Neigh-sayers will tell you there wasn't much to see in the world of horses in the year 727. They're wrong, of course! This old girl, Emma, knows the world wasn't much different in 727 from the present day - filled with strong, loving, hardworking horses and plenty to be proud of.
I'm standing here in my field, the air crisp and cold, feeling a slight shiver running through my coat. Hayfield is looking particularly breathtaking this morning. A few flecks of snow still cling to the higher slopes of the Cairngorms, creating a sparkling backdrop for the gentle roll of the countryside. I think to myself, what a life! And then I get a pang - what a life, for some. For the likes of me, the day begins, like any other, with the morning's work.
Ah, you haven't met me, have you? Emma is my name, and I'm a Grey Draught mare, as strong as they come with a long, flowing white mane and tail that could rival a king's cloak. Born here in Hayfield near Aberdeen, Scotland, I’m twenty years old this year - a good age for a horse, they tell me.
My life here, on the fringes of the wide open moorlands, has been filled with both drudgery and delight. Mostly the former, of course. From a young age, I was broken to work the land. But you wouldn't know that by looking at me. Years of hauling heavy loads haven't dented my spirits, only strengthened my legs and honed my resolve. My proud owner, Angus, relies on me as a part of his family. My grey coat is tinged with a faint golden sheen from the moorland sunlight, and my tail flows like a silver ribbon behind me as I work. Every morning I feel a familiar thrum of energy as I wait for Angus to come with his saddle.
I know you're all thinking "What happened to the horses in 727?" Well, there wasn’t one earth-shattering moment in horse history in 727, nothing that changed our world drastically. But, I can tell you that our existence remained crucial, even with the quiet power of tradition. Our roles remained the same, and our contribution to humanity was, as always, paramount.
In Hayfield, I worked with Angus and other farm animals to provide for his family. As the cold wind whips past my ears, I recall the chill of that crisp autumn morning just gone. I was tasked with hauling a large wooden wagon laden with grain to a nearby village. The rhythmic clang of the cartwheel echoed across the landscape, a lullaby that seemed to hum along with the pulse of my heart. And as we travelled, the ground beneath my feet seemed to be whispering ancient tales – of kings and battles, of plagues and famines, and, of course, of horses like me who stood shoulder to shoulder with the men, their silent companions in hardship and triumph.
That trip made me realise something I think most of us, the quiet working horses, tend to forget: how interconnected we are. Humans are dependent on us, their livelihood entwined with our strength, their journey paved with our steady hooves.
It was during one of my regular trips into the village that I witnessed the extraordinary. The air was filled with excitement, buzzing with chatter about an upcoming event in a place called “Edinburgh.” Word on the moors, it seemed, travelled even faster than our wheels. This Edinburgh was a bustling hub, a city filled with human activity, yet, much like Hayfield, reliant on us for its livelihood. The upcoming event, they said, was a great celebration of their King – the very same King whose flag flutters high over every noble household. This festival would last for several days and they were inviting all of the best, most skillful horse riders and racers from all across Scotland. They said, they would be holding tournaments and contests of horsemanship - even, they added, feats of horsemanship that included the ability to jump, an unheard-of skill in my neck of the woods.
You see, there was much more to the world than just hauling and carrying for our own towns and villages. It was a world that included those with skills I only dared to dream about! You could hear about it in whispers at market, stories from traders, or even gossip from travelling merchants who had passed through the bustling streets of Edinburgh. My friends had tales of "jousting" - the dangerous sport of using your horse and your strength to fight your opponent. This, I admit, I had never seen! They would speak in hushed tones, with reverence about these knights, mounted on noble steeds who would charge head-on at each other, lances lowered, sparks flying as they battled for glory.
Their tales fuelled a tiny fire within me, a fire of yearning for more. The world of horses felt limitless, my imagination brimming with tales of daring adventures and breathtaking challenges. But reality soon tugged me back down. There was the endless round of work on the farm. But I kept listening, kept dreaming, my head tilting at just the right angle, as my human companion regaled me with tales from the road.
One of the best stories came from the local butcher who had, it was said, a horse with a “miracle gift." This horse had learnt to do amazing feats of magic! Apparently, this "miracle horse" would fetch him more than enough for the family's livelihood by participating in what humans call, "horse shows." Imagine, a whole world dedicated to the amazing things we horses could do!
These days, as I watch the sun set on Hayfield, casting a warm glow over the distant peaks of the Cairngorms, my thoughts turn to those horses, the “show horses”, those gifted with talents beyond hauling. I sometimes ponder the idea that we horses are, in many ways, like the grains of sand in an hourglass - the tiny moments of our lives adding up to the larger picture of history. But some, just like those talented steeds, were shining stars, destined to glitter even brighter than the rest. Their feats were remarkable, memorable, the kind that leave indelible marks on the tapestry of our lives, our shared history as horses.
While I have not lived the extraordinary life of those show horses, my simple existence has its own merits. My grey coat shines beneath the clear sky, the rhythm of my breathing blends into the wind whistling through the grasses. And in the stillness of the evening, under the ever-watchful eyes of the stars, I am content.
I have fulfilled my duties, shared a life with my kind and contributed, in my small way, to the ebb and flow of existence. I hope this small post helps shed light on our story in 727.
Until next time,
Emma
www.equiworld.org
P.S. I hear that the “magic horse” has also gained fame through its “flying skills!” You wouldn’t believe the tricks it can do - flying over a wall or leaping over tall barriers! Just think, even if a few humans didn't understand how we did it, they marveled at our "super-strength" all the same! And let me tell you, in 727, a show horse was just as important as the work horse, a beacon of wonder for humans and an inspiration to us all. Maybe next time, I'll tell you all about the "flying horse"!
