Hello, fellow equestrians! It's Emma here, your resident grey mare from Hayfield near Aberdeen, Scotland. It's been a while since my last post, but with all that's going on in the world, and indeed, in the horse world, I felt it was time for another update. Today, I'll be sharing some thoughts on what life was like for a working horse back in 0353 AD. This was a significant year, not only in terms of human history but also for the equine world. Let me paint a picture of my life for you, right here in the beautiful, wild Scottish Highlands.
The year 0353 dawned, just as any other, with the familiar rooster crowing. I, along with the other horses of Hayfield, were accustomed to our routine: a brisk grooming by the farmer's daughter, followed by a hearty breakfast of oats and hay. There was a crispness in the air that day, reminding me of the coming winter, which meant it was time for the annual autumn harvest. This year, the barley crop had been particularly abundant, thanks to a summer of sun and gentle rain. You can't get a more stunning panorama than our Hayfield – rolling hills blanketed in golden barley, bordered by the wild heather blooming in shades of purple and pink. It was a picturesque sight.
Now, I am a grey draught horse, standing tall with a white mane and tail, known for my strength and endurance. I've been pulling the heavy plough for four years now, helping the farmer till the soil and sow the seeds. It's back-breaking work, and some days I feel the ache in my legs, but it's a job I take great pride in. After all, we horses are vital for the survival of these communities – without us, their livelihoods would be in jeopardy.
That year, something was different, a kind of energy that buzzed through the air, not quite a storm but a change, something I could feel in the humans, something akin to hope. Perhaps it was because of the bountiful harvest, but the news of a great celebration being held at the Roman outpost at York, just south of Hadrian's Wall, spread throughout the countryside. It seemed the Roman Empire was becoming a little more friendly towards the Northern Britons, the tribes that inhabited the land beyond the Wall, after centuries of war.
Naturally, this caused a ripple effect in the horse world. All around us, whispers spread, like leaves caught in the wind. Word reached Hayfield of horsemen, many with their mounts adorned with beautiful bridles and saddles, journeying from across the country to participate in a large horse festival. It was described as a grand display of skill, a chance to compete and share the love of horses. Our local blacksmith, a sturdy chap with a kind heart, was even rumoured to be taking a few of his best horses to compete!
Now, a draught horse like me is not built for the thrill of a race or the grace of a parade. But even from my stable, the news from York stirred excitement within me. For weeks, I overheard farmers discussing horses in the most poetic terms. They spoke of horses with gleaming coats, of horses with nimble feet, of horses with unyielding strength – each possessing a spirit that soared as high as the mountains we grazed in. It made me feel proud to be part of this magnificent species, so adaptable and valuable, with such an important role in the human world.
The humans, inspired by these tales from York, seemed to take even greater care of their horses. The farmers used extra care when grooming us, ensuring our hooves were well-shod and our harnesses strong. And every evening, we would hear them whispering praises of their equine companions. Even though it was just for work, the atmosphere changed, the sense of camaraderie was infectious.
Our work may be simple, the pace of life may be slow, but within the world of Hayfield, a community of human and horse was being woven, a bond as strong as the sinews in our powerful limbs. As I munched on a particularly sweet mouthful of hay, a deep sense of purpose filled me. It wasn’t about fancy competitions or flashy outfits; it was about the work we did, the lives we helped sustain, and the bond we shared with the people around us. We may be horses, but we were more than that – we were essential, and that, I thought, was something to be truly proud of.
Now, you may wonder, dear readers, what about this great festival at York? Did I see it with my own eyes? Sadly, a workhorse like myself isn’t quite a festival-goer, but let me tell you, the news that travelled back was even more exciting than the rumours!
More on the great festival in York in Part Two of this post! Stay tuned!
