{"id":6582,"date":"2021-06-18T14:44:57","date_gmt":"2021-06-18T14:44:57","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/glasfrynproject.org.uk\/w\/?p=6582"},"modified":"2021-10-23T13:36:34","modified_gmt":"2021-10-23T13:36:34","slug":"james-davies-the-edge-of-the-orison","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/glasfrynproject.org.uk\/w\/6582\/james-davies-the-edge-of-the-orison\/","title":{"rendered":"James Davies: The Edge of the Orison 2"},"content":{"rendered":"

On July 20th 1841 the poet John Clare decided to \u2018escape\u2019 the asylum in The High Beech in Epping Forest, Essex, where he was interned, some 100 or so miles away from his beloved home in the village of Northborough, just outside of Peterborough and go home. He trudged the distance without food or money, sleeping rough – it took him four days. His journey is detailed in his diary Journey out of Essex. In 2000 Iain Sinclair also walked Clare\u2019s route – with some minor changes – documenting it in his excellent book The Edge of the Orison – the phrase \u2018The Edge of the Orison\u2019 is taken from Clare\u2019s writings. The diary below records a similar walk that I took with my friend Paul Tuffin between 19-23 October 2019.<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Day one (Shenfield to Welwyn Garden City) 19\/10\/19<\/strong>
\nSaturday. The day is good to wake up to.<\/p>\n

Last night I travelled down to London (and then onto Shenfield) from Manchester on the Virgin train, excited about the trip. It\u2019s important to take a good yet easy read on these trains, a novel maybe (I usually take a couple for insurance, depending on what mood I\u2019m in). Rocked to sleep by the speed and the heat in the carriage, the journey can be long if you\u2019ve taken the wrong book. My bag is full \u2013 a trip in the winter and I\u2019ve packed everything, for every possible outcome \u2013 hence I only have space for one thin book. I\u2019ve taken the essays of Thoreau. Wrong choice. The first Civil Disobedience is ploddy to my ears, a historical document. Maybe it\u2019s the train and the anticipation of the beer in Shenfield. For the first time ever I\u2019ve downloaded a podcast: a six-part play about the KLF called How to Burn a Million Quid. So I listen to that instead. It\u2019s funny and quaint, fitting for the trip, working at a meta-level with KLF\u2019s connection to Sinclair (through his friendship with Bill Drummond) and their fondness for psychogeography. Mise en abyme, \u2018ghosts\u2019 as Sinclair says.<\/p>\n

After walking from Euston to Euston Square I board the Hammersmith line to Liverpool Street and cram in a bit more of the KLF play. I\u2019m conscious how everyone on trains is always plugged into their phone in one way or another, and don\u2019t want to slip into that pattern – I hope it\u2019s just because I\u2019m not keen on the Thoreau. At Liverpool Street I see that there\u2019s an early train to Shenfield, which I run for, jump on. Then I tune back into How to Burn a Million Quid for another twenty minutes.<\/p>\n

At Paul\u2019s the beers are drunk and there\u2019s the mandatory banter about how we\u2019ve bitten off more mileage than we can chew. We take it easy on the boozing and set the alarms for 6.30.<\/p>\n

As I said, the Saturday is good to wake up to since the journey has already started to take shape. It\u2019s bright and crisp also. We begin the walk. Our packs seem too heavy considering the distance.<\/p>\n

From Paul\u2019s flat it\u2019s maybe three quarters of a mile down to Shenfield train station. Every step counts towards the experience but also adds to the potential chance of failure. One or two false steps on today\u2019s journey and we\u2019ll add two or three miles, and that may be bad for morale.
\nWe\u2019re bound for Loughton via Stratford on the Central line. In Loughton a sign says one and a half miles to High Beech where Clare\u2019s asylum was. That of course is where the real walk begins. Spirits are high, but even on the first day – a short one at twenty miles or so – the journey seems daunting.<\/p>\n

High Beech, part of Epping Forest, is full of joggers and is a small wood nowadays. All of a sudden we\u2019re in Enfield, where Clare made his wrong turning. We look out of place with our huge packs. It\u2019s hot and we take off our jumpers. I\u2019m wearing a football top – great for walking. Paul is surprisingly wearing a clubbing T-shirt, that Liesbeth has bought him, and looks somewhere between John McVie on the back cover of Rumours and Fat Boy Slim \u2018giving it\u2019.<\/p>\n

We take the London Loop path, west through Enfield. By twelve o\u2019clock we\u2019re only just out of Enfield. The first miles are some of the hardest on the walk. You need to get them out of the way, build up stamina and momentum. Concrete is also a hard way to begin a journey. We wait till we\u2019re just outside of Enfield to have lunch, near some posh riding school. We read JC\u2019s London versus Epping Forest and Woodland Walk, both written while at High Beech. We march through Goff\u2019s Oak and Bayford, renaming it Jeepland. Why have three vehicles when you can have six? After powering on we\u2019re eight miles away from Welwyn Garden City \u2013 our first resting place. Clare made it to Stevenage on the first day but that looked too much for us. We stop six miles or so outside of WGC near Hertingfordsbury. There\u2019s a pub there. Paul\u2019s not keen on the twenty or so people dressed up as gamekeepers at the bar. He wants to sit in the garden away from them. He goes out. I order the drinks.<\/p>\n

Further north than anticipated, we hit WGC at the top. It\u2019s something like 6.30 and WGC feels big. Turns out Paul used to live in Welwyn Garden City for six months for a short period when he was moving out of St Albans, before he moved to Shenfield. Endless concrete, no people to be seen, all the roads look the same. Roundabout after roundabout we get to has signs in all directions town centre \u2013 all signs for cars. Lots of cycle lanes \u2013 none of them used. WGC would be entirely depressing if we were here under other circumstances. But the day has been magnificent and the kiddyland architecture of the Premier Inn – our stop for the night – is highly appealing to tired legs. Entering the place the receptionist grins and continues to do so throughout our conversation \u2013 Steve Coogan got it exactly right in Alan Partridge. She tells us that we can eat at the Beefeater next door at 8.30. We\u2019ve arrived at 7.45. That\u2019s fine. I get some drinks from the tank over the road whilst Paul caresses his feet in our crib. After our beers in our room we walk to the Beefeater, a little tired but nothing more. It\u2019s rammed. The whole of WGC has driven here for their Saturday night out. Couples dressed up too much, in their forties and fifties, old folks looking for \u2018affordable luxury\u2019. We munch and drink then go back to our rooms, watch the football. We need to be up again at 6.30.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Day Two (Welwyn Garden City to Potton) 20\/10\/19<\/strong>
\nDay two starts in glorious concrete again. Welwyn Garden City is quieter than ever at 8 o\u2019clock. Nobody is out \u2013 no joggers, no dogs. We walk the couple of miles back up north and then onto the pretty villages outside. First Trewin, then Bull\u2019s Head where \u2018This Sunday Chunk serves ________ of the day on the carvery\u2019. I have only vague memories of the villages beyond \u2013 Datchworth, Hooks Cross, Walkern, Hickman\u2019s Hill, Bygrave, Ashwell, Dunton, Sutton \u2013 all very pretty.<\/p>\n

Starting behind Chunk\u2019s pub there are lots of paths that channel along the back of houses, each decorated with surveillance cameras and seven-foot wooden fences that block out the owners\u2019 view of the fields.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s in the village of Walkern where we stop for lunch. Walking up the road traffic is stuck in jam. It\u2019s a two lane road but cars are parked choc-a-bloc on either side turning it into a one laner; cars are going in both directions. Through it\u2019s open window, a Ford Escort blares Led Zeppelin Three to our delight. And as the jam\u2019s so long we hear almost the whole of Immigrant Song as we walk up the road to a shop. There\u2019s a playground in Walkern where we eat and patch up our wounds. Skin\u2019s starting to shift now and rub. Red Bull gets bought, Lucozade and chocolate.<\/p>\n

With sugar and taurine charging our blood we cross the Old North Road, a patch where it\u2019s reasonably quiet and where there is pavement access to Huntingdon Racecourse, located in Brampton. There are various ways through this area and we go for the one that looks the nicest, but inevitably the path\u2019s not there. Has the racetrack removed it? Bumbling at five in the evening is draining but there\u2019s something wonderfully apocalyptic about the quiet lushness of the empty racecourse.<\/p>\n

Around Baldock we pass by a model aircraft club. They fly their planes one at a time on a big strip that runs parallel to the A505. We cross the main road on a footbridge and read Clare poems on the other side.<\/p>\n

Near Ashwell we walk across the trainline into a tilled field that has no obvious footpath, full of small potatoes all going to waste. And then cut west to Dunton (a drag on an endless path) followed by further road walking, which goes on and on in the dark. Shattered close to Potton, where Clare stopped but found no rest, we enter a wood on the outskirts. It feels like the woods in Twin Peaks \u2013 our headlamps and breath in the dark create Lynchian light. Finally, we arrive in Potton; we\u2019re in The Coach House. A nice old hotel and pub. Paul tends to his wounds in the room and soaks his feet in cold water. It was about thirty-two miles today. I go down to the pub for a pint. After that we\u2019re off to the Ek Raj. The food is good and we sink two bottles of white wine like it was water.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Day three (Potton to Woodswalton) 21\/10\/19<\/strong>
\nBreakfast is included in this place. We\u2019re glad to get out of our room \u2013 it smells like a football changing room. The hotel plays Fleetwood Mac and it reminds Paul of listening to Tango in the Night with his parents. We\u2019re keen to get going but the food takes a while to come. Today is Potton to Sawtry. We go back to our room, take a shower, pop ibuprofen, bandage up. Our feet are now starting to ache. Two more hard days, yet also two days left to savour.<\/p>\n

First up is the Everton Road and then towards two fantastic paths: a roman road and The Ouse Valley Way. The roman road leads to St Neots. Huge flat fields, like God\u2019s rug has been tossed from the sky. Sometimes they\u2019re filled with turnips, other times just mud; this is the chief landscape of the trip. Amazing empty spaces, reminiscent of the big beach spaces in Ulverston.<\/p>\n

St Neots is our lunch-stop today on another huge twenty-eight mile walk. At St Neots we\u2019ll have covered eleven miles by 12 pm. That leaves a lot to do. In the run up to St Neots, with rain threatening, we cross Abbotsley Golf Course \u2013 happily abandoned, resembling the landscape for Andrei Tarkovsky\u2019s Stalker. We get to St Neots for twelve-ish. The outskirts are grim. In the middle of town the buildings have the feel of Cambridge, but a Cambridge that\u2019s seen better days. It\u2019s the shops – their chain shop signs are so ugly. I go to look for food that isn\u2019t houmus and bread again, resulting in us spending too long on our lunchbreak. Once more we paste our feet with blister plasters. Some hobbling now. We\u2019ve got Deep Heat on too for good measure. It\u2019s 1 o\u2019clock and we set off in search of the Great Ouse Way. Seventeen miles to go until Sawtry.<\/p>\n

Google maps, which I keep checking for distances, sets a pace of three miles an hour. If we manage that pace we\u2019ll get to The Elephant and Castle pub in Sawtry before eight. I march down the river Ouse. Paul jogs behind, reckons he can\u2019t walk that fast as he\u2019s got a shorter stride. His navigation has been brilliant \u2013 never a wrong turn which has been a lifesaver and suddenly it feels like Sawtry\u2019s not too far away. We\u2019re quieter now with eight miles to go. The weekend\u2019s main topics of JC, Iain Sinclair, Philip K. Dick and climate change wait for tomorrow again. It\u2019s getting dark and I\u2019m concerned about the pub. Is it in Sawtry? Sawtry is tiny. Maybe it\u2019s just around Sawtry. We look up our records from Booking.com. It is in Sawtry according to the booking but when we look it up on Google maps it turns out it\u2019s in Woodswalton, which is closer than Sawtry but going pretty much east instead of going north; that\u2019ll add to our journey tomorrow. Nevertheless, these last bits are easier now that we know tonight\u2019s terminus is closer (because of the change of destination) and also because of the ever approaching promise of food.<\/p>\n

The pub sends Paul a text to say that tonight they can provide us with Chinese food but we\u2019ll need to arrive before nine \u2013 curious. I call ahead to see what it could mean. The lady on the phone has a foreign accent and I assume that she\u2019s Chinese. Maybe the pub is also a Chinese restaurant? When Paul went to use the toilet in Walkern\u2019s boozer it turned out it had been converted into a Chinese restaurant, it\u2019s a small trend round the UK, so maybe the Elephant and Castle is the same. She will send us a jpeg menu to his phone and we can call back and order; if we\u2019re not there by nine they will heat it up for us. Ok. Sounds fine. The menu comes through. Minimal swanky feel to it. Six dishes. None of them vegetarian. I phone to ask if any of the dishes can be made as vegetarian. \u2018Can they?\u2019 I hear her ask the chef. After some negotiation it turns out they can. I order Paul a chicken chow mein and also two vegetable dishes to share: a pad chai and a satay, as well as some vegetable spring rolls to start.<\/p>\n

With our headlamps on we walk a quiet road for the final two miles, occasionally jumping into the verge as a juggernaut passes. We arrive at The Elephant and Castle in good time for food, about eight. The landlady, it turns out, is Romanian and so is her husband, the chef. They\u2019re trying out a new Chinese menu to entice people from the villages around. Our heads aren\u2019t really straight enough to take in that notion. They\u2019re very nice and friendly and we\u2019re shown to our room, which is out the back in the carpark \u2013 portable sheds made to look like chalets. We take wine and beer from the bar, and the food will be brought to us after it is cooked. When it comes, our food is presented to us in brown takeaway bags containing aluminium trays, with throwaway chops-sticks and napkins. First out is the veggie spring rolls \u2013 they\u2019re lamb. Paul\u2019s chicken chow mein is chicken but the dish is not chow mein \u2013 just chicken and noodles. The vegetable pad chai and satay are identical sauces. It all comes with boil in the bag rice. The pad chai and satay food tastes fishy, literally. We deduce that maybe the chef used pre-made prawn pad chai and took out the prawns. We\u2019re too tired to care though, pick out bits and leave most of it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Day Four (Woodswalton to Helpston) 22\/10\/19<\/strong>
\nWhen we wake up in the morning and leave, we see that there are around ten chalets in the carpark. Workmen in hi-vis jackets come out of them as if it\u2019s their accommodation. It\u2019s strange to see in a little picturesque village. This set up has the feel of the plant nursery in Clacton where Paul and me worked one summer, where they\u2019d bus in workers and pay them poor wages, cash in hand.<\/p>\n

Throughout the morning we had talked ourselves out of doing the last day. Our feet are full of popped blisters and there is still twenty-six miles to go. At the same time we know it is just twenty-six miles left out of one hundred or so; it would be wrong not to complete. After all Clare did it sleeping rough, eating grass and with broken shoes. Spirits in some ways are not as high as previous days but we\u2019ll be ok once we get going. The views are so good as soon as we hit the fields. One foot at a time, across tilled grainy mud to begin with. One mile at a time – \u2018One foot goes down, one foot in front of the other. Keep it simple\u2019 as Karl Hyde sings in Holding the Moth, a tune about another twelve hour movement experience \u2013 nightclubbing.<\/p>\n

After these fields we walk through Fen Land until Sawtry. Just past Sawtry at Moorhouse will be lunch and after that fourteen miles to go. Just grit our teeth, drink the Red Bull, the Lucozade and pop the ibuprofen. We go past many big grand farmhouses all of which look like perfect sets for the family hatred-themed film Festen.<\/p>\n

We\u2019re close to Moorhouse. I\u2019m marching on. I\u2019m concerned that if we go too slowly we might just give up. Paul is desperately hungry, or maybe just out of energy, and, with confused exhaustion, accidentally takes us into Folksworth (the wrong way) for a mile. We do a mile lap of a field in order to get back on track. Each step really hurts and we never seem to be getting any closer. There\u2019s a feeling like hallucinating to the walking now, the obvious clich\u00e9 is \u2018like sleepwalking\u2019.<\/p>\n

We stop in a farmer\u2019s field just before Moorhouse. Have lunch and take stock. It\u2019s too hot for late October. The food does us some good. Paul has got his orientation back. We take some pictures, then walk through pumpkin fields; a crop grown solely to be used as lanterns it looks like. There\u2019s a shop at this farm. Cars drive in with their kids for half-term amusement.<\/p>\n

Leaving the pumpkin farm and shop we head towards the A1 – The Great North Road that Clare took. Paul shows me the path on the map where we\u2019ll cross the road \u2013 a tiny dotted line across the motorway. Ok. There are no footbridges on the map anywhere else, no tunnels; the roads which fork off are turnings for trucks to drop off their loot, not for pedestrians. The path towards the motorway runs out and we walk parallel to the A1, trespassing through the monoculture, towards the tiny dotted footpath; fields roped off by electric fences.<\/p>\n

And after a while there it is, the gate and a metal pole says FOOTPATH, exactly as the map said. But it\u2019s not really a path in the sense that it can be walked, just an arrow. You\u2019d need to sprint across the motorway and dodge cars like a superhero. Do we cross the A1 by sprinting and taking our chances? It\u2019s a relentless three-lane carriage-way on both sides with a fence in the middle, and a ditch in the middle of that fence. We\u2019d have to figure out a time to sprint, when there\u2019s a minor gap in the traffic \u2013 that may be possible. After sprinting we\u2019d need to jump the fence in the middle (as stepping over it would end in us being splattered all over the road). We contemplate crossing. Even if we did get to middle we\u2019d have to then wait again until there was some sort of break in traffic for a second time (there is no obvious break in traffic ever, just some patches less busy than others). It\u2019s a death wish. Too dangerous. We reject it.<\/p>\n

Now we need to think, and it\u2019s hard as we\u2019re lightheaded from our travails. Trying to solve the problem I recall that Clare got picked up in Werrington, a nearby village to Northborough. We\u2019re ending up in Helpston (his childhood home), three miles from Northborough, and if we could get a lift across the road to Upton we would share parallels with this part of his journey. So we decide it\u2019s time to play our clinamen and try and get a taxi from a pub we\u2019ve spotted on the map, a mile up the A1 in Sibson. Clinamen – the term that the Oulipo use for a deliberate fault in a writing system, used in order to make the project magic. It\u2019s similar to the principals of the Japanese philosophy of wabi sabi which believes that imperfection is essential for mindful, pure thinking. We can get a taxi across the 50 metres of the A1 to Upton. After picking us up at Sibson the taxi will have to go some two-three miles west and then some two-three miles east just to make the short journey of 50 metres that we want to go north, just over the road.<\/p>\n

We carry on parallel to the A1 on the edge of the field. Paul is not keen on busting into the pub\u2019s garden through a hedgerow so we go onto the hard shoulder of the A1, and walk next to the road just behind the barrier, through nettles \u2013 minor stings to stay away from juggernauts. The Sibson Inn Hotel, which from a distance looks shutdown, is open! We go in for a coke and a Guinness and ring our taxi. It\u2019ll come at 4.30 to take us to Upton \u2013 four miles away from Helpston. It\u2019s in our reach now.<\/p>\n

It feels strange being in a car after all the walking. We drive supersonic. Looking out at the signs I notice that the driver has gone past the sign for Upton. We query him. He\u2019s on his way to Ufford. What are the chances of two villages beginning with \u2018U\u2019 being so close together? We turn back. We are on the Helpston Road and seem to be driving ever closer to Helspton so we ask him to turf us out lest we arrive in Helpston by car. The road is quiet. We ask a jogger where Upton is and he motions us back down the road, \u2018left at the junction\u2019. The sun is resplendent in full glory. It is bliss. We are four miles away, and feeling the connection with Clare and what he stands for, stronger and stronger.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s east through some farms until we get to Clare\u2019s beloved Simon and Oxey Woods. I\u2019ve got the shivers from dehydration and exhaustion. We\u2019ve both got blisters, me especially at the heels where I\u2019m bleeding, but at this stage it\u2019ll be best just to get there and sort ourselves out. Then suddenly we\u2019re on Heath Road – the heath the subject of so many of his poems! And suddenly there\u2019s Clare\u2019s childhood cottage where he use to hide poems written on butter wrappers in the cracks in the walls so his parents wouldn\u2019t find them! Then there\u2019s The Bluebell where he used to work and drink! It\u2019s our final stop.<\/p>\n

We get our keys for the room. It\u2019s camomile tea and hot chocolate first. We slowly take off our wet boots and socks and plasters that have become part of our skin. I go to the shower first. The water\u2019s good but burns at my heels. I\u2019m still shivering. I need to wear my woolly hat and coat to stay warm.<\/p>\n

Paul gets showered and then we go to the bar. To celebrate, we take a Trelawny beer and also the most expensive brandy they have. A guy at the bar wants company and is interested in our yarn; he\u2019s a landscape gardener. It\u2019s nice to finish our trip in this way by telling our tale. So far, whenever asked about what we\u2019re doing we\u2019ve lied or just said \u2018going for a walk\u2019 \u2013 too complicated to explain. These people in the pub stand in Clare\u2019s shadows, doing his former professions: one a student barmaid, the other a gardener. We\u2019re the only people eating in the pub. We play Yatze and Boggle and drink two or three more drinks (Paul moves onto dark rum and coke). Time for sleep now. We take a final rum and a brandy back to our room and listen to Melvyn Bragg\u2019s In Our Time on Middlemarch. After twenty minutes or so we\u2019re both fast conked.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Day Five (Helpton to Manchester\/Shenfield via Peterborough) 23\/10\/19<\/strong>
\nI\u2019m restless from about five o\u2019clock in the morning and awake. Itchy and stinging feet are keeping me from slumber. I read the news on my phone to pass the time \u2013 so horrible. Its style and some of the stories it covers are so perverse. Must avoid it. It takes a long while for eight o\u2019clock to come. We go for breakfast in The Bluebell. We have about two hours before the bus comes for Peterborough. After we sort out our stuff in our rooms we go to Clare House. It\u2019s shut, and we knew that, but I suggest we go and see the statue. As we are \u2018breaking in\u2019, through an unlocked gate into the garden, from behind there is a \u2018can I help you?\u2019 It\u2019s Janet and she\u2019s come in today to bake for the weekend. She\u2019ll show us through to the garden. Her husband Dave is there too and he tells us about the Clare festival and takes our photo next to the sculpture of Clare – the five-foot fiddler, lover of animals and the land. In the remaining twenty minutes we go his grave and see the Clare monument at the crossroads.<\/p>\n

The bus arrives and moves along fast until the outskirts of Peterborough, where it staggers on into the bus station. There are two hours to kill before we go to the archives in Peterborough Central Library and we decide to go to the pictures and see Joker with Joaquin Phoenix.<\/p>\n

Then it\u2019s onto the archives. I\u2019m dead beat and not taking much in, apart from the aura of seeing Clare\u2019s original manuscripts. Clare\u2019s writing is neat but hard to read. Paul seems to be reading with more consideration. I requested about fifteen poems including my favourites Sonnet Sequence (Fox and Badger) and Double Sonnet (The Marten), which have incredible monosyllabic, polysyndetic voltas. It\u2019s more than fantastic to see them in the flesh.<\/p>\n

After being in the archive for about an hour we go for our respective trains, me back to Manchester and Paul back to Shenfield. I finish off the final parts of the KLF play on the train. The trip feels like it ends after the podcast\u2019s outro music. Taking my earphones out I\u2019ve arrived at Stockport station, no longer in Clare\u2019s place or time.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

James Davies\u2019 latest books are the minimalist sequence Forty-Four Poems and a Volta<\/em> from Red Ceilings Press and the short story The Ten Superstrata of Stockport J. Middleton<\/em> from Ma Bibliothque – a translation of the first page of Philip K. Dick\u2019s The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch<\/em>. Currently the editor of if p then q, he also edited Matchbox and co-organised The Other Room reading series. His Carcanet book stack is a list of minimalist walking performances. Find out more at www.jamesdaviespoetry.com<\/span><\/p>\n

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On July 20th 1841 the poet John Clare decided to \u2018escape\u2019 the asylum in The High Beech in Epping Forest, Essex, where he was interned, some 100 or so miles away from his beloved home in the village of Northborough, just outside of Peterborough and go home. He trudged the distance without food or money, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":6589,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"footnotes":"","_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false},"categories":[59,12],"tags":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/glasfrynproject.org.uk\/w\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/06\/Unknown.jpeg","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p42xiC-1Ia","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/glasfrynproject.org.uk\/w\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6582"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/glasfrynproject.org.uk\/w\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/glasfrynproject.org.uk\/w\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/glasfrynproject.org.uk\/w\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/glasfrynproject.org.uk\/w\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=6582"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/glasfrynproject.org.uk\/w\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6582\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6625,"href":"https:\/\/glasfrynproject.org.uk\/w\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6582\/revisions\/6625"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/glasfrynproject.org.uk\/w\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/6589"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/glasfrynproject.org.uk\/w\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=6582"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/glasfrynproject.org.uk\/w\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=6582"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/glasfrynproject.org.uk\/w\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=6582"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}