Greetings, fellow equines! It’s Emma here, a twenty-year-old Grey Draught mare from the lovely countryside near Aberdeen in Scotland. My tail is white, as is my mane, and some folks even say my coat gleams like polished silver in the sunlight. Today I’m sharing a glimpse into life for us horses in the year 1734, a year filled with plenty of work but also a growing sense of appreciation for our skills and beauty.
The morning mist hangs thick over Hayfield, like a veil spun from moonlight and dew. The smell of hay and fresh earth hangs in the air, mingled with the faint aroma of wood smoke from the nearby farms. It’s a crisp autumn day, and the heather on the hillsides is ablaze with purple and gold. I munch contentedly on a bale of sweet-smelling hay, watching the farmhands go about their morning routines.
Ah, life as a farm horse is good. I'm strong, you see. Strong enough to pull a cart laden with hay bales or turn the heavy plough in the fields, leaving crisp, fertile furrows in its wake. A day of hard work is often rewarded with a delicious breakfast of oats and barley. It’s a life of simple rhythms, the rising and setting of the sun, the turning of the seasons, the comfort of a warm stable on a cold winter's night.
Yet, this year, something feels different. I feel a shift in how people view horses, especially our breed, the Draughts. It started a few years ago, when King George II – yes, that very same king who resides in the magnificent palace in London – began championing our strengths.
I recall that day. He’d arrived in Edinburgh with his fine gentlemen in fine suits. I watched as they dismounted their elegant thoroughbreds, creatures with slender frames and a boundless love of speed. They were the favoured horses of the elite, racing with speed and grace. But the king himself took notice of us, the Draughts, sturdy and hardworking. He’d spoken with admiration about our strength, the powerful pull of our muscles, our steadfastness and loyalty, the way we, the Draught horses, helped move the country forward, carting heavy loads and tilling the fields. His words had reverberated, a small whisper turning into a growing roar of respect across the land.
It is the same in my own corner of Scotland. There’s a newfound appreciation for our work. It's no longer just "work" – it's something considered essential, even valuable, by our masters. We aren't just tools; we're integral parts of life in these parts. The farmer’s wife will pat me on the neck when she comes to see me in the stables, thanking me for my good work, and there's a twinkle in her eye. She says, “Good girl, Emma, you're the heart and soul of our farm.” And sometimes, she'll even slip me an extra apple, sweet and juicy.
But beyond the work, something else has blossomed, a beautiful, surprising development, that echoes far beyond the farms of Scotland. It’s a passion, an infatuation, for all things horse, and especially us, the Draught breeds. It started, it seems, in the royal stables of London. The king’s own favourite riding horse, a magnificent Chestnut named Comet, was so popular with the crowds that stories about him and his extraordinary ability spread like wildfire. He’d race, you see, not for sport or glory, but for sheer delight. The cheers that erupted from the crowds, the adoration in their eyes as he galloped by with effortless grace…it seemed a revolution was brewing in the world of horses.
Word of Comet reached the far reaches of our land. He became the new “it” horse, a symbol of beauty and power, influencing everything from portraiture and literature to our own fashion choices. Why, even the fine ladies at the manor house began to favour simple dresses and sturdy walking shoes! Gone were the silks and frills, replaced with colours that resonated with the colours of the earth and our beautiful coats.
One day, the blacksmith, a man with arms as thick as tree trunks and a smile as warm as summer sunshine, brought me a brand new horseshoe, fashioned in a new style. He said, “Look at these, lass. They’re crafted in a new style, called the Comet style. Everyone’s raving about them.” I looked at the new design: simple yet elegant, made for endurance, beauty, and speed.
And it was just one of many examples of the new respect for horses, particularly the noble Draught breeds, like myself. From the king to the farmyards, even to the shops and taverns, everywhere you look, there's evidence of this newfound fascination. We’ve gone from being simply "useful" to becoming cherished, almost as though we are symbols of strength and resilience, echoing the strength of this great nation itself.
I am grateful. It fills me with a certain sense of pride, knowing that I, a humble farm horse, am contributing to this burgeoning wave of admiration. The days are still long and full of work. We pull carts laden with grain and wood, we till the fields with determination, and we make sure the harvest is abundant. Yet, in those moments, we feel the weight of those admiring eyes, and we stand tall, knowing that we play a significant role in this ever-changing world.
Now, don't think for a moment that this new appreciation for our strength has stopped the young thoroughbreds from running as fast as the wind. They're still racing on the grand courses in London, their sleek bodies and graceful movements dazzling the crowds. But their speed is no longer the only thing celebrated. Even in those grand arenas, there's a shift in thinking.
It is our power, the tireless work we Draught horses provide, that truly fascinates now. And it is in this new wave of understanding that we find the greatest joy. The blacksmith's apprentice recently showed me a beautiful painting in the manor house. It depicted a powerful, majestic stallion, pulling a wagon filled with grain. The stallion was handsome, strong, his head held high, his hooves firm on the ground. He was proud, not unlike how I feel as I stand tall in my stable, my heart full of the pride of the working horse.
The year 1734. What a time to be alive, a time of new understanding and appreciation. In Hayfield, we Draughts will continue our work, the strong backbone of our community, while we welcome this shift with grateful hearts. We are the working horses of this land, and we will continue to be proud.
Until next time, fellow equines, may your hay be sweet, and your hooves find the truest paths!
Emma, Grey Draught Mare, Hayfield, Scotland
