Looking forward to an early spring trip to the sunshine of the Canaries is ELEANOR NOYES.
Looking forward to seeing her arrive are the masculine bravos, and it won't be their fault if Eleanor doesn't enjoy herself. The trouble is, said Eleanor, they're so enthusiastic about blondes and what can you do with twelve escorts every time you venture out?
Try pushing them off the edge of the swimming pool, love.
Spick & Span Extra No 50 - Spring 1974
Old Arcadia was a kind of rustic paradise full of nymphs and shepherds and curly white sheep. There was laughter and song and the chuckle of the winding stream.
Modern Arcadia is any rural retreat where you can see lovely dollies like SANDRA MARSH. There don't have to be any curly white sheep or winding streams. Just Sandra.
Sandra is a Bristol girl, she's dreamy, she’s Arcadian.
Beautiful Britons No 203 - October 1972
"What's that?" said Nigel.
"Let's get away from it all," said lovely LYNN PALMER.
"Where to?" said Nigel, who had Blackpool in mind.
"I rather fancy an island in the Pacific," said Lynn, "and I could wear a grass skirt and flowers."
Well, Nigel knew a grass skirt and flowers would be out of place in Blackpool, but a Pacific island seemed such a long way.
"How about the Isle of Wight ?" he said.
Lynn pushed him into a pothole. A pothole is the only place for a feller who doesn't want to get away from it all.
Spick & Span Extra No 50 - Spring 1974
Pin-up favourite RUTH CAVENDISH prefers a wooden horse.
She tried to ride a live one not long ago, down on a cattle farm. It was dead frisky. Ruth got all jerked about and finally fell off backwards.
Clonk.
She wouldn't have been as upset as she was if it hadn't given a horse laugh. She hasn't spoken to it since. She has settled for a quiet ride on Pinto, which is a rocking-horse she grew up with.
Pinto has nice manners.
Beautiful Britons No 203 - October 1972
What a fine thing for the old country it would be if we found a heavy-weight champ or even someone who could throw the hammer from here to the French wine country. It might make a mess of the wine bottles but think of the glory.
We know a girl who's looking for her own kind of champ.
DONNA MATHIS of the Midlands breeds doggies.
She also breeds Alsatians, which are a lot bigger than doggies. Her ambition is to exhibit a champion Alsatian.
We know an Alsatian. It's not a champ but what lovely teeth. Real, live choppers they are.
Beautiful Britons No 203 - October 1972
Advertising assistant PAM ROGERS considers she'd get too single-minded if she thought about nothing else except advertising.
A girl needs an interest to keep her from thinking only about her job.
Pam has lots of interests. Boy friends to make her feel wanted, and dancing to make her feel activated.
Then there's stage work to make her feel talented and beauty contests to make her feel lovely.
Well, with all those interests and a beautiful figure of 37-24-36, there's a lovely Pam she is.
Beautiful Britons No 203 - October 1972
Daughter of a British naval officer, OLGA RENOWN is nineteen and has a flat in London.
She used to follow the fleet in the company of her mother, but there comes a time when a girl has to be independent. So Olga settled in London, got herself a job as a secretary and goes to work carrying a colourful umbrella. She finds it useful for hailing taxis.
Olga calls herself old-fashioned.
Old fashioned ?
Well, yes, she says. She likes bouffant petticoats, with yards of lace showing beneath swirly, flaring skirts. Says it's old-fashioned but ever so eye-catching to men.
Darling, you're dead right.
Wales is full of coal. It's lovely stuff and goes up in bright flame in a decent fireplace.
Out of a Welsh mining village there came not just Welsh nuts, however, but a beautiful Welsh dolly, SAMANTHA JONES. Jones the Eyeful the Welsh boys called her as they chased her home from school. One day Willy Bach caught her and then wished he hadn't because Samantha landed him a conker with her satchel and from then on he was known as Willy the Black Eye.
Samantha now resides in London and lives in an Earls Court bedsitter. She's a receptionist and her pet love at the moment is her snake, which shares her quarters. But Samantha is getting a little worried at the way Sneaky her snake is growing bigger every day, and she's thinking of changing him for a young cheetah.
Anyone got one?
Anyone who'd like to exchange it for a growing snake.
It was in Oslo, Norway, that INGA SVENSON was born.
She grew up to be one of those extremely shapely Scandinavian goddesses and all the Norwegian men who knew her, had high hopes of becoming her life partner, could hardly believe their rotten luck when she went off to England as an au pair girl.
Inga came to look at the country and to learn the language.
Well, when she'd had a good look and spoke the language excellently she decided to stay.
That was even worse luck for her Norwegian friends, but we're not grumbling. Inga is living in Hampshire at the moment and these are the very first pin-up photographs she’s posed for.
What a goddess.
The bird fluttered coyly about, tweeting and cooing, and the bee buzzed around waiting for the taste of honey. The bird got fed up with all the zooming and humming and delivered a short uppercut.
"Oh," thought the bemused bee as it plopped into the pond, "I often wondered what the crunch was—now I know."
That, of course, is the allegorical story of the modern birds and bees. You buzz around more than you should and clonk, you're on the floor and she's dragging you through the hall and out of the door and you're picked up with the rest of the garbage later.
An absolutely scintillating example of an irresistible British bird is VICKY ASHLEY, currently making a shining name for herself in the sumptuous studios of London photographers. With her vitalistics adding up to 37-23-36 she can't miss. She could have missed if she'd stayed with her job as a manicurist and beautician, but a bee in the shape of a photographer popped in for a trim one day and went away all fragile. However, Vicky took him up on his offer of a sitting and his fragility went away. He had discovered unimperishable beauty, a knockout bird of vivid brilliance.
But his fragility came back when Vicky told him that soon she would be winging her way to Australia.
"Don't go," he said, "think of all those sharks."
"I'll eat them for breakfast," said Vicky.
In days of old When nights were cold wall-to-wall carpeting was something you only found in Persian harems. Nothing was too good for those voluptuous Persian concubines.
It was far more humdrum elsewhere. On Victorian Friday nights the bath would be brought into the kitchen and filled with hot water. In you'd get with a great big square of soap and a scrubbing brush.
While allowing for certain differences brought about by progress, we must say that if any Victorian Friday night ever looked like JANET DE BOLLET looks, it could have been altogether delicious.
"Yes, it is a wee bit cramped,” said Janet in her Streatham kitchen, "but if the Victorians managed, then so can I.”
"Excuse me, dearest," called the unwanted male voice through the frontdoor letter-box, "but I've come about your electric iron."
"I'm sure it must be very pressing," called back ZOE WEST, London secretary with green eyes and a way of slaying men from the Electricity Board, "but you'll have to call back later. I'm just about to take a shower."
"Well, if you won't be embarrassed, I won’t either," called the voice a little hoarsely. "I like a shower myself. I usually take mine in April, but if there's room in there I'll take it earlier this year."
What a pusher, thought Zoe. It was no use arguing with that kind of nutcracker, so she went into the hall, aimed the nozzle of the washing-up detergent container through the letter-box and squirted him a faceful. He staggered back, lurched into the street and the heavy rain turned him into a foaming miracle.
Scotland is the country where you'll find the colourful heather in all its wild beauty, and where there's heather there are kilts and other things entirely Scottish.
George Pumpkin—what a funny name—went up to Scotland for a holiday once. He hardly noticed the heather because the place was full of bonny birds. He’s still up there and his firm keeps writing to him asking him when he's coming back. So does his girl friend. But George is quite happy, thank you.
So would you be if you had girls like VICKI MUNRO to look at every day.
Vicki is nineteen and a fashion model.
But despite all the elegant houha of fashion modelling there's nothing Vicki loves more than outdoor sports like tennis and netball, which she plays with such bang-up enthusiasm that all the other girls keep gasping, "Och, my eye." Which is Scottish for "Oh, corks."
There's no pin-up girl quite like RUTH CAVENDISH.
Well, that's what all her fans say. And her fans are so fanatical you're chancing your life if you argue with them. You get slung off Tower Bridge or dropped from Nelson's hat. Nelson's hat is so far from the ground in Trafalgar Square that from the time you get dropped to the time you hit the flagstones the pigeons have flown round in six circuits.
Ruth is having a lovely life. She's a cashier and the most infectiously delicious brunette you ever clapped your peepers on. She's as Scottish as Flora MacDonald and as curvy as Clara Bow.
Clara Bow? Who's she?
Sorry, we forgot you didn’t go in for pre-war birds, only for modern swingers like Ruth.
"Well, so long, Hortense," said Humphrey, "I'm off now."
"You've been off since you took that assault course in 1944,” said his wife. "See you in a couple of months," said Humphrey.
"Oh no you don't," said Hortense, holding him back by his ear, "you'll see me same as usual when you come home from the gravel pits."
"I've changed me vocation," said Humphrey, "I'm off on a mission to Majorca."
"Top secret?" said Hortense, twisting his ear anti-clockwise. It hurts more that way.
"Hardly," said Humphrey, not minding the pain because of the semiconscious bliss that pervaded him. "I'm just going to spend my time looking for FO 777. No, leggo me ear, I'm all agog."
"What's FO 777—a pre-war Bentley?" asked Hortense.
"It's Female Operative No. 777," replied Humphrey, "and my mission is to find her in Majorca before some other swine finds her first.”
"That's not going to take you a couple of months," said his wife.
"I reckon to find her in a week," said Humphrey, "the rest of the time is for social bliss."
"I thought so,” said Hortense. "Come here," she said and yanked him indoors, belted him stupid and then made him stand in a corner until all his hot romantic flushes had died down.
Humphrey, you see, had heard that Yorkshire girl GLORIA GENE was going to Majorca, and as Gloria is a honey-eating cracker who looks marvellous in a Majorcan bikini measuring 36-24-36, Humphrey didn't want to be left out of all the joys of playing beach ball with her. It was Hortense who sabotaged him.
Wives are lovely and protective.
Gloria is not only shapely, but she keeps in shape by enjoying all the vigour of an outdoor life, and among her pursuits is a love of swimming in natural waters, not pools. Her home town is Goole in Yorkshire.
