Not only was Margaret my sister, she was also my cousin, 2nd or 3rd or something. I'm also my own cousin, I think..... I found all this out via Margaret's detective work re our family tree. Typically, no stone was left unturned. She even managed to trace the descendants of our Great Uncle 'Our Kid' who emigrated to America in the early 1900s and was never heard of again. 'Our Kid' could never have imgagined a time in the future when the internet and 'Super Sleuth' Margaret Goodwin would uncover a secret he was hoping would have been shut away for ever... Luckily, his descendants are amused and perfectly OK that his reasons for leaving the UK were perhaps a little more racy than he'd let on... As we know, Margaret was an ace tennis player. One spring term my school sent letters to our parents asking them to buy us tennis racquets, suggesting cheapo Dunlop nylon-stringed affairs. Margaret turned her nose up at the very idea. I assumed, with nothing to base the assumption on, that I too would become an ace tennis player. I persuaded Mum and Dad that I needed a Slazenger cat-gut racquet, no doubt influenced by Margaret's suggestion. I loved tennis and months later my racquet still looked like new, always put away in it's press and green checked waterproof cover. One day Margaret asked to borrow it - she had a match. My racquet was returned to me later with the strings dirty and frayed - right bang in the centre. I hadn't realised until then that one should aim to hit the ball with the centre of the racquet (as opposed to the wooden frame!). The look of the racquet gave me certain kudos at school but I realised that I would only ever be 'playing at' tennis. Our dining room table converted into a table tennis table. It was here, via Margaret the super-ace tennis player, that I learned the flashy Japanese 'Chopper grip' way of holding my bat. I looked impressive at the youth club, until that is, I started to play. People would look at me with pity. 'Not up to her sister's standards' they'd think as I would turn and run away from any ball coming towards me too fast... I remember that one Christmas Eve I was too excited to sleep. Margaret persuaded me to relax explaining that Father Christmas could only deliver my presents if I was fast asleep. I drifted off as I heard the sound of distant sleigh bells. She'd woven magic into my snug bed.