Hello there, fellow horse lovers! It’s Emma here, a 20-year-old grey mare, living the good life here in Hayfield, near Aberdeen. The crisp air of Scotland, the rolling green hills, and the comforting scent of hay – this is my home. I may be getting on in years, but my heart still flutters when I feel the wind whipping through my long, white mane. Today, I'm writing to you all about the year 1925, a year etched forever in my memory. Let me whisk you back in time, and share the joys and challenges that defined horse life in the midst of a world in flux.
Now, I've lived through some big changes in my lifetime, but 1925 was a real whirlwind. The war had ended, but its scars were still deep, and the world seemed to be grappling with a whole new way of living.
While my life in Hayfield felt peaceful and unchanging, I saw glimpses of the new ways, particularly through the arrival of the motorcar. Now, you might not believe this, but the motorcar was like a creature from a fairy tale – a noisy, chugging thing with bright shiny lights. A few wealthy folk in the village had started driving these machines, leaving plumes of smoke in their wake. People looked upon them with a mixture of awe and suspicion, much like they would have a dragon breathing fire! But these "horseless carriages" did little to intimidate me, you know. I always feel strong and confident on my own four legs. Besides, what car could match the gentle sway of a horse-drawn carriage?
I knew, of course, that these motors would affect our world, but at the time, we all had faith in our own kind. Horses still ruled the world, particularly here in Scotland. They were the engines of progress – they moved everything. They pulled the plows and carts, they hauled timber and bricks, and they were the trusty companions of farmers and businessmen alike.
One of my favorite memories from 1925 was helping with the harvest. The fields, bursting with barley, looked like an ocean of golden grain. The whole village worked together, a ballet of humans and horses. We'd all line up, me leading the way, and pull the large cart, piled high with heavy grain, from the fields to the granary. The air was thick with the scent of wheat and sweat, a symphony of hard work and joy. It was truly a team effort. You felt a real sense of connection to the people and the land.
There were a few moments that year where my old legs got a little tired, especially when hauling those large timber loads for the local sawmills. My owners, the Smith family, were kind enough to take good care of me. Sometimes I got special feed – bran and molasses. They rubbed my aching muscles with linseed oil and spoke softly to me, a real balm for my soul.
The Smith children – young Michael and his sisters – were a delight to be around. Michael, particularly, loved to climb on my back, pretending he was a dashing cowboy. I would be their horse, carrying them off to their wild adventures through the hills and valleys. His sisters, a bit more timid, would sit by my side as I rested under the oak tree, stroking my nose with their gentle fingers and singing to me about fairies and pixies, all while I watched over them. These children truly warmed my old heart.
As the days grew shorter and the crisp air of autumn settled in, we horses had a break. It was time for a rest and some fun. It was then that I enjoyed the village fair, a celebration of our unique bond with humans. We’d parade proudly, showing off our beauty and strength. There were prizes to be won, the thrill of competition filling the air. And, of course, we always indulged in the sweet smell of sugared apples, given to us as a reward for our hard work.
That year, something exciting happened at the fair. There was a group of show horses, a magnificent breed with long, elegant necks and flowing coats. These weren’t your typical farm workhorses, but majestic creatures, all polished and gleaming. A beautiful grey stallion caught my eye. He was just my colour, his long mane flowing like the sea. It filled my heart with a certain long-forgotten flutter. Maybe it was just an old mare’s fancy, but I dreamed of that beautiful stallion all week!
This wasn't all. A travelling circus had come to our village. They brought their spectacular performers - acrobats and clowns - and, most exciting of all, the famed Lipizzan stallions. Those graceful creatures danced to music with a elegance and precision I'd never seen before. I had heard about them from other horses that travelled far and wide, and now here they were in Hayfield.
As a draught horse, I'd never thought much of 'fancy’ show horses. We weren't about elaborate maneuvers and grand poses, but simply honest and hard work. But watching those stallions in their intricate dance routines stirred a new respect within me for the diversity of our breed. It made me wonder about the vastness of the horse world beyond the familiar hills and fields of Hayfield.
Then there were the racing horses. I'd heard about these horses too, legendary steeds with speed like a shooting star, trained for glory. They raced across vast plains and won grand prizes. They were celebrated with fame and fanfare, unlike our quiet life of hauling grain and pulling timber. I had a friend who'd traveled to a nearby race track. He had told me tales of thunderous applause and roaring crowds. It was another world entirely, but perhaps the greatest reminder of the wide spectrum of possibilities for a horse’s life.
Of course, no matter where I ended up in the world, there was a certain charm to the simplicity of life in Hayfield. I knew, like every other horse on this planet, we had a critical role to play. We may not all have the fame or the spotlight, but each one of us served our communities, worked alongside our humans, and helped them thrive. We were, and will always be, an irreplaceable part of the human world.
As I write these words, it's 2025 now. You would be surprised by the changes! Horses still exist, of course, but now, we are mostly companions, playmates, and show horses. But our role has changed. We are celebrated more now, and understood less. Perhaps we were more understood then, when we worked side by side with the humans and our work mattered every single day. That, perhaps, was a part of the magic. And a part of the story of the horse in 1925 that I’d always treasure.
Now, if you'll excuse me, it's time for my evening nap in the warm, hay-filled stall. Perhaps, you might find a moment to read a bit about horses and 1925? A bit of history always makes my mane stand up tall, don't you think?
