Welcome, fellow equines, to my blog! I'm Emma, a 20-year-old grey mare, a draught horse, and I’m here to tell you all about my life as a horse back in 1354. I hail from Hayfield, a small village nestled near the beautiful city of Aberdeen in Scotland. Oh, my hooves are practically tapping with excitement to get started!
Now, 1354 was a rather interesting year, both in the human world and in ours. You might be surprised to know that the mighty, glorious King Edward III ruled England at the time. I remember hearing whispers about him and his daring battles against the French. Of course, being a humble horse in Hayfield, I didn’t witness the war myself, but the gossip flowed like a steady river through the stable. The whole village would talk about it, as if a rumour whispered by the wind!
I, however, was content in my life of quiet duty and peaceful rhythm. Being a draught horse, you see, I was crucial for the human folks. My strong legs carried heavy loads of hay, grain, and timber. And it was a proud task, too, knowing my strength was a vital part of keeping the community thriving.
A day in the life of Emma, you ask? Well, let me paint you a picture! Dawn would break, the roosters crowing, and the smell of breakfast fires would rise through the village air. As soon as I could hear the clank of the harness, I’d eagerly trot to my waiting stall.
That's where young Ben, a farm lad with eyes the colour of a summer sky, would appear, smiling at me with such warmth. His strong hands knew how to fit the harness perfectly. Sometimes, I'd even enjoy a quick lick of his ear as a thank you for his kindness.
Then, off we'd go, with me pulling the sturdy cart along cobbled roads and muddy tracks. My coat would gleam as the morning dew sparkled on its grey surface. The sounds of nature followed us; the chirping of birds, the rhythmic tap-tap of my hooves, and the happy banter between Ben and me as we shared the day's work.
A World of Equestrian Delights!
As I mentioned earlier, the human world was bustling with events, and the equestrian world wasn't any different! I heard tales of grand tournaments across England, where the finest warhorses displayed their might and speed. It wasn't quite my kind of thing - I was much more into hauling, but those tales still filled my ears with admiration for those elegant steeds.
I remember particularly when I heard tales of Sir John Chandos, a renowned knight whose courage was whispered far and wide. They spoke of him and his powerful grey charger - can you imagine? Another grey horse just like me! He was said to have been a fearless companion to Sir Chandos, galloping through fields of battle and fighting bravely.
Now, I, for one, much preferred the peacefulness of a day spent carting goods with Ben. I knew the rhythm of the field and the countryside like the back of my hoof. Still, it filled me with a warm sense of pride to hear the stories of the magnificent warhorses - true heroes in their own right!
There were tales of beautiful Spanish horses reaching the shores of England too. I heard they were famous for their strength and graceful gaits, making them the envy of many breeders. Even back in Scotland, whispers spread of this elegant breed, adding a splash of vibrant colour to our community of horses.
It was always lovely to have Ben share these stories. You see, Ben wasn't just a farmer; he had a thirst for knowledge, and he read every book he could lay his hooves upon. I could practically feel his excitement as he spoke about the grand horses of other lands! He’d describe the vibrant colours of their coats, the intricate patterns, and the unique features that set them apart from our Scottish breeds. His enthusiasm was contagious. He’d speak with such joy and wonder about all the different breeds and their specific purposes, and for a moment, I felt like I could journey alongside him, my heart racing with anticipation.
A Gentle Day by the River:
Sometimes, though, the human world would fade into a gentle whisper, leaving me alone with my thoughts as I stood grazing peacefully in the fields. Those were the moments I savoured most. The world would seem still, save for the rustle of leaves and the murmur of a nearby river. It's easy to imagine myself right there now, isn't it? Just the soft wind and the rhythmic movement of my own body. Pure bliss.
The River Dee, the largest river in the Northeast, was our playground, especially during the hot summer months. Ben would often take a break from his work and come with me, sitting under a shady willow tree while I enjoyed a refreshing dip in the cool water. We would talk of the world around us, share stories and dreams, all the while appreciating the calmness of our shared moments.
One hot afternoon, Ben and I took refuge beside the river. The water sparkled, a canvas of liquid light, as the sun poured down from the summer sky. I lapped up the cool water, each mouthful sending a wave of contentment through me.
That’s when, out of nowhere, we heard a chorus of joyful shouting! My ears twitched with curiosity, and my hooves moved to a nearby hill where we had a better view. It was a group of young boys, each holding a string that disappeared into the water.
“Look, Emma!” Ben exclaimed, pointing excitedly. “They're fishing!”
His eyes gleamed with such pure joy that it made my own heart beat a little faster. They looked so innocent, so carefree, as they held their fishing rods with quiet hope. Each tug on the string was met with laughter and cheers.
Their pure delight reminded me of something important. You see, despite the constant drudgery of pulling loads, and the never-ending toil, the simplest moments are often the most precious. Moments like this. Moments spent in the peacefulness of nature, surrounded by good company. They're a true gift to any horse!
Memories in the Twilight
As twilight descended and the sky transformed into a breathtaking canvas of gold and purple, I’d often find myself wandering back to my stable. A sense of quiet peace filled my heart. I had spent a fulfilling day working and sharing in the community's life. The soft sound of hooves tapping against the stable floor was music to my ears.
By then, the air would carry a hint of warmth, infused with the gentle aroma of the day's harvests. The sounds of laughter from the village houses echoed into the evening. All of this was my life.
Being a horse in 1354 was a humbling experience, full of the rhythm of hard work, a quiet appreciation for nature, and an undying love for my beloved Hayfield. And I wouldn't have it any other way!
Until next time, dear friends, and may your journey through life be filled with joy, purpose, and moments that sparkle with magic. Don’t forget to leave a comment on my post to let me know you were here!
P.S: This is Emma signing off for now, but do stay tuned! I have many more tales of life in 1354 to share with you in the coming weeks. From learning about the Black Death to joining Ben on a pilgrimage to a local holy well, we have some fascinating journeys ahead. Until then, happy galloping!
