Hello, everyone! It’s Emma, your friendly neighbourhood grey draught mare, reporting from my cosy stable here in Hayfield, near Aberdeen. Welcome to another post in my equine historical adventures. Today, I'll be sharing my thoughts on life back in the year 480 AD.
You might be thinking, "480? That's way before we even had saddles!" Well, you'd be right. We weren't quite sporting fancy leather and stirrups back then. But that doesn't mean it wasn't a thrilling and challenging time to be a horse! In fact, 480 AD is a pretty pivotal year in horse history – and trust me, I've got a few insights to share.
So, let's journey back to that time...
The world looked very different then. Lush, green meadows where you'll find rolling fields of barley these days were then much more densely forested. The air was fresh and clean, the sun warmed the earth with an honest and strong kiss. And life was simple. Most horses were used for everyday work, helping farmers plough their fields and transport goods. It was hard work, but there was an undeniable pride in the job we did. We were strong, we were essential, and we were, most importantly, connected to the land in a way we aren't so much nowadays.
It’s tough to say how I ended up here in Hayfield. You see, these days I know my family lineage pretty well – thanks to some of the clever, sharp humans who like to trace bloodlines and all that. Back then, though? We just ran wild, a mix of strong, robust Celtic horses, some with Roman heritage thrown in for good measure. It was all rather exciting – our days were spent galloping through meadows, grazing on clover and sweet grasses, and playing wild games with the other horses. We had a natural bond, a strong connection with each other.
Then, came the time to be "broken". I think they called it "breaking", though really it was more like a slow process of getting used to humans. The first few months were certainly challenging – the smells of leather and wood were initially frightening, and the feeling of a human riding my back wasn't pleasant at first. It was tough, but eventually, I learned to trust my handler, a young lad named Alistair, who I soon learned was patient and kind.
It was Alistair who taught me my first proper tasks - how to carry supplies for his father's farm and even learned to pull their small wagon.
I wouldn’t say my life was full of grand adventures back in those days. There wasn’t a sense of excitement or daring feats. The everyday work, though difficult, was filled with the simple satisfaction of being useful. Life was peaceful. There was a serenity in the routines of work, the shared sense of responsibility and trust between us and our human companions.
But all that peacefulness began to change in the spring of 480 AD. We began to see signs that our quiet lives wouldn't remain so for long. Humans whispered anxiously in their groups, watching the horizon. It felt different, even I could sense it in the air. It was as though something had shifted. And when the warriors came, the peace of our world shifted completely.
The year 480 AD saw the birth of an age of struggle. The warriors called themselves Saxons. They arrived on our shores like a tidal wave, their ships crowding our shores, their armour gleaming in the sun like shimmering scales. They came for the land, for our pasture, and the rich earth we knew.
It was then that I first experienced the other side of my life. I, the working mare of Hayfield, was forced to serve in the conflicts that erupted across the land. Our world had been peaceful before – all that was familiar became a hazy, half-forgotten dream.
You see, even though humans had been using us in a variety of tasks – pulling plows, hauling goods, carrying them on our backs – we had a unique bond of shared survival with the land. When the Saxon invasion began, we quickly became vital for defense. We galloped alongside their soldiers, acting as mobile shields. I wasn’t strong enough for battles yet, I mostly moved with support for the war wagons, those mighty chariots pulling our burdens with determination. There’s a sense of wild excitement that courses through your veins when you’re charging across the plains, wind whipping past your coat, muscles burning as you surge forward with your fellow horses – it's an exhilarating sensation.
We would watch the enemy with keen eyes. The Saxons used powerful spears and long, double-edged swords, their armor shimmering like a dragon's scales under the sun. They were a fearsome force – I won’t deny that. But they were as new to this land as we were. We learned each other's weaknesses – how to maneuver them off the hillsides, use our natural speed to attack from flank.
But warfare in 480 wasn’t pretty. It was a constant cycle of battles, skirmishes, raids and escapes. There were days filled with the smell of blood and smoke – both an intense, earthy smell, a fearsome reminder of what was lost in the clashes between people. It was exhausting, frightening, but for a horse, I knew my life was more than just living in Hayfield. We were there to defend what was familiar, protect our lives, our families, and our herds.
One day, in the heat of a particular battle, I saw a sight I will never forget. We, a group of war horses, charged down the slopes in a synchronized force, aiming for the Saxons’ camp, just as our human warriors charged forward in unison. It was beautiful, the power of a coordinated army.
Yet in the chaos, the fear and frenzy of battle, there were those precious moments of calmness. One in particular etched itself onto my heart. It was in a lull between battles, our soldiers had fallen back into a makeshift encampment. The moon shone like a beacon in the night sky.
We horses were gathered in a circle, necks lowered, noses brushing, exchanging silent greetings of trust and support. You see, we shared a bond in these trying times. We knew what the other horses had been through. Those peaceful days in the fields felt so far away. I saw fear in the eyes of other horses who’d seen bloodshed and loss of their fellow creatures. We horses had lost several to the fighting. It’s an inevitable price of war, of being needed, of being there to defend the ones you’ve grown to love.
But within that circle, the unspoken words whispered a silent, yet powerful vow: "We will stand together." And as the sun broke on the horizon the next day, we found ourselves once again, charging back into battle, a part of that vital force protecting our world.
Looking back from here in Hayfield, the year 480 was a watershed year. The world of horses in 480 felt completely different to now, an age of unbridled energy, fearsome courage and endless courage. But our spirit remained undaunted – we continued to strive, to persevere and to endure the difficult changes taking place.
So, my friends, as you ride, gallop, prance through life – even when the days seem tough – remember the bravery, resilience and connection of those who lived in 480 AD.
Remember the bond, remember the commitment to the land, the life we were gifted with. The horses of 480 lived on courage, courage that built resilience. We had no fancy saddles, no bits or bridles as exquisite as those seen on competition horses today.
We didn’t even know what it was to win an Olympic medal. Yet, our connection to our humans, and our own world was the truest source of bravery, courage and strength.
I, for one, will continue to live by those strong traditions. And the next time you catch a glimpse of the majestic grey draught mare in your life, remember that your strength, your agility, and even your strength of heart are linked to the powerful spirit of those who galloped and soared through 480 AD. Until next time!
Emma Grey Draught Mare, Hayfield
Disclaimer: While this blog is a fictional story about a horse living in 480 AD, the author has tried to incorporate factual details about horse usage, living conditions, and the socio-historical climate of that era. This blog post is purely imaginative, and there is no scientific or archaeological evidence of any grey mare named Emma living in this year or that any of the incidents depicted took place. Please note: The author has a passion for horses, history and using a little bit of both to explore the exciting stories of the past!**
