Hello everyone!
It's Emma here, your friendly neighbourhood draught horse from Hayfield near Aberdeen, back again with another installment of my historical diary. I love looking back at what's happened in the past and trying to imagine how horses lived, worked, and played in those times.
Today we're travelling back to the year 1219 – just over eight centuries ago! Let me tell you, things were a bit different then, and not just in terms of the lack of motorcars!
Life in Hayfield:
1219 saw the world in the throes of great change. This year was notable for the continuing Crusades, those wars in the Holy Land, which would eventually, after years of struggle, lead to the fall of the Crusader states. We horses, you see, are inextricably linked to those battles – the magnificent Arab horses famed for their speed and stamina carried the knights in battle and spurred their conquests. But I wasn't involved in all that fuss! Back in Hayfield, we were far more concerned with daily tasks.
We worked hard, sure, but also enjoyed life. We’d wake up before sunrise, and the day's work was about keeping the fields ploughed, sowing and harvesting, hauling timber and hauling supplies for the local communities. You see, a large number of us - and we were mighty, strong horses, mind you – were draught horses, essential for heavy labour. My life wasn't that of a high-born warhorse; it was simpler, fulfilling, and no less vital to the running of things.
A Typical Day:
My day would begin with the chill air whipping my white mane. The smell of oats and the anticipation of the morning’s work filled the stables. We'd start by pulling the plough, making sure those fields were ready for planting. I loved the feel of the cool, moist soil beneath my hooves. It gave me a sense of being one with the earth, the very core of life. Then we’d be hauling carts full of wheat or barley. It was heavy work, yes, but a satisfying kind.
I wasn't just a workhorse, though. Like all of my kind, I had a need for play. We’d graze in lush green pastures under the Scottish sun, or sometimes chase butterflies in the nearby meadows.
Evening time would find us resting, muscles tired but hearts content, listening to the tales of the elders. The stable master, a kind man with a booming voice and rough hands, would regale us with stories of heroic deeds of horses past. He told us about magnificent warhorses like Bayard, the French King's loyal steed, a legend amongst all of us. The tales warmed our souls and made us feel proud of our place in the world.
Beyond Our Meadows:
We weren’t all as lucky as I was. Some of our brethren faced harsher lives. Many travelled across continents, helping to establish new towns and trading routes. There were others, the Palfreys, more petite and refined, who walked alongside their riders, sometimes ladies of high standing, on pilgrimages or journeys. Those adventures filled my heart with a touch of envy. Yet, I was thankful for my quiet life in the Scottish Highlands, for the sense of belonging to a strong community.
Looking Ahead:
My hooves may be getting tired with age now, but my love for horses has not diminished. I've seen how we have evolved – how the human world has become increasingly intertwined with our destiny.
The future holds unknown possibilities, yet my hope is that horses will forever be a part of humanity's story – symbols of strength, courage, and freedom. Until next time, dear friends, stay well, and may your mane be full of sunshine!
Emma
