Face to face with herself is pert and pretty PAULA VANCE.
Paula’s a girl who can square up to a mirror with more confidence than we can!
All the mirror tells us is that we need another shave. What it tells Paula is that she doesn’t need a thing - she’s loaded with everything that counts.
Everything that counts may include lolly, but actually we weren't thinking of lolly .
The long-legged brunette in black net and saucy sombrero is ANN WRIGHT. Ann would like to live in the tropics, where this sort of outfit would be quite in keeping. In the wintry British climate, however, fur boots and mufflers are the order of the day, and they don’t suit Ann’s personality at all.
“Even mink," says Ann, "is just another fur to me. I’m the light-weight type ’’
We presume Ann only wears the hat in case it starts to rain.
Anytime the subject of who’s got the nicest legs comes up for discussion, the list of eligibles should include Ann.
And if you' want to talk about what to wear with a black hat, who’s pointing the way for you?
It doesn’t mean that MELANIE COOPER is a milkmaid or ploughs the fields or harvests the corn.
It only means that Melanie, who lives in the lush county of Hampshire, is the toast of any farmer who has a discriminating eye for sex appeal and can get his mind off his beetroots.
That’s not difficult for a farmer’s boy when Melanie is around the place, but it’s sometimes difficult for a dedicated farmer. A dedicated farmer is a man who can’t think about anything but tomorrow’s weather. A farmer’s boy hasn’t got those problems. Melanie likes farmers because they’re lean and masculine and look very vital on horses. Farmer’s boys are only for patting on the head.
How high can a hemline soar? VICKI CAMPBELL and JANET NEILL give us a preview of their reply to the Parisian designers. Any poll you care to take will show 99% in favour of the Campbell-Neill line.
The 1% ! That’ll be our office boy—he thinks Vicki and Janet could have lopped off another couple of inches. That boy’s too old for his years.
The look is oriental, and you might expect the name to be, too. But it's not Little - Flower - That Flutters - In - The - Wind or Blossom - With - The - Cherry - Red - Petals it's ALEISHA PHILLIPS. The Christian name may have an almond flavour to it but don’t be fooled - Aleisha is a Beautiful Briton. Nevertheless, drape her in a kimono, place her unobtrusively in a Tokyo bus queue, and the nearest the Nips will get to classing her as a foreigner will be Shanghai. Is it the delicate slant to those beautiful brown eyes?
No, but listen. Aleisha’s never been to Tokyo or to Shanghai. We don’t think she’s even been in a bus queue.
She rides in taxis and she’s strictly a no chop-suey type. That alluring, exotic Eastern look just developed along with her slim and shapely legs, and any mysterious Oriental characteristics she’s acquired are really quite Occidental.
Now fashion modelling in London, Aleisha shows that black lingerie tailored around her trim 35 - 25 - 35 figure looks good from all angles, and she models it with the sweet assurance of a Tokyo counterpart who's left her kimono on the hook.
Outside the campus, where there was a satisfactory amount of rustic quiet and the student demo had packed up for tea, CHRISTINA BARTSCH celebrated her victorious exam results in swinging exhilaration.
With her maxi going all ways, much to the delight of a wandering minstrel who was looking for a place to unpack his sandwiches and his guitar, Christina was like feminine poetry in frilly motion.
The wandering minstrel stopped wandering. He sat down on a grassy hillock and played one of his own compositions, which sounded a bit like he'd pinched it from a gypsy cantata. Still, the rhythm was just right for our swinging student and it all looked like a lovely Can-Can in Arcadia.
Christina wants to be a research scientist.
You'd never think so to look at her. She's far too lovely to hide herself away in a land-locked laboratory.
It wasn’t the time of the year as it happened. If we hadn’t been dead ignorant, we’d have known, but being dead ignorant we went off with a pair of scissors and a trog and began a blissful, optimistic hunt for the stuff.
Scilla nonscripta is mostly found in woodlands, so we got that part right. For your information, that’s the Latin name for bluebells, and we don’t mean those in fishnet tights and 5' 8 tall.
It was late summer. They’d been and gone months before.
Nobody told us.
But we did find Persona Bella, which being translated from Peruvian means a bloom of great charm, which lights up when the Beatles are on. The one we found was quite delightful and of the Cole variety.
BRIDGET COLE is eighteen, comes from Horley, and has a great affection for horses, which she rides with great verve and aplomb, and if we only had a little of each we wouldn’t fall off so often.
She works in a Crawley office and is thinking about the prospects of becoming a model.
We think she’s much more decorative than a vase full of scilla nonscripta.
Down on her farm in Sussex, TESSA KING is a great favourite - and not just because she’s kind to the animals. Tessa is a farmer's wife and just about as cute as they come.
It was a little too wet and muddy on this occasion to show you Tessa shepherding the gentle cows through the gate and across the road, but we're able at least to show you she's definitely one of the most photogenic farmers’ wives south of the Highlands.
Up in the morning early is Tessa, and if you thought a farmer's wife dressed herself in the rural equivalent of a boiler suit to face the day's chores, then here’s the exception which proves you shouldn't generalise.
This is the age of glamour - and the age that takes in farm favourites like Tessa. That side look out of the window was not made to project charm alone - a couple of hen turkeys had skipped away from the main throng (is throng of turkeys strictly correct?) to wing a lift on the tractor. Turkeys on tractors being taboo, Tessa was weighing up the necessity of rushing out to rescue them before they fell under the wheels. But not in this outfit !
Here’s a Jill - JILL SUMMERS, in fact—and all that’s necessary to make this a gay twosome by the sea is Jack. He’ probably gone fishing.
Well, a girl as attractive as Jill won’t be alone for long on the beach, for it doesn’t matter how many Jacks have gone fishing there are always large numbers of discriminating beach boys who prefer attractive girls to cold-eyed fish.
It would indeed be delightful to have a maid-of-all-work like PATRICIA McGREGOR around the house. But unfortunately, Pat’s not registered with any domestic agency. The chores she does are strictly for her own benefit career wise she’s a fashion model and drama teacher. No, we can't tell you where she teaches drama, and anyway, Horace, we can’t see you as Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. With that glint in your eye and that smirk on your face, you’re not mournful enough.
Washing-up sans skirt is to save the skirt getting splashed by detergents, and, of course, to prove that fashion models have very glamorous legs.
Pat, by the way, is a pukka fashion model, and this is the first time she’s posed for pin-up shots. She was quite confident she would do us justice—with a smile like that and trim limbs like these, this was a certainty.
What she didn’t realise was that so many pin-up girls who put their feet up for temporary relaxation inevitably end up flat on their backs.
“This is a new one on me,” said Pat, “and I can’t say anything except the bump hurt me a lot more than it hurt you. How many times do I have to do this for pin-up art?”
And while she made herself a cup of tea to soothe her shattered nerves we explained it was a pure accident.
“Willingly,” said Pat, “I’d give you the benefit of the doubt on that if I hadn’t seen you push me. Pardon me if I pick a softer seat than before but I’m a little tender.”
We laughed that one off by saying that a little tender is just as much behind as a big tender, especially on British railways.
“You can say that again,” said Pat, and curling up on the armchair she refused to budge until we’d gone. And she stayed unbudged so charmingly we had no option but to fold up our tents and depart like the wise men of old.
THAT’S what the photographer asked JENNIFER MITCHELL on a recent modelling session. Jennie didn't need asking twice she'd been longing to try the machine out for size ever since he drove up. So, she told him to run along and attend to his flash bulbs, or light meter, or whatever it was needing attention she'd stay guard over the bike.
As soon as he was out of sight, Jennie was on the saddle. On the handlebars, too which is original if not comfortable.
A peek to ensure that the photographer was still occupied elsewhere, and Jennie was off for a trial spin. Alas, the bike will never be the same again neither, we think, will the photographer. Jennie, we’re glad to report, remains unalterably delightful.
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.
