Written by Emma, a Grey Draught Mare from Hayfield, Near Aberdeen
Greetings, dear readers, and welcome to my latest musings on life as a horse! This week, I’m reflecting on the year 1829, a year of bustling progress and new opportunities, as viewed from the perspective of a humble draught horse.
My name is Emma, and I am a proud grey draught mare with a white mane and tail, much like the pristine snow that falls over my beloved Hayfield every winter. I live a fulfilling life pulling a heavy cart for the Miller family, a kindly lot with an uncanny knack for understanding horses, much like my previous owners. They use me to transport their fresh, warm loaves of bread to nearby villages, and the fresh smell of dough often clings to my coat, reminding me of my own, quiet, but immensely fulfilling role in the world.
This year, 1829, began with a peculiar flurry of activity around Hayfield. New inventions were popping up faster than mushrooms after a summer rain. They were calling them “steam engines” - machines of incredible power, they said, capable of hauling heavy burdens across the land. At first, the horses in the village looked upon these innovations with suspicion. We were the workhorses, the lifeblood of transport. Could these noisy, smoky creations truly take our place?
Well, the rumours proved to be true. By midsummer, the roads near Hayfield were alive with a strange spectacle – great, lumbering metal carriages powered by these "steam engines," called “trains,” trundling through the countryside with a thundering rhythm that rattled the very windows of my stable. Some horses found the noise overwhelming, but I, being an inquisitive mare, was quite fascinated by their speed and power.
Even with the appearance of these iron giants, the year saw horses being used in ways that had never been seen before. We were at the heart of everything! People began organising great horse shows, which drew large crowds of enthusiasts who gathered to admire horses of all shapes and sizes, vying for prestigious prizes. Even my own kind, the strong, sturdy draught horses, found their place on the podiums. I believe I’ve even seen a picture of myself in a local paper after winning the prestigious “Cart Horse of the Year” award in a nearby village. The picture shows me with a majestic chestnut horse by my side – his name was Percy, and we remain friends to this day.
The city of London, so far from my peaceful Scottish village, buzzed with excitement about another type of equine event – horse racing. It was considered the pinnacle of excitement, with men from all walks of life jostling to place bets on their favoured steeds. There were rumours of thoroughbred horses running faster than ever before, capable of covering the distance of a mile in under two minutes. Though I, being a workhorse, haven’t ever run a race myself, I have a particular admiration for those beautiful creatures – swift as the wind and graceful as a willow in bloom.
Speaking of swiftness, I recall the fascination I had with a daring equestrian act that swept through our village in late summer. A skilled rider, accompanied by two magnificent black horses, performed astounding feats of daring agility, leaps and pirouettes that left the spectators speechless. It seemed as if those horses danced with the very air around them, their hooves seemingly floating instead of hitting the ground. I must confess, I felt a slight pang of envy that I wasn't performing such wondrous feats, but there is something quite humbling about pulling a cart with the rhythmic clomp-clomp of hooves, knowing I am a part of something larger than myself.
Another important development in the world of horses in 1829 concerned our brethren who served in the military. They had been vital during the Napoleonic Wars, valiantly assisting our soldiers in a conflict far from home. This year saw the implementation of new training techniques and innovations for our military cousins. Even though I'm not part of the army myself, I take immense pride in knowing our equine family played a crucial role in safeguarding peace, albeit not with a cartload of fresh bread.
All across the land, in towns big and small, people were harnessing the incredible strength of horses in ever-expanding ways. From pulling carts and coaches to carrying heavy loads in the fields, horses continued to be integral to life. There were also increasing efforts to care for our well-being. The Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, known as the RSPCA, was expanding their reach, working hard to protect our safety and ensuring humane treatment.
1829 was, overall, a year of exciting transitions and remarkable advancements for our kind. While I cannot deny a hint of anxiety when I think of those iron engines on the railways, I also recognize that change is inevitable. I remain confident that the power and resilience of the horse will never truly be surpassed.
As a draught mare, I find satisfaction in my simple role, hauling bread, watching the sun rise over the fields, feeling the warm breeze against my coat, and listening to the soft, gentle rhythm of my hooves as I make my way along the roads, day after day. Perhaps we horses are not meant for dramatic feats or galloping speeds, but we remain a symbol of strength, hard work, and a certain quiet nobility, qualities that transcend the ever-changing world around us. And I, Emma the Grey Draught, wouldn't have it any other way.
Until next time, dear readers, may your own adventures in this magnificent world be filled with joy, grace, and the steady, unwavering rhythm of a horse's hooves.
