THE UNWITTING MATRIARCH

She never asked to lead. She simply never stopped showing up. 

Chapter 4 — Pride and Playboy

By the time Kerre reached the age where horses began occupying her thoughts, she had already developed a reputation within the family as a child who was unlikely to remain exactly where she had been left. Some children needed encouragement to explore. Kerre generally required encouragement to stop exploring before somebody launched a search party.

Growing up in country New South Wales during the 1950s and 1960s meant horses occupied a different place in children’s lives than they do today. They were not luxury items purchased for occasional recreation and they certainly were not treated as fragile pets. Horses represented freedom, independence and adventure, three concepts that appealed enormously to a young girl who had never demonstrated much enthusiasm for sitting quietly and doing as she was told.

When other children imagined freedom, they might have pictured bicycles or perhaps a trip to the local swimming hole. Kerre and her cousin Sue Stewart, imagined horses. A horse could take you beyond the limits imposed by adults. A horse could carry you down roads and paddocks that seemed to stretch forever. Most importantly, a horse offered a sense of self-reliance that few other childhood possessions could match.

The arrival of Pride and Playboy therefore carried enormous significance. Their names became woven into family conversation so thoroughly that they eventually achieved almost legendary status. Like many family stories, details occasionally varied depending upon who happened to be doing the telling, but the affection attached to those memories never changed.

Kerre loved those horses with the fierce devotion that children reserve for things they genuinely believe belong entirely to them. Adults often underestimate the depth of attachment formed between a child and an animal. To a child, that relationship is uncomplicated by practical considerations and exists entirely within the realm of loyalty, affection and trust.

Part of the attraction involved pride. Horses were not merely animals to be owned or even sequestered, like a lost puppy. They became extensions of the owner’s identity and reflected how that person saw themselves. If the horse was admired, the rider felt admired. If the horse performed well, the rider accepted a share of the credit.

That pride sat comfortably alongside Kerre’s personality because she was never short of confidence. She approached most aspects of life believing she could figure things out for herself. Whether that confidence was always justified remained open to debate, but it rarely suffered from a shortage of enthusiasm.

Among the various horses who drifted through those years was one called Playboy. The name alone guaranteed its survival in family folklore because it sounded far too glamorous for ordinary country life. Mentioning Playboy during family gatherings inevitably triggered stories, laughter and recollections of events that had become more entertaining with every passing decade.

The horse stories were never simply about riding. They were about the unexpected situations that seemed to accompany horse ownership. Country towns in those years operated according to rules that would leave modern risk managers reaching for medication. Animals wandered, children wandered and occasionally the two combined to produce stories that survived for generations.

One such story involved a horse somehow finding its way into a shop. Nobody involved appeared especially shocked by the incident, which perhaps says more about rural Australia at the time than it does about the horse itself. The image of a horse standing amongst goods intended for human customers proved too ridiculous to be forgotten and became one of those stories repeated whenever conversation drifted toward childhood adventures. What elevated the story from amusing anecdote to enduring family legend, however, was the reasoning that sat behind it. Like many Aboriginal families of that era, Kerre’s family lived within a framework of rules that had developed for very serious reasons. Children were expected to remain where they were told. They were not to wander. They were not to draw attention to themselves. Those rules had been shaped by generations who lived under the shadow of authorities capable of removing children from their families, a fear that sat quietly in the background of everyday life even when it was not openly discussed. Obedience was not merely about discipline. In many households it was regarded as a form of protection.

The home environment reflected that reality. Instructions were expected to be followed precisely and explanations were often considered optional. When a parent said stay here, the expectation was that you stayed there until told otherwise. Kerre, however, had always possessed an independent streak that occasionally collided with those expectations. Faced with the instruction not to leave the horse unattended, and equally unwilling to leave the horse behind while she completed her errand, she apparently arrived at a solution that made perfect sense to a child operating within the strict logic of family rules. If she was not supposed to leave the horse, then the obvious answer was to take the horse with her.

The result was a scene that could only occur in country Australia. Customers went about their business while a horse occupied space usually reserved for shoppers. Adults found themselves caught between disapproval and laughter. Kerre herself reportedly struggled to understand what all the fuss was about because, from her perspective, she had done exactly what she had been taught to do. She had followed the rules. The fact that she had followed them to their absolute and unintended conclusion merely made the outcome funnier. Over time the incident became one of those treasured family myths that sounded too absurd to be true, except for the inconvenient fact that it actually happened. It remained a perfect illustration of Kerre’s character, demonstrating that even as a child she possessed a remarkable ability to obey instructions while simultaneously finding a path nobody else had anticipated.

The adults involved probably viewed the incident as a temporary inconvenience. The children involved almost certainly viewed it as one of the greatest things they had ever witnessed. Childhood possesses a remarkable ability to identify entertainment in situations that adults would prefer not to manage.

Life around horses also reflected the practical nature of the household in which Kerre was raised. Nothing was wasted if it could still serve a useful purpose. Every purchase represented money that had been earned through effort and therefore deserved respect.

That attitude explained the crushed biscuits. Broken biscuits were not discarded simply because they lacked visual appeal. They were saved, reused and incorporated wherever they could provide value, reflecting a mindset that had been shaped by years of making every penny count. Having said that there were still “consequences”, but broken or not they were delivered.

The lesson being taught extended well beyond food. Children growing up in that environment learned to recognise value where others might see inconvenience. They learned that usefulness mattered more than appearance and that resourcefulness frequently achieved more than abundance.

Those values became embedded in Kerre’s thinking. Long before motivational speakers began talking about resilience and adaptability, country families were teaching those principles through everyday behaviour. Children absorbed the lessons because they observed them rather than because they were formally instructed.

The horses themselves reinforced similar ideas. Caring for an animal required consistency, responsibility and patience. A horse could not be ignored simply because its owner felt distracted by something else that day.

For a young girl developing confidence and independence, the experience proved enormously rewarding. Every successful ride strengthened her belief in her own capabilities. Every challenge overcome reinforced the idea that courage produced positive outcomes.

Unfortunately, life occasionally introduces evidence to the contrary.

The incident involving the kick arrived with little warning and far greater impact. Horses are magnificent creatures, but they remain large, powerful animals capable of inflicting considerable damage without possessing any malicious intent. Their strength commands respect whether they intend harm or not.

One moment Kerre viewed horses primarily through the lens of trust and companionship. The next moment she experienced a painful reminder that even familiar animals remained unpredictable. The physical injury eventually healed, but the emotional consequences lingered much longer.

Children process fear differently from adults because they possess fewer experiences against which to measure new events. An adult understands that one unfortunate incident does not automatically predict every future outcome. A child often lacks that perspective and may interpret a single event as evidence that the world has fundamentally changed.

For the first time, confidence encountered resistance. The certainty that had previously accompanied every interaction with horses became mixed with hesitation. Questions appeared where confidence had previously supplied immediate answers.

The most difficult part of losing confidence is that it rarely disappears all at once. Instead, it slips away through a series of small moments. A slight hesitation before approaching an animal. A brief second thought before climbing into a saddle. A quiet uncertainty that did not previously exist.

Those moments accumulate until they begin influencing behaviour. The child who once charged forward without concern suddenly pauses to assess risk. The individual who once assumed success now contemplates the possibility of failure.

What makes Kerre’s story interesting, however, is not the fact that she lost confidence. Almost everybody loses confidence at some stage of life. The truly important question concerns what happens afterwards.

Many people spend years attempting to avoid situations that remind them of previous failures or disappointments. They construct smaller lives in exchange for greater certainty. They gradually convince themselves that caution and safety are the same thing.

Kerre eventually learned a different lesson. Confidence and courage are not identical concepts, even though people often confuse them. Confidence exists when we expect things to go well. Courage exists when we proceed despite recognising that things may not.

That distinction would become increasingly important throughout her life. There would be many occasions when confidence disappeared and uncertainty took its place. There would also be numerous occasions when courage remained present despite that uncertainty.

Years later, family members would tell stories about Pride, Playboy, crushed biscuits and horses wandering into shops. They would laugh about incidents that had once seemed important and smile at memories that had acquired additional colour through repetition. Time has a remarkable ability to soften the sharp edges of childhood experiences while preserving the lessons hidden within them.

Beneath the humour remained a simple truth. Freedom always carries risk because freedom involves stepping beyond familiar boundaries. The very experiences that provide independence and growth are often the same experiences capable of causing disappointment or pain.

The horses gave Kerre some of her earliest experiences with both sides of that equation. They provided adventure, responsibility and immense enjoyment. They also delivered a painful lesson about vulnerability, uncertainty and the fragile nature of confidence.

Looking back, the value of those experiences had very little to do with riding ability. The true lesson involved learning that confidence can disappear without warning and yet still be rebuilt. Courage is not demonstrated when everything proceeds according to plan. Courage reveals itself when a person decides to continue despite knowing that things may not.

For a young girl who had spent her childhood wandering into the unknown with remarkable enthusiasm, that lesson may have been one of the most important she ever learned. It would remain with her long after Pride and Playboy had passed into memory, accompanying her through challenges far greater than anything a horse could deliver.