Ahoy, fellow equestrians! Emma here, your average grey draught mare with a penchant for long walks and a love for all things hay. Today, I'm sharing a little bit of history from my own perspective - a slice of life back in the year 680. Now, don't let the date fool you, we didn't have fancy calendars back then. I'm talking about the time when the world felt a bit wilder, the roads were muddier, and the skies seemed to hold more stars.
It all started, as it often does, with hay.
You see, back then, we weren't pampered like the show ponies of today, with shiny saddles and ribbons galore. We were work horses, and work was our bread and butter. I belonged to a kind farmer named Donald, who lived in Hayfield near Aberdeen, Scotland. The smell of fresh-cut hay always hung in the air, and the taste of oats and barley was our reward for a day's labour. I lived with my family – mother, father, and siblings - a whole herd of hardworking greys, like a bunch of sisters. We shared the farm work, hauling the cart to the markets, pulling the plough through the rich, brown soil, and hauling stones for building new shelters. It was hard work, but satisfying, like completing a beautifully woven tapestry of hay and sweat.
Life moved at a different pace. We had no fancy clocks, only the sun, and the moon, and the gentle, calming rhythms of nature. Dawn meant getting up, getting fed, and being harnessed for a long, hard day. The days were long and sunny, the air clear, and the smells of the earth alive in my nostrils. It was a good life, full of purpose.
But this particular year, 680, brought something special - a big journey. I was chosen for this task because of my strong legs and my calm, even temperament. A wealthy lord named Campbell needed a group of strong horses to travel a distance he wouldn’t normally take his war horses - to the far off lands across the sea, across what the people call the English Channel.
The journey was an adventure, my friends! We walked along dirt paths, crossed gushing streams and dense forests, following the old Roman roads. The scenery was spectacular. Hills rolled into valleys, green meadows danced with wildflowers, and the sun dipped over the horizon every evening in a symphony of colours. The sky above was wide, and the stars seemed to glitter just a little bit brighter. We shared these views with fellow travellers, oxen, donkeys, and goats – a lively caravan of creatures moving through the land together.
At night, we gathered near the warm embers of campfires, watching the embers rise and fall like dancing spirits. I'd listen to the tales whispered by our drivers, tales of battles fought and won, of kingdoms flourishing and crumbling. Each story, each journey, woven into the fabric of our lives, a stitch of colour into a tapestry of history.
This big journey had a reason. I won’t go into too much detail, but the Lord had to do with trading - something called wool, very valuable, that would help his kingdom. The humans are funny, don’t you think? They fight for land, trade goods, build impressive buildings and fight battles but I always wondered how that made them any happier. They certainly weren't any happier than us working horses, I tell you! We lived for the open air, the shared strength, the quiet of nature, and the company of my fellow horses. What could be better than that?
The voyage itself was a wondrous event. The boat was quite a marvel! I recall feeling the ship swaying as if I was standing on a tall mountain peak. The salt-laced wind rushed past my nostrils, and the waves churned under my hooves, and the sky seemed as though it stretched on forever. It was exhilarating. A new kind of motion. I loved feeling that new feeling, so foreign to the regular beat of a draught horse, the sway of the sea beneath our feet.
On land, we finally reached a new kingdom, a sprawling place filled with a blend of hills and plains. I learned to recognize new sounds - different birds and animals – each place we travelled seemed to have a different symphony of noise. The men here traded the lord’s wool for their goods. They offered things we didn’t see in our Scotland, exotic fruits and rich fabrics, the smell of new spices filling the air. But nothing beats a good dose of fresh cut grass, even in faraway lands!
The journey back was just as remarkable. This time, the Lord brought his new acquisitions with us, horses as different from us as the spices, from his new lands, with names like "Mustang", "Turk", " Arabian." There were all sorts of varieties I’d never seen before - graceful and nimble horses, perfect for riding. It was a real pleasure to meet the "horse world" beyond our simple working life, you might say. The world, even as limited as we experienced it in 680 AD, was filled with diversity. We learned of each other and learned to respect the unique way the different horses were used – the light horses for battles, for hunting, for racing.
That journey in 680 was etched in my heart. I was only twenty then, a young mare but a tough one. It changed me, as most journeys do. I returned home, stronger, a little bit wiser, knowing the vastness of the world.
I'm still working with Donald today, my old farm life remains, a mix of hay and horses and the smells of the farm. The world has changed so much since those early days in 680 - we now have roads instead of paths, the carriages run faster, there’s less walking, more carts to pull. Still, every time I sniff the wind I get that whiff of adventure, and remember the grand adventure across the sea.
A grey horse has simple joys, friends. They lie in a good, warm hayloft in winter, a mouthful of fresh hay and the sweet warmth of sunshine on my coat, the strong feeling of my muscles, working for my good master, Donald, in a world that I helped make.
See you all next week for another bit of history! Stay tuned, and remember, you're never too old to learn about the past, the present, and all the fascinating stories that connect us, horses and humans, through time!
