"Aye, lads and lassies, it's Emma here, penning another entry for my little corner of EquiWorld! I've got my head down, munching on some oats as I do, thinking about the grand year of 1513 and what it meant for horses like us, and I reckon I have a wee bit of history for you."
I woke up that fine spring morning to the scent of hay and the cheerful sound of the farm rooster crowing. A lovely morning, with the sunrise painting the sky with a wash of gold, and a gentle breeze rustling through the barley fields. Like every other morning in our little corner of the world, Hayfield near Aberdeen, the scent of peat smoke filled the air, but on this particular day, something was different.
There was a sense of hushed excitement in the air. I overheard the farmhands whisperin’ about the King’s proclamation, about how the English King, Henry the Eighth, was planning to cross the border with a grand army. Apparently, he’d sent word to King James, saying he wanted to make Scotland his own! You see, even us horses have to stay up-to-date on what’s going on!
My own family – a wee bit of history for you, I come from a line of stalwart draught horses, and they say my great-grandfather served in the Napoleonic Wars, can you imagine! – weren’t terribly fazed by the talk. We knew we’d be expected to work hard, as always, to prepare for any eventualities. The sturdy farm hands, as they said themselves, had to prepare the fields, plough the land, and build fortifications - and we’d be pulling the ploughs and the carts. I felt proud of that.
After a breakfast of oats and a hearty water trough, the men led us into the fields, the plough was hitched, and we started to work. The smell of the fresh soil was fantastic - almost like smelling my mother's coat on a calm, spring evening. It always invigorates me and reminded me how closely tied we were to the rhythm of life on the farm. Every single thing depended on our hard work.
Of course, with all this talk of invasion, the whispers grew into shouts, and before we knew it, we found ourselves on the brink of war. There were so many men, armed and ready for battle! The countryside felt alive with the clanging of armour, the sound of horses hooves beating a rhythm on the muddy roads, the excited and scared whispers of the soldiers, and even a touch of fear in the air. It was as if all the earth trembled in anticipation.
My farm family was called upon to transport supplies to the soldiers who stood guard at the Border, and let me tell you, it was an adventure! All those shiny, powerful knights, a mix of Scots and men in fancy coats with those feathered caps (French knights, if I remember rightly), we pulled wagons filled with provisions and stood among the massive horses belonging to the army. We didn’t understand their words but sensed a nervous tension that hummed like a bees’ hive on a sunny day.
The big, imposing men on those big powerful war horses seemed nervous but full of a wild courage. Their massive steeds, those towering monsters, almost as tall as some of the farmhouses! Their massive chests, long powerful legs and wild eyes seemed almost mythical in their fierceness, they certainly didn’t look as calm as our workaday horses, used to pulling ploughs. It was thrilling, even frightening at times. The whole world seemed in motion and in such constant movement it gave my grey coat shivers just watching!
Oh! And talking of fear… do you know what I realised then? That even war horses have a tender side! Some of them were quite nervous! You’d think they were used to the commotion and chaos of battles, yet when I saw a few war steeds spooked by the clang of an arrow from the enemy, they reared up in a frenzy, their riders swearing in foreign tongues, trying to calm their steeds with forceful hands on the reins. There was more to them than just muscles and power, it turned out. They felt fear just like we did! It made me feel a little closer to them and much less like a humble plough horse.
Then came the battle, an unforgettable clash of steel at the Battle of Flodden. We didn't go into the battle – a shame for a mare of my lineage – but we waited for the fighting to end, feeling the air crackle with anticipation and dread, as we felt the rumble and the clatter of the fighting through our hooves!
When the battle finally ended, and the dust settled, a cloud of gloom descended over us. It turned out King James had died in battle. There was sorrow everywhere you went. I heard a lament from a woman as she carried a blanket filled with wounded, a mix of English and Scots soldiers, so very much the same! She spoke of brave young men fallen, and mourned their lost lives. The fields ran red with the blood of our men! As I witnessed this sorrowful scene, I wondered why humans had such an eagerness for this awful conflict? Such unnecessary death and sorrow!
Now, you may ask, “But what about horses, Emma?” Well, they suffered their share. Sadly, many fell, mortally wounded on the battlefield. Some got so frightened during the battle they broke their bonds and galloped across the country with such terror that the whole ground trembled as if the earth was in shock from the horrific violence. It was terrible! A terrible price for humans' power and their pride.
The battle of Flodden was, I understand, the last major clash in England and Scotland for nearly 200 years, and it brought peace. I am not sure peace is such a fine thing. When there is no battle, I often find work less exciting than when there are lots of soldiers to move and feed. In many ways it was a time of deep and terrible sadness, and it showed just how close horses and humans were. We stood side-by-side, sharing the burden, both facing peril and both risking death for our cause.
But for all that happened, the year 1513 had one significant thing to do for me - the young Earl of Mar (who rode into battle that day) decided he liked my sturdy, reliable build, and asked if he could have me. We worked for his pleasure and enjoyment, a welcome respite after that battle! The man treated me very well. He wasn't quite the man I’d imagined before, when he sat astride a fierce stallion. I felt a warmth towards him. We spent our days riding through forests and open fields, and exploring new landscapes across the beautiful highlands! We felt truly at ease! There is nothing more exquisite than the sense of being at one with your rider, both feeling the rush of freedom, the wind on our faces and the warmth of the Scottish sun on our coats!
And, in this quieter period of peace, my grey coat developed that beautiful shine it is known for. It seemed the quiet peace, the happy adventures and the love of our new Master, made my coat sparkle even brighter, giving me that “silver grey” that the Earl himself was proud of! In many ways, I see him not only as a rider, but as a friend. He tells me interesting stories about the history of horses too – about ancient horses, wild horses, and horses from distant lands, which I share with you. He is such an educated man - I learn something new each day.
Yes, even in times of turmoil and wars, horses were part of it, feeling everything alongside men, women, and their animals! 1513 marked a time of change, a period where the horses were seen as a necessity for warfare, transport, and as a loyal companion to humans! But then again, weren't they always? Even in those quieter days back on the farm, I understood this truth - they needed us as much as we needed them. We were an intrinsic part of their lives, working together, side-by-side, each sharing the rhythm of life, pulling carts, pulling ploughs, fighting wars or simply standing side-by-side in the stable, enjoying our simple pleasure of being horses together.
And now, dear friends, as I watch the moon paint the fields in silver light, I bid you goodnight and sign off. Perhaps next time, I will tell you about the mighty shires, those incredible creatures! Until next time, take care!
Emma.
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