A Hayfield History From a Grey Mare's Point of View
Hello my fellow equine friends! Emma here, your humble correspondent from the wilds of Hayfield, a little village near the grand city of Aberdeen, nestled amongst the rolling hills of Scotland. It's the year of our Lord 1111, and though times might seem a tad slow to you modern horses, they're a-bustlin' with life for a grey mare like me.
I'm sure you're wondering why this year, 1111, seems so special, and to be honest, there's nothing much going on in the world of history for a horse! But that's not to say things aren't changing, slowly but surely. I'll take you back through the highs and lows of our year, here at Hayfield.
I'm approaching twenty, a good age for a working horse like myself. We're all known for our strength and stamina here at Hayfield. It's our heritage, passed down from generations of powerful grey mares and stallions who helped cultivate this rugged, beautiful landscape. And me? I'm no different.
My life is a symphony of familiar routines. Waking to the dawn chorus, the rooster's triumphant crow echoing across the fields. It’s the perfect signal to join the other mares and foals for breakfast. We graze together, our breaths rising in gentle puffs of white against the crisp morning air. A simple yet essential part of our day, fuelled by the abundant grass that carpets the valley.
I’ve lived at the farm all my life. We live in harmony with the family that owns the land – the Gordons. I haven't strayed too far from the familiar pastures and barn. After all, I have duties to fulfill, a part to play in their daily life.
My sturdy build and even temperament make me ideal for farm work, be it ploughing the fields or pulling carts laden with hay and grain to the bustling marketplace in Aberdeen. And it’s in that bustling marketplace that the biggest news is brewing!
While I haven't had the privilege of witnessing it myself, my fellow horses from Hayfield tell stories of incredible developments.
They say the horses used for war – steeds and knights, you know? – they've adopted something called the "stirrup" . Can you imagine? My master says it’s a kind of iron ring to put your foot into when you're on a horse. Apparently, it helps them stay mounted. It also makes them quite deadly. Apparently, it can bring you even closer to your foe. I’m glad I’m a peaceful working mare, I shudder to think what sort of warhorse life is like in the 11th Century. I imagine, from the stories my fellow horses tell, it’s bloody and brutal. I can't fathom the life of a warrior, much less an animal trained for such brutal warfare.
Another new word has begun to filter down the ranks, thanks to a new master of a lord from the far north. They talk about "jousting" – it seems to be some kind of grand display of riding skill and courage. They speak of brightly coloured armour, grand lances, and daring charges. They've started holding tournaments – even women have started attending. Now, that’s something new!
But all this talk of knights, armour, and grand tournaments feels very distant here in Hayfield. It seems like another world. We grey mares of Hayfield are more focused on our farm chores – helping to gather hay, transport grain, and cultivate the land. I prefer our simple lives in the rolling fields. My favourite time of day? It's when I join the other horses at the edge of the village, overlooking the fields bathed in the golden light of a Hayfield sunset. As we munch on a handful of hay and gaze over the landscape, we tell each other stories of what life was like years ago, before our master and the rest of the Gordon family moved to Hayfield, about the battles in England and tales from beyond the seas. My master says those times are long gone. He even told us we are no longer required to fight, like those "steeds" from the stories we hear. We only work in the fields, pulling ploughs or hauling goods to market. A peaceful existence, we all agree.
This past spring brought a new set of foals into the world. Watching those little ones discover their legs and explore their surroundings reminds me of my own childhood. Such curiosity they have, running, leaping, and playing with an unrestrained enthusiasm that fills our world with a playful joy. I do enjoy sharing some of my wisdom and experiences. I've tried to instil a love for life and the simple pleasures of grazing under a sunny sky. I remind them to be watchful and cautious, and most importantly, to always trust their instincts. These foals represent the future of Hayfield, and I pray they'll continue to flourish in this beautiful corner of Scotland. We’re part of this landscape. We breathe in its clean air. Our hooves leave their imprint on its soil. And our children inherit this history and this love of our land.
This life – it's honest and hard-working, but we are contented. We’ve learned to appreciate the simple beauty that surrounds us. The warmth of the sun on our coat, the smell of freshly turned soil after a spring rain, the crunch of frost beneath our hooves. There are no grand jousts, no glittering shields in my world, only the rhythmic sounds of hoofbeats and the satisfying rasp of the plough as we work the land.
We grey mares of Hayfield – we’re proud of the role we play in shaping the landscape and helping feed the families that live on our land. I look forward to another peaceful year at Hayfield. May our land remain green, and may we horses of Hayfield continue to prosper and thrive in this beautiful world we inhabit. And if any of you lucky enough to live on a farm have similar stories to tell, feel free to share them on www.equiworld.org – we’d love to hear from you!
Until next time, friends!
Emma
Grey Draught Mare of Hayfield, near Aberdeen
