Hello there, fellow equines! Emma here, a twenty-year-old grey draught mare, with a snowy white mane and tail, from the beautiful, rolling countryside of Hayfield near Aberdeen. You might think my life is just about pulling heavy carts, but my dear friends, that is just a fraction of the story! I've always had a deep love for history, and in honour of our remarkable equine lineage, I thought I'd share a glimpse of what 1443 looked like through the eyes of a horse.
This year, as with any, is a flurry of activity, the gentle rhythm of the seasons carrying us forward. Spring, with its promise of fresh grass and playful foals, has just given way to the sun-drenched days of summer. The air is filled with the sweet scent of heather and the melodic calls of larks soaring above the fields. My heart swells with the sheer joy of existence, even as my strong legs haul sturdy carts and plows, contributing to the vibrant tapestry of life around me.
Speaking of carts, you know those magnificent, strong oak-framed behemoths, usually adorned with intricate carvings and painted in vibrant hues? Those are everywhere this year! Not just in Scotland, but across Europe. Why? Because 1443 marks a flourishing period of trade. Goods from the Orient, with their allure of silk and spices, travel west along trade routes, while the crafts of Europe journey east. These magnificent journeys rely heavily on our, the horses' strong backs.
Don't think, however, that our role is simply that of workhorses! We are, as ever, integral to war. Yes, the terrifying reality of war looms large in 1443. King Henry VI, still young and often seen as a bit naive by many, is attempting to maintain control over his kingdom, battling against the fiery rebellious spirit of his cousin, Richard, Duke of York. We, the brave horses, are at the heart of this tumultuous conflict, hauling knights, archers, and heavy cannons to battlefields, our powerful muscles proving vital in the push and pull of conflict.
Yet, beyond the grim backdrop of conflict, our noble race shines in the field of sport. A new craze sweeps through the noble classes this year, a peculiar sport called "jousting," where two men clad in elaborate armor, seated on their steeds, clash with their lances in a ballet of skill and bravery. Oh, how I love to watch! Though my old bones aren't up for that sort of spirited dash anymore, I admire the grace and power these skilled riders demonstrate. I even get a few "thank yous" for my part in training these knights. I believe it was me who first taught young Sir Thomas how to keep a cool head under pressure.
Now, to my beloved Hayfield. My life here is rich with the rhythms of a small, self-sufficient village. We, the horses, are vital members of the community. As the sun dips below the rolling hills, casting long shadows across the fields, we gather at the well. The villagers stop to rub our noses, share stories of the day, and express their heartfelt gratitude. Sometimes, they share their meals, a hunk of crusty bread or a steaming bowl of barley gruel. The love and connection we share with the community fills my heart with a warmth as comforting as the sun's embrace.
But this is not simply a world of labour, oh no! For every task, for every challenge we overcome, there is time for laughter and play. The younger horses, full of boundless energy, engage in spirited races across the rolling green fields, their snorts and whinnies ringing out in joyous laughter. As for me, well, I prefer a slower pace, relishing a good graze in the shade of an ancient oak tree, the cool breeze rustling through the leaves like whispers of ancient stories.
Every day holds a treasure. On quieter mornings, I stand sentinel in the stable, watching as the village awakes. The distant rooster crows, the smoky aroma of porridge rising from the kitchen chimneys, the rhythmic tap, tap, tap of the blacksmith’s hammer – it all fills me with a quiet sense of belonging. I am one with this land, with these people, and the beautiful creatures who share this planet with me.
And so, 1443 is not just another year, dear friends. It's a year woven into the very fabric of time, an epic chronicle of life and change. As I look to the heavens, at the stars shimmering above my hayfield home, I realise that we, the horses, are much more than mere beasts of burden. We are a powerful thread woven into the tapestry of humanity, and I, Emma, feel a deep sense of honour and privilege to be part of this ancient story.
Now, tell me, fellow equines, what has been your most memorable experience in 1443? I'm eager to hear all about it! And be sure to keep coming back to www.equiworld.org for more of my reflections and horse history explorations!
Yours in equitation, Emma
