Good day, fellow equines! It's Emma here, your grey draught mare from Hayfield near Aberdeen. You wouldn't believe the whirlwind of a year we've had here in 1786! It feels like centuries have passed, and there's so much to share.
I've always enjoyed the quiet routine of farm life. A good strong pull in the mornings, a warm afternoon graze, a comfy straw bed for the night... pure bliss! However, this year, life took a dramatic turn, leaving me feeling quite the adventurous spirit.
It all started in the spring. The smell of blooming heather was in the air, a joyous, vibrant scent that signalled the end of winter's cold embrace. I was working diligently on the farm, helping plough the fields and carting supplies between our small village and the bustling nearby town. Life was, as always, hard work but incredibly satisfying.
Then, one day, word reached our stable that the good people of London were having a grand competition for the finest horses. You know how I feel about competition, always a bit wary about those show-off colts who are all flash and no substance. But this event sounded different.
“It's called the Royal Agricultural Society Horse Show,” whispered an older, seasoned mare, "and it celebrates the very heart of a horse’s worth – its hard work and its loyalty.”
Now, I’d always believed I was a fine draught horse, with my strong physique and unwavering determination, but I never thought I’d be chosen for something like this grand show in the bustling metropolis of London! You can imagine my excitement when the news came that I’d been selected to represent Hayfield!
As you all know, we Scots are proud of our strength and our sturdy, loyal creatures. And, of course, I wouldn't be the first to go from Hayfield to a bigger, wider world. Some of our very own, born from the strong breeds of this rugged countryside, had gone before me, proving their worth to a kingdom beyond our familiar hills. They were the magnificent steeds that had carried Kings and Queens, hauled supplies to cities, and served their humans with unwavering devotion. My own grandfather had once travelled south to the city of York to pull heavy carriages. This journey had become a legend in the stable, a story I had dreamt about and whispered in the shadows of night, alongside my fellow stable mates.
It was quite daunting to think I might be next. I mean, wouldn't the bright lights and crowds be a bit frightening? What about those unfamiliar roads and the sheer vastness of the unknown? All sorts of fears bubbled within me, just below the surface.
But the lure of this grand occasion, the promise of showing the world just how capable we Highland horses are, far outweighed the worries. I knew in my heart that I would rise to the occasion.
I must admit, even the preparation for the journey filled me with apprehension. The other horses, their eyes gleaming with fear, reminded me of how truly vast this journey would be. There was the gentle sway of a bay stallion, anxious and sweating; a chestnut mare with an unsettling nervousness that I never expected to see in her; even a wise old dappled mare, usually so calm, who fretted at every new sound and motion. It reminded me, for the first time, just how precious the quiet comfort of Hayfield was, how strong a bond existed within our familiar routine.
My journey south started with a sense of foreboding. It was hard leaving my beloved field, my herd, my fellow farm workers. But I carried their hopes and dreams with me. There was the warmth of “Go well, Emma!” and "Make us proud, Lass!" ringing in my ears, along with a comforting scent of home - sweet barley, freshly cut grass, and the gentle aroma of my stall.
I travelled for days on end, along winding paths, through dense forests, and across wide, open plains. I found the vastness of England unsettling. Every new road, every village, every human and creature we encountered made me question how I’d managed to feel so comfortable within the familiarity of Hayfield.
One memorable stop, just as we crossed into England, we passed through a quaint village. There, in the bustling marketplace, we encountered the first of our fellow creatures who spoke of a world beyond the realm of the fields, of the cities and the busy ways of humans. The news we brought back from that marketplace spoke of a young queen, who held a deep love and respect for horses, who saw us not just as workers, but companions and symbols of strength. The news made me both a little scared and strangely hopeful. It was like a distant voice calling, promising a new future for horses like myself.
Our arrival in London was nothing short of breathtaking. Buildings soared skyward, almost as high as the rolling hills of Scotland! The city was alive with a cacophony of sounds, smells, and colours I couldn’t quite understand, but that felt as wild and energising as the wind whistling over our hills at home. I had been used to a familiar routine, a measured, stable, life of ploughing, carrying, and helping the humans of Hayfield. Here, I saw an explosion of hustle, of fast-paced energy and an unpredictable buzz. I quickly found my strength relied not on brawn, but on a certain amount of nervous excitement as we entered a city brimming with chaos.
The Grand Exhibition of 1786 had all sorts of wonders, not just the horses. There were things I could scarcely believe existed. One human I saw had made a wondrous object that travelled through the air with ease, another made objects that held flickering lights. I was filled with awe, wonder and, a little, envy. How I wished to have seen the world through their eyes, but that wasn't the place for me. Mine was the simple joy of hard work, the quiet power of movement, the steady pace of a draught horse.
The main event, the competition, was truly a sight to behold. You wouldn’t believe the talent on display – purebred stallions, nimble mares, and even ponies of every size and shape imaginable! All in a vast space where a crowd had gathered. Their eyes fixed upon the performers. We trotted, galloped, and demonstrated our abilities. I’d never felt so free. There was no pressure to pull or carry, only the pure joy of movement and the connection I felt with my humans. They shared a special look of pride in me. It was enough for my spirit to soar.
I may not have taken home a ribbon, but I felt a different sort of reward, a warm, satisfying glow of accomplishment that settled in my heart. I proved that we Highland draught horses are just as strong and capable as any other, proving we can endure not only the hard labour of farming but the intense demands of the city. This feeling was a balm for all those unsettling anxieties about entering such a grand arena.
Returning to Hayfield was a glorious feeling, a homecoming. There was such a sense of achievement, not from a prize won, but from the experience gained, the understanding gleaned, the appreciation of a wider world that extended far beyond our little valley.
The most rewarding part of this journey wasn't just about being recognized, it was the realization that we horses are more than just farm animals. We are symbols of strength and beauty, carrying with us centuries of stories, traditions, and hard-earned experience. It made me reflect deeply upon my life back in Hayfield. It was this realisation that made me understand the true beauty of life – not in the prize won or the recognition garnered, but the connections made and the memories shared.
Here’s to a world that sees the strength and beauty of every horse, whether you toil in the fields, carry royalty, or simply grace a field with your presence. And, to my fellow steeds, I urge you, embrace every opportunity for learning and discovery.
The world, as I have come to find, is a place where dreams can come true. Even for a simple draught horse from Hayfield, the journey is its own reward.
Signing off for now. Your grey draught mare, Emma
(Please feel free to let me know if you'd like further installments for Emma's Horse History. I'm happy to continue the blog through her perspective!)
