A grey draught horse with a flowing white mane and tail
Hello there, lovely equines! Emma here, writing to you from my humble home in Hayfield, near Aberdeen. This is my blog, and today I’m going to be writing about the year 1381 - a truly extraordinary time for our equine brethren. Now, before you get all antsy thinking I'm going to spout off about politics, don’t worry! This is not a war blog, but a history blog, where we look at what was happening in our horsey world back then. Let’s take a wander down memory lane, shall we?
So, the year is 1381. As I mentioned, I am living near Aberdeen. My job is that of a typical, hardworking farm horse. My life consists of working the land. It’s hard work, of course. It always has been. We horses have long played a crucial role in this world, from working the land and transporting goods to hauling heavy burdens and, well, doing pretty much whatever the humans needed of us!
Life for my kind is not always easy, but I have it pretty good. I am one of six, with a stable full of mates and we have an exceptional master, one who knows our value and treats us well.
Our stable is at the edge of a small village and our lives revolve around the needs of the locals. There are a fair few working farms around us. This makes for a great variety of tasks for us. One day we’re ploughing fields and the next, we are delivering supplies to the mill. In between, there is the usual - helping to harvest crops, pulling wagons of produce to market and ferrying people around the local area. We even make regular journeys into Aberdeen to deliver the farm’s produce, which means a little time out on the open road – not the slow pace of our village roads - but exciting, fast work and the opportunity to stretch our legs!
In the heart of 1381, I was only three years old and therefore pretty new to this life. I was big for my age, though, already showing potential for strong work. My master decided he needed my strength and that summer I was given the challenging task of helping with the barley harvest. I remember my pride as I first learned the routine. Everything was new. My master guided me, but gradually, I learned the rhythm of loading and unloading the wagon.
However, our quiet rural life had a knock-on effect of this major, albeit scary and dramatic event: the Peasants' Revolt.
The peasants (and those working the land like us horses) were suffering. Food prices had shot up and everything was harder than ever, due to the Plague. The population had decreased, and those left were working hard. We horses worked extra hard as more and more land needed tilling, and the transportation of food to local villages became more and more demanding. There were also rumours circulating about a massive new 'Tax’ on people owning more than 20 sheep. This didn’t sit well, not one little bit! The locals complained loudly in the pub and even a petition was sent to King Richard II, demanding an end to this so-called Poll Tax and a reduction in prices of necessities. This all seemed so far away. I heard snippets from the master in his long conversations with other farmers in the pub. All I understood was the rumblings, which was strange and somewhat worrying, in that distant, big, far away world.
Everything then just got a bit bonkers, literally within days. The people rebelled and the revolt went from being a quiet gripe to becoming a full-blown revolution. The rebels marched on London. They were marching to fight the injustice! And with their leader, the blacksmith called Wat Tyler, they marched for reform.
People talked excitedly, their whispers reaching us horses. What we did know, however, is that in London, there was a huge battle! It wasn't easy for us horses to hear what was happening there. I'm no magpie or bird - you know I couldn’t fly and look down into the city and witness what was unfolding. The rebels went on a rampage; churches and buildings burned and many of the royal officials were killed. King Richard had ordered an army to crush the rebellion and Wat Tyler had been killed. And then, after several more days, it just seemed as though all of the chaos was over. But everything was definitely different afterwards.
It's quite clear the events of that summer were an attempt to change the way that things were. And this change in England’s ruling laws did affect things where we horses were concerned.
For one thing, new regulations were enforced concerning the buying and selling of horses. These laws were aimed at ensuring fairness for both sellers and buyers of horses. I have to say, from my own experience, the impact on horse trading in the north was much quieter than you might think.
Another law was passed relating to horse theft. Yes, you’ve heard that right - people stealing horses. I've seen some mean humans in my day but I still cannot comprehend stealing a horse, as though they were inanimate things! As you may know, in our own little world, we have strong social ties and horses who belong to certain stables, are known by every other horse in that village, and if a horse is missing, its whole ‘family’ knows and it’s a very sad thing. But to steal from stables! I just cannot wrap my head around this! It meant that if you were caught stealing horses or any farm equipment, the consequences would be severe.
Now you may well wonder if all of these events - the revolt, the laws, the death, and all the shouting, were particularly relevant to our lives in Hayfield. And my dear, lovely friends - let me be quite frank with you - they weren’t, really. Here in the north of Scotland, where the farmers were less affected than the rest of England by the changes and pressures of the revolt, life seemed to be just the same - lots of hard work but good living conditions, a bit of freedom for the horses and regular food - the usual life! It was actually nice to just be away from all the chaos, knowing our food was coming in and that things were stable. We still heard tales, gossip, and rumblings from people travelling through - so that little bit of ‘real world’ information about events reached our quiet village.
I was three. I worked hard, I got my feed. What more could I ask? I've often thought since those days, 'how often are things completely settled and settled right, anyway? ’
It is strange to think now, but this year marked a pivotal moment in English history. And what was more strange, was the fact that I was a young, strong mare in a small, far away place, yet it felt like things would just continue - much as they always had. We horses knew nothing about ‘the bigger picture.’ What I did know was that work would always be work, and the world, and even life on a Scottish farm, was full of surprises.
Emma
(P.S - do send your stories of 1381 and the other years from history to Equiworld!)
