Jane Rennie and Cherie Scott


Gamesmanship, as all you sporty fiends know, is the art of making sure the other feller keeps to the rules while you elasticate them. If you still lose it’s something to do with the fact that you’re a dead loss at games anyway, and it would be advisable to go round the world on a pogo-stick and not get mixed up with sport of any kind.

This is the way gamesmanship was applied when JANE RENNIE, brunette, met CHERIE SCOTT, blonde, in a local version of talkative Hide-and-Seek.

“Oh look, I can’t see.”

“Ah, ma Cherie, you’re not supposed to. You find out where I am by concentrating on the direction of my voice. How do you like my striped shorts?”

“Oh, they’re sweet. I think you’re over there by the dish-washer. What do you think of my Carnaby-street hoopla trousers?”

“Divine. Missed me. Were they terribly expensive?”

“I’ll have to forego seventeen lunches. Look, I wish you wouldn’t keep dodging in and out of the pantry. Am I warm yet?”

“You’ll catch me soon.”

“Oh, excuse me, I seem to be suddenly handicapped.”

“I’m afraid, Cherie dear, that your Carnaby-street hooplas are more of a handicap than a decoration.”

“Did you—?”

“No, honestly, Cherie, they just fell down.”

Leslie Peters and Jane Rennie


If you're over forty, you'll no doubt have acquired experience, sophistication and an ability to recognise a door-to-door salesman who's offering you a bargain and one who's having you on.

Even so, you'll not be the girl you were at twenty. You may look more beautiful—having captured that undeniably curvaceous look which no true woman likes to be without, but some of the spring will have gone. And you're gladder each day to get your corset off each night, if we may coin the phrase.

Therefore, vigorous physical jerks are not for you. They're much more for young housewives like LESLIE PETERS and JANE RENNIE, pictured here in a vibrating skipping routine that went slightly haywire.

Jane is the one who fell flat on her back. Leslie is the one still on her feet. They're both extremely modern housewives with such an extremely modern urge to keep slim, trim and vital that falling about all over the place all seems a repercussive part of their dynamic physical jerks.

Jane Rennie

I’m All Right, Jack

It wasn’t anything any girl couldn’t cope with providing she was a motor mechanic, and It was just a quirk of fate that JANE RENNIE happened to be one of those who wasn’t. She couldn’t think why the car was charging lumpishly along like a three-legged elephant, and passing fellow-motorists were happy in the fact that her trouble wasn’t their trouble.

In other words, Jack was all right. As for Jane, she couldn’t think why the rear offside wheel and tyre had such an odd look, but where there’s another wheel there’s always a way. Change ’em over. So, she did. And there you are.