A nice day is the kind of day when that brown-eyed brunette at last gives you a smile or when sales girl SUSAN DAY is just herself.
Susan designs clothes as well as selling them, she's an expert in ladies' fashions and looks pretty nice in them herself. And she’s got just the figure for sweaters. 37 - 24 - 37. A sweater on Susan turns into poetry. Try a line or two from Keats. Or a curve or two from Pythagorus.
That’s the place to be. Where it’s all happening. Chelsea. Full of the most interesting people and lovely walks by the river. Old pubs and frothy beer. Girls. Boys. Bicycles. Tall and kindly policemen. Hat shops. Colleges. Studios. Painters and writers. Models.
The nicest, the loveliest, the shapeliest live in Chelsea. There’s one we saw looking in the shop window. HELEN WILLIAMS. A real pet, a dream boat, a lover of poetry, of Byron, Shelley and Keats. Shame about Keats. Meander with us down tree-lined Cheyne Walk and take your mind off all that traffic at Piccadilly Circus. Helen adores Cheyne Walk. She’d like to live there. She will if she can win fifty thousand on a horse.
No, listen, Vera, don't muck about, people are looking. Listen, and I'll tell you. It was a lovely night and I wasn’t doing anything, I was just wandering around Venice looking for a lady gondolier who wasn't going anywhere—yes, of course I love you, I wouldn’t have let you buy me that bag of oranges otherwise, would I!—and all of a sudden I saw this E-type Jag in racing green.
Well, to cut a long story short—move your elbow, beloved—named a price and the Transylvanian salesman named a price and I gave a hollow laugh and he said you don’t half look queer, monsieur, and I said I feel queer.
Then what should I see but the most blinding piece of Venetian sculpture—well, I thought it was at first, only it moved and who d'you think it was! No, not Milly burgentrot, she went off to Istanbul with that Turkish bath attendant—no, nor Annie Finnegan, either, she's having an allergy in Cork.
It was FRANCOISE HARDY. What d'you mean, who's she! How do I know who her mother is! Mrs. Hardy, I suppose. Now don’t be like that, you know I’m getting wrinkles about you—no, never look at other women—I just happened to spot this sensational vision in a mini-skirt outside this Venice cinema and I just thought she’d go with this E-type Jag I was buying, only to cut a long story short I fell flat on me kisser when I started to move — this salesman nit had his foot hooked over mine to stop me getting away—
All right give us a kiss then.
Established pin-up favourite is JUDIE JAYSON, trained dancer hovering on the fringe of musical comedy shows and just waiting to jump in.
Judie spends a lot of her waiting time modelling for top photographers and getting her pictures in the glossies. You can see just how photogenic Judie is from these pictures. Here’s a girl with that certain something - and that break is bound to come.
It was drawing nigh to Christmas and CAROL BURDETTE wanted to be there when Santa arrived this time.
Last year he left her a pullover, a box of tools and a garden fork, with an apologetic note to say if the pullover didn’t fit, he was sorry, but it was a busy time of the year for him.
Carol used block letters this year when she made her Christmas list, a list full of the most delightful feminine things. She only used the box of tools once and that was to knock a nail into the post holding the clothesline, and the post fell down and so did the line.
She gave the garden fork to her boyfriend and he gave it to his father and his father gave it to his office secretary because she’s got a garden and he’s only got a flat.
So, this year Carol is waiting for Santa. If she doesn’t, she might get left with another box of tools and a lawn mower.
Hello, hello, hello then. Who are you?
I might ask you the same question.
I’m a beautiful prince—me name’s Rudolph Twistle—and I say, you don’t half catch me left eye.
You look like a little frog to me. I'm ANNETTE RIDGEWAY LE GREASLEY myself and I’m sorry I only catch your left eye.
Me right one’s pointing in a different direction, watching the traffic on the A30. I say, you aren’t half a corker, you wouldn’t like to take me home and put me in a jar of caviar, would you?
Why?
Well, it’s all on account of the Queen of Diddleheimer and her ravishing daughter Princess Pinnipot. Me and Pinny - no, well, I won’t bother you with the details, but the Queen went off her tiny nut and in a moment of quite execrable taste turned me into a little frog.
Never mind, you look awfully sweet.
You’re joking. No, come on, take me home and put me in a jar of caviar. Then I’ll turn into a beautiful prince again and maybe we could go off to the South of France together.
That would be lovely. But I already have a beautiful prince. So, jump, little frog, jump.
Oh well, here’s me for that lake again.
It’s not easy to decide what to do with your life when life offers such a wide variety of prospects, ranging from filing the white mice in alphabetical order in a pet shop to trying to convert those tribes in New Guinea from head-hunting to cocoa.
Lovely young miss who hasn’t yet made up her mind about her career is GLORIA WORTH of Flintshire.
Gloria has a modelling diploma; a ballet diploma and she also likes gardening and painting.
So, what to do? Where to go?
Pet shops are out. She’s allergic to bird seed. Head-hunters are also out. “I expect they’re very friendly when you get to know them,” she said, “but I’m not the sort of girl to lose my head for the sake of boosting the export of cocoa.”
How about going to Africa and painting elephants?
How about going to Texas and doing some landscape gardening?
How about going on telly commercials?
"Yes,” said Gloria, “I’d like that. I’ll be the girl in the middle of the soapsuds. Lovely.”
Girl who packs ninety minutes of dizzy pop into every hour is cute LIZ McEWEN. If you want to keep up with Liz of the lovely legs you need a pair of souped-up rollerskates.
A week of skating in her wake and then you need a month’s holiday to take the pins and needles out of your feet, leaving Liz to dance gaily on in dizzy, photogenic irresistibility.
It's lovely when you’re young and beautiful.
But it isn’t half paralysing when you're ninety.
SWANSEA girl JENNIFER HINKLEY pops up again because so many of you asked her to do so. Jennifer, a girl as curvaceous as a front-line chorus line-up, is as Welsh as the soft hills and dales of that country. Her eyes are bright, her voice musical and her interests varied. Primarily, however, she is devoted to art.
Jennifer has vitalistics of 39"-24"-37", which add up to curves that count all the way.
Jennifer’s ambition is to achieve fame as an artist, and if her pictures look only half as good as her photographs, she’s made.
Gorgeous is the colour of MARION McGREGOR'S hair, like golden honey—and the eyes, of course, must be a beautiful dark blue. Marion, like so many of our Scottish models, is beautiful and bonny. She works in an office, providing the conventional coldness of commerce with a brightness infectious enough to make the working week seem a whole lot shorter. Marion, of course, loves dancing, and thinks men are wonderful. Well, Professor Higgins says in the musical, “on the whole we are a marvellous sex”—or words to that effect. (Bighead).
This was Marion’s first time before the camera, and she models modern lingerie with a smile as bright as her personality. Her vitalistics amount to 36"-23"-37".
Vitalistics like those add up to a cute figure and if the frequent wolf whistle echoes round the office when the travellers come in, they really are no more than you’d expect, are they not? Marion, one of our New Year discoveries, will be seen again—we hope.
There’s Scotch, there's cream soda, ginger pop, tomato juice and anything else in the way of cooling refreshment on a hot summer's day. All nice on ice. And there's RIKKI HAYNES, professional ice skater. 5' 3" of whizzing rhythm.
Rikki at home has a different look, the fact is, its darn difficult getting around the kitchen on skates.
According to her photographer, Rikki's hair is a beautifully fantastic red, and if there's a connection here with the way Rikki burns up the ice, we can't quite see it. Nobody goes three times round the rink on their head except the highly impossible novices.
When she isn’t touring on ice, Rikki lives in West London. If you live around that way yourself and you see a girl with wonderful red hair and a streamlined chassis, it could be our “nice- on-ice” girl.
In selecting a model like TONI FINCH to appear before the camera we automatically provide ourselves with a subject confirming Einstein’s theory that there’s no such thing as a straight line! There’s certainly not one here.
From any angle it’s a matter of curves alone. Any questions?
