A Greyskin's Diary: 1771 - The Year of Change
Good evening, fellow equines! It's Emma, your trusty mare from Hayfield, Scotland, back with another snippet from my life, which I believe you'll find utterly fascinating. Let me tell you, 1771 was quite a year - a whirlwind of changes that made a big impression on us horses. Now, where do I begin?
Well, it was springtime when my latest colt arrived! Yes, that’s right - a little grey filly, as strong as an ox already. She’s quite the spitfire, always testing her legs, and let me tell you, her sire (an imposing bay, named Jasper) and I both have our hooves full!
Jasper has been busy of late. He's a bit of a social butterfly - loves meeting new horses from around the county! And for a handsome bay like him, there's never a shortage of ladies with long, flowing tails to chat with at market days. But my dear Jasper is no idle stallion; he has been learning a new skill, something we greys are renowned for, I’d like to add!
Oh yes, 1771 is also the year I learnt to plough! Imagine that! This grand, grey lady, working the land, making sure the good folk of Hayfield get their crops in before the rains. And what a glorious thing it is! Jasper always says he’d like to join me at the plough but alas, he’s needed to pull the heavy wagons into the city of Aberdeen, where his strength and sure-footedness is truly valued.
Let me paint you a picture of this scene, dear readers! A summer afternoon, warm air swirling with the scent of heather and wildflowers. Jasper is hitched to a grand, timber-built wagon filled with produce from the local farms, ready to be exchanged at Aberdeen's bustling markets. I watch him disappear down the road, a proud flash of chestnut mane and tail against the landscape. I imagine him as a ship navigating the waves of people and carts, all jostling for space in the lively hub. And I'll tell you this - it's more than a job for a horse like him; it's a source of pride, a feeling of being part of something larger than ourselves.
Talking of markets, something quite new popped up this year. Word arrived from London, about a show called ‘The Royal Society of Arts.’ This esteemed organisation, run by humans who seem truly interested in our horses, decided to award prizes to those deemed the 'best of the breed.' It’s not about beauty, you understand, though that is certainly valued, but rather about skill and talent - a truly ingenious idea.
They award prizes for things like ploughing, cart pulling, racing, and even leaping! My dear Jasper, as it turned out, had heard tales of the leaping show, which sounded quite peculiar, as he’d never had to jump over fences. He'd seen me jump over a few logs in the fields, though - a skill that came quite naturally to us grey drafters - so with a gleam in his eye and a confidence that even my sire had to admire, he took up the challenge. He's in training now, with a gentle trainer who knows just how to help a handsome stallion make the most of his leaps.
The world of horses has changed, though not drastically, I’d say. There’s still a lot of travelling, of hauling, and of tending to our livestock, as we have been for centuries, even with the advent of the railway.
This change, while daunting to some horses, gives me an invigorating energy. My filly will no doubt experience a different life from the one I had as a young mare. This fills my heart with a strange sense of…pride, I guess you could say. Like I’ve done my part in making the future a little brighter for all my grey, strong brethren.
Of course, it wasn't all work in 1771! The countryside around Hayfield is simply breathtaking in the summer. I enjoyed many lazy afternoons by the stream, bathing in the cool water. And at dusk, we would all gather in the fields under the stars, the sounds of the night crickets mixing with our soft whinnies, a perfect symphony. I miss those evenings… sometimes…
But 1771 was not without its shadows. We heard whispers from London of disease spreading like wildfire, affecting our fellow horses, even those that lived in the most opulent stables. Some people spoke of a 'distemper' that brought sickness and weakness. And even closer to home, a sudden hailstorm wiped out the entire wheat crop. Luckily, we at Hayfield escaped any damage, and there were plenty of supplies in the city. But the memory of that awful storm lingered. A stark reminder of the fragility of life. And how we, horses and humans alike, have to rely on each other in times of hardship.
I feel deeply for those horses who suffered during that trying year, those who lost their livelihoods or, worst of all, lost their lives. My heart breaks for every horse that faces suffering. I hope their memories live on in our stories. We horses are a resilient bunch, though. And even in the face of sorrow, we find reasons to be happy.
You know, I feel blessed, so fortunate to be alive in these times. I love the simple joy of feeling the cool air rush through my mane as I race across the moorland. And the connection I feel to the human race is strong, something that I think I would have found hard to understand when I was young. We work alongside them, depend on each other, and in our own silent way, we communicate and find a way to build a deeper understanding.
So, until next time, keep your heads high and your hooves strong, fellow equines.
Yours truly,
Emma, The Grey
