On a sunny weekend in July, in a field opposite the car park of the small village of Lourdieux-St Pierre in northern Creuse, there is an annual event I always try to attend. It is one of several qualifying rounds for the great heavy horses that used to power farming before the invention of tractors. A hundred or so contestants are tethered up along the fence and in the centre a table of judges put the horses through their paces, looking for the best examples. On show there are usually three breeds of French draft horses.

Firstly, the Percheron, this horse originated in the Perche valley in northern France. Percherons are usually gray or black in color. They are well muscled, and known for their intelligence and willingness to work. Although their exact origins are unknown, the ancestors of the breed were present in the valley by the 1600s. They were originally bred for use as a warhorse. Over time, they began to be used for pulling stagecoaches, and later for agriculture and hauling heavy goods.

Next, there’s the Breton, it was developed in Brittany, in northwest France, from native ancestral stock dating back thousands of years. The Breton was created through the crossbreeding of many different European and Oriental breeds. The breed is often chestnut in color, and is strong and muscular. There are three distinct subtypes of the Breton, each coming from a different area of Brittany.

And finally, the Comtois horse originated in the Jura Mountains on the border between France and Switzerland. The Comtois horse breed is an old breed of horse that is believed to have descended from horses brought by the Burgundians of northern Germany to France during the fourth century. It is believe that they have been bred at the Franche-Comté and in the Jura Mountains since the sixth century. In the Middle Ages they were used also used as warhorses.



Enthusiasts keep the bloodlines healthy through careful breeding and shows like these celebrating the best features of each of the breeds. Those qualifying will go on to the championship held at Haras national du Pin. The first time we went was on the suggestion of a neighbour. As a young man he worked these gentle giants on his own farm and later he used to keep and show them. Now, in retirement, he contents himself with helping out and sharing his lifetime of experience with the next generation.

These shows follow much the same routine as it has done for a century. Many of the mares come with their foals who, unsettled by the strange surroundings, stick close to their mothers’ sides. The horses are groomed and preened by their hopeful owners. Their manes and tails plaited with colourful ribbons and their rumps and necks brushed until they gleam like polished wood.



One man sat bareback on a large Breton mare to work on her mane. The horse dozed amiably as her tresses were expertly weaved with yellow, red and green ribbons. Things changed when he moved to her tail and began to strip out unruly hairs. The mare responded to this unwarranted and painful attack upon her dignity by laying her ears flat and aiming a kick at her tormentor. A certain amount of earthy language ensued as the man narrowly avoided the plate-sized hoof. She had the final word however, as with a sudden wrench on her halter, she broke free and set off across the field at a triumphant trot, her bruised tail held high in the soothing wind, hotly pursued by a red-faced owner uttering more ripe language.



Once called to their class each animal is scanned to identify it by its microchip before being put through its paces before the judges. Most of the handlers are strong young men able to control the large animals but last year, a young woman entered the ring with a three year-old Breton mare. She confidently showed off her charge by putting her through her paces up and down in front to the judges’ table. Five men cast expert eyes over every muscle and movement…they also looked at the horse.

“Give us one more run”, the judges asked.

As the girl turned and urged the mare into another trot away from them, it looked to me that most of them were as appreciative of the human specimen before them as they were the equine. At the end of each class the judges made their decisions and selected those who would be going on to the next round. The girl and her mare came second in their group although the judges remarked they would like to see a fuller buttock, on the horse presumably.

Throughout the day the senior judge, identified by his panama hat, kept up a steady stream of advice to the contestants before him as to how they could show off their horses to best effect.

“That one needs shoeing if she’s ever to stride out properly.”

“We want to see horses with attitude, with expression.”

“To show off a horse’s pace perfectly a handler must walk at exactly seven kilometers an hour and run at thirteen kilometers an hour for the trot. Anything less and you are letting the animal down.”

“I have marked this one down for a dull eye – she can’t help it but there it is,” and so on.



Standing and leaning against the barriers either side of the show ring and listening to the judge’s every word, the spectators watched, a mix of competitors and interested bystanders as well as a few tourists like us. It was a relaxed affair, with lots of greetings and chat as people, who probably only saw each other at such events, caught up with each other’s news and discussed the horses.

In the furthest corner of the field stood a horsebox set slightly apart from the rest. All the time we had been at the show there had been a steady, relentless crashing and syncopated banging of hooves coming from inside and the vehicle would rock alarmingly. Everyone seemed keen to ignore the din but every now and then the racket caused even the judges to cast a wary eye in the direction of the vehicle. Moving a little closer you could just make out the occupant, a dark grey Percheron with a black mane and tail and the glint of fire in her eye. Whatever the reason, this lady had no intention of being the belle of the ball. It would take a brave man to enter the trailer to handle her and no one seemed to be ready to volunteer.

If you would like to see some of these beautiful horses for yourselves, here is a calendar of the shows.