Martina Evans

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Come Out Whoever You Are

Ah-hah, and whose dark, magnetic eyes are those peeping from behind the fringed equivalent of a Persian yashmak?

To whom do those long, elegant legs belong to?

It can't be Nancy Sirloin, she's gone off to join a sailor in Western Australia in a trouser suit. It can't be Lilian Bullivant either, she lives in a converted barge at Greenwich and doesn't hide behind anything except a sou-wester and a Grecian tarpaulin.

If you're getting repressed and frustrated, bear up, you're suffering from nothing a bottle of hypochondriac solution can't cure. We'll throw in our own assistance by disclosing those dark, magnetic eyes and those long, elegant legs belong to MARTINA EVANS, who has the delightful job of serving behind the frill-bedecked counter of a ladies' lingerie shop.

Take your girlfriend there and buy her something delicately ravishing for Easter. Martina will be a great help, even though her ambition has little to do with selling lingerie.

She wants to be an air hostess.

Come fly with me and never mind about fastening the safety-belts.

Beautiful Britons No 135 - February 1967

Martina Evans

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Martina Mia

That's the Latin for Martina belongs to me, which is what some lucky guy will be able to say when MARTINA EVANS decides he's the one to take her to the altar for better or worse. If he's the right kind of guy it can only in his eyes be for the better, as what with her talents for cooking and her photogenic grace, Martina must make life better for any man.

Spick No 186 - May 1969

Martina Evans

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Mixed Up Martina

It all began with nothing but good intentions. MARTINA EVANS, sales- girl in the lingerie department of a London store, decided to do mum a good turn and put the cleaner over the carpet.

But before she could say, "Someone come and help me switch this thing off, it's getting recalcitrant," the long lead got all mixed up with her long legs.

From then on it was chaos.

At first Martina was determined not to be beaten, and a rare old struggle ensued. Martina was grounded like an all-in wrestler who'd slipped in a moment of over-confidence. The cleaner whirred and Martina went bump.

It wasn't the bump that mattered so much, it was the indignity. Climbing to her feet Martina thought right, monkey, you wait only for the cleaner to throw her again with a double-ankle knee-lock.

"Well," panted Martina, nineteen and with an ambition to be an air hostess, "you saucy old carpet- cleaner, you."

No more. That's your lot.

Beautiful Britons No 188 - July 1971