By Maia Russell My little grand-daughter, Holly, was very bright -- even I, a very biased Grannie, could see that. At not quite three, she could already draw a very wobbly capital H for her name. We were on our way to the park. Holly insisted on walking, and pushing her own stroller We stopped on the way to admire a pink rose-bush;- "Pettie fower!" and a tortoise-shell cat, asleep under it- "Look! Pussy!" There was a large football and and rugby pitch in the main park. A couple of very tall Pacific islanders in striped jerseys were kicking a rugby ball around. One of them kicked a beautiful shot,...it circled in a high curve over the high goal-post. Suddenly, Holly rushed to the white marked touch-line. Standing arms akimbo, legs astride, in her little pinafore, she shouted at the boys. "No boys,-no!----Holly!" The men turned ,saw this tiny little girl shouting at them, and looked totally bemused! They grinned at her, and carried on playing. It wasn't until we were walking home,{Holly tired by this time, and happy to be pushed in her stroller}, that i twigged what had happened. The tall rugby goal-post had been shaped like a giant letter H for Holly. She had been furious with them for kicking a ball over her own name, -her H for Holly. | 
