"A bonnie morning it is, even if the frost still clings to the grass like tiny diamonds. I can feel the sun warming my back as I stand with the others in the paddock at the Croft, listening to the sparrows chattering in the hawthorn hedge."
Hello there, horse-lovers! It's Emma, your friendly neighbourhood draught mare here from Hayfield, just outside Aberdeen. As I mentioned before, I am grey with a magnificent white mane and tail, and I just celebrated my twentieth birthday. Twenty years of living, loving, working, and experiencing the world through a horse's eyes. It's a beautiful world, you know, full of scent, sound, and sensation.
Today, I feel the pull of the autumn wind rustling the oat sheaves. The aroma of wood smoke and earth clings to the air, reminding me of my ancestors who worked the fields for centuries, making Scotland's soil their canvas.
My ancestors were the powerful workhorses, the mighty creatures who pulled ploughs through the earth, hauled heavy wagons, and even carried men and women on their backs. And though the world is changing, we are still needed. Our strength and endurance make us vital to life here in Scotland.
Today, it is 1650, and Scotland has a king again. It was quite a tumultuous year, you see, what with Cromwell and his army pushing further into Scotland. Many were on the run, some seeking refuge, others seeking glory. It's quite a mix of emotions, you know, this sense of uncertainty in the air. Yet, amidst all the chaos, life goes on.
"The Farmer has been whispering to the Old Woman, a shiver running down her spine as he speaks of the troubles down South. The old ways are changing, they say, but that doesn’t stop my heart from bounding when the blacksmith gives me a pat on the neck and calls me 'a bonny lass' There’s no finer compliment than that. "
The farmer has always relied on his horses. We are more than just muscle and bone, you see, we are trusted friends, hardworking members of the community. We share a language of flicked ears, snorts, and sighs, a deep understanding forged over generations of service. The farmer, God bless him, knows our needs as well as his own. He doesn't treat us harshly. We've never been left to starve.
We don't have much luxury, just good hay and oats, a warm stall, and the opportunity to roam in the paddock when not working. Yet, that’s enough for us. The horses are a community, you know. We gather in the paddock, nuzzle each other, share a nip at each other's backs in playful mischief.
"This morning, I woke up feeling the excitement in the air. The Farmer's eldest daughter, Elspeth, was saddling me up with extra care. She smoothed my mane with a soft hand, whispering words of comfort. A tremor in her voice betrayed the tension around the Croft, but it did not dampen the excitement brewing within her."
Elspeth, the farmer's daughter, has grown into a fine young woman. Her eyes, the color of deep forest moss, hold a wild glint that speaks of a thirst for adventure. I remember her as a child, timid and clinging to her father's side. She has blossomed into a strong young woman. She whispers to me like she always has, telling me her dreams. She talks about horses racing through fields of emerald green, about castles, about travelling the world.
She told me that we were going to Aberdeen for a big market day. Her voice was filled with a hope so powerful it mirrored the anticipation thrumming through me. It was going to be a day of celebration, she told me. The Scottish army had achieved a resounding victory over Cromwell's troops.
"We traveled along cobbled streets, past houses with their chimneys puffing out smoky plumes. I caught the scent of leather from the saddle and the tang of the salt-laced sea air that wafted in from the harbour."
My journey into Aberdeen was not my first trip into town. I’d often pulled carts loaded with vegetables to sell. However, this time, the journey was filled with a buzz that permeated everything. The air buzzed with activity. I felt a nervous excitement in the heart of my powerful chest. The air was filled with a scent of possibility, the sweet scent of hay and grain, mixed with the scent of peat smoke.
As we navigated the winding cobblestone streets, my hooves clattered against the hard surface. I felt a pride in my own power and grace, feeling the strength in my legs, knowing how much my muscle and bone could support the young woman on my back. She was proud, too. She sat with such confidence and elegance. Her eyes shone brighter than any precious jewel, and the wind that rushed through my mane brought with it the melody of joy.
"It was like the world was bursting with music! The crowd gathered in the Market Square, a throng of colourful characters and busy hooves, a symphony of sounds that blended together in a harmony I could barely understand."
The Market Square pulsed with the heart of Aberdeen, teeming with vendors, animals, and laughter. We mingled with other horses, our noses sniffing and sniffing in greeting. Some of them had come from miles around, all their riders anxious for a good trade. I sensed some apprehension from those horses, a nervousness born of the times. Some of them were young, their strength only recently forged. Others, however, were old like me, their eyes bearing the mark of hardship and resilience.
The air, you see, is thick with the uncertainty of war. I felt a shift in the air, a change of emotions in the bustling market. A hush fell upon the crowds. There was a sense of excitement in the air, a hopeful air as a rider, clothed in a dazzling crimson suit, rode on a beautiful black stallion. He was the King’s messenger, his horse a magnificent creature of strength and grace, his voice as strong as his horse. He proclaimed the victory in the Highlands, his words carrying the weight of celebration. The cheers of the crowds washed over us in a warm wave, the energy spreading like a joyful contagion.
"Even I, an old war-horse, felt a surge of emotion as I stood with my fellow steeds, hearing the celebration ring out through the square. The horses snorted in a unison of happiness, sensing the energy of the crowd, sharing in the jubilant relief. This news gave us a moment of peace, a space to exhale."
Elspeth’s eyes shone with pride, her hand brushing my flank as she laughed with a joyful echo of the crowd. She had come to the market to sell a fine grey mare named Fiona, one who had a foal coming soon. The mare had been pulling the plough, a workhorse through and through, strong and kind. But a bigger dream for Fiona awaited – a future with a family that needed her, to be a mother.
“Later that afternoon, the scent of warm scones, carried by a gentle breeze, guided me through the winding alleys back to the stables. I stood with Fiona, listening to the young colt who wriggled inside her, his restless kicks sending tremors through her body. She nuzzled him with maternal love. A quiet smile spread across my lips. The life cycle continued, even amid the changing winds."
Life, you see, moves forward, whether it's in times of peace or war. We horses, we play our part. We are symbols of strength and resilience, creatures of great endurance, gentle yet strong. We work tirelessly for the wellbeing of others, but sometimes, we get to enjoy the finer moments too, like celebrating victory and feeling the joy of the people around us. I have much to look forward to, to experience life through the eyes of a grey draught horse in the heart of 1650, where history is unfolding before my very eyes. Until next time, stay strong, my equine friends!
