Year 1058: From Hayfield to the World - A Draught Horse's Journey
Neigh-sayers might say a draught horse from a remote Scottish village like Hayfield near Aberdeen wouldn't have much to contribute to the world of equine history. But here I am, Emma, a grey mare with a mane and tail like freshly-fallen snow, ready to tell you my story, a story woven through the fabric of a time long gone, but one where horses were more than just a means to an end.
Imagine the chill Scottish air nipping at your nostrils as you take your first breath of dawn. The aroma of heather and peat smoke is carried on a gentle breeze, and the familiar rhythmic clink of blacksmith's hammer and anvil greets you. That was my life back then - a life where the day's rhythm revolved around the rising and setting of the sun, and the steady pulse of work that came with being a draught horse.
1058, a year of quiet upheaval, it seems. Our King, Duncan I, was still on the throne, albeit a troubled one. Battles and skirmishes across the lands were nothing new to our people, and in times like those, a strong draught horse was an essential tool, carrying supplies, transporting soldiers, and pulling the very carts that helped rebuild after the conflict.
In Hayfield, the life of a draught horse was one of honest work, hauling supplies for the local villagers, pulling ploughs through the fertile land to help harvest crops for the winter. My family, a line of strong grey steeds, were renowned for their stamina and gentle temperaments.
My grandmother, Agatha, was the wisest among us, having lived through numerous winters, enduring the harshness of the highlands, and seeing many changes in the village. Her eyes, with a depth of knowledge beyond their years, held the stories of seasons past, of the ebb and flow of life on our farm. She’d often gather the younger horses around, and, with her velvety voice, narrate the stories of our kind: of horses who helped build mighty castles, of the sturdy steeds that carried warriors on distant expeditions, of the horses that toiled on the farm, their strength a vital part of the community.
At the age of five, I had grown strong and sturdy, my coat gleaming with the grace of a thousand sunsets. A gentle touch and a reassuring word, I knew then, were all that were needed to communicate with a horse, be it in the barn or on the open fields.
Life on the farm, while simple, was not without its rewards, the taste of sweet hay, the satisfying rhythm of my hooves on the earthen paths, and the camaraderie of the other horses. We'd share tales of the day's work, and I'd soak up their experiences, like a thirsty plant, drinking from a spring. I’d often find myself yearning for something more than the cycle of farm life, a longing for adventures that lay beyond the rolling green hills and rugged highlands of our small village.
That's when I met Fiona, a spirited young mare with eyes the colour of a stormy sea. Fiona had travelled with the merchants who passed through our village on occasion, bringing new stories from the world beyond.
"They speak of cities where the buildings reach towards the sky," she’d say, her voice filled with wonder. "They tell of grand races and shows, where horses like us are treated like royalty.”
The mere mention of these "grand races" sparked something within me, an innate yearning for the unknown, for the thrill of challenging myself against other horses.
One crisp spring day, when the birds sang of hope and the wind carried the scent of the approaching summer, an opportunity arrived. The annual Highland Games were approaching, and a travelling circus was setting up camp nearby. A rare chance to test our mettle, and a taste of the outside world. Fiona was excited, she knew a few horses from her travels who participated in the events, and with their help, I managed to register to compete.
The Highland Games were unlike anything I’d seen. The atmosphere was charged with energy, a kaleidoscope of vibrant colours, lively music, and the joyous roars of the crowds. It was a feast for the senses. We stood proudly in the makeshift stables, with anticipation prickling the air, waiting for our turn to shine.
Then came the event, a contest of strength and skill: a weight pulling competition. The arena was crowded, and the energy throbbed around us. The weight on the cart felt heavier than usual, but the crowd’s cheers resonated with each powerful step, a wave of support and encouragement pushing me forward. With every grunt of exertion and heave of the harness, I knew the importance of my task - it wasn’t just about winning, but proving my worth, my ability to stand amongst the finest in the land.
My legs churned, my powerful shoulders straining, each stride carrying me forward, inch by inch. Finally, after a nerve-wracking moment, the cart began to move, a wave of relief and elation sweeping over me. As the crowds roared and the banners flapped in the wind, I crossed the finish line, a victorious roar echoing in my ears, the joy of triumph washing over me. I had done it, not only did I compete, but I had won!
Fiona galloped beside me, her mane and tail whipping in the wind, as if in celebration of our collective success. This was the moment we were both waiting for, a moment of shared pride.
In that instant, I knew I wasn’t just a draught horse from Hayfield, I was something more - an embodiment of strength, skill, and spirit. It was a stepping stone, a bridge between my simple life and the exciting unknown that lay before me.
Later that night, a charismatic merchant, dressed in brightly colored garments, with twinkling eyes and a ready smile, approached me. His name was Edgar, and his voice, as smooth as a fine vintage, hinted at exciting possibilities.
"You’re an incredible horse, Emma,” he said, admiration radiating from him like a warm ray of sun. "We're looking for a horse of strength and resilience for our travelling show, a show filled with wonder and amazement, where you can be a star!”
He painted a vivid picture, a vision of grandeur and performance that captivated me. The thought of being a part of a travelling show, of performing before large crowds, and bringing joy to their hearts was an irresistible opportunity. With Fiona by my side, offering me a supportive look, I made the decision to embark on this new journey.
And so, with the first blush of dawn, we said farewell to Hayfield, carrying the echoes of our homeland in our hearts, a touch of peat smoke lingering on our coats. We set out towards the sunrise, with Fiona leading the way, our destinies intertwined, our spirits soaring on the wings of adventure.
1058, a year of quiet transformation for me. From a humble draught horse to a potential performer in the grandest circus, I embraced the change, my heart brimming with the exhilarating possibilities that lay before me. I had a long journey ahead, a journey that would see me explore new landscapes, meet fascinating creatures, and experience the joys of bringing smiles to the faces of countless individuals.
As I stand on the brink of a new chapter in my story, I urge all of you to keep a watchful eye out for your own opportunities. You may find yours hidden behind the rolling hills, or in a simple chat with a kind soul, or perhaps in the echo of your heart's desire. Remember, like horses of my kind, we’re not merely meant for labor and service, we’re meant to roam, to dream, and to touch the lives of others, bringing joy and wonder wherever we go.
*I will keep you posted on my journey, my experiences, my triumphs and my failures, so tune in to EquiWorld.org. I’ll be sharing my story, my story as a horse, in a world waiting to be discovered, in a time when even the simplest mare could make a difference, one step at a time. *
