Hello fellow equines, and welcome to another installment of Emma's Equine Adventures! This week, we're going to delve into the fascinating year of 1442, a time of great change and growth, not just for us horses, but for the humans as well!
You see, my lovely readers, it was back in the days when I, a majestic grey mare with a mane and tail like spun snow, was just a young thing. Born and raised in the bustling village of Hayfield, just outside the bustling city of Aberdeen in bonnie Scotland, I have memories stretching back years! Today, though, I’ll be sharing a glimpse of that exciting 1442. It was a year of strong bonds and heavy work, a time when horses like myself were essential partners in forging human progress.
The weather was as unpredictable as always that year. Spring saw bursts of sun and blooming gorse, the sweet scent of wild thyme mingling with the damp earth after a downpour. We were enjoying a spell of particularly fine weather; lush grass for grazing and warm, bright sunshine, which even as a draught horse, I revelled in.
Our mornings began, as they always do, with the first hint of sunrise, a symphony of clucking hens and the rumbling of a wagon laden with oats, being prepared for its journey to the nearby market. This meant a good brushing, a thorough cleaning of our hooves and of course, our well-deserved morning oats, eaten in the companionship of the other horses, their sleek coats catching the first rays of dawn.
Now, you’ve all heard of the mighty warhorses of yore, those steeds of chivalry and daring deeds. While I, with my solid build and calm temperament, wasn't one of them, I was still an integral part of society, carrying my share of the weight. The people of the time relied on us horses for almost everything, from carrying heavy goods, tilling the soil, to pulling those very carts that brought them food and supplies from afar.
In 1442, I remember, my role in our local community was that of a workhorse, assisting the farmers in Hayfield to till the fields and gather their produce. It was tough, but satisfying work. Imagine the feeling of moving the rich soil beneath you, a feeling of power as your muscles strain and the scent of freshly turned earth fills the air. It was an act of creation, making the land fertile for the coming harvest. We were the lifeblood of the community.
Of course, even with hard work and strong hooves, we still yearned for moments of freedom, for that sense of open space that so often accompanies wild horses, prancing across rolling green fields, the wind rippling through our manes. As a draught horse, such moments were rarer than a good summer day in Aberdeen!
And that brings us to something significant that happened in the world of horses that year. It was the same year the brave Scottish warrior Sir William Douglas died, the one who had inspired our Scottish horses for years, known for his fierce bravery. The entire nation was saddened by his passing, and of course, we mourned with them. Yet, it was a poignant moment for the entire nation; one of quiet remembrance and honouring a brave man.
And speaking of the wider world, it was a year full of important developments. In 1442, there was a strong wave of new ideas sweeping across Europe. People were becoming more interested in learning, studying and thinking, all while trying to understand the world around them. This had its own effect on horses too, because with a greater interest in exploration and trade, the demand for good steeds increased! More horses like me, and others like the sturdy, but kind, Clydesdale horses from the heart of Scotland were needed. We carried goods, moved supplies and people, forging connections that expanded beyond the village, the region and even the nation. It was, in essence, a glorious period of growth.
For us horses, 1442 brought about subtle yet important changes, not the grand, galloping events that make for a war horse’s story. Our life was an intricate tapestry of day to day activities. A small change that was quite impactful that year, you see, was a growing interest in horse breeding, especially the type that we, the heavy horses, represented. People recognised that strong, well-built horses like ourselves were the backbone of the working class, a vital part of society. This brought about better breeding practices, better food for growing colts and foals, and the dedication to improving the lives of horses all over. It was a shift from pure practicality to more humane treatment; even with work needing to be done, the need for our well-being and comfort started being realised.
In fact, it was during this year that I met a lovely, black stallion with a white blaze named Cedric. We had similar temperaments; calm, strong, hardworking and quiet but intelligent. Cedric, as it turned out, was also a farmer's horse, belonging to a nearby village, just a few miles from Hayfield. We met at the local markets, pulling carts laden with fruits, vegetables and cheeses. I was a little starstruck! He had a beautiful dark coat and a wonderfully gentle way of looking at you, even as you toiled together under the burning sun.
After that chance encounter at the market, Cedric and I were inseparable. Our shared days were filled with hard work, pulling our carts together, our strength a symphony of coordinated movement. As a team, we carried the burden, the produce and even the burdens of human woes on our broad backs. Yet, there were moments of quietude, when the horses were stabled and Cedric would rest his head against me, his black coat shining under the starlight. And for those rare times when we were freed, Cedric and I would often be allowed to graze on the green, rolling pastures that bordered the farm. It was freedom to roam, just a short walk away from home, yet with the satisfaction of a day’s work completed.
Even when our tasks took us away from the safety of our familiar stables, the world itself was full of life, sights, and sounds. We were more than just cogs in the human machinery; we were a part of a bustling world, one with all its colour and chaotic energy. We experienced this most dramatically, I have to tell you, when we carried the traveling merchants and traders through the city streets.
I vividly recall the noise! The clang of hammers, the chatter of townsfolk, the sound of blacksmith’s forges as they hammered red-hot iron into horseshoes and tools. Those bustling scenes in the busy markets were overwhelming for a young mare like myself! They brought out the wild horse inside of me. But once those were over, the calm contentment of the stable awaited us; with hay rustling, hooves tapping a familiar rhythm on the wooden floors and a sense of peace as I, and Cedric, settled into the embrace of slumber.
In many ways, 1442 wasn't that different from the years that preceded and succeeded it. Horses were still vital to human survival and prosperity, but it was during this very year that the quiet change, the dawning of a new understanding began to sweep across the lands.
As the twilight hours deepened into night, I often gazed at the night sky, speckled with countless stars. While a human child might have dreamt of adventurous journeys and fantastical beasts, I dreamed of running free on open pastures, of grasslands bathed in moonlight, a symphony of crickets and frogs beneath my hooves. In the depths of the dark, I sometimes felt an ancient instinct awaken within me; an instinct for freedom that stretched beyond the stable, the farm and even my friendship with Cedric. But I’d pull myself back from that thought, a shiver going through my sleek grey coat and settle myself again for slumber, safe and secure with Cedric's warm body pressed close against me.
It was 1442, a year of quiet transition, one of strong bonds and the quiet understanding between horses and humans. A year of simple living and hardworking days. The world may have been bustling with change around me, but in Hayfield, with Cedric and the other horses, it was the same old rhythm, one I knew and appreciated. The quiet moments between my day, the rhythmic beat of my heart as the darkness settled, was as much a part of life as the clanging of the blacksmith's hammer in the bustling city market. And that, my equine friends, is what I hold closest, that familiar routine of the everyday, one where I knew my place, one I played with grace and quiet dedication.
That is what we are, my dear friends. Simple, enduring, a testament to resilience, strong of body and will, an inextricable part of the human journey, not in grand narratives of war and courage but in quiet perseverance. We are the draught horses, the sturdy workhorses, the backbone of an era and we’re still here. So, for now, my friends, as you trot back into the embrace of your own quiet stables, do know, your lives and the contributions you make every single day, however mundane they may seem, are no less remarkable, no less magnificent, no less important.
Stay safe and healthy, fellow equines, and I’ll be back again next week, with yet another tale from Emma's Equine Adventures!
