Greetings, fellow equines and horse lovers! Emma here, your friendly neighbourhood grey mare from Hayfield near Aberdeen. It’s been a busy year, 1360, and I've got plenty of stories to tell! As always, my trusty hooves tap out the latest equine happenings from around the kingdom and beyond.
Let me take you back to springtime, when the air held a crispness that hinted at a blossoming year. The snow had finally melted, leaving fields that were greening up beautifully. My human, John, always the kind and gentle soul, worked hard to prepare our fields, ensuring there was ample fresh hay and oats to fill our bellies. You know, nothing tastes quite like the first bite of spring hay!
But this year, something felt different. There was a buzz, a nervous anticipation that hummed through the air, not unlike the bees that flitted through the blossoms of our apple trees. I soon learned it was the arrival of knights and their noble steeds that caused this unrest. King David II, our brave ruler, had announced a grand tournament to be held at Stirling. Now, Stirling, as you know, is a good three days' journey from Hayfield, and the entire town was in a tizzy of preparation. Every able-bodied man, woman, and horse was helping. My younger cousin, Liam, was all a-flutter with excitement - he was a young stallion, eager for adventure.
I, on the other hand, being the elder and wiser (well, as wise as a 20-year-old grey mare can be!) remained calm. We weren't quite up to knighting standards - we're working horses, after all, meant for carting, ploughing, and pulling hefty wagons. I'm sturdy and strong, you see, with a thick grey coat and a tail that trails almost to the ground. You could say I'm quite distinguished in my own way!
Even though the tournament wasn't for us, we couldn't help but be swept up in the energy. Every village, every farm, even every blacksmith, contributed to the event, creating an atmosphere unlike any I had witnessed before. We worked long hours, hauling hay and supplies for the knights and their families who would be attending. It was tiring work, but the atmosphere kept my spirits high.
The excitement reached its peak when the tournament itself began. Knights from all across the land gathered in their shining armour, each mounted on their own majestic steeds, ready to joust and display their skills. We stood by as part of the larger workhorse contingent, witnessing the grandeur and pomp of the tournament. Liam, bless his soul, was practically bouncing out of his hooves, so taken by the noble steeds, prancing and charging in their shiny armour. He had stars in his eyes and longed to be one of them. But even with my calm nature, I felt a tinge of wistfulness as I observed those gallant riders. There's just something about a well-trained knight and a magnificent steed that inspires awe.
The highlight of the entire event, however, came when King David himself made his entrance. He arrived riding a chestnut mare with a star on her forehead, the epitome of grace and power. The crowds cheered and shouted his name as he galloped into the arena, accompanied by a symphony of horns and drums.
I tell you, fellow equines, that was truly a sight to behold. There was so much excitement and pride, and you could practically taste the sense of unity and patriotism that hung heavy in the air. It made me incredibly proud to be part of this community, to play a role, even in a small way, in such an event.
As the tournament ended, I couldn't help but be struck by how well the knights and their horses worked together, forming a truly inspiring partnership. The riders had clearly devoted themselves to training, ensuring their steeds responded to the slightest twitch of their reins and were prepared to perform the most challenging maneuvers.
But as much as the spectacle enthralled me, there's nothing like returning home, back to the familiar comfort of our stable, to the warmth of John's smile, and the gentle feel of the hay bedding under my legs. Life wasn't all knights and tournaments, you see. We had to keep our heads down and keep on going. There were harvests to tend to, winter preparations to make, and carts full of goods to pull to market in Aberdeen.
As the summer unfolded, Hayfield burst with life. The weather was warm and sunny, making the fields lush and vibrant. This meant endless hours of work for us working horses. We ploughed fields for new crops, pulled hay wagons back and forth, and transported everything from wheat to oats to timber across the countryside.
John always ensured we had ample water and delicious meals. Even after long days, he would carefully tend to my hooves, grooming me with a soft brush. A true gentleman, my human is, always careful and loving with his horses. You can imagine the pride I felt carrying his burdens! It is a good life, a fulfilling one. I find true contentment in my work and the routine of life at Hayfield.
And yet, even with my day-to-day routines, I kept my ear to the ground. I always love a good bit of gossip! And gossip is a thing that always happens amongst the horses, you see. It travels with the wind and is shared with the passing caravans, whispered through fences, and carried on the breath of the birds.
It seems as though a new illness has plagued our beloved country this year - the Black Death, they call it. A horrific disease they say, brought from foreign lands. Thankfully, it hasn’t reached our quiet corner of Hayfield. The whole country seems to hold its breath, but we here at Hayfield are blessed. My friends on the road told stories of village life grinding to a halt, of deserted markets, and empty roads, as people cowered in their homes. But thankfully, those horrors seemed a long way away.
But despite the fear surrounding the Black Death, our lives in Hayfield moved on. The harvests were bountiful, the fields lush and verdant, the weather sunny. And throughout this busy year, there were glimpses of happiness.
The Highland Games, an event where men from across the region gather to test their strength, stamina, and skill, took place this summer, near our fields. These are always lively celebrations, bursting with music, food, and the joy of good-natured rivalry. They take place annually in many parts of the country and celebrate the history and heritage of the land. It was there, amongst the cheering crowds, where I first saw him - Duncan. He was a stunning chestnut stallion with a proud mane, and a coat the colour of burnished copper.
The moment he laid his eyes on me, it was like something clicked. It wasn't a galloping, full-blown romance; rather, it was something gentler, like the rustling of autumn leaves or the calming rhythm of a flowing river. He'd been watching me from a distance for weeks, and we found ourselves catching each other's eye across the fields. His human was a young blacksmith, strong and quiet, with a smile that lit up his eyes. The kind of man that makes a horse feel safe and protected. I felt, perhaps for the first time in my life, a flicker of something more than just the companionship we share with John. Maybe, I mused, I'd finally found a true friend in a stallion. A friend that I could spend the rest of my days with, walking hand in hoof, through sunlit meadows and beneath moonlit skies.
We'll see, of course. The winter has barely begun, and I know what the cold weather brings: the necessity of more work, extra hay to make, and days filled with pulling sleighs through snow and ice. I look forward to sharing stories of our experiences with you, dear friends, come spring. For now, though, it's time to head to my bed of straw and snuggle down for a restful night. Until next time!
Emma, the Grey Mare.
