Quite simple. Get yourself introduced to DAWN GRAYSON at a cocktail party for models with a flair for slaying the beholder. One look at our beautiful Dawn and you’ll be as crazy about her as we are. What real man can look into those soft eyes and dwell on that haunting shade of lipstick without wanting to be shot out of a cannon or something? Crazy it might be but undeniably exhilarating.
If you often have wistful dreams about someone tender, affectionate and absolutely ravishing who would make you blissfully happy without having to go off to a desert island, you're probably on an all-male expedition to the icy wastes of Greenland.
One girl you'll almost certainly dream about as soon as you see these pics of her is PENNY LEIGH.
She's ever so ravishing.
She likes riding, swimming and motorbikes. She can ride a motorbike like fun. Want to go pillion with her?
If so, hang on blissfully or you'll fall off.
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!”
Yes, it's very lovely for the art students around Bristol. Their new teacher is SUSAN ANSTEY, who is considered an incomparable work of art herself.
Long-legged, vivacious and with flowing chestnut hair, Susan took the opportunity during vacation time to show that modern lady teachers aren't just intellectual faces. She did some delicious pin-up modelling and was quite overcome at the pocket money she earned.
"My word," she said, "teachers don't get paid half as much."
"Well, give it up, wonder woman," said the photographer, "and be a glamour girl."
"I'd like to," said Susan, "but I'm dedicated and my pupils would miss me awfully."
"If I were in your class," he said, "so would I."
It's all right for some. Some have au pair girls to use a broom for them.
But SALLY DIXON, university student, has to do ail her own chores in her London fiat and one place she likes to keep spotless is her kitchen, she being a girl who spends a lot of time in it. She's a marvel at making up exotic dishes out of homely ingredients bought at the nearby Street market.
She's also a marvel at modelling in her spare leisure hours, so that she can occasionally buy her-self a luscious steak and cook it Chinese style. You eat it with Chinese crackers.
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.
It always does. Happily humming to herself, JO FOWLER set about finding a place for a picture in her husband's new residence in France, where he now works. You can see what happened. It always does.
(or - Don’t Shoot The Cook, She’s Too Beautiful)
When Mr. Burley, a keen amateur photographer, who hails from Brixton, London, sent us some photographs of his lovely wife, we were so impressed by the discrimination he showed in picking a girl like this to wed, that we sent our own photographer along to provide additional evidence.
We didn’t arrive at the best time. Well, it wasn’t the best time for blonde and beautiful Mrs. Burley, who was choring in the kitchen—no girl likes to be caught in her apron— but it didn’t take us long to realise that there’s no time like the present, and could the lady have looked any lovelier without her apron, anyway? A moot point, that, and one on which we will not linger.
Mrs. Burley, do you always dress in this cute outfit when you’re working in the kitchen—or is it that we just caught you on the wrong day?
Well, no-well, yes—well, I like to look glamorous in my kitchen, particularly on Wednesdays, which are half days, of course.
But today is Thursday—
Is it? Oh, well excuse me a moment while I lift Mrs. Beeton off the biscuit tin.
No, but really, Mrs. Burley — hold that a moment — you really are the cutest kitchen maid we’ve seen in years.
Well, thanks. For that you can stay and have some coffee, if you like.
Would you like to sit on your kitchen table, Mrs. Burley? With pleasure—but may I ask what for?
Because it's always been a crazy idea of ours that there are so many things which photograph better on a kitchen table than cups, saucers and toast-racks, and now we see you there we know it wasn’t such a crazy idea at that.
Well, we finally went away with the feeling that we’d shot off a lot of very attractive photographs, and it wasn’t until we’d gone about five miles in the trolley-bus that we realised we'd left Mrs. Burley to do the washing-up by herself. Never mind. She did it all with such a sweet smile.
T.V. viewer is TONI KAYE, who dresses informally for looking-in!
We haven’t got a clue what's on, but we share with Toni’s many admirers a feeling that, with Toni around, it can’t be anything that matters.
It turned out to be a short piece taken from Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto, and these two pictures illustrate Toni’s concentration—not on the Concerto, which she switched off, but on the Yogi formula of lying diagonally from corner to corner instead of straight from North to South. What does it achieve? Somewhere the answer’s in the relevant book.
Toni’s a cabaret girl and they’ve got a spotlight which makes every inch of her 36"-22"-35" count!
Wanting to anticipate the next look in way-out fashions, TRACY COLLINS opted for stripes worn with careless abandon, pink lace panties and black nylons.
Tracy, constantly seen around Chelsea where she shares an artistic pad with other working girls, isn't going to be left looking dead old-fashioned in a blanket style poncho when fashion hits a new trend. She wants to be first with the next look.
Tell you what, we go for those undone stripes.
With what clinical appraisal one can sum up their market potential. Swinging all the way.
If it’s true that gentlemen prefer blondes—we’re definitely open-minded on that point—it must be blondes like Margo who sway the issue.
Well, in black frills, not only is her fairness emphasised to the point where susceptible types are willing to carry a torch for blondes forever, but so are her long and lovely legs.
Anyone not in favour of Margo as an irresistible representative of beautiful blondes? In that case, you're sold on brunettes, but that, of course, doesn’t noticeably weaken Margo’s representative qualifications. It can't—she’s too beautiful.
It was quite by chance that APRIL SOMERS found some odd knickers. Odd is used in the bizarre sense and not because one leg was longer than the other.
They were what mother wore years ago.
"Oh well, anything for a laugh," said April, trying them on.
Well, fancy that, she thought, fancy anyone wearing them for serious. But they did, as mother subsequently told her, and they were considered ravishingly sexy and provocative.
"You could have fooled me", said April.
"Ask your dad, then," giggled mother.
"You saucy thing," said April to dad.
The funny thing was, April lounged around all day in them, and wore them for work the next day. They were just the job. April is a steeplejack.
Doorways are just doorways, but one doorway plus one pretty girl make quite a picture
We won’t introduce the doorway, but the girl is CATHY ALLEN, who lives in Hounslow, Middlesex, and she’s the one who really puts the decoration in the picture. Cathy is a 20-year-old receptionist, and she likes her job because she likes meeting people. That, brother, must be more than mutual!
With the door, half-shut it’s a bit of a squeeze, but we can still see Cathy, and that’s what matters.
There was nothing but sunshine and perfect peace around when DEBORAH STEPHENS first sat down to her picnic. They say that after seven years even the best of husbands (or wives) are inclined to get an itch, but only seven short minutes had gone by on this occasion when an itch attacked our Debbie.
She’d just got herself comfortably settled on her tummy— without lying on the strawberry jam sandwiches—when she found herself idly scratching her leg. Debbie has a very nice leg, but she doesn’t often also have an itch.
Initially, let’s face it, she wasn’t all that bothered. She was, in fact, scratching her leg fairly absent-mindedly, until quite suddenly the cause of the itch actually bit her.
“Help!” yelled Debbie. “It’s ants with long fangs!”
No help in the form of, say, an anteater being around at the time, Debbie panicked and dived headfirst under the picnic tablecloth, where she waved two shapely legs very wildly in the air—until a sense of dignity overcame a sense of flustered retreat. Whereupon Debbie sat up. Who won the day, Debbie or the ants?
“I won,” said Debbie, “I’m sitting on them, and if every ant isn’t as flat as a pancake then my eight stone two pounds counts for absolutely nothing.”
Considering the millions of girls who are all representative of the absolute fascination of their kind today, it might be difficult for people like geologists and back-room boffins to decide which girl is more representative of our times than all the others.
It's not difficult for us.
We pick DAWN GRAYSON.
Glorious auburn hair, great big eyes, a laugh like the gurgle of a mountain stream and legs so photogenic you can hardly focus proper. That's Dawn. You’ve never seen her before?
Where have you been? Down a gold mine?
