Hello there, dear readers! Emma here, a proud grey mare with a mane and tail the colour of freshly fallen snow. I’ve had the privilege of experiencing a life of toil and pleasure, pulling ploughs in the fertile fields of Hayfield near Aberdeen, Scotland. As you might have guessed, this is my very own blog about horse history, sharing a little piece of my world with yours. I believe every year is unique, every season brimming with new learning, and that's why I want to celebrate them. And today, my dearest readers, we're travelling back to 1964, a year that etched itself deeply in my memory.
The air in Hayfield crackled with the crispness of early spring. I was 20, my muscles honed from years of work. Every dawn started with the sweet scent of the barn, followed by the familiar clink of harness as Farmer Alistair fitted me with my leather coat. He always said my greyness was like a cool morning mist rolling over the heather, and that made me feel extra special.
This was a year of great change in the world of horses, and in my own life too. While my hooves felt the reassuring rhythm of ploughing and pulling the heavy cart to market, whispers of a revolution began to ripple through the horse world. I'd overheard a young stallion at the market, a nervous type with sleek black coat, telling tales of these powerful new beasts with wheels, which apparently travelled much faster than us. I’m not going to lie, a bit of me was curious, even envious. However, my sturdy, dependable work continued. The fields still needed tilling, crops needed hauling, and I remained a trusty, powerful beast of burden.
The year saw several key events that impacted the world of horses. In England, the Royal Agricultural Society organised its annual horse show at Cambridge, a spectacle of colour and strength. The Queen Mother, a dedicated horsewoman, was in attendance. Can you imagine being trotted out in front of royalty? Oh, the pressure!
On a personal level, a remarkable event occurred within our small community: the arrival of a young foal named Rose. Her coat shone with the chestnut colour of a setting sun, and she possessed a gentle spirit. The whole farm welcomed her with open hooves and snorts of affection. It was beautiful seeing her first awkward steps and her eagerness to explore every nook and cranny. I felt a responsibility towards her, as the senior mare, to teach her the ropes. She had an undeniable spirit of adventure that was reminiscent of myself in my youth.
Throughout 1964, my days followed the rhythm of the seasons: the green and yellow symphony of summer, the warm hues of autumn, and the crisp beauty of winter. My evenings, once the day’s work was done, were spent relaxing in the stable. My kind stable-hand, Jenny, would give me an apple as a treat. Oh, how I relished that juicy sweetness, an honour I shared with young Rose!
Sometimes, I’d stare out at the starry sky, my head resting on a bale of hay, feeling grateful for the life I had. This year brought change, whispered promises of new things to come, but it also reinforced my love for the rhythm of my work, for the fields and the companionship of my fellow horses.
One evening, as I rested beside Rose, my thoughts drifted back to those whispers of mechanical horses, the strange inventions that could pull and carry with unimaginable speed. Rose, her young face full of wonder, turned to me, “Emma, do you think they'll ever take over the world?”
“I doubt it, Rose,” I chuckled, my old muscles relaxing, “Horses have been around for ages. We're resilient, you know, a force of nature. They might build their mechanical wonders, but there's a kind of magic to a horse and its human that can't be replicated." And so, she settled, her bright eyes closing, my words giving her comfort, and so did mine. The future might hold uncertainties, but my love for my work, for my fields, for my fellow creatures and my kind humans, would stay constant. And the wisdom gleaned over two decades? Never let the future dampen your appreciation of the present, dear readers. It's the moment we have, the breath we take, that makes all the difference.
Until next time, may your days be filled with joy and your journeys be safe,
Emma.
I’m sure you'd love to hear about the other fascinating chapters of equine history. Visit www.equiworld.org for more delightful posts by Emma and other wise horse friends!
