Hello fellow equines and equestrian friends! It's Emma here, a fine grey draught mare with a touch of white in my mane and tail, living in the bustling but beautiful village of Hayfield, near Aberdeen in Scotland. I’ve had quite the year in 1775!
The weather this year has been a mixed bag. As a sturdy draught mare, I relish the cooler Scottish air and feel it gives me extra strength and energy. The springs and summers are always lovely in Hayfield. The air is fresh and filled with the sounds of the birds, the smell of fresh earth and wild heather, and the gentle whisper of the breeze rustling through the fields. As the days grew long, the golden light of the sun bathed everything in warmth and inspired such lazy grazing. I couldn't imagine a better place to live.
But the warmth wasn't always a welcome thing, particularly this year! The late summer months were quite the scorcher. You could barely breathe, and the water trough felt tepid at best. Even the oats weren't as delicious, tasting dry and stale.
Then there was that time I had a near miss with a group of Highland cattle. They had been roaming free in the pasture, their shaggy brown coats blending in with the late summer heat. One in particular, with eyes as black as night and horns like daggers, decided I was trespassing on his territory. Imagine, I had to gallop full speed, dodging his wild charges, until we were back at the safety of our stable!
It wasn’t just the weather making this year so exciting; my life took an unexpected turn, one that landed me on a very grand stage indeed! I, a simple farm mare, had the privilege of making a long journey south, to the heart of London. I know, quite the adventure, right?
You see, my farmer, a kind, hardworking man called John, decided to take me to the London Horse Fair. The city is renowned for its grandeur and importance, and it's said the London Horse Fair is a gathering of all the finest equines. Now, John, he believes in his animals, you see. He knows I'm strong, reliable, and steady, and he knew I could be a fine addition to any stable, especially in a place like London.
I’ve heard stories about London from passing merchants, who trade their wares through Hayfield on their way to the big city. They told tales of the crowds, the traffic, the imposing buildings and grand homes, the clanging of blacksmiths’ hammers, the smell of leather and horse manure, and of course, the rumble and rhythm of thousands of horses moving through the streets. It seemed quite overwhelming, even from my humble Hayfield. The merchants spoke of London’s grandest gentlemen, men with fine carriages pulled by elegant pairs of chestnut thoroughbreds.
All I had to do to prepare for the journey was a bit of training – practice pulling heavy loads, obeying new commands, and maintaining my sleek coat. John treated me with extra oats and a little bit of extra sugar in my mash. And there I was, ready for London!
We travelled in a horse-drawn wagon, an intricate contraption with wheels made of wood, lined with soft hay for my comfort, and a place to sleep while resting during the day. We met other farmers on the road, a colourful mix of folks from all corners of England. It felt a bit overwhelming at first, all that activity and noise! But my natural instinct was to keep my head down, stay focused on the road, and enjoy the journey. The change of scenery was delightful. Gone were the rolling green hills and windswept moorlands of Hayfield. We were moving through landscapes of vibrant, cultivated farmland. Lush fields of grain and verdant pastures welcomed us, while charming villages, with their thatched cottages and inviting taverns, appeared around every corner.
We arrived in London after days of travelling. John had chosen to stop just outside of London for a night, to allow me to rest and adjust to the bustling city. The sights and sounds were something I had never witnessed before! So much hustle and bustle. A constant rush of people, a chaotic mixture of horses, carts, and carriages, and all those new sounds…clanging of blacksmiths’ hammers, bustling shops, street peddlers’ calls, the loud gossip of street vendors, and of course, the insistent, rhythmic clip-clop of countless horses navigating cobbled streets. I was quite nervous. There were so many carriages with pairs of chestnut thoroughbreds, all sleek, shiny, and beautifully decorated with ribbons and tassels. They even had intricate metalwork on their bridles! They seemed to move effortlessly, a smooth gliding motion unlike the solid and steady walk of a draught horse.
The next day, we reached the heart of the bustling city, where the Horse Fair was held. The Fair was like nothing I’ve ever seen! A vast open area where horses of all types congregated - sturdy draughthorses, sleek racers, sturdy ponies, elegant steeds, horses of every color, size and breed! Some were adorned in gleaming tack, others in simple workaday gear, and there were even some horses draped in colorful fabrics, ready to be displayed for sale. The entire fair buzzed with activity! Buyers and sellers negotiated deals, hooves pounded the earth, a mixture of animal sounds and the rumble of carts and carriages filled the air.
John seemed proud to have brought me to London. He spent the first day helping me mingle with other horses. My size and sturdy appearance drew attention. The gentlemen there, who I’d heard about in Hayfield, took a keen interest in my potential for work. But it was during the afternoon, in the shadow of St. Paul's Cathedral, that I encountered a very important gentleman. A kind, grey-haired man with bright, observant eyes, a distinguished nobleman, approached me. He said I possessed "the makings of a fine, dependable beast." I am not a vain horse, but his words pleased me, and John beamed with pride.
He was impressed with my size and the quality of my hooves and musculature. He ran his hands across my back, observing my well-defined shoulder and sturdy haunches. My size and my strong, powerful legs made me a suitable candidate for a wide variety of work. He also commended my quiet disposition, saying that a stable like his valued a quiet and trustworthy horse.
He informed us of his intentions. He wished to employ me in his family stable and gave me a generous sum for my purchase. I knew this meant John was to let me go, which made me quite sad. However, John, always practical and caring, spoke to the gentleman, making a condition – that I would only work half-days, allowing me ample rest and plenty of time for pasture and playtime with other horses. My heart skipped a beat, full of relief and joy. I am, after all, a hardworking horse but I still cherish the little things!
We both, John and I, were so fortunate. The nobleman turned out to be a most decent gentleman and a most respected and distinguished member of the city’s upper class, known as Lord Wellington. I would serve him in his grand home, a place of breathtaking elegance and rich history. Imagine, me, a mere village horse, to be working in a magnificent, white stone house with stained-glass windows and gleaming floors. My new stable was nothing short of magnificent, well-ventilated and spacious, with the finest bedding of straw and fresh hay.
The days were busy, and I was fortunate to meet the most fascinating horses. Many were brought in for special occasions and grand processions, their coats polished to perfection, their manes and tails braided with ribbons. It was truly humbling and I found myself admiring their poise, strength, and elegance. My tasks were varied – pulling carriages around London, transporting goods to the local markets, and carrying heavy supplies for grand social events hosted by Lord Wellington. But, Lord Wellington ensured I worked only half days and was always well cared for.
London was quite an experience! The constant hustle and bustle never ceased to amaze. The streets were always a tapestry of activity, from the dignified rumble of carriage wheels and the clickety-clack of hooves on the cobbles to the constant murmur of street peddlers' voices and the shouts of hawkers selling their wares. Everywhere you looked, you'd see people of all shapes and sizes, some rushing by, some stopped to chat, others trying to haggle a price in the markets.
One thing that never ceased to amaze me was the size of London's horse-drawn carriages. Some of them were quite ornate! Elaborate gilded trim, fancy upholstery, with gleaming wooden spokes on their wheels. Their owners took great pride in them, their sleek thoroughbreds pulling them with such grace. There was something undeniably beautiful about their synchronized movement. But the sheer size and scale of London’s carriages never ceased to amaze. The gentlemen often wore their finest coats, while their ladies adorned in elegant silk dresses would stand on their grand carriages, enjoying the spectacle of the city, waving gracefully with delicate fans.
Being part of all this was a new experience, one that had opened up a whole new world for me.
Then came winter. I knew winter would be quite the difference from Hayfield. London’s streets would become slippery, making it more challenging to maneuver the heavy carriages. But it didn't matter because the grand homes of the upper class, including Lord Wellington’s grand manor, became all the more elegant and captivating during winter.
They had an array of warming, crackling fireplaces that I loved to peek into from my stall, envisioning myself roasting marshmallows and enjoying a steaming cup of warm porridge. The city was awash with Christmas festivities, streets glittering with countless flickering gaslights. I remember one specific night, the air alive with carols and laughter, the smell of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts, and the sounds of jolly conversations flowing in every direction. And I remember seeing the grandeur of Lord Wellington’s manor in its winter grandeur. It was the pinnacle of elegance, snow gracefully clinging to its ornate windows, while inside the festive ambiance made the manor feel all the more inviting.
It was around this time I learned something new about myself, about my love for the big city. The grandeur and the chaos had captivated me. Though I’d miss the wide-open spaces and the friendly folks of Hayfield, my experience in London opened up my mind to a new way of life, a different and fulfilling type of equine adventure.
Now, I am well settled in Lord Wellington's manor. Life has become routine, my duties predictable, but I appreciate it greatly! I know, in the grand scheme of things, that I am living the good life! I am healthy and happy. The stable hands have become my dear friends, and I enjoy my quiet moments reflecting on my experiences, from the grand carriages of London, to the wild Highland cattle roaming free in the moors of Hayfield. Every day is a gift, an opportunity to experience something new.
So there you have it, my dear readers! 1775 – a year full of memorable experiences!
Stay tuned for my next post, dear friends. I have a few interesting tales from London’s streets that are worth sharing! Until next time, keep your hooves happy!
