Hello, my dearest readers! It's Emma here, a dapple grey mare from the charming little village of Hayfield, just outside of Aberdeen. The year is 1593, and the spring air is positively buzzing with the thrill of new life! The lambs are frolicking in the fields, the swallows have returned to build their nests under the eaves of the stables, and the horses are all brimming with the energy of a brand new season.
Oh, the joy of springtime! It’s the time when even a hard-working mare like me can't help but indulge in a little lightheartedness. The fields are full of succulent, fresh grass, and the wind carries the scent of blooming wildflowers.
As you know, I'm a draught horse - my ancestors were bred to be powerful, to pull the heavy ploughs across the fields, to carry great loads for miles, to make the world a more efficient place. But don't be fooled by my strong build and sturdy gait! My heart yearns for more than just hauling goods - I long for adventures, for galloping through sun-drenched meadows, for feeling the wind whip through my mane and tail.
And while I haven’t been on an epic journey across the country (not yet!), 1593 has been a year full of surprising changes and intriguing developments.
You see, things are in a bit of a state of flux this year. Queen Mary, who rules these Scottish lands, is embroiled in a power struggle with her cousin, King James, over who will succeed the English queen, Elizabeth, to the throne. There’s a constant sense of uncertainty, which I think the horses are acutely aware of.
For example, just a couple of months ago, a rather grand, dark-bay stallion named Chester was bought from a noble family in London. He arrived with an aura of grandeur, a noble stride and a mane that cascaded to the ground. He boasted stories of being a King's favourite - a horse used to pageantry, grand processions, and the rush of royalty.
Chester was quickly made part of the Queen’s royal stable. This was no ordinary purchase - he had a vital part to play in the royal scheme of things. See, his presence was part of a delicate balancing act - to create a sense of powerful stability, a sense that Mary had royal allies and was poised to rule, just like her illustrious cousin in London.
Chester’s arrival is just one sign of change and intrigue. These times, you see, are far more exciting than our quiet days out in the fields of Hayfield. I see glimpses of how these shifts of power affect the world around me – for example, the farmers seem preoccupied and tense. They keep a careful watch on the news and their conversation, full of murmurs about King James' intentions. Even my fellow horses in the village seem to feel a kind of subtle unrest, which sometimes translates into anxious pacing in their stalls.
Despite all the excitement, the village of Hayfield is, thankfully, still my little slice of tranquility. I'm a hard worker, of course. Pulling the cart to market, or hauling bales of hay for the winter, or even carrying riders through the rugged landscape – these are the things I enjoy. It's a fulfilling life, where the sun shines warm on my back as I plough through the fields. I wouldn't have it any other way.
But even in my work-a-day routine, there’s an added excitement now. The other day, while I was resting in the field with a herd of sheep (always my favourite kind of company!), a young gentleman, barely a man, was working the fields next to me. He talked of horses and races. And he spoke with an urgency that was quite new, telling us of horses bred with uncommon speed, of races where humans were pitted against humans, not just man against beast.
This “racing,” as they called it, is a new phenomenon in these parts. It has caught fire with a certain kind of young man. They yearn to train horses for speed, to harness their power for something more thrilling than farming, to take a chance in the world.
These racing events, these grand duels between animals, have a certain draw to them, don't you think? The challenge, the anticipation, the sense of speed and prowess that is unique to the equine breed. To feel that fierce sense of freedom, that absolute connection to raw power as you charge through a field, with your human partner holding tight! The thrill!
These race events are fascinating – something different, new.
One of the villagers, a quiet fellow with hands as strong as oak, mentioned another thrilling development this year: the King, James, is holding a grand jousting tournament in the summer!
My heart leaps at that thought – knights in armour, clashing lances in the air, riders mounted on magnificent chargers – the pure power and magnificence of it all.
The joust is a fascinating spectacle. A display of courage, skill, and the connection between rider and steed, as if it's all choreographed, a dance of death, a test of the heart.
I hear whispers of an even more daring feat that takes place during the joust – a "knight’s" fall – an unplanned tumble – an unexpected and unpremeditated incident - that involves the knights falling from their steeds with such a sudden crack that leaves the onlookers holding their breath…
This is indeed a year for thrills and spectacle. But it's also a year for caution, for we are navigating uncharted territories, not just with politics and warfare but in our own world. Horses like myself are being redefined, re-examined - no longer merely a tool for labor, but the subjects of a growing interest in their potential as athletes.
My heart leaps for excitement – we’ve found our new meaning! It's a glorious time to be a horse, my fellow equine companions. Even the quietest little mare, like myself, feels the thrilling currents of change swirling around us, a prelude to something unknown and exhilarating.
Stay tuned for more in my next post, where I'll talk about the jousting tournament and those daring, skilled knights!
Until then, Emma the dapple grey mare from Hayfield.
[Image of a beautiful dapple grey mare, standing in a field, bathed in warm sunshine. ]
