Neigh-sayers and New Beginnings: The Year I Discovered my Inner Strength
Hello my lovely readers! Emma here, from the beautiful rolling hills of Hayfield, near Aberdeen. Today I want to share a little something about 1215, the year I turned twenty. Twenty! It felt like just yesterday I was a rambunctious foal, prancing about the meadows with my siblings, but now I'm considered a veteran of the field. This year was full of change, both in my own life and the world of horses in general. Let's get started, shall we?
The start of the year found me in the fields with my herd, munching on juicy green grass under the Scottish sun. Life was simple then, with only the worries of who got the best patch of clover or which stallion looked the most impressive to keep me occupied. I remember my owner, a kind man called Lachlan, coming to check on us every day. He was a gentle soul, his fingers brushing my mane softly as he gave me a bit of sugar and whispered encouraging words in his brogue. I loved his warm voice.
Then came the news of the King. I remember seeing the villagers gather around, their faces filled with worry and a certain guarded excitement. It seems the King, who was King John then, was having some disagreements with the lords and bishops in England. They said he was a tyrannical man who was pushing them around, taking their money, and refusing their rights. I don't fully understand the human drama of politics, but Lachlan told me about the “Great Charter,” a big piece of paper they were planning to ask the King to sign.
This Magna Carta, as it was called, would be a set of rules about how everyone, even the King, should behave. Imagine if there were rules that horses had to follow? Imagine if some grumpy, haughty horse tried to boss everyone around and take all the good hay! I am certain we would have a whole flock of grumpy horses putting their hooves down and demanding better treatment. So I thought the men were brave for standing up to the King.
Soon, news reached our small community in Scotland, that King John had agreed to sign the Magna Carta, which meant he had to listen to the lords and bishops. It made me proud, I must say. After all, horses love fairness and equality - even when it comes to grass, though we always want the best piece for ourselves, obviously!
That year, a small troop of horsemen visited our valley. They had heard tales of our strength and the quality of our breed, and they were on a mission to find new mounts for their horses. Now, some horses, like the proud Arabians with their sleek black coats, are known for their speed and grace. They’re perfect for swift gallops, hunting adventures, and carrying those who prefer a dramatic entrance.
We Clydesdales, though, were bred for strength. Our big frames and powerful muscles made us the perfect beasts for pulling heavy loads and tilling the tough, Scottish soil. Our work wasn’t glamorous, no galloping through sun-kissed fields, but we found pride in our strength and our ability to support others. Our big, strong legs felt like they could carry the weight of the world, and we often did.
Lachlan’s voice filled with pride when they mentioned our sturdy horses. It made me feel important, needed. One of the horsemen came over to me, ran his hand along my neck, admiring my white mane, and declared he had never seen such strength and nobility in a horse before. He wasn’t just saying it to flatter me; I could feel his appreciation, his respect for my breed. It felt good, like being recognized for who I am - not for who I look like or who my parents were.
As I mentioned, change is often the flavour of life, and I couldn't have anticipated the exciting turn of events to come. This was the year I began to sense that my time in Hayfield was coming to an end. The men would look at me often, whispering among themselves, and then at me. The anticipation of what was coming felt like a delicious itch on my flank.
Then it happened. One morning, Lachlan took me from my peaceful meadow to the village, where a whole group of horses, including me, were gathered in a makeshift enclosure. It wasn't long before I heard Lachlan explain that our work wasn't finished in Hayfield. There was a need for strong, powerful horses in a distant land called London, the big city where the King resided.
Now, I had heard tales about London - stories of loud crowds, crowded streets, and noisy carriages. It was said that London was like a wild, bustling hive of humanity and horses alike. I wasn't sure I liked the sound of it. It sounded overwhelming. However, when Lachlan announced I was chosen to travel to London with a group of men, a small flicker of pride grew in my heart. It was as if all of Hayfield, every blade of grass and every single wildflower was wishing me well as they saw me being harnessed to the cart. A gentle breeze swept over my mane and brought with it the scent of the sea and the sweet smell of the meadows. It was a goodbye of sorts, a sense of things coming to a close, even as something new was beginning.
With a deep breath and a shake of my head, I accepted my destiny. A journey to London! And in 1215, this grey mare, born and raised in a quiet Scottish village, embarked on a voyage to an unknown land, a voyage full of adventure, of bustling streets and loud crowds. But there was no fear, not a bit, only a powerful, exciting buzz running through my body, ready for whatever came next.
This was just the beginning of a journey that would lead to unexpected encounters, unexpected responsibilities, and an even deeper understanding of the power within my hooves and the strength in my heart. It would be an adventure filled with new knowledge, a change of scenery, and a brand new understanding of what it means to be a Clydesdale. And perhaps, some secrets to be unveiled…
Until next time, stay safe and may the breeze always be in your mane!
Emma
