Hello, dear readers, and welcome to my humble little blog. Emma here, a grey mare from the bonnie highlands of Scotland. Today, we'll be stepping back in time to 787 A.D., a year that felt very different from our modern times, yet horses were at the heart of it all.
Born and raised in Hayfield, a little village nestled near Aberdeen, I remember this year vividly. It was the time of the Vikings, you know, the fierce seafaring people who sailed their longships far and wide. Our world, though quiet, felt tinged with a quiet sense of unease. You see, rumours travelled with the wind. Whispers of raids and raids.
The Vikings, they weren’t all bad. They brought their horses, yes. Beautiful horses! Some even carried saddles - an impressive sight indeed! - unlike my everyday cart-pulling brethren. They'd be sturdy steeds, for riding into battle, swift enough for hunts. It’s these things I hear through the tales spun at the local inn. The smell of wood smoke from the fireplace is all I have ever known as comfort and a source of the stories, alongside warm oatcakes and ale that my master, a kindly old farmer called Angus, loves to share.
It's fascinating how things were different back then. In 787, most horses weren't just pets. They were the workhorses, the muscle behind agriculture. They were what made farming possible, ploughing the land, hauling heavy loads, pulling carts full of harvest.
My days started before dawn. We horses, a stable full of us, woke to the crunch of oats and a bit of hay. After breakfast, we'd join Angus to prepare the fields for planting. We were his pride and joy, pulling a large plough with a mighty groan. Sometimes, the fields would be stony, demanding more of our strength and our mettle. There would be the familiar clang of the iron tool as we nudged the soil for new life. I loved that feeling of achievement at the end of the day, knowing I helped grow the food that would keep the village nourished.
Sometimes, though, we weren't only used for work. On special occasions, when the church held its gatherings, we’d be adorned with bright woven ribbons and pull a grand cart loaded with provisions, like a veritable feast on wheels. That’s when I truly felt a little regal. There were so many people in the church square – women wearing colorful dresses, their shawls woven by their hands; men in tunics with weapons to hunt, carrying spears and bows. It was a wonderful occasion, where all would be gathered in celebration of their lives and faith.
On other days, we would travel further than the fields. It could be to a nearby town for the market, where women sold colourful woven woolens and trinkets of all kinds. I loved seeing all those sights, the crowds bustling in the marketplace and the sights and sounds.
Occasionally, I would see merchants passing by on their strong, sure-footed horses, with bundles of goods upon their backs. There were merchants from the south, sometimes from England or even France, where they travelled for months across the continent. It always reminded me of the vastness of the world beyond our own small valley. The horses would be tired from the journeys. I’d watch them snorting and shaking, and I couldn’t help but wonder, ‘what did they see on their journeys? What were their adventures?’
At the end of each day, my stable was filled with the warmth of fresh hay. There was the comforting sound of fellow horses snorting softly and munching happily, a sense of togetherness. We rested our weary muscles and shared tales whispered in the night – tales of harvests, storms, adventures, and, sometimes, the chilling rumours of the Vikings.
It's fascinating how the role of horses changed throughout history. While they still pull plows, carry burdens, and traverse lands, in our time they also carry us into battle, pulling us across oceans in those magnificent longships, with an impressive grace and power that even a hard-working cart-horse like me has to admire!
You know, our world was very different back then. There were no cars, no planes, no computers. The only engine we had was our own heart and the rhythmic pounding of our hooves against the earth. The sound of the earth was my melody, the smell of the rain was my perfume, the feel of the wind was my hug.
Horses back then, even in those less luxurious times, felt important, as though the entire world relied on our strength. Even today, as a simple draught horse, pulling my cart from day to day, I still hold onto the sense that we horses were woven into the very fabric of life itself.
This was my life, back in 787 AD, and even today, we play such an integral part in our little community and our large world. Until next time, keep an ear out for the rumble of horse hooves, a gentle neigh, and the strong heartbeats of fellow horses like myself.
Yours sincerely, Emma, The Grey Mare of Hayfield
