(or - Don’t Shoot The Cook, She’s Too Beautiful)
When Mr. Burley, a keen amateur photographer, who hails from Brixton, London, sent us some photographs of his lovely wife, we were so impressed by the discrimination he showed in picking a girl like this to wed, that we sent our own photographer along to provide additional evidence.
We didn’t arrive at the best time. Well, it wasn’t the best time for blonde and beautiful Mrs. Burley, who was choring in the kitchen—no girl likes to be caught in her apron— but it didn’t take us long to realise that there’s no time like the present, and could the lady have looked any lovelier without her apron, anyway? A moot point, that, and one on which we will not linger.
Mrs. Burley, do you always dress in this cute outfit when you’re working in the kitchen—or is it that we just caught you on the wrong day?
Well, no-well, yes—well, I like to look glamorous in my kitchen, particularly on Wednesdays, which are half days, of course.
But today is Thursday—
Is it? Oh, well excuse me a moment while I lift Mrs. Beeton off the biscuit tin.
No, but really, Mrs. Burley — hold that a moment — you really are the cutest kitchen maid we’ve seen in years.
Well, thanks. For that you can stay and have some coffee, if you like.
Would you like to sit on your kitchen table, Mrs. Burley? With pleasure—but may I ask what for?
Because it's always been a crazy idea of ours that there are so many things which photograph better on a kitchen table than cups, saucers and toast-racks, and now we see you there we know it wasn’t such a crazy idea at that.
Well, we finally went away with the feeling that we’d shot off a lot of very attractive photographs, and it wasn’t until we’d gone about five miles in the trolley-bus that we realised we'd left Mrs. Burley to do the washing-up by herself. Never mind. She did it all with such a sweet smile.