Sylvia Martin

Flutterer

No, come on. Tearaway (said the panting jockey), get weaving or you’ll have me in dead trouble with Lady Sylvia. I tipped her you’d win by five lengths and here you are not even trying—swelp me if I don’t nobble you myself next time out. You couldn’t blame the gee-gee, really. The jockey just lost all sense of proportion when he gazed into the green eyes of SYLVIA MARTIN, 20-year-old bachelor-girl-about-town, who loves a flutter on the horses and believes anything a jockey tells her about the nags. Sylvia has lost the equivalent of a shirt more times than she cares to remember.

In case any of you think the height of bliss is only experienced by those riding a rocking-horse on the top of the Eiffel Tower, then there are those among you who haven’t seen Sylvia waving her horse home at Epsom. She dances, jigs, cavorts, yells, shrieks, and generally lets her enthusiasm take such hold of her that she becomes the most entrancing spectacle of the day.

Sorry we couldn’t show you her cheering her last flutter home, but we did catch her looking extremely entrancing in the domestic setting of a London flat.

Sylvia’s ambition, as distinct from her hobby, is the theatre—she wants desperately to break into the real, live genuine circuit—but she won’t put her shirt on it, she couldn’t bear to lose on that one.

Sylvia Martin

Well It Looks All Right

There’s nothing about a typewriter that isn’t familiar to SYLVIA MARTIN, for Sylvia has seen many of her friends tapping away on one. So, she bought one. She had an idea for the most fabulous novel. All about a girl who finds a formula for turning uranium into gold. So, while the idea was hot she began tapping. And you can see what froze the idea eventually. It was the backache she got. Isn’t she a doll?

Sylvia Martin

Where’s The Moulin Rouge

Purely a rhetorical question. Everyone knows it’s in Paris. SYLVIA MARTIN is just illustrating what an absolute must she is for the front line of the Moulin Rouge Can-Can, though Sylvia’s undeviating ambition is for drama and she burns to be histrionic rather than eye-catching. She prefers Pinter to panto.

Sylvia Martin

Modern Jazzer

Very accomplished dancer to modern jazz is SYLVIA MARTIN of North London, and we can't say fairer than that without getting caught up in an extravaganza of completely dizzy jazz.

Sylvia has been around, dancing with a troupe in most of the European capitals. In Rome she met a fanatical Italian count. Well, he called himself a count and Sylvia called him fanatical. He followed her about and she could hardly go anywhere without Fatimo popping up in his dark glasses. He begged for her hand, he was handsome, engaging and rakishly suave.

” Marry me,” he kept saying.

"Look, stop following me about,” said Sylvia, "I'm not suited to be the wife of a count, I want to marry a footballer."

"So? I confess, then,” he said, "I am not a count, I am Guiseppe Fatimo and I play centre-back for the Italian grocers' team. Now will you marry me I”

"I can’t,” said Sylvia,” I’m madly in love with an English goalkeeper. Now will you go or do I have to push you off this sun roof!”

” You must push me off, my beautiful one,” he said.

Well, Sylvia thought that really was the best thing to do, so she did, and Guiseppe Fatimo didn't half feel it. When he woke up he had amnesia. He couldn't remember Sylvia but the nurse was so enchanting that he began to woo her very happily.

It was a nice ending, really, especially as the sun roof was only a few feet above the ground.