Hello fellow equines! It’s Emma, the grey mare from Hayfield, back with another instalment of “A Horse's History”. Today, we’re stepping back in time to 1444 – a year filled with exciting developments in our equine world, even if they’re not always noticed by those who ride and care for us.
This year, as always, my days are filled with the familiar rhythms of farm life. My human companion, young Jean, is growing up quickly, strong and capable, just like a fine horse. We spend our mornings pulling the plough through the rich, brown fields, preparing the land for this year’s barley crop. It’s tiring work, but we're used to it, and Jean’s gentle touch and encouraging voice keep my spirit high. He knows how to work with a horse, his father before him being a master at understanding the language of the bridle and the bit.
I hear whispers on the wind, though, about a grand tournament taking place across the borders in England. Apparently, King Henry VI will be holding a tournament in Windsor – a grand display of horsemanship and chivalry, they say. Now, I’ve never had the privilege of witnessing such a spectacle, but the horses, they say, are as finely bred as any I have seen in my life – strong, swift, and nimble, built for the high-flying, high-speed feats of the knights. My human friends are filled with tales of leaping chargers and daring feats of bravery, of steeds covered in rich tapestries and adorned with glittering armour, all for the glory of their riders. I imagine the ground beneath their hooves would shake with the force of their speed, their nostrils flaring with the fire of battle, and I, I confess, dream of a life as dashing as theirs.
But alas, my role is far more practical. I am a draught horse, strong and sturdy, built for the long haul and the steady work of the farm. And while my duties may seem mundane compared to the grandeur of tournaments, they are vital to the lives of those around me. I help feed families, provide sustenance, and I know that my strength contributes to the prosperity of my human companion and his family.
The news from the outside world doesn’t stop with tales of tournaments, though. My stable mate, a seasoned mare named Millie, has a sharp ear and even sharper tongue. She claims that news from the south, from France, is full of murmurings of a conflict brewing. There’s talk of a powerful nobleman, Charles VII, laying claim to the French throne, challenging the English King's rule across the channel. The human world, as always, seems filled with constant clashes and struggles for power.
But here in Hayfield, we horses continue to live our lives, unfazed by the shifting sands of human politics. Our days are filled with the gentle breeze carrying the scent of ripening barley, the symphony of birdsong echoing in the air, and the reassuring rumble of hooves on the firm earth. There is a certain solace in the predictability of our world, a quiet peace in knowing our purpose and living it with pride.
It’s in the routine, the familiar tasks, the bond with my human, and the kinship I share with my stablemates that true happiness lies. The sun sets each evening casting long shadows across the fields, and as the moon climbs into the sky, painting the night with its silvery light, we horses share quiet conversations. We discuss the weather, the abundance of this year's crops, and we compare notes on our dreams and ambitions.
There's a sense of hope in our equine hearts. For us, the year 1444 is merely another chapter in the grand story of our kind. As for me, Emma of Hayfield, I remain a loyal companion, a dedicated worker, and a dreamer at heart.
So, that’s my perspective on the world of 1444! Until next time, dear readers, stay curious, stay strong, and remember the important role each of us plays, no matter how large or small.
And remember, every hoofbeat tells a story – be sure to listen!
