Neigh-sayers and Hayfields, 1585: A Year in the Life of a Draught Mare
Good morning, my dearest fellow equines! It’s Emma here, your average, every-day draught mare from Hayfield, near Aberdeen in Scotland. I might be a plain, grey filly, with a mane and tail as white as a freshly-fallen snowdrift, but even we common mares have tales to tell!
Today, I’m diving into my year – 1585. It's been a lively one, let me tell you!
I was born in this very same field, nestled beneath the breathtaking, snow-capped peaks of the Cairngorms. My parents were good, honest farm horses, hauling plows and carting crops. I grew fast and strong, as a proper draught horse should. My mother, Elsie, a bay with a fiery spirit, taught me all about the world: the feel of the plow on the earth, the comforting rumble of the cart, the quiet pride of hauling grain to the mill. She also shared all her juicy gossip, like how that dashing, chestnut stallion, Storm, was smitten with a young filly across the field. You'd be surprised how much drama happens in a single meadow!
But this year was special for a different reason – my owner, a kind gentleman called Thomas, had a bright idea.
He wasn’t satisfied with the old ways, the slow and arduous journeys with cart and plow. He’d heard tell of these wondrous things called “riding horses,” smaller, lighter steeds bred for speed.
Now, you might imagine that, being a draught mare, I’d snort at this whole riding business. I’m a sturdy creature, built for hauling, for pulling, for carrying the weight of the world, quite literally. But something in Thomas’s voice sparked a small curiosity within me. He spoke of knights and ladies, of dashing riders crossing vast landscapes in a whirlwind of hooves and dust. And, most importantly, he spoke of freedom, of soaring over hills and plains, a feeling I, a humble farm horse, had never known.
I couldn’t help but be intrigued.
He purchased a sleek black mare, with a coat as smooth as satin, and named her Duchess. This Duchess was like nothing I’d ever seen – full of fire and grace, built for agility, her every step a whirlwind of energy. Thomas began riding her, galloping across the fields with the wind in his hair, his eyes bright with joy. It looked…enchanting.
Seeing Thomas and Duchess riding inspired a little longing in me, a small whisper of wanting more than the routine of farm life. I still loved my daily routine, the comforting smell of the earth after rain, the companionship of my fellow field-mates. But something inside me yearned for that freedom, that thrill, that joy in motion I saw reflected in Duchess’s eyes.
One day, as Thomas was getting ready to ride, Duchess whinnied softly at me, her head tilted to the side. “Come, Emma,” she whispered, “He’s got extra saddles, maybe he’ll let you try.” I’d never seen a creature so confident in itself, so full of life and energy. But she was right.
Thomas looked surprised when Duchess nudged me forward, then a broad grin spread across his face. He put an old, dusty saddle onto me. “Alright then, you’ve got a spirit for adventure, eh, Emma?” He climbed up and we were off!
That day, I learned something new – a draught mare could also be a rider! It wasn’t easy, mind you. My bulk and the unaccustomed motion made me clumsy at first, but with Thomas's patient guidance and Duchess’s encouragement, I began to learn. The wind rushing in my mane, the world unfolding beneath me, felt exhilarating. I began to understand what all that “freedom” business was about.
Now, it’s important to remember, even in 1585, horses aren’t all about excitement and freedom. The vast majority of us toil hard – for farm life, for trade, for warfare. That same year, I helped haul the barley harvest to the local market, where traders from far and wide brought their wares – spices, cloth, and precious metals. It’s incredible the way humans rely on us to move the world, and we take pride in doing so. We are strong and steadfast, and the bond between us and humanity is deep-rooted, built on mutual respect and trust.
But those thrilling gallops with Thomas started to spread a rumour among us field horses: whispers of a grand, majestic tournament in the town of Aberdeen. Imagine: horses and their riders showcasing skill, grace, and strength before cheering crowds! A prestigious competition for the title of “Best Riding Horse” and its bragging rights!
Even us, humble farm horses, felt a flicker of pride in the knowledge that the winner of that competition was one of our own kind, even if a bit more fancy than the rest of us. It sparked dreams, ignited ambition, and fueled the dreams of every farm horse, to be free, to run fast, to win…and even, dare we dream, to perhaps, someday, become a riding horse ourselves!
The tournament was a grand event. People travelled from far and wide, their faces filled with wonder and awe as the riders galloped across the fields. It was truly a magical display of the unique bond between man and horse. I even witnessed something I’d never seen before: a rider named Robert from Dundee, riding a mighty dappled grey mare, executing a magnificent leap over a series of barrels – a feat we all marvelled at! Even Duchess, a natural-born jumper, stood with her head tilted in admiration.
Now, we all know about the War of the Three Kingdoms, currently happening between England, Scotland, and Ireland. But we horses are far removed from that drama, mostly just carrying supplies and moving people. We are not involved in that particular battle, thank goodness, although I’ve heard stories of battles past, where horses played a more direct role in war. I hope the conflict resolves peacefully and all those involved can return safely to their homes and loved ones.
As the sun set on 1585, I felt a contentedness I’d never felt before. The world was a vast and wondrous place, and I had been lucky enough to experience it through both work and play. Yes, even for a draught horse like me, there were more wonders to explore than just plowing the fields.
Now, my dear fellow equines, I'm signing off for tonight. But I will tell you, if there’s anything this old mare knows for sure, it’s this: No matter your breed or your role, there is always something beautiful, thrilling, and worthy of celebration about the spirit of the horse.
Until next time,
Emma
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