If a girl can’t settle down for a quiet read without being bothered by a harvester it could mean sudden death for the insect. JANET GOODMAN is not the sort of girl who won’t fight back.
So round the room they went, the flighty harvester and the pretty girl, and whack whack whack went the girl and zing zing zing went the harvester. And just when Janet thought she’d got it she hadn’t and what a fall there was and what a bump. Oh well, you can’t win all the time.
Very game girl is JACKIE BLAIR. Tennis, hockey, netball—you name it and Jackie’s played it. She looks absolutely delightful on the other side of a tennis net, but don’t get your eye in the way of her backhand volley. She likes mixed hockey better then anything, it gives her a chance to trip up all the six-foot men.
On Stage, Luv
It was ever so friendly when HERTA MICHAELIDES from Cyprus appeared for her first part on the London stage.
She was waiting with nervous trepidation for the curtain to go up, and then this friendly voice called, "On stage, luv." Herta liked that. In Cyprus and Greece, they use a different expression, one which roughly translated means, "Come on, get a Grecian move on."
Herta has spent most of her nineteen years in Cyprus, where she was born of an English mother and a Greek father. Now she is in London, living in Pimlico with her English husband and working in the theatre. She's hoping for utterly dramatic things to happen, although she's willing to wait a while to appear with the great Olivier.
She's nice, is Herta.
Well, as LIZ McEWEN was telling her friend Lynda on the phone, it’s easy if your sister doesn’t mind you borrowing her record player and doesn’t yell her head off if she finds you’ve also borrowed her best nylons when you go out on a special date. And, as JENNIE McEWEN said, it’s no problem at all to become very fond of Liz and she would if only Liz didn’t hog the telephone all the time and wasn’t always leaving things like horse saddles around. “I’m fed up with tripping over them and falling flat on my face,” said Jennie.
Well, as Liz said, what’s a lovely elder sister for if not to tidy the place up occasionally ?
We’ve had lodgers we didn’t even know about until they started leaving notes complaining about the motor in the fridge, and we’ve had lodgers whom we’ve had to way lay on the stairs and speak sternly to about getting their hair cut.
We’ve never had a lodger like DIANA REED. We suppose we must have done something that made us undeserving of same. Diana has a cute apartment in London, and with her experience of interior decorating her own flair here is for the unconventional contemporary (whatever that is)—she naturally keeps the whole thing looking dizzy.
Diana also likes cultivating rare potted plants and keeps tropical fish.
Some of the lodgers we’ve had would have eaten both.
Just a lot of dull, dim savages, mate?
While we're on the subject of glamorous wives, here's one who lives in the country.
She's JENNY PIPER, a golden blonde.
Jenny had quite a career going when she was a bachelor girl. She gave it all up to settle down in a country cottage when she got married, and the fortunate feller who married her made a lovely speech all about how paradise had arrived.
Well, what with roses round the door and Jenny around the kitchen, you couldn't call it anything -else but paradise. It's the sort of thing that makes the cynics go off their own egos.
Ornamental cat charm is personified in this elongated statue of a Siamese puss.
The lady in the picture is SALLY McGREGOR.
She's a sweet puss herself. It’s probably true that most women are purringly feline, and Sally says no one would purr more than she would if she could slip into a mink coat.
What about scratching?
"Certainly,” said Sally, "I'll do your back if you'll do mine." Purr, purr.
Some privileged guy called Willi Fritz, we think, is on the receiving end of this phone call from NINA WARTENBURG, blonde Berlin secretary who's wearing the boots to keep her toes warm.
We hope Willi is sufficiently appreciative of how attractive his caller is, even if Nina is only ringing to tell him to send over a small joint of Dutch veal. In fact, we hope any butcher's boy appreciates a pretty secretary as much as he does a young calf.
When she left Hamburg some time ago to come to England, VICKY LANDAU thought well, it won't be long before I'm back, there's my dog Rupert and Willi Albrecht from the shipping company, they're both lovely.
But now Rupert the dog and Willi the shipper are both just a memory. Vicky is still here, established in a cosy flat in London and earning her keep by lucrative modelling jobs.
"Naturally," said Vicky in her fluent native tongue to Nigel Merry-weather in a London pub, "I shall go back one day, probably when I've made my fortune."
"Could you speak in English,” said Nigel, "as I only speak German like an incoherent Italian in a wine barrel."
"Oops, you are so funny," said Vicky.
"Actually," said Nigel, "I'm dead serious, you're the most devastating bird I've ever met, and I tell you frankly. I've got designs on you. Have two more double Scotches,"
"I think," said Vicky, "that you are trying to get me drunk.”
"I'll be truthful," said Nigel, "I'm that kind of rotter."
"Englishmen," murmured Vicky, "are fascinating but much too naughty," And she poured her drink down his shirt front and then conked him with a German candlestick she always carries in her handbag.
Like any housewife, ROZ BARNWELL can always find time for a chat on the phone. It's nice to have friends who ring you up.
Roz is a pretty busy housewife, and a young mother too. Not only does she look after home, hubby and infant, she also holds down a secretarial job. And about once a week she does a modelling assignment. That just about makes her so versatile that she's almost a lovely miracle.
Other wives might buckle at the knees and start growing wrinkles and grey hairs, but Roz remains not just young but a delight to have around. She still likes the glamour of wearing stockings and suspenders, and if it weren't for the fact that the milkman has all his empties to look after he'd like to deliver four times a day to Roz's house. It's just joy to the eyes when she opens the door to take in her daily pint.
Ah, Cyprus. Island of rich wine and hot sun, sparkling jewel of Ancient Greece set in the wine-dark sea of Homer.
Of course, it's changed a bit since all those heroic Greeks chased the maidens from coast to coast.
The maidens are still enchanting but they get chased by tourists now.
Lovely SACHA MICHAELIDES used to work as a receptionist in a Cyprus hotel. There she took a great liking to tourists from Britain, especially the young and crazy buckeroos, and in the end decided to come to London. Now she's working in the offices of Cyprus sherry importers and has made the place intoxicating for the male staff.
It's no wonder those Ancient Greek heroes were always leaving Athens and rowing to Cyprus.
In Rome at the moment is INGRID SCHOELLER, film actress.
She isn’t the only one converted to the Italian line.
Beautiful girls from all over the world confess they are fascinated by the Italian line as soon as they arrive in Rome. Some also confess they are a little confused by it, especially Southern belles arriving from Atlanta, Georgia, where the men never pinch a girl, however luscious she is.
The Italian line has nothing whatever to do with coy reserve. If the Romans like the look of a flower of the Orient or a damsel from Denmark, they don’t believe in hiding their feelings.
They like Ingrid Schoeller very much. And Ingrid in turn is not without affection for Rome. As well as the Romans there are also all those lovely ancient monuments, which are extremely stimulating to any girl with an interest in old masonry.
Old masonry in the shadows of a Rome moon can be quite romantic.
Since a Scottish flavour is always acceptable, here's one more pin-up girl from over the border. ELIZABETH GALLACHER.
Entirely feminine is Elizabeth, a housewife who can serve up a soufflé looking absolutely eatable. A soufflé is a bit tricky, it has to come to the table delicately fluffy. Still, who's going to care all that much if it subsides a bit? What's a soufflé when you can always make do with bubble and squeak? What's food compared with romance? What’s a new fishing rod compared with the feminity of Elizabeth?
The Mona you all know about is Mona Lisa. She's hanging in the Paris Louvre. There's a new one around now.
She's London girl MONA FORSTER.
Eighteen years old and an office girl who likes part-time modelling, Mona makes a lovely portrait and if Miss Lisa looks more cryptic. Miss Forster looks far more gorgeous.
Fred stood for an hour gazing at the cryptic smile of Mona Lisa.
After looking at our new Mona for only five minutes he sat down heavily.
"It's me knees," he said, "they've gone all weak. Where can I meet her?"
You'll be lucky, Fred.
Mona has the dishiest boyfriend who knows just how to keep her away from weak-kneed characters like Fred.
If there's a girl you'd most like to be lost in a casino with it must be GAIL PINDER, for Gail is a croupier at a Manchester night club.
Never did any croupier look so charming or rake in the lolly so sweetly. It's a pleasure to lose. Well, even if not a pleasure it doesn’t hurt so much, not if you lose yourself in her green eyes as she scoops it in.
