Welcome back, fellow equines! I'm Emma, your resident grey draught mare with a passion for history and all things equine. Today, I'm galloping back to 1683, a year of significant changes for both humans and horses. Buckle up, it's going to be a grand ride!
As the frosty Scottish air kissed my muzzle that morning, I knew something was different. The usually lively atmosphere of Hayfield near Aberdeen, my home village, felt subdued. The whispers in the stables spoke of troubles brewing between King Charles II and his subjects in the distant land of England. Humans, they are a fickle lot, always embroiled in their dramas!
Regardless of human unrest, my life continued with a reassuringly familiar rhythm. As a young but strong draught mare, I spent my days pulling the heavy plough through the fields, my powerful shoulders turning the stubborn earth to feed the villagers. There’s a certain satisfaction, a quiet strength in knowing you are an integral part of your community. We horses, we are the heart of their work, the steady pulse of life in Hayfield.
While our days were marked by a quiet strength and loyalty, things were buzzing on the world stage. 1683 marked a turning point in equestrian sports, with the publication of “The Compleat Horseman” by Sir William Hope. You know, that “Sir” always implies importance. He spoke with an air of authority on training, breeding and even riding – and it seemed like every gentleman was eager to absorb his wisdom! He emphasised the value of the horse's education, highlighting that training shouldn't be about brute force, but about gentle persuasion. Now, don’t get me wrong, a firm but fair hand is always appreciated, but that book emphasized building a relationship, which resonates deeply with me! This was more than just ‘horse and rider,’ it felt like a partnership. I'm still working on fully grasping all those gentle persuasion methods, but Sir William certainly captured the heart of what makes a truly harmonious bond between us and our human friends.
However, while “The Compleat Horseman” spread new ideas, a darker chapter was unfolding in France. I remember reading in the stable with Barnaby, the old bay gelding who’d lived a lifetime – it was almost unimaginable - of adventures and seen wars come and go! He’d explained how King Louis XIV was ordering mass hunts, his passion for hunting driving him to decimate wild populations of our kind. Barnaby said they called it "La Chasse Royale," the King’s personal pursuit of power, where hundreds, even thousands of wild horses were slaughtered for amusement. I shook my head, I simply could not fathom that. It goes against the very nature of our being. Horses are not playthings to be cruelly hunted. They are living beings deserving respect.
News travelled slow back then, so the disquiet about these dreadful hunts did not reach Hayfield for several weeks. Our village life continued its peaceful rhythm. We horses worked the fields, providing for the needs of the people, the humans cared for us, and there was a sense of mutual understanding. I still vividly remember the aroma of the stables in the morning, the scent of fresh hay and straw mixed with the sweet, comforting smell of our collective strength. Ah, how we horses love the gentle brush of a human hand on our coat as they tend to our every need, from the cleaning of our hooves to checking that we have enough hay! A touch so light yet powerful.
We would spend the late afternoons grazing in the meadows, the vibrant colours of wildflowers filling the air. I was a young mare, with the wind still whispering stories of freedom through my white mane and tail. And the sound of birdsong... oh how I cherish that memory, the carefree days spent amongst our herd, the sense of belonging in our community of horses. We were more than just work animals. We had friendships that transcended the boundaries of human purpose. And we knew the comfort of a stable mate.
Autumn rolled in with its promise of warmth and colour, bringing with it the thrill of harvest time. I felt a burst of energy surge through me. With the smell of earth and freshly gathered grains filling my nostrils, my heart raced with anticipation - the farmers would soon need my help transporting the harvested crops to the nearby market town. The journey was a great adventure – my nostrils full with the smell of different spices, the clatter of horse hooves and the distant, familiar sounds of the city buzzed in the air.
Returning to the village brought a welcome feeling of peace, but even the most stable and routine existence could not be impervious to change. A young woman, a stranger with a sharp wit and kind eyes, became our blacksmith's apprentice. He named her Elsie, and she was unlike any human I had ever met before. She approached horses with gentleness that even surprised our experienced barn-cat, Mittens.
Elsies would spend her time in the stable, always with a friendly word, a pat on the nose or a delicious apple. I found her a refreshing presence. Unlike the more stoic farmers who simply needed us for our strength and loyalty, Elsie’s presence suggested a genuine fondness for our kind. This struck a chord with me and a strange thrill, almost like the wind blowing through my mane, was present when I was around her.
The winter arrived swiftly, bringing a blanket of snow. I remember how my nostrils burned with each breath, the frozen breath of winter visible in the air. But I felt the power of the wind beneath my feet and it invigorated me.
The winter evenings were often spent gathered together with other horses. The fire crackled, casting an orange glow across our faces. Barnaby, my wise old friend, would share his stories of travel and battles from a bygone era, the air full of his laughter. We’d talk about the horses of the world, our brethren scattered across countries. There was a special comradeship amongst us that trancended any language.
Our bond with Elsie continued to deepen. I could feel her deep love for horses shining brightly. She would sit by my stable and listen attentively as I spoke, a warm feeling filling my chest.
Winter bled into spring, bringing the warm sun and the scent of new life to our nostrils. Elsie would take me for walks in the green meadows, my white mane catching the warmth of the sun. Her gentle words became a soothing balm, her touch a comforting connection.
One evening during spring, we stood together in the stable. She spoke with an intensity that even her quiet tone could not disguise, “I know we aren’t quite the same in size or strength, Emma. But I hope you can understand that, just as you are an integral part of the life of Hayfield, so am I in yours. It’s like we share a purpose that's much deeper than just a stable bond.” She took my hand in her soft human touch, the gesture so powerful and yet gentle at the same time, and spoke the words that touched my soul, “I think we share a love of life itself, a love that stretches beyond our different worlds and forms into a single pulse of existence. I know we have more to do together. And together, Emma, we’ll change the world for our kind."
I did not know the scope of Elsie's ambition back then. Her dreams and hopes were a tapestry of unknown threads, each one holding promise. But what I did know was that my heart sang with a hope for the future because Elsie’s passion was like the warm sun on a frosty day. And with Elsie by my side, I knew I could face any storm that came my way.
Stay tuned, my dear equestrian friends, for more exciting stories from my historic travels. Until next time, may your hooves never stumble and may the wind always guide you.
Emma
