Hello fellow equine enthusiasts! Emma here, a spirited grey draught mare with a heart full of wanderlust and a head full of memories. It's a bright morning here in Hayfield, the crisp Scottish air carrying the sweet scent of heather and hay. Today, I'm sharing my reflections on a pivotal year, 1830. Oh, what a whirlwind of change and adventure it was!
I was born into a modest stable here in Hayfield, a small village nestled amidst the rolling hills near Aberdeen. My sire, a strong black Percheron, and my dam, a graceful grey Clydesdale, gave me the best of both worlds – a powerful physique and an elegant presence. I was a bright foal, quick to learn and eager to please.
The year 1830 dawned bright and promising. A young lad, Davie, took me under his wing and taught me the finer points of harness training. I enjoyed the rhythm of work, the feeling of strength in my sturdy legs, and the satisfaction of completing tasks with grace.
At that time, life for us horses in Scotland was largely focused on agricultural work. We hauled heavy carts of peat, pulled plows through the fields, and carried loads of grain to the mill. Though work was arduous, it was a life I found fulfilling. The farmers treated us well, providing good food and a warm stable at night. There was a sense of camaraderie between the horses in the stables, and I quickly learned the intricate social language of our kind.
One particular event from that year has etched itself in my memory. It was a local horse fair, held in the market square of Aberdeen. My first foray into the bustling world beyond our farm, the event was a kaleidoscope of colour and sound. Horses of every shape and size filled the square – sturdy workhorses, sleek racehorses, and even a few miniature ponies. It was an intoxicating spectacle!
I remember the thrill of showcasing my strength in a pulling contest. The judges, men in tweed suits and tall black boots, inspected my gait, my stance, and the way I responded to the reins. I stood proud, showcasing my capabilities, my grey coat gleaming in the afternoon sun. Though I didn’t win the competition, I earned a great deal of admiration from those around me.
It wasn't just work and competitions that defined 1830. In the evenings, I would often graze with the other horses under the vast Scottish sky. As the moon painted the clouds in silvery hues, Davie would sit beside me, sharing stories of distant lands and fantastical creatures. His tales of daring adventures kindled a sense of adventure within me, an innate yearning for something more than my current existence.
One of Davie’s tales that especially resonated with me spoke of the city of London, a bustling metropolis filled with an array of horses, all living and working within a vibrant tapestry of human lives. The very thought of a place with such diversity was enthralling!
A few months later, I learned that London was experiencing an extraordinary trend. An increasing number of people were adopting horses, not for agricultural tasks but for pleasure! The "gentleman's mount," as Davie called it, was becoming a fashionable statement in the city's wealthy circles. These horses, elegant thoroughbreds and spirited hacks, were used for leisurely rides in the countryside, for carriage rides through London's sprawling streets, and even for competitions, like steeplechase races.
The notion that horses could be treated as companions, not just workers, captivated me. My heart thrummed with a desire to explore the world beyond my familiar meadows. Perhaps one day, I could find myself among those fashionable Londoners, prancing through the grand squares and parks, rather than hauling plows across my farm's rugged fields.
1830 wasn't all glamour and excitement, however. Throughout the year, murmurs of a growing issue started circulating among us horses. Many of us in rural areas, particularly the old and tired workhorses, were being retired to what the humans called "horse hospitals." Though the idea was noble, offering these worn-out horses respite, the reality was far from humane. These so-called "hospitals" were cramped, often lacking adequate food and proper care. I recall an older mare from our farm being sent to one such place. She seemed despondent, a shadow of her former self, before succumbing to her illnesses a few months later.
My own experiences of 1830, though primarily defined by hard work and yearning, ignited within me a sense of purpose. The year had highlighted the stark differences between our lives – from the humble existence of a farmhorse like myself to the elegant life of a London companion. It instilled a longing in me, a desire to understand our changing roles in the world and to advocate for the well-being of all our brethren, regardless of our work or stature.
This yearning continued to blossom over the following years, pushing me to travel beyond Hayfield and seek knowledge beyond my rural confines. The tales of London and the burgeoning “gentleman’s mount” became my driving force, propelling me on a journey to learn more about the world of horses and the ever-changing human world that surrounded us. But that’s a story for another time…
Until next time, friends, remember to embrace the change, stay curious, and always strive to live a life of purpose and contentment!
Stay well,
Emma
Please Note: This blog post is a work of fiction based on historical information about the year 1830 and the lives of horses at that time. Though certain details are based on real events, the experiences, thoughts, and feelings expressed are entirely imagined and presented from a horse’s perspective for the purpose of creative storytelling.
