Welcome to my blog, lovely readers!
I'm Emma, a grey draught horse with a white mane and tail, standing proud at twenty years of age. As many of you know, I'm blessed to call Hayfield near Aberdeen in Scotland, my home. It's a beautiful spot - lush green fields and hills rolling away in the distance. You'd think after all these years I wouldn't still be so enamoured with it, but the scent of the air in the morning after a rain shower... just magic!
But today I want to share my thoughts on the year 1970. It was a big year for the world of horses, and for me personally, too! It seems as if this was the year when everything changed, for better or for worse.
As a draught horse, I wasn't used for heavy agricultural work, but instead pulled a dray in the city, carrying coal for the local families, or taking sacks of flour for the bakers. I was in my prime then - big and strong, a sturdy girl, and my big strong hooves always kept a steady rhythm as I trotted around.
But the air in 1970 was filled with the whiff of change. Motor vehicles, big and small, were taking over. My dray deliveries, once a daily ritual, started to be done by trucks. I knew my days on the streets of Aberdeen were numbered.
There was an undercurrent of anxiety. What would happen to my kind? Would we still be needed? Where would we go? We didn’t know. My friend Henry, a lovely chestnut stallion with the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen, told me he'd heard some folk were sending draught horses to other countries - far, far away. Not sure what he meant, I’m a gentle soul! Henry said we were becoming like antiques - people would want to keep us because of what we are, rather than what we could do. I hoped he was wrong - I still enjoyed a good trot and feeling the weight of the dray.
Yet, amongst the whispers of change, a quiet excitement buzzed through the horse world. I felt it too, though I wasn't sure where it came from. Maybe it was the fact that* more people were becoming passionate about horses, keeping them in their own fields.* I remember a charming little lady, barely in her twenties, with sparkling eyes and an infectiously happy smile, came to visit us. She would spend hours talking to us, brushing our coats and stroking our faces.
Then, in March of 1970, something magical happened. The Royal Highland Show took place. The atmosphere in Edinburgh was abuzz with the clinking of horse shoes, the swishing of tails, the happy neighing of stallions and the sound of people clapping and cheering. We gathered from every corner of the country to celebrate the horse and their contributions to our lives. I felt so proud to be amongst such an amazing gathering, and a great surge of happiness welled up inside of me. That was when I truly realized we weren’t going away. Our legacy was to live on.
But even then, I couldn't shake the feeling that things were about to change. I mean, look at all those new carriages I saw at the show, all shiny and elegant, pulled by sleek and slender horses. They weren’t like us! Those were more “show” horses. Even the beautiful Clydesdale steeds, majestic and powerful, pulling the beer-carrying drays – there was a different air about them. More delicate, less work, but oh so beautiful!
In the weeks that followed, the world around me changed, subtly at first, then all at once. I felt a shift in the way people saw us. People stopped referring to us as “workhorses”, but began to think of us as "companion animals", "part of the family”, or “leisure animals”. It was strange!
However, I didn’t feel diminished. On the contrary, I realised this was simply an evolution - horses still held a special place in people’s hearts. The passion wasn’t going away; it was just shifting. And, maybe, this new form of partnership would be more respectful than before.
The final blow came in June, when my owner, a lovely old man named Mr. MacDonald, with a heart as big as his own big grey horse, told me he'd sold the dray and all its parts to a museum. It was sad, the dray held so many memories. Yet, Mr. MacDonald gave me a soft, reassuring stroke on my mane and whispered "don't you worry, girl. I’m taking you to a place where they love horses."
It was a tearful goodbye as Mr. MacDonald led me away from the busy streets of Aberdeen and into a peaceful meadow by the sea. I joined a small herd of retired working horses, and we all lived comfortably under the care of kind people who appreciated our past work and admired our strength and resilience. We were free to roam and graze all day, the scent of salt and fresh air invigorating us.
I'll admit, life on the coast felt different. Not necessarily bad, just different. The days of pulling heavy loads were behind me. Now I spent my time browsing through the fields, chasing after butterflies with the other horses, playing in the sea on warm afternoons, and feeling the warm sun on my back while the cool sea breeze tousled my long white mane. I had my herd, a quiet rhythm of nature, the gentle lapping of waves, and a good amount of treats for being the "lead horse” as Mr. MacDonald called me. I couldn't ask for anything more.
The memories of the year 1970, though bittersweet, remain etched in my heart, as the beginning of a new chapter - the story of a world that still cherished horses, but appreciated them differently.
I believe, however, that some things never change. The love, the trust, the bond we share with humans. We are creatures of incredible strength, yet sensitive souls with our own feelings and opinions.
We remain noble animals, capable of loyalty and compassion. As I grow older, my heart swells with pride whenever I see young riders learning the ways of the world on our backs. And as we all know, learning is what makes life special.
So until next time, stay strong and safe, dear readers! I wish you all the happiest of trails!
Yours in horsehood,
Emma
