Neigh-sayers, greetings from Hayfield!
Emma here, a twenty-year-old Grey Draught mare, with a mane and tail the colour of fresh fallen snow. It's been a good year, all told. The spring brought vibrant green shoots to our grazing meadows, the summer days were long and filled with sunshine, and the autumn harvest, well, it's always a joyful time, especially for us horses who are at the centre of it all.
You see, dear reader, I was born and bred in this small Scottish village of Hayfield, nestled amongst rolling hills just outside of Aberdeen. We're known for our fine fields of barley, wheat, and oats, all nurtured by the hands of skilled farmers and the sturdy strength of us work horses.
This year, just like any other, started with the familiar call of the crowing cock. But this time, something was different - a buzz, a quiet excitement in the air. It seems the King of England, the ever-busy Æthelberht, was coming to Hayfield for a grand meeting. The whole village was bustling. Men and women were cleaning the cobblestone streets, womenfolk were preparing their finest dishes, and the aroma of barley bread filled the air.
You wouldn’t believe the amount of chatter there was about this royal visit! You could hear it whispered at the blacksmith’s forge, the bustling marketplace, and even in the hayloft where we horses had our nightly talks.
"It is a privilege to have the King himself grace our humble village," I overheard my fellow mare, Millie, say.
"Indeed, I heard they will bring their own horses," a hefty brown stallion named Percy chimed in. "Perhaps, we will get a chance to see them."
And a chance we did!
The day the King arrived, the village was in a flurry. He rode in with his entourage - all elegant riders and steeds – with shining armor, proud riders, and shimmering flags fluttering in the wind. Their horses, tall and powerful, had their own magnificent air of pride about them. It was a glorious sight, a tapestry of colour and movement in our humble village, but something about their grace and stature didn't resonate with me.
After all, we draught horses were built for strength and endurance. We are the foundation, the heart and soul of any community, the backbone of any nation. We toil in the fields, haul heavy loads, and support the lives of many, but there’s no denying our humble practicality. They, on the other hand, were meant for pageantry, for war, for displaying the grandeur of kings and queens. Different, certainly, yet also quite impressive.
One of the King's steeds was particularly eye-catching. It was a white stallion, magnificent and powerful, and adorned with the King’s personal crest – a silver stag. They called him “Thorfinn”, I later found out, and he was not only powerful and majestic, but also incredibly intelligent. They say he was more than just a warhorse - Thorfinn had his own personality, almost a soul of his own.
The King's visit had much to do with the harvest, it seems. There were discussions, speeches, agreements made for supplies – all for the benefit of the Kingdom. As usual, the king wanted to secure a constant supply of our barley for his men and his brewing. We would be providing grain to feed the King’s people and keep his armies strong.
"These are not simply horses, they are the strength of our land," The King himself declared. It was quite the moment. I overheard a young girl saying she’d never felt prouder of our humble village, nor of the strength of our horses.
“He sees us!” exclaimed my dear Millie.
Our village, it seemed, was on the map – a quiet rural corner of Scotland, a haven for sturdy draught horses, had just been acknowledged for its contribution to the strength of the King’s realm.
Our harvest festival, usually filled with feasting and merry-making, was grander this year, filled with the celebratory echo of this royal visit.
As the summer waned and autumn winds blew across our hills, the scent of freshly cut barley filled the air. It was the perfect reminder of the connection between our work and the bounty that filled the barns, providing nourishment for the kingdom, as well as for us.
Throughout the winter, as snow drifted across the fields, we worked in the stables, a haven from the chill, kept warm and busy with our tasks, ready to work the land come spring. As a grey mare, the snowy winter meant I stood out amongst my brown and black brethren, but I always felt particularly regal and proud against the winter backdrop.
It’s important for us horses to embrace what sets us apart - for each horse has their own beauty and uniqueness. Just like a human has their individual fingerprint, each of us is a masterpiece - strong, nimble, noble – and each has a different role to play, all contributing to the harmony and success of life in our communities.
And we mustn't forget - life on the farm isn't all hard work! The evenings are filled with the sounds of laughter, singing, and storytelling around crackling fires. In these warm and welcoming gatherings, humans and horses alike share their experiences, dreams, and hopes for the future.
The year ends, much as it began, with the warmth of the fireplace, the rustling of straw bedding beneath my hooves, and the sound of familiar snorting and whickering from my friends in the stables.
Another year comes to an end, but there's always a new day, a new dawn, a new chapter. And I’ll be here, alongside the men, women, and all my fellow equines, ready to embrace another year, another adventure, in our ever-changing, beautiful world.
So stay tuned, my fellow Equine lovers, for next week I’ll share my experience in 0588! And I promise, you won't want to miss it!
Emma, Hayfield, 0587
www.equiworld.org
