Hello everyone, and welcome to my EquiWorld blog! It’s me, Emma, the Grey Draught from Hayfield near Aberdeen, Scotland. Today I’m taking you back in time to 1616, a year I recall with a certain amount of…well, let's just say, "gusto." It's amazing how time seems to just whizz by; a mere few months have passed, yet I'm feeling older, wiser…and my coat is acquiring that lovely dappled silver that comes with age, but more about that later!
For now, let's delve into the life of a working draught horse in the year 1616. I can't lie, things were a lot more...robust back then. Now, as you all know, I have the sweetest temperament and enjoy the pampered life that I lead with the farmer’s wife’s young daughter. My days are mostly spent browsing the lush pastures, and when the day is warm, grazing amongst the hayfields of our peaceful farm. Ah, yes! This is a time to simply enjoy the feel of the sun on my back, the scent of wild herbs, and the playful chirps of the field larks as they dance in the clear skies above.
However, 1616 was a different story. The world of the average working horse wasn’t filled with lavender-scented grooming sessions and sugar lumps. Life was all about hauling, ploughing, and a great deal of pulling! I distinctly recall those first, unforgettable months. I was a young filly then, bursting with energy and eager to prove myself. My task was simple, yet vital. I was paired with another sturdy grey gelding, Samson, to pull the cart carrying "peat" - that heavy, dark brown, and incredibly earthy material that we used as fuel for warmth. The peat bogs, though a bit muddy at times, provided that vital heat that was critical during the harsh winters here in Scotland.
Our journeys weren't long, but they were heavy. My strong legs and solid build were a blessing as I helped pull the cart through the rugged landscape, navigating the narrow lanes and uneven terrain. Our hooves would churn up the earth, creating dust clouds that swirled in the air behind us, a kind of smoky haze.
Each day brought its own challenges. Sometimes, the path would be blocked by fallen branches or stray stones. Then, it would be down to good teamwork to shift these obstacles. I remember Samson's snorts of encouragement as we strained together, moving the logs and shifting those heavy boulders. The creak of the wheels on the rutted track and the rhythm of our breathing were like music to my ears - the song of our working lives!
Now, the journey to and from the peat bog was routine. Every day we were harnessed, and with the farmer and his daughter following on their faithful horse, "Mistral" , we’d begin our rounds, and with our work done, we’d return to the safety of our barn for some hay and oats, tired but proud of our efforts. Life was predictable and arduous, but I enjoyed the strength it gave me and the bond I forged with my companion, Samson.
But 1616 was more than just pulling heavy carts of peat. Our year was punctuated by big events in the world of horses - events that transcended the boundaries of individual farms and echoed throughout the wider community. I can’t help but feel a pang of wistfulness for that particular time of the year. It's still something they celebrate even now. Do you know what I’m talking about? It’s the 'Race' held annually, on the first day of Summer, by the Scottish nobility.
Our stable manager had whispered tales of the “Race”, and how it had grown in size and importance since its early beginnings in 1580, attracting noblemen from the north of Scotland and beyond, to Hayfield – well, they would bring their prized horses to race, of course, as a demonstration of skill and power. And that meant business for our Hayfield stables.
So, while we worked on the farms, there was also a distinct excitement about the race. All across the farm, people would start planning their "horse fair" stands to sell goods and entertainment to the crowds who would gather to enjoy this spectacle. The air buzzed with activity as merchants and performers arrived from different regions, and a flurry of preparations were made – the entire town came alive!
The whole event unfolded before us with such majestic beauty. We were safely stabled at the outskirts of town while our own farmer proudly showcased his "Mistral," entered in the 'working class' race.
Ah, those days! The race itself, held just outside the city limits, was a truly breathtaking sight! On the first day of summer, just when the world is starting to awaken from the long winter sleep, all eyes were fixed on the racing course. The energy on the track was contagious.
With the loud cries of the crowds, the clanging of bells, and the excited shouts of the spectators, the horses surged forward! Their strides, powerful and elegant, were a mesmerizing sight to behold. Imagine, all those graceful creatures in their racing livery! It was a veritable rainbow of colour - fiery chestnut coats, sleek black steeds, the handsome dappled grey - all in the service of racing, the great sporting event that resonated across the world. They glided like a stream, a blur of speed, their manes flying, their hooves striking the ground in a perfect, rhythmic pattern.
Our farmer was so proud of Mistral. He came in a respectable second to a magnificent Arabian, a majestic white horse imported all the way from the East! A stunning specimen, he looked almost ethereal as he raced by, but it was the Arabian’s powerful legs and agility that saw him across the finish line, with the cheering crowd chanting "Araby!" as his rider pulled back on the reins to calm his magnificent horse.
And let’s not forget the 'races' held by the local people of our farm, especially those boys who would often ride us, the draughthorse stallions. They had an “arena” specially built for the day. It wasn’t quite like the Grand ‘Race’, it was more playful and lighthearted, yet there was this same competitive spirit among them as they rode us around the area, shouting, "Come on!" as their feet brushed our flanks! The race was over in no time!
We didn't participate in the race. It wasn't in our "job description." But believe me, my heart raced alongside them. And in the evening, with all the commotion over, we all returned to our stables.
You see, in 1616, a life as a working horse was quite simple. We didn’t have the vast array of breeds, disciplines, and pastimes enjoyed by our equine brethren in today's world, but life was no less rich, with its own unique flavours, rhythms and adventures. And I wouldn't trade those years, filled with peat bogs, hardworking camaraderie, and the joy of that grand summer race.
We are indeed a powerful species, able to provide strength, love, companionship, and that magical feeling of adventure. It's this sense of community and resilience, these powerful elements that connect all of us in the equine world – a connection that spans centuries and continents. We’re just as strong today, but the life of a working horse is a bit gentler than back in those days of 1616.
It is my intention to keep you informed about all our equine friends, their history, and stories across all time and all across the world. As they say, "History is a tale told through the years". Stay tuned, and we will continue to journey through these wonderful stories! Until next time, stay happy and stay healthy, dear friends!
Emma x
