My childhood hero, the picture of happiness and health, was none other than Holly Hobbie.
I loved her so much. Back in the 70s, you had to wait for birthdays and Christmas to get gifts. Our childhood demands and fads were not adhered to by over indulgent parents on a whim. So on the Christmas and birthday wish list went the Holly Hobbie requests. And over the course of a few years I managed to acquire the linen set, a t-shirt and a yellow bag that I tried to sneak to school instead of my regulation school bag. I also got soap, bubble bath and writing paper — none of which I would use. I just wanted to savour it and admire it all from afar. I was a real collector.
Holly Hobbie (never Holly) made me feel safe and secure, child-like and young forever, carefree. It was a form of escapism when I thought of wholesome Holly Hobbie…I never had to grow up when I was with her. Her patchwork dress and big floppy hat holding the dried floral arrangement was happiness personified. It wasn’t that Holly Hobbie had done anything famous, or was tangible, she was total fictional fantasy and so the admiration and obsession was limitless.