Neigh-sayers will tell you that 1375 wasn’t a year for exciting developments in the equine world, but don't let them dampen your spirit! As a spirited grey mare born in Hayfield near Aberdeen, I can tell you that 1375 was a year bursting with life and movement, brimming with new possibilities. It was the year we continued to shape the very fabric of history.
Of course, we, horses, don’t get to pen our own histories – though, if you asked me, I’d have a tale or two to tell, my hooves dancing across battlefields and rolling hills, my breath misting the air with stories untold. But alas, history, like my oats in winter, is rationed by human hands. They scribble it all down – those humans – leaving out much of the "how" and "why" of what was really happening.
This is where I, Emma, step in – a humble mare with a passion for the past, a keen eye for the minutiae of history, and, let’s be honest, a love for telling a good tale! And with EquiWorld, a site bursting with equine wisdom and insights, I'm taking the reins (pardon the pun!) to bring you the real story, the hooves on the ground view, of what it was like to be a horse in 1375.
Let's rewind the clock.
This year, the year of my twentieth summer, the great, expansive world was bustling with activity. I couldn’t travel beyond the farm and village that was my life, but every rider, every traveller who crossed my path brought snippets of distant news. There were murmurs of kings and queens, their wars and truces, of crusades and trade, and of course, of the plague, that grim shadow that hung over much of Europe.
Despite all the tumult, however, it was a time of profound peace for horses in Scotland. The wars were mostly fought far away, across the seas in distant lands. The only threats we encountered were the occasional bandit or a frightful storm.
On my farm, a haven nestled amidst rolling green hills and craggy rocks, we, the horses, worked in rhythm with the land and the seasons.
The stronger stallions, they hauled the plows, the mighty grey Faye my sire being the leader of the team. The sturdier mares, like myself, were entrusted with carrying burdens – timber, supplies, grain, and often, families with all their worldly possessions as they journeyed between distant towns and villages.
Oh, those journeys! Across meadows that turned golden in the sun and through forests that hushed their ancient secrets, we traveled. My hooves kicked up dust on dusty roads, and my coat gathered dew drops like silver coins in the morning.
The scent of the wild thyme and lavender that carpeted the meadows remained forever etched in my nostrils. It was the most pleasant scent imaginable, second only to freshly mown hay in the summer!
There were times when the riders would sing along with the wind, telling stories of distant battles and kings, or the humorous tales of travellers who’d come across creatures both strange and wonderful – like wolves with eyes as blue as the sky, and fish that sang on the seashore!
It’s true that life wasn't all poetry and meadows, though. There were storms that whipped our manes into frantic tangles, nights under open skies, and days where our bodies ached from the heavy loads.
Still, the joy of movement kept us going – the freedom of the road, the sound of wind through our manes, the steady beat of our hooves on the path towards an uncertain destination, it kept our hearts brimming with purpose and resilience.
We were, after all, the lifeblood of travel, the very force that moved the pulse of the world. Without us, there would be no news carried, no goods exchanged, and no journeys taken.
Across the sea, however, the year 1375 saw horses take a prominent role on a much larger scale.
In France, amidst the chaotic clash of battlefields, French and English soldiers rode their powerful warhorses, their thunderous charges deciding the fate of nations.
These were no ordinary horses, but noble steeds, specially bred and trained for warfare, and even for tournament, each with a coat of armour gleaming under the sun. They had a strength and power that sent a thrill through even the most seasoned knight.
And on the steppes of Central Asia, nomadic horsemen, fearless riders with bows strung across their shoulders and fierce faces hardened by the winds of the steppes, roamed across lands where they carved their way through history.
From the Mongol heartland to the far reaches of Persia and India, these mighty riders and their swift horses spread the stories of a world both grand and chaotic.
The sound of hooves on hard-packed soil, the whimpers of wounded warriors, and the cry of the war trumpets all contributed to the grand orchestra of 1375, a year where horses were not just transport but partners in conflict.
Though the warhorses’ lives were shrouded in hardship, there was also a sense of purpose in them. For them, every battle was a testament to their bravery, a tribute to their courage, and a dance with death itself. They were symbols of strength and valor, and as I, Emma, stood watching, I could not but admire their strength.
Closer to home, the world was also experiencing changes. The year 1375 saw the birth of the famous Arabian stallion known as Suleyman al-Bahr - a magnificent specimen with starry eyes and a fiery temperament, his presence making ripples in the horse world even now.
His legacy would shape horse breeding and the horse world for generations to come. Though I haven’t seen him, even from afar, every traveler's tales described his incredible beauty, his graceful movements, and his temperament as hot as the desert sun.
He was bred in the lands of the Bedouins, known for their reverence and understanding of horses, a deep connection they hold with the land and their horses that dates back to ancient times. They considered the horse not just a steed but a partner, a companion, a symbol of freedom, and a force of nature that embodies the untamed spirit of the desert itself.
In 1375, their tradition and their horses were changing the way the world thought of equines. They were not simply working animals or beasts of burden.
They were art in motion, a testament to nature’s boundless beauty and the human’s ability to connect and understand their equine counterparts. They were living, breathing metaphors of strength, resilience, and freedom, which are qualities humans will always yearn for.
Suleyman al-Bahr’s lineage lives on in modern breeds today, and we, horses, continue to capture the hearts of humankind through the strength of our connection.
It’s a story, my friends, that continues to unfold – a history woven from sweat, passion, loyalty, and courage, and a testament to the beautiful relationship we, horses, share with our human companions.
In my humble corner of the world, though far from these bustling and glorious centers, I too played my own part in history.
With every journey, I bore witness to the joys and burdens of life in the world beyond Hayfield. Each rider and traveller I met was a story waiting to be unfurled, each one a tapestry of adventures waiting to be revealed.
With every hoofbeat, we horses contributed to the rhythm of the world, a force inseparable from humanity, a presence carved into the landscape of history itself.
This is our legacy – the legacy of the horse, one that stretches back beyond human memory.
And even now, though my legs may grow weary with age, my heart still thrums with the pulse of the world – a world that has changed tremendously but still beats in harmony with the thump, thump, thump of my hooves on the earth.
It's a story I intend to continue to tell, one hoof-beat at a time, as we horses make our mark, not just on the landscape, but in the very heart of humanity.
Till next time,
Emma, from Hayfield
