\nis a little tablet my wife made for anyone that I\u2019d come to visit)<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n
\nWhat is it?<\/i>
\n
<\/i>
\nTablet!<\/i><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\u00d3!<\/b> she laughed, thig
\na-staigh, thig a-staigh!<\/b> (come in, come in!). Seo agad a\u2019 charaid agam ‘s chan ail G\u00e0ilig aic<\/b>. (Here you have my friend and she doesn\u2019t have
\nGaelic). By then of course I didn\u2019t mind a bit. We had one, and that would do
\nbeautifully. It was one more Gaelic mind to get to know, one more privilege to
\nadd to the immensely lucky existence that has been my life, and one more than I
\nhad thought was possible by that point. I shook hands with Nellie, my host\u2019s
\nfriend. I met with a lovely smile and a firm hand.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n<\/div>\n
\n<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
\n\n\n\n\n
\"\"<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Nan, Nellie, \u00c0dhamh<\/b><\/span><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

The man there\u2019s looking for folk with the Gaelic<\/span><\/i>. says Nan, filling in her friend on the randomness, before enquiring to me
\nWill you have a cup of tea?<\/i> that immortal question to which there is
\nonly one answer! It was time to delve into the lives and memories of my hosts.
\nComing to a place like Melness as an incomer or a holiday-maker, there are many
\npeople who will never learn anything more than they need to know to get by and
\ndo what they want to do, escape from whatever it is they want to leave behind.
\nWhenever I arrive in a place, I want to know it all, the topsoil and the
\nunderbelly, the culture as carried along by the people who sprang from the very
\nearth of the place, and are best placed to tell the tale.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

\n<\/div>\n
\nNellie explained why she didn\u2019t end up with the Gaelic: my father could
\nspeak it, he was a Melness man, Charles Munro.<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nWas he related to Calum Munro?<\/span><\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nYes! You knew Calum?<\/span><\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nNo, he was away sadly before I got the chance to
\nmeet him<\/span><\/i> \u2013this was true. Like Alick George, Calum was now a permanent part of the
\nhistory of Melness, but a contributing force no more.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nHe used to call on me every time he was here and
\nhe had great yarns and tales.<\/span><\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nOh he would have<\/span><\/i>. I had heard
\nhim on the radio a good few times. I learned that despite Nan and Nellie going
\nto school together in the same class and in Melness, Nellie’s maternal
\ngrandparents had been from Golspie and the Black Isle and so her mother, and in
\nturn Nellie herself, never got the Gaelic.<\/span> <\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nIf someone says ciamar a tha sibh?<\/b> to me
\nI can answer tha gu math<\/b> and so forth<\/span><\/i> she said, but
\nI\u2019m not a fluent Gaelic speaker although I can pick it up just fine when people
\nare chatting to one another.<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nI explained that I had come round to see if there was anyone left speaking
\nthe language in Melness.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nOh well, there\u2019s very little of the old Melness
\nones left you know, of the families that were there when we were young and
\nthere\u2019s so many incomers, bless them, it\u2019s a good job they\u2019re there or the
\nplace would be empty but it\u2019s not just the same as it was.<\/span><\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nI remembered speaking to someone a few years before and they had said oh
\nI think you\u2019ll still get a few up in Melness<\/i>. I had been genuinely hopeful
\nof finding three or four speakers before I left Glasgow but this appeared to
\nhave been wishful thinking.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nEveryone went to Alick George for information on
\nthe place<\/span><\/i> Nellie told me.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nAlick George and I, our grannies were sisters<\/span><\/i> said Nan, popping her head in from the kitchen. Now how do you take
\nyour tea?<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nMy host showed me a photo on the wall among many others old and new. The
\nroom was clean and tidy and I sat on the couch with Nellie on my left in a big
\nchair and the window to my right with Nan\u2019s seat underneath. She elaborated
\nfurther on the legendary Alick George: Now he didn\u2019t learn too much in
\nschool\u2026. but he was an only child and he remembered every story his parents
\ntold.<\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\n<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n
\"\"<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Alick George<\/b><\/span><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n<\/div>\n
\nNellie continued: We didn\u2019t realise how sharp Alick George was when we
\nwere kids because he didn\u2019t do so well at the school work.<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nWell this is it,<\/span><\/i> I said, the
\nschool\u2019s not for everyone.<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nBut he had total recall!<\/span><\/i> Nan finished triumphantly.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nTo me, the ability to speak for your countryfolk and have them pleased as
\nPunch to let you get on with it is where it’s at. That is respect earned over
\nyears of being a conduit for the power of knowledge, yet wielded with absolute
\nhumility. People like Alick George kept the mindset of the Gael alive and well,
\nprotected by their very skulls and ribcages where lay their musical brains and
\nthrobbing hearts. I inquired as to whether he had a Gaelic name because even
\nthe Gaels I talked to would still just call him Alick George.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nWell, Alasdair <\/b>I suppose we would say\u2026.
\nand Se\u00f3ras<\/b>, but he was always just Alick George right enough.<\/span><\/i><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nDid they
\nhave a name for you in Gaelic?<\/span><\/i> I inquire.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nAlick George
\nalways called me Johannie,<\/span><\/i> says Nan, b<\/i><\/span>ut I called myself Nana as a child
\nand that stuck and that\u2019s what they call me around here.<\/span><\/i> But Nan NicDhomhaill<\/b> would probably be the simplest name in Gaelic.<\/span><\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nD<\/span><\/i>id they ever call you Seonag<\/b>?<\/span><\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nY<\/span><\/i>es, they did, Seonag<\/b><\/span><\/i>.<\/span><\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nAnd what did
\nthey say around here for MacDonald?<\/span><\/i> <\/span><\/i>I wonder.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nWell because
\neveryone was MacKay around here they had nicknames to differentiate between
\nthem all and with my father being the only MacDonald, he was just called <\/span>An Domhallach<\/span><\/b><\/i> (no ‘n’).<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nDespite how warmly and openly I’d been received, I suddenly became
\nconscious again of my having shown up randomly out of the blue. I hope I\u2019m
\nnot putting you to trouble because I didn\u2019t come up here to do that.<\/i> <\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nNot at all,<\/span><\/i> said Nan, we
\nnormally have a wee run out on a Saturday and then come back here for a seat
\nand a cup of tea so what\u2019s one more?<\/i> I felt happy to be one of the gang for
\na day. Och yes, we\u2019ve been best friends since we were in school.<\/i> <\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nAnd that wasn\u2019t yesterday!<\/span><\/i> joked Nellie. I wish Alick George had been here for you though, because
\nhe had a wealth of information. He knew every stone and ruin in the place.<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nI must admit with not a little regret that there had always been something
\nabout the fact that I knew Alick George was well-recorded that had prevented me
\ngoing out of my way to get back to Melness. I had always had the feeling that
\nhe was already greatly appreciated and that my priorities therefore, ought to
\nlie elsewhere.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nOh I\u2019m being treated now, look at this<\/span><\/i>, I said as my tea with just the perfect blend of milk and sugar arrived
\nwith a generous plate of biscuits and cherry cake.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nWell you know James Grant who did the Gaelic
\ndictionary lived down there in my niece\u2019s house, <\/span><\/i>said Nan. He
\nwas back and forth all the time as my sister lived next door. He would come in
\ntalking Gaelic to us and he always brought in a cherry cake!<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n
\nYes, this was life. I had met with death and disaster this morning, now I was
\nbeing treated to life, with people who belonged to Melness the same way the
\ngrass belonged in the field opposite the house. It was able to replant itself,
\nits seeds caught in the wind and finding most often a new home not 100 yards
\naway. Not so the people, so many of whom had been made to cross an ocean to find
\nhome, and had ploughed through all manner of peril to get there.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\n(all Gaelic forms from now on will be MacKay Country dialect)<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nC\u00e0 bheil u ‘dul a-nis?<\/span><\/b> (where are you going now?) asks Nan.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nTha mi ‘dul gu Loch an Inbhir.<\/span><\/b><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nI had made up my mind I was going to get to Lochinver. I had only ever
\npassed through it once or twice on my way south from the MacKay Country and I had
\ndecided bloody-mindedly that one day I was just going to get there by hook or
\nby crook and assess the language situation properly. My grandmother insisted
\nour MacLeods were from there originally, from Assynt, and so it was that
\nanother kind of seed, of some kind of connection that ought to be explored, was
\nplanted.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nChan ail e gu diubhar c\u00f9in a ruigeas mi ‘n
\nd\u00f9thaich<\/span><\/b> (it doesn\u2019t matter when I reach the place) I continued, ach chan ail mi ‘g iarraidh ur cumail air ais<\/b>.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nHa!<\/span><\/i> laughed Nan to Nellie. He
\ndoesn\u2019t want to keep us back he says!<\/i> clearly amused at the concept of
\nanything other than Highland Time applying in this house.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\n\n\n\n\n
\"\"<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
uinneag don Chaoil<\/b><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

He\u2019s going to Lochinver,<\/span><\/i> said Nellie, understanding fine what I was saying.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

\n<\/div>\n
\nYes he\u2019s going to Lochinver, <\/span><\/i>Nan replied, and still with a grin on her face: but he\u2019s not in a hurry.<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nI realised I was bedded in for the afternoon. After the day I\u2019d had so far,
\nthis was bliss. As soon as Nan realised I wasn\u2019t fussy about what we spent the
\nnext hour or two doing, she set about hunting high and low for a CD she had of
\nMelness Gaelic, music and song.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nYou\u2019ll hear my two brothers talking Gaelic<\/span><\/a> on it and that\u2019s interesting for
\nyou because you can hear the Melness Gaelic. They had a good quality of voice,
\nit was lovely to hear them speak.<\/span><\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\n
\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

And hear them I did. As they and Nan talked it made me sad to think about
\nwhat had been lost in the Highlanders\u2019 pursuit of being accepted by a fickle
\nBritain that is now on the verge of falling apart. We endeared ourselves to the
\nBritish establishment by attempting to become more like them only for the
\nimperialist dream to fall apart in front of our very eyes. Britain must have
\nseemed indestructible in the not so distant past. It must have seemed like the
\nticket for the future. I believe strongly that we were duped, had, conned and
\nripped off. The question now is whether frustration can be turned into genuine,
\nlong-lasting action. Despite losing people like Alick George and Calum Munro
\nbefore they got the chance to see what our determination could produce, the
\nremaining Gaelic-speaking Gaels of the Highlands and Islands of Scotland
\nshould not have to witness the wholesale descent of their sacred mindset into
\nthe nothingness of the cultural void that is failed Britain. As people’s sense
\nof place wilted under toxic pressure from cultureless bureaucrats, they nevertheless continued trying to scrape a crust. I began to wonder what Nan’s father did for a living.<\/span> <\/span><\/div>\n

\n<\/div>\n
\nD\u00e9 ‘n ubair a bh\u2019 aig na h-athair?<\/span><\/b> (what work did your father have?) <\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nBha e na phost ‘s bha croit aig. Bha shop<\/i>
\naig athair ‘s a mh\u00e0thair<\/span><\/b>. (He was a postman and he had
\na croft. His mother and father had a shop). Do you say b\u00f9th <\/b>for a
\nshop<\/i>?<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nWe do<\/span><\/i>. The shop
\nhad its goods sent up from Leith by boat and went from one end of the district
\nto the other by horse and cart. A lot of people paid for their groceries with eggs. When Nan\u2019s
\nfather came home from the First World War he carried on the shop. The
\ndepression years meant that people couldn\u2019t afford to pay for their groceries
\nat all and the family was forced to give it up. That’s when An Domhallach<\/b> worked as a
\npostman, going round the whole district. Nan felt that they were very lucky to
\nhave the croft to fall back on.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nShe informed me that one of the men
\nfeatured on the CD had in fact died only a week or two back: Willie John used to
\nplay in the local band and we were thinking about him a lot and even before you came I was going to
\nput on the CD to remember him by, you know?<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nAn robh G\u00e0ilig aig\u00b7as?<\/span><\/b> (did he <\/i>have Gaelic?) I asked, assuming correctly that this was another
\nspeaker lost to us.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\n\u00d3 bha<\/span><\/b> (oh yes)
\nanswered Nan. Ch\u00ecthinn e le daoin ‘s cha robh aid a\u2019 bridhinn, ach nam
\nfaiceamh e mis, bhitheamh sinn a\u2019 bridhinn G\u00e0ilig ri ch\u00e9il.<\/b> (I\u2019d see him
\nwith people who wouldn\u2019t speak it, but if he bumped into me we would be
\nspeaking Gaelic to each other).<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nNow Nellie,<\/span><\/i> said Nan as
\nthe accordian-driven dance band got into full swing, didn\u2019t we love the
\nwaltzing?<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nOch, we\u2019d go dancing to five o\u2019clock in the
\nmorning!<\/span><\/i> Nellie replied, indicating to the youth of today how a real dance
\nenthusiast does it.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nThere was no bridge then,<\/span><\/i> Nan continued, and we\u2019d walk up to the ferry and the ferryman would
\ntake us across in the boat. We\u2019d go to the dance in Tongue till four o\u2019clock in
\nthe morning and then we\u2019d wait till it was light and we had to put up a flag
\nfor the ferryman so that he would come across for us. Didn\u2019t we have lovely
\ntimes right enough?<\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nI love the old tunes<\/span><\/i>, Nellie
\nagreed, make me want to dance and that was just the local band.<\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nThe hospitality showed no signs of letting up.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nShall I make you a sandwich?<\/span><\/i> Nan asked me.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nNo no, I wouldn\u2019t want to put you out<\/span><\/i>. Tha rudaigin agam sa charbad<\/b>. (I\u2019ve got something in the car).<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nBheil an rud agad nas fhe\u00f2rr na th\u2019 agam\u00b7as<\/span><\/b>? (is what you\u2019ve got better than what I\u2019ve got?). I’d had it. I wasn’t
\ngoing to escape some more being looked after and that\u2019s all there was to it.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\n\n\n\n\n
\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

We spoil our sons<\/span><\/i> said
\nNellie, that\u2019s what it is.<\/i><\/span><\/div>\n

\n<\/div>\n
\nExactly, we spoil our sons, <\/span><\/i>Nan concurred. Altram Dh\u00f9thaich MhicAoidh<\/b> (adopted by MacKay Country) If you can\u2019t see to
\nthe wellbeing of a wayfarer, then you\u2019re no Highlander. I was a visiting Gael
\nfrom Argyll, and I was being looked after accordingly.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\n\n\n\n\n
\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n\n\n\n\n
\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n\n\n\n\n
\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/b><\/span><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

<\/div>\n

\nContinue reading<\/span><\/a><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

BEATHA LIFE Mrs Gallagher? Yes. An almost regal-looking lady, with a youthful complexion, white hair and a keen eye, regarding me with curiosity, but not suspicion. I\u2019m sorry to bother you. I\u2019m cutting about looking for people with the local Gaelic. A bheil G\u00e0ilig agaibh? (Is Gaelic at-you?) Tha. ([It] is). The MacKays returned triumphant! […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_editorskit_title_hidden":false,"_editorskit_reading_time":0,"_editorskit_is_block_options_detached":false,"_editorskit_block_options_position":"{}","footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-652","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-blog"],"blocksy_meta":[],"aioseo_notices":[],"gutentor_comment":1,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/dalriada.scot\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/652","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/dalriada.scot\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/dalriada.scot\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dalriada.scot\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dalriada.scot\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=652"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/dalriada.scot\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/652\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":729,"href":"https:\/\/dalriada.scot\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/652\/revisions\/729"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/dalriada.scot\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=652"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dalriada.scot\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=652"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dalriada.scot\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=652"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}