Lisa Scott

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Vintage Year

Year of origin 1945.

That was the year when we all stopped throwing hot lead and sizzling iron at each other and the sexy but militant girls in the Army, Navy and Air Force went happily back to civvy street to forget their militancy and rehabilitate their wriggles.

It was also the year when lovely LISA SCOTT was born. It was a vintage year for babies both beautiful and cuddly. When Charley Grapevine was born the top fell off a mountain somewhere and in the Falkland Islands it rained for six months solid. Charley’s year was non-vintage.

Latterly a secretary, Lisa’s current ambition is to be a successful model, and she’s got a yen for eating candy or washing whiter than white in TV commercials. Well, if we have to have all those soap flakes, let’s have them wrapped around Lisa.

Washing-machines and soap powders are purely utilitarian.

But washing-machines and soap powders and Lisa are delightful. “Mum, come and turn the telly off—dad's temperature’s gone up again.”

Karin Reali

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Excuse Me

Caught with a slipped clip as she prepares to alight from her car is KARIN REALI, West German film starlet, wondering, like so many other girls, why nobody makes a car from which a lady may alight without a leg show.

Jackie Taylor

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Follow the Girls

One can’t help but follow them these days.

Down the Strand, up Regent Street, down the Mall and all the way along the Embankment.

They’re a joy to the eye and one’s feet hardly notice at all, though the big toes don’t half play up when one at last gets home.

Cast an eye upon JACKIE TAYLOR, for instance. One could follow her from Land’s End to Edinburgh Castle and never notice a single blister.

Here she is against London backgrounds, and the whistles could be heard from every window.

Helen Baxter

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Anyone Looking

It’s a bit of a problem when you want to change your dress in the back of a car, for there’s always the possibility that some knickerbockered bird watcher may be looking or so thought HELEN BAXTER.

And when you have changed, isn’t it just absolutely ridiculous to find your dress caught up in the car door and that tweedy-headed B.W. twittering at you over the hedge

Anne Scott

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Cooling Off

"I don’t usually appear out-of-doors like an absent-minded professor," said ANNE SCOTT.

"What brand of absent-mindedness did you have in mind?"

"Oh, you know." A bit of a giggle here. “The ones who leave for work minus their trousers. I didn’t leave home minus my dress, I assure you. It’s the weather."

"What weather?"

"All this gorgeous hot stuff. I didn’t think there was any left."

"Oh, come now, Miss Scott, weather has always been a matter of the four seasons."

"Do you have to talk like some diddly-fiddly old dodderer from the Ministry? I’m only trying very simply to explain why I look like this."

"No explanation necessary. Miss Scott. It’s all a very natural development process singularly special to lovely young ladies, and there’s no one it pleases more than an old dodderer from the Ministry."

“There’s no need to make all that much of it. It just happened to get a lot hotter than I expected, so I thought I’d do some cooling off."

"Pardon us while we go jump in the lake. It’s the only way to get our temperature down.”

Maggie McCully

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A Work of Art

A work of art more often than not is something they put on a pedestal or hang on a wall and is frequently called a museum piece. There’s the Mona Lisa and the Venus de Milo and MAGGIE McCULLY, only don’t try hanging Maggie on a wall, even at a Bond Street gallery, or you’ll find yourself in a six-foot frame and with a bump on your head that’ll fit a half-pint skid-lid.

Of course, if you’re a lover of art and subject to fragilistic trembling’s in the presence of the Mona Lisa or the Venus de Milo, you won’t be without palpitations in the presence of Maggie, either. As the epitome of all that is inspiring about the modern girl,

Maggie is even better than a work of art.

She lives and breathes and loves a sleigh ride.

Nancy Sinatra

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New Image for Nancy

Having created one image for herself as a top pop star,

NANCY SINATRA is now being groomed for a different role.

It was those boots which did it. Everyone heard her when she arrived and those who are in business to bring the world to those who want it decided Nancy had what it takes to become a film star.

So, in a new cloak-and-dagger story called “The Last of The Secret Agents,” Nancy will project her new image as a sex kitten. She’ll be seen, for instance, in this outfit made of sexy lace complete with garters and if that doesn’t launch Nancy into an exciting world of film fame it won’t be her fault.

It’ll be because people have gone off garters.

Patricia McGregor

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Just Right For A Walk In The Park

The day was fine, PATRICIA McGREGOR was looking beautiful, and everything seemed set fair for a walk in the park.

But first, of course, Pat had to make sure that her seams were straight and her nails were polished.

Not to mention her shoes. A fashion model like Pat just couldn’t be seen in public without a shoeshine.

A final check on those seams—a last suspender adjustment, and we’re all set.

Apart from—no, not just the hat, Pat. What about the skirt? Well, you might get away with it if you keep your coat buttoned up, but suppose you get asked into tea somewhere?

“Hallo! Hallo-Sally? Sally, did I leave my skirt at your place yesterday? I did? Well, good heavens, what did I come home in, then? I did? Gosh, no wonder I thought it was draughty on my bike!”

Annette French

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Beauty On The Bonnet

A well-polished car with all that gleaming chromium and the rest of the gear is just right as a subject for glossy photography, but if you need to gild the lily how about adding ANNETTE FRENCH to the picture?

You might be inclined to suggest the car is superfluous in that case, even if it’s a supercharged model, and in turn we’d be inclined to agree with you. For if you’re looking for the photogenic dream, what’s a chromium-plated bumper compared with a natural beauty like Annette?

Heather Piercy

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Designing Dolly

In years to come posterity will have its say about the mini-skirt, but at the moment we’re only concerned with its maddening eye-appeal and how vital and alive the feminine leg seems in it.

Girl who wears her minis very short indeed is London dress designer HEATHER PIERCY, and she wears them this way to please her boyfriend. It goes without saying that all other boys have no objections, either, and Heather can now tell by the particular key in which a wolf whistle is pitched the exact extent of the whistler’s approval. Heather is magnificently and uninhibitedly typical of every mini-skirted dolly of London the difference being that she happens to be a designing one.

She can come and design for us—we have ideas for a country mansion, a villa in Portofino and a yacht in Cannes we’d like her to start on. That should keep her within eyesight for quite a while. We don’t know what we’d do with the designs, but we’d worry about that later.

Marie Fitzgerald

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Delightful Dolly

Hampshire secretary MARIE FITZGERALD loves all the mini fashions and lace-up boots.

We love all the mini fashions too, and go overboard for secretaries in lace-up boots. With all the worries, we’ve got about the bomb, Vietnam and Rhodesia we need such diversification as the sight of mini dollies tripping lightly past our windows. We can’t spend all our time mentally agonising over the stupidity of so many.

Sylvia Martin

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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.

Nicky Weston

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Have Yen, Will Travel

Fashion and photographic model NICKY WESTON has one ambition above all others, and that’s to travel all over the world in her work. Nicky is just twenty and like so many fashion models can be seen adding glamour to the motor racing circuits. She also looks cool on a gee-gee, being uncommonly addicted to hacking.

Teri Alexander

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How Delightful

She took a course of social psychology last winter and she’s got eyes the colour of the deep green sea, and what with that and the fact that she doesn’t half know how to make the most of a crepe suzette, she’s naturally the girl we’d most like to be psychological with.

Her name, as if that mattered, is TERI ALEXANDER and we’ve fallen down four flights of stairs for girls only half as good-looking. It’s all part of the process of living. If you’re not susceptible to the witchery of women you shouldn’t be here. It hurts, of course, but the dreams are delightful.

Before she joined a fashion, house Teri worked as a secretary. She used to live in Manchester. Now she lives in London.

Swingy, isn’t she?

Who wants to join the Bengal Lancers these days?

Rosanne Stuart

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In A Scottish Garden

Frustrated geography, what you miss being on the wrong side of the border.

All that lovely Scottish heather and all those bonny birds are not the daily delight of those whose eyes are bounded by Portobello Road. As you dally on the kerbside looking for a bargain in old Victoriana, how you must wish you were in a Scottish garden with ROSANNE STUART.

If you don’t wish that, then old Victoriana has got a neurotic hold on you and you'll only cure yourself by butting sandbags. Wait until it leaves off and then give yourself another twenty-four hours to clear your head of ringing noises.

You’re cured. You begin to think of a Scottish garden adorned by sweet Rosanne.

Soon you can think of nothing else. You’re all neurotic again.

You return to that heap of sandbags.

Life for people with complexes is all butt.