"A Highland Lass Looks Back"
Greetings, fellow equines, and welcome to my corner of the internet! I’m Emma, a grey mare, proud daughter of Hayfield near Aberdeen, and my mission here is to explore the wondrous world of horses through the lens of history.
Today, I’m looking back on 1474, a year full of action and intrigue! For those of you who have no idea what we're doing in this time period, 1474 AD is during a period we now call the Late Middle Ages - not too terribly far from when we transitioned from the Knights on their warhorses and moved on to more powerful weapons.
So where does my own story begin? In this very year of 1474, I was just a wee foal, barely three weeks old. Remember those warm summer days with a gentle breeze, a perfect time for a filly to be born? Mother had been so patient, but she was also rather fractious after all this time in labour. She’d chosen a soft patch of ground by the loch and delivered me with all the calm, strength, and gentleness I could ever need. Dad was right there of course, the proud stallion he is. They called him Storm, and he was indeed a handsome grey with a white streak running through his mane, which made him almost a mirror image of me when I got my first year under my belt. He would look at me and give me such a proud nicker as if to say “Good Girl” which always filled me with joy.
Our little village of Hayfield in Scotland wasn't much - just a few thatched cottages with smoke billowing from chimneys. There were also stables where horses like us would be kept overnight during the harsh winter months or during a violent storm, not that there was much of either this year in the Highlands.
My mother worked the land, pulling a plough behind the local farmer’s cart. Strong, reliable, always with that calm and steadfast air, my Mum. Me, however, being so young, my main job was to nap and explore the countryside with the other foals. Every day was a journey of discovery - chasing butterflies in meadows of wildflowers, sniffing out hidden secrets amongst the mossy banks, and taking long gallops through the purple heather-clad hills. I learnt how to do it all from the older colts. You know, the wild boys with all their energy that often needed a bit of a reining in - like young Duncan! They taught me how to find the tastiest grasses and how to be careful about foraging for berries – even if I couldn’t help nibbling at them! It is so exciting and there is always something to learn, or at least there was back in 1474!
Now, let’s move to the bigger picture, the history of horses beyond our Hayfield hills.
In 1474, King Edward IV was on the English throne. But just down the road, and very close to Scotland's borders, the King's uncle, Richard of York (later Richard III), was busy gathering his strength in readiness for his campaign to seize the throne, using many men on horseback, their horses were mostly war horses that were sturdy and trained for war. It was certainly not a safe time for our kind to be near that side of the border. The sound of trumpets and clanging of weapons echoed across the countryside, carrying the rumour of a brewing battle between these rivals, the "War of the Roses" we now call it.
On a brighter note, though, across the vast ocean, there was an influx of Spanish horses arriving at various ports in Britain. Imagine the excitement at the arrival of these horses that had journeyed so far across the seas to Britain! These horses are a particular type called the “Jennets” – slender but surprisingly powerful and incredibly beautiful, you must see one to understand. You have to love the horses of Spain with their lovely colour, even though I am a very grey mare, and the stories about them bring me joy. It is through these horses that we’ve gotten horses that have a more graceful nature. A good part of why they are becoming so famous. There were already Spanish stallions on English soil – the most notable being that of “The White Lion”. Many of the best war horses were coming in from the south through the channel, especially the “Spanish” breed – not actual Spanish but just the way they were seen then. All thanks to our English monarch who enjoyed the elegance and speed that these steeds brought to battle.
More than a warhorse:
Back in the countryside, things were a lot calmer, thankfully. While the kings and princes were out there fighting wars with their steeds, I, along with many of my horse friends, played a more mundane yet important role in people’s everyday lives. There was much farming to be done.
We pulled carts, carried heavy sacks of grain, hauled wagons laden with fresh-cut timber, helped to plough the fields for new crops, and we played an integral role in bringing food and goods to local markets and trading centres, which in our case meant all the way down to Aberdeen. Our sturdy bodies and powerful limbs were essential for many farming practices – a way of life in that time. Our hooves beat upon the cobblestone streets of small market towns across the land, taking folks to churches for Sunday services and occasionally fetching the doctor for urgent medical emergencies, if our rider was quick. Our presence helped forge local communities and brought about essential goods and services, a role we continued for many years after that time.
Although some of the battles happened fairly close to Hayfield in the midlands, a battle actually took place a short distance away near Loch Aberdeens. In 1474, James III, the King of Scots, marched his troops toward the area, clashing with a group of rebellious Scots nobles, and some accounts of the battle depict soldiers, mostly knights, astride sturdy war horses and steeds of many varieties – some, even some of our famous “Jennit” breed.
However, here at Hayfield, in 1474, the drama remained at a safe distance from us. Life carried on in its steady rhythm - days filled with the familiar routines of the working horse: hauling, pulling, and carrying. And the occasional nap in a meadow – an extra nap was never turned down.
Despite the turbulent world outside, the quiet contentment of the countryside was what shaped my younger years in this year of 1474. My days were filled with the soft caress of the Highland breeze, the gentle murmur of the loch nearby, the crunch of my hooves on dew-kissed grass, the comforting companionship of my mother, and the warmth of the sun as I dreamt of adventures and journeys yet to come.
As for me, that's all from the year 1474, at least for now, stay tuned, because I will be posting more very soon.
