{"id":653,"date":"2015-10-01T10:58:00","date_gmt":"2015-10-01T10:58:00","guid":{"rendered":""},"modified":"2024-03-21T20:59:39","modified_gmt":"2024-03-21T20:59:39","slug":"tha-mo-churam-nas-fheorr-na-mo-chuimhn-life-death-and-the-mighty-mackay-part-1","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/dalriada.scot\/en\/tha-mo-churam-nas-fheorr-na-mo-chuimhn-life-death-and-the-mighty-mackay-part-1","title":{"rendered":"THA MO CH\u00d9RAM NAS FHE\u00d2RR NA MO CHUIMHN: Life, Death and the Mighty MacKay PART 1"},"content":{"rendered":"

(THE GAELIC DIALECT OF THE MACKAY COUNTRY)<\/b>
\n<\/p>\n

B\u00c0S <\/b>DEATH<\/div>\n
\n\n\n\n\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n\n
\"\"<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Steven headstone, Watten<\/b><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n
My connection to the north is a Gallaibh <\/b>(Caithness) one. This comes
\nfrom the fact that just about all my mother\u2019s people hailed from the
\nnorth-eastern tip of Scotland. They were G\u00e0idheil <\/b>(Gaels) and Goill <\/b>(Lowlanders),
\nsome speaking G\u00e0ilig <\/b>(Scottish Gaelic) and some Beurla Ghallta<\/b>
\n(Lowland Scots). Despite all of that linguistic richness in my background, you
\nwould never have known from speaking to the infant me. I was brought up in a
\nnominally British household, where my mother and father had little or no
\ninterest in culture of any kind other than classical music and English poetry
\nand I was taught to speak the perfectly enunciated tongue with barely the
\nslightest hint of a Scottish accent.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The Friday night on the first day of my trip north saw me making for
\nCaithness once more. My reason for the detour north-east was the burying of my
\nmother, Marjorie Steven\u2019s ashes in Cladh Bhatain<\/b> (Watten Cemetery) and
\nthe completion of the final chapter of the Caithness saga which has grown ever
\nmore important the older I\u2019ve become. The connection may have been all but lost
\nhad it not been for my grandmother Laura who passed away in 2009 at the superb
\nvintage of exactly 100 years old. She had a great amateur interest in history
\nand geneology and as I got older, started explaining to me about our people,
\nMacLeods from Latharn <\/b>(Latheron). Her father Eathan MacLe\u00f2id<\/b> (John
\nMacLeod) was disgusted that his own father Ceinneach <\/b>(Kenneth) had never
\npassed on the Gaelic language before he died in 1902.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n
\"\"<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Ceinneach MacLe\u00f2id<\/b><\/span><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n<\/div>\n
This disgust followed through to my grandmother who had told me that it
\nwas considered infradig to speak the Gaelic<\/i>. Her grandfather was a most
\nirascible man by all accounts who only spoke the language to his wife when he
\ndidn\u2019t want the children to understand. It was unthinkable not to pass it on<\/i>,
\nshe said, but that\u2019s what happened. All my father knew were three phrases, madainn
\nmhath<\/b> (good morning), sl\u00e0inte mhath<\/b> (good health) and oidhche
\nmhath<\/b> (good night) <\/i>which she pronounced \/\u025b\u00e7\u0259 va<\/b>\/.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
She considered herself too far down the road to bring it back, but
\nencouraged me wholesale to try it myself. This was a late addition to the
\npicture of my identity on which I received not a sausage of an education until
\nI was in my early-mid teens. I didn\u2019t even know my father\u2019s folk were almost
\n100% Irish until the same grandmother told me. Jimmy had never cracked a
\nlight and it had taken his mother-in-law to fill his son in on what most of us
\nwould consider a crucial fact about who a person is. And so I hadn\u2019t the
\nfoggiest idea of where I came from, how my ancestors had lived or the fact that
\nthey hadn\u2019t been native English speakers until I was about 13 years old. You
\ncould happily call me a walking tabula rasa<\/i>.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
I headed for Bun Illidh<\/b> (Helmsdale) and bedded down for the night on
\nthe very southernmost edge of my ancestors\u2019 range. My 4x great-grandmother R\u00f2s
\nNic a\u2019 Phearsain<\/b> (Rose MacPherson) was from this area, the landscape a
\nstark one, almost artificial-looking hills scraped practically naked, clad only
\nin a low covering of conasg <\/b>(gorse). Stoney fields stretch down towards
\nthe sea which is often separated from the land only by sheer cliffs. Apart from
\nthe rigs 20 miles out into the gloom, your next stop is Norway. This is the
\nview my people had when they were cleared from the glens that ran off this
\ncoast and were forced to learn a fresh living from the unknown art of salt
\nwater fishing.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
I awoke on the morning of the funeral, ate a substantial breakfast in a B&B
\nat the back of the village and got on my way up the coast, soon crossing the
\nborder from Sutherland into Caithness. I was heading for the abode of my last
\nknown relative in the area, the redoubtable Jamesina MacGonigill, a shepherd of
\nmany years experience who still tends a flock in Am Br\u00e0igh M\u00f3r<\/b> (the
\nGreat Brae) where she remembered an older shepherd speaking solely in Gaelic to
\nhis dogs. My 4x
\ngreat-grandfather Seumas Guinne<\/b> (James Gunn) was cleared from his house in the glen and forced to carry his
\ndaughter Se\u00f2naid <\/b>(Janet) 20 miles to settle at the coast in Latheron
\nwhich became the nexus of our Gaelic-speaking ancestors for the following 100
\nyears. The cliabh <\/b>(herring creel) in which he carried Janet would have
\nbeen about all he knew of fishing upon arriving at the sea.<\/span><\/div>\n\n\n\n\n
\"\"<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Sutharlanaich Leodabost<\/b><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n
<\/div>\n
Jamesina led me across the Causiemire road which
\nconnects Latheron and Inbhir The\u00f2rsa<\/b> (Thurso) in her car and I followed
\nbehind, preparing mentally for what lay ahead. Taking the turn-off, I passed
\nthe old post-office which once sat next to Kenneth MacLeod’s shop.
\nThe route over the moor is remarkably straight and I stole the odd glance off
\nto the west between keeping my eye on the road. I could see Sgoil Bhuilseach<\/b>
\n(Boultach) in the far distance, where my great-grandfather was sent after his
\nirascible father had fallen out with the headmaster of the school at
\nLatheron. Travelling on past Leodabost <\/b>(Leod\u2019s Farm) the restored croft of
\nmy S\u00f9lanaich <\/b>(Sutherlands), I looked across the moor to Smearal <\/b>(Smerral)
\nout of which Clann Eanraig<\/b> (Hendersons) had come. Had my grandmother not
\nkept such a sterling record of our geneology, I may never have known anything
\nabout these people.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
The modest ceremony for my mother was attended by a minister who by sheer
\nchance happened to have learned conversational Gaelic in my home district of Dail
\nRiada<\/b> (Dalriada), in Ceann Loch Gilb<\/b> (Lochgilphead) to be precise.
\nAlthough not speaking the dialect itself, he was able to give the ceremony at
\nthe graveside an extra resonance by making use of the old language. I\u2019m not
\nreligious in the conventional sense and so this was for me the most significant
\naspect of the blessing and a most appropriate nod to previous generations. I
\nalso read a verse I’d written for my mother and her people the Stevens from
\nBowermadden, meaning that homage was also done to the Scots-speaking contingent:<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
TAE THE MITHER<\/b><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Yer shouders braud, ye’r yin o thame<\/span>,<\/div>\n
Ald Caithness fowk frae Northern hame<\/div>\n
Tho past yer life ye did tae south,<\/div>\n
Wae southren gait an marbelt mouth,<\/div>\n
Yer lips an eyes, yer Steven guise<\/div>\n
A see wae ease an realise<\/div>\n
Jist whaur you’r frae<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Yer ruddie cheik geiz aff the louk,<\/div>\n
That plowin feidle be mistouk<\/div>\n
Fir whit ye spent yer days upon<\/div>\n
At drap o dusk an lowerin dawn,<\/div>\n
Frae Bowermadden doun tae Lathron<\/div>\n
Up the Causiemire tae Watten<\/div>\n
That’s whaur you’r frae<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Yer stubborn brow yince creast wae thocht<\/div>\n
Wis ower the sea wae Fjordsman brocht<\/div>\n
That saltet air that fillt ther lungs<\/div>\n
An garred them speak wae fearsom tungs<\/div>\n
Aft dun the same tae you scarce tame<\/div>\n
But haudin thrawn the Steven name<\/div>\n
Frae whaur you’r frae<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Yer big strang erms, A ken thame<\/span> tae,<\/div>\n
Ther’s mair than yin’s had thame<\/span> ‘n thur day<\/div>\n
When Sandie Steven peched his last<\/div>\n
An plow tae soil he coudna cast<\/div>\n
His erms yit his an no jist his<\/div>\n
But ilka faither that aye wis<\/div>\n
Ower whaur you’r frae<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Yer upturnt neb A’v gote an aa<\/div>\n
Lik heuk it’s sharp an kinna sma<\/div>\n
This maun be us an hou we’r made<\/div>\n
Frae sandstane rid an peat ower laid<\/div>\n
Frae Caithness sprang we cum an gang<\/div>\n
An ald kin line baith prowd an
\nlang<\/div>\n
It’s whaur we’r frae!<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
I left Caithness after tea, scones and a fill-up at
\nthe local fuel station in Thurso. Although great to catch up with relatives and
\nfriends, it had been an understandably emotional ride so far that day, a lot of
\npent up grief spilling forth with the finality of the act. I struck out across
\nthe moors in my car, feeling that the only way had to be up from here. I had
\nthree days in which to gather my thoughts and track down the last vestiges of
\nthe language in the mighty D\u00f9thaich MhicAoidh<\/b> (MacKay Country), Asainte
\n<\/b>(Assynt) and Ros <\/b>(Ross). I was not at all prepared for the road
\ntaking as decidedly downward a slope as it did.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Ruairidh MacCoinnich<\/span><\/b> (Roddie
\nMacKenzie) was a postman in Wester Ross for many years and a warm, decent man
\nwith a veritable fountain of knowledge that he was only too happy to share
\npatiently with me whenever I called on the phone. The reason for my contact
\nwith him was Sony Pictures\u2019 Outlander<\/i>, an American TV series on which I
\nwork whenever Gaelic language content is required. Roddie seemed genuinely pleased to
\nassist me whenever necessary as I had gone out of my way to make sure that Clann ‘icChoinnich<\/b> (the MacKenzie clan) featured in this production would have
\nMacKenzie Gaelic. I can tell you that I was happy enough if I could get the
\nactors to sound like they weren\u2019t from England or Lowland Scotland in terms of
\naccent; anything more inside the five weeks we had to get those six lovely
\ngents with not a word of Gaelic in their heads ready for the screen was a
\nbonus. I knew however, that despite the lads not being likely to manage Ross-shire
\naccents, what I could ensure was Ross-shire idiom and vocabulary. If Roy
\nWentworth\u2019s incredible dictionary <\/span>Gaelic Words and Phrases from Wester Ross<\/span><\/a><\/span> was my rock
\nduring this process then Roddie was my staff. Between this hero of mainland
\nGaelic preservation and one of his chief confidants I found my way through, one
\nway or another. I dialed Roddie\u2019s number from my hands-free and was pleased to
\nhear his wife Alice on the other end.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n\n\n\n\n
\"\"<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Aileas agas Ruairidh<\/b><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n
\u2018S e \u00c0dhamh a tha seo, d\u00e9 mar a tha sibh?<\/span><\/b> (It\u2019s \u00c0dhamh <\/b>here, how are you?)<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Tha gu math, \u00c0dhaimh ‘s tu fh\u00e9in?<\/span><\/b> (well, \u00c0dhamh <\/b>and yourself?)<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Tha gu gasta. Saoil a bheil Ruairidh aig an
\ntaigh an ceartair?<\/span><\/b> (oh just grand. I wonder is
\nRoddie at home just now?)<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u00d3 tha mi duilich, chaochail Ruairidh anns an
\n\u00d2g-mh\u00ecos<\/span><\/b> (oh I\u2019m sorry, Roddie passed on in June)<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n
BOOM. Like a gunshot through my belly. I gave Alice my deepest condolences
\nand came off the phone, not wishing to bother her any further. The tears
\nflowed. I pulled in off the road feeling that I was about to burst with grief.
\nI had just buried my mum and now my great friend and guide, an exemplary human
\nbeing and Gael had departed this world. I had not been in contact for the best
\npart of a year due to personal circumstance. Mo chreach, a Ruairidh, tha mi
\nduilich!<\/b> I shouted, as much at myself as at the sky, when the phone
\nsuddenly rang out at my end this time. It was Alice calling back.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Bu ch\u00f2ir fhios a bhith agad gun do ch\u00f2rd e
\nuabhasach math ri Ruairidh a bhith bridhinn riut. Bha e gu math toilichte do
\nchuideachadh<\/span><\/b> (You should know that Roddie thoroughly enjoyed
\nspeaking to you. He was very pleased to help you).<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\n\n\n\n\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n\n\n\n\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n\n\n\n\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

Spirits lifted. I stared at a hedge opposite the car as I made my
\napologies. Tha mi cho duilich nach do chuir mi f\u00f3n bho cheann fhada. Tha mi ‘n d\u00f2chas gu robh fios aig Ruairidh air cho m\u00f3r agam ‘s a bha e<\/b> (I am so
\nsorry I didn\u2019t place a call for so long. I hope Roddie knew how highly I
\nregarded him).<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
\u00d3 bha. Agas ma tha rud sam bith ann as urrainn
\ndhomh\u00b7sa dianamh, na bith di\u00f9id ‘s tu cur f\u00f3n<\/span><\/b>\u201d (oh yes. And if there\u2019s anything I can do, don\u2019t be shy in picking up
\nthe phone).<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
What a lovely thing to say. I set off in better spirits, but still feeling
\npretty crushed. I felt like I\u2019d said goodbye to more Gaels than I could begin
\nto count over the last couple of years and of course this rate has no chance of
\nslowing up. It\u2019s why I do what I do, why I try to encourage people at every
\nopportunity to value these wonderful individuals, because you turn around every
\nsecond month to find another person you knew, another history, another Gaelic speaker
\ngone for good and Scotland as ignorant of what it has lost as it ever was. <\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n\n\n\n\n
\"\"<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Fraoch MhicAoidh<\/b><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n
The north-eastern expanse of Sutherland, its mountain and moor stretched
\nout before me was glorious, made even more so by the blooming fraoch <\/b>(heather),
\ntame under a pale blue sky, but somehow still foreboding. It might just have been
\nthe way I was feeling after that morning\u2019s events, but hope was at a premium,
\nand my expectation of finding anyone left with the old dialect of this country
\nwas extremely low.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
I was making for Am Blaran Odhar<\/b> (Bettyhill) in the parish of F\u00e0rr
\n<\/b>(Farr) and the house of Uilleam G\u00f2rdan<\/b> (Billy Gordon), reputed to be
\nthe village’s last habitually speaking Gael and a very knowledgeable man. I
\narrived, coasting down the curious brae that leads into the settlement and back
\nup the other side like the return of a swinging pendulum. Into the shop I went
\nto enquire about Billy\u2019s whereabouts and having purchased a mug to take home
\nwith me I set off on a twenty minute ruith na cuthaige<\/b> (cuckoo\u2019s chase
\ni.e. wild goose chase) bobbing up and down the Bettyhill braes in my little
\nblack Volkswagen and failing dismally to find the house. When I eventually got
\nthere, I found only a brutag <\/b>(caterpillar) on the sign of his house for
\ncompany, as Billy had just gone out. I closed the gate to his garden and got
\nback in my car.<\/span> I let the car trundle down the road from Billy\u2019s house.<\/div>\n
He\u2019d be your best bet right enough,<\/span><\/i> said a farmer in a nearby field as I rolled down the window.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n\n\n\n\n
\"\"<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Brutag an \u00c0ird<\/b><\/span><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n
The man had the strongest Sutherland accent I\u2019ve ever heard, rivalling even
\nthat of the late, great Alasdair Se\u00f3ras MacAoidh<\/b> (Alick George MacKay)
\nof Taobh Mhealnais <\/b>(Melness), the village to which I intended traveling next.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
I can hear the Gaelic in your voice sir, your
\nparents must have spoken it<\/span><\/i>.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
I got a knowing smile, but no Gaelic in reply. The verging on fait-accompli<\/i>
\nthat seemed to be the death of the language in this area is more acute than
\nanywhere else I\u2019ve been. The man continued wrestling his sheep about the small
\nfield. It had been a crippling summer; if farmers had wanted to go swimming,
\nthey would have gone to the baths in Thurso or taken to the sea, not traipsed
\nabout in their own fields trying to earn a living.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Bettyhill got left behind and I made for Ceann an t-Saile MhicAoidh<\/b>
\n(MacKay\u2019s Kyle of Tongue) as opposed to Ceann an t-Saile MhicCoinnich<\/b>
\n(MacKenzie\u2019s Kintail) Sweeping across the Kyle over the causeway,
\nI was graced with breathtaking views on either side of me and the sense -as
\nalways in the north of Scotland- of being somewhere very special. I got to
\nMelness with the book of MacKay Country Gaelic<\/span><\/a>
\nwonderfully compiled by Seumas Grannd<\/b> (James Grant) and a list of people
\nhe had spoken to, some of whom might just still be with us and willing to help
\nme continue my education. Universities, colleges, schools, all have their
\npurpose, but nothing beats the company of those who have lived, and lived long.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
I reached Melness buoyant but ravaged by grief, in that particular way only
\ngrief leaves you feeling; ragged, tattered, knackered and a little numb. I
\nstepped into the local shop wondering if the game was up. I was sent straight
\noff down to An Srathan Sh\u00ecos<\/b> (East Strathan) and the house of one Se\u00f3rdag
\nNicLe\u00f2id<\/b> (Georgina MacLeod). The roads wound round like a tangle of old
\nhair and I had an inadvertent tour of the whole Melness end of Sutherland,
\npassing as I did, a pair of suspiciously helpful-looking elderly ladies in
\ntheir car. We waved politely as we allowed each other past and I thought
\nruefully to myself: bu ch\u00f2ir dhomh stad ‘s an uinneag a chur a-s\u00ecos gus
\nbruidhinn ri\u00f9cha!<\/b> (I should have stopped and put down the window to speak
\nto them!)<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Before I knew it I was back up the way I had come having left Georgina\u2019s
\nagain. She had the Gaelic as a child, but was not in the way of speaking it. I
\nleft her a nice lump of my wife\u2019s tablet and went on my way. Georgina was also
\nunsure of anyone else in the Melness area who might speak it, in the earnest
\nopinion that they were all gone. I got to the crest of the hill with MacKay
\nCountry spread out before me and decided I\u2019d had enough.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Car-son fon ghr\u00e9in a tha mi ‘cur seo orm fh\u00e9?<\/span><\/b> (why on earth am I putting this on myself) I thought. The rage of the
\ndrowning Sutherland mountains the last time I was here in the rain was
\nquietened to a gentle whisper in the mid-afternoon sun and the Gaelic had
\nclearly swallowed her own tongue and choked. I was fo mhulad air fad<\/b>
\n(completely under sorrow) and sat trying to come to terms with the idea that
\nthe mighty north-west Sutherland, land of the warlike MacKays who had made
\ntheir neighbours lives a misery whooping their way home with every second cow
\nin Caithness, had fallen silent. Is mairg leom an smaoin gu l\u00e9ir<\/b> (The
\nwhole idea of it is detestable)\u00a0 I thought, ach ‘s ann anns a\u2019 chlamh
\na-mh\u00e0in a gheobhar G\u00e0ilig Dh\u00f9thaich MhicAoidh an seo a-nis<\/b> (tis in the
\ngraveyard alone that you\u2019ll find the MacKay Country Gaelic here now).<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n\n\n\n\n
\"\"<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Ceann an t-S\u00e0ile MhicAoidh ‘s an cladh<\/b><\/span><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n
Hope had slid unceremoniously into the Kyle. A few bubbles popped from the
\nsurface, then it was gone, an amorphous shape growing ever dimmer as it came to
\nrest on the sea bed. I slumped down with it into my chair, poised on the verge
\nof letting it all go again and having another quiet bleat to myself. As I did,
\nI suddenly thought: amadain! Cha do ghabh u fh\u00e9 ‘s am fear sa bh\u00f9th beachd
\nair na h-ainmean ud!<\/b> (you and the fella in the shop never actually looked
\nat the list!). I had forgotten to bring out Seumas Grannd<\/b>\u2019s book.
\nThere might still be a chance.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
With that, I took off down the hill back to the village at pace, swung
\nround the narrow roads and pulled up once again at the shop, caring little for
\nthe jaunty angle of my parked car as I emerged through the door to find the
\nslightly bemused shop staff as I suddenly brandished the list of
\nspeakers.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
She\u2019s away.<\/span><\/i> Well yes,
\nyou\u2019ve got to expect that. She\u2019s away<\/i>. OK, that makes sense, it has been
\nten years. He\u2019s away<\/i>. Aye, OK, good old Alick George, I knew that right
\nenough. She\u2019s away<\/span><\/i><\/a>. This
\nisn\u2019t going to get any better, is it? It\u2019s all buggered, I might as well pack
\nup and go, I\u2019m on a hiding to nothing, a fool\u2019s errand, another wild goose
\nchase. Oh\u2026 she\u2019s<\/b> in!<\/i><\/span><\/div>\n
\n\n\n\n\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n\n\n\n\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n\n\n\n\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n<\/div>\n
Off like a hare out the door and into the car. Simple directions to a house
\ndown the road. I can do that. One more throw of the dice. Hoping against hope.
\nC\u2019 mon you son of a gun, there\u2019s got to be one!<\/span><\/div>\n
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Continue reading<\/span><\/a><\/div>\n
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(THE GAELIC DIALECT OF THE MACKAY COUNTRY) B\u00c0S DEATH Steven headstone, Watten My connection to the north is a Gallaibh (Caithness) one. This comes from the fact that just about all my mother\u2019s people hailed from the north-eastern tip of Scotland. They were G\u00e0idheil (Gaels) and Goill (Lowlanders), some speaking G\u00e0ilig (Scottish Gaelic) and some […]<\/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-653","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-blog"],"blocksy_meta":[],"aioseo_notices":[],"gutentor_comment":6,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/dalriada.scot\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/653","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=653"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/dalriada.scot\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/653\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1296,"href":"https:\/\/dalriada.scot\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/653\/revisions\/1296"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/dalriada.scot\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=653"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dalriada.scot\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=653"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dalriada.scot\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=653"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}