Sylvia Ternes
/Outdoor Style
Looking pretty in the Berlin park is SYLVIA TERNES, and if the season is a cold one and the outfit an anti-rain affair, the style of the whole thing is just right.
Looking pretty in the Berlin park is SYLVIA TERNES, and if the season is a cold one and the outfit an anti-rain affair, the style of the whole thing is just right.
Not long ago there was an awfully nice nurse in the local hospital around the corner. Her name was MANDY PETERS.
Then along came a patient who turned out to be a professional photographer, and all for the sake of his art he told Mandy what a lovely model she would make. At the time, she was a lovely nurse, about which all the other patients were indescribably content.
However, Mandy thought it would be a nice change of careers, so now she's given up nursing and has become a model.
She's a brown-eyed brunette, loves the countryside and, of course, looks absolutely saucy in a rural background.
London secretary PEGGY SMITH uses the springtime and the adjacent countryside to breathe in lots of fresh air.
Peggy commutes daily to and from her office, and to keep going and still look attractive as well as efficient what's more re-invigorating than bags of fresh air free from the dust of London?
In week-end dress and filmy frills. Peggy is cutely complementary to the spring sunshine, and it all helps to take her back to the office on Monday morning with a smile. It also helps her to see off the week’s work without coughing her way through Thursday and Friday.
Peggy is 20. is pretty good as a secretary and pretty attractive as a girl, and if her expression above is indicative of a sudden realisation that she forgot to get her boss to sign his post last Friday evening, well, that can happen to anyone, can’t it?
What's more Irish than Bridget?
And who's more Irish than BRIDGET McKENNA? Only the leprechauns.
Bridget emerged lustrous and dark-eyed from Dublin to make her way to Britain, where she'd heard they liked swinging shapes. And with her shape of 37-24-37, she felt pretty sure she wouldn't go unnoticed.
She was right. The photographers fell all over her in a manner of speaking. She's a glamour model now and shares an apartment in Islington with another model from Dublin, and this part of Islington has begun to sound just like old Ireland.
No, young Ireland.
Do you wake up in the mornings with Swiss cowbells ringing in your ears? Are there still spots in front of your eyes as you walk over London Bridge to your office? Do curt cabbies make you want to spit? Are you driven off your simple nut by the never-ending chat of the insurance man?
Do you collect old pieces of wood and large lumps of timber because you can’t bear to see them littering the countryside?
If so, have a comfy, consoling heart-to-heart with HELEN MILLIGAN, for Helen is a girl without complexes and frustrations and a piece of wood or a large lump of timber is no bother to her.
That’s what comes of being educated at a very exclusive and very expensive girls’ school. It teaches you to approach life with a very clear-cut idea of how to get your picture in the papers. Simply look extremely enchanting in a flowered frock and a frilly petticoat. Don’t have anything to do with mixed-up people who carry some large bundles of firewood.
Honey blonde JANE BREWERTON has recently got married.
Notwithstanding all that permissive talk which floats carelessly about, Jane wasn't interested in anything but the old-fashioned way of doing things. In white, in church and in June she was married.
Dental receptionist and glamour model, Jane is still happy to be a housewife, and is settling down so well to being a lovely one that hubby is going around murmuring, "Fantastic—why didn't we think of this before?"
And he doesn't just say that because of her delicious Continental cooking, you know.
If you believe the permissive fraternity, one way of not being happy is being married. All it means is that the people who can’t make a go of it themselves think it’s beyond everyone else as well. They make the most noise about it, but a lot of yap is only a lot of yap, it’s not necessarily worth listening to.
PENNY LANE is very happily married, thank you. Her zest for making the most of life includes tackling the job of rescuing a kitten from a high tree. We got there far too late to photograph Penny climbing up and climbing down, but we did get some lovely leggy shots of mini-skirted Penny around the house. Lovely is right all right.
Life isn't necessarily a matter of waiting around for things to happen. Fred was all right as long as he stayed in bed, but being all by himself it got inexorably dull.
So, he got up and went out in search of a happening. It was a windy day, the washing got blown off the line of No. 63 Planet Avenue and suddenly there was Fred with stockings and frillies and things wrapped around his neck. And there was also a blushing young housewife calling, "Stop, thief." Fred nearly got arrested.
Fortunately, a girl whizzing by in her sports car had seen the happening and was able to testify that Fred had been an innocent victim of the breezes. Fred thought it was absolutely lovely of her and was about to ask her up for cocoa in token of his gratitude when she said, "Well, so long, old sport," and off she whizzed.
TAMIE SCOTT is like that. She's a secretary always on the go. She's nineteen and at that age who ever feels tired? It's different with Fred. He's got flat feet. Tamie has got curves and long lovely legs.
What with the boss having one of those weeks—he'd lost a contract and his wife was beating him—secretary SUSANNE KENT couldn't get away from the office fast enough on Friday. On Saturday, she plunged into the heart of the country north-west of Glasgow, hoping to find all that fresh air everyone says is so good for you if you've had a trying week with sir.
Susanne took a short cut by climbing a wall. It was a long short cut because she got chased by an Ayrshire prize-winner. It thought she looked like a lady bullfighter. Susanne ran for miles. Still, she looked ever so cheeky with her dress hitched and her legs flashing, and the bull just hadn't got the heart to catch her up and toss her over a country castle.
It just kept following her. And in the end, it turned out to be Tony and Tiny McNutty, circus twins. Tony was the front legs, Tiny the back. They'd enjoyed the chase tremendously. Susanne had her own back. She set a couple of frisky cows on them. Front legs and back legs vanished in a panic over the horizon, the intrigued cows in determined pursuit.
If you don’t care about your garden and any old design will do, you can fill it with broken furniture and call it what you like. Funny thing is, people might fall over themselves to see it and then go away with the dazed look of those who have just seen the ultimate in horticultural architecture.
But if you care genuinely all you need to obtain to complete a garden design that will fill the beholder with delight is a garden seat containing NICOLA TAYLOR. For our money that’s the ultimate.
Secretary SYLVIA STUART thought about going to the local fancy dress gala as a bird of the fifties. Well, her mum kept lots of well-preserved garments of that era in an old family chest, and Sylvia thought she could be utterly authentic if she borrowed some of them.
There was a recognisable bra—somewhat more to it than today's bras but a bra all the same—and there were also some quite wearable pairs of knicks.
"But, oh confusion," said Sylvia, when she put mum's old leg hose on, "how did mum keep them up? What's this, then?"
It was a genuine 1950 garter-belt, an utter mystery to Sylvia, who said she didn't know if it had to be worn around the neck or what. Mum came up and laughed her head off and then explained the intricacies.
Eventually, Sylvia looked lovely and old-fashioned, with everything properly done up and staying up.
If you were to get an invitation from Janet to dine at your most exclusive local restaurant, you would no doubt, providing you could afford it, be there like a shot.
So too, was our photographer, but he sneaked along to Janet’s place even before she was ready. He’s pretty keen on Janet, if you know what we mean ! What a shock he got though when he found out he’d been invited to the wedding !
In a penthouse flat in Ladbroke Grove, London, dwells one of the most popular girls as far as the balloon fanatics are concerned. We're talking about secretary HELENA CHARLES and what she looks like on a summer evening.
On a summer evening, you see, Helena sunbathes outside her penthouse. Her penthouse is much higher than the surrounding buildings and nobody can overlook her without using a fifty-foot periscope. Except the mad balloonists, who can sail to and fro with basket-swinging impunity and look down on Helena's form divine.
There's one feller in goggles and moustache who nearly swept her up and carried her off, and her without a stitch, by Venus. But at a critical moment his balloon fouled a television aerial and went pop. He sagged down into the street and Helena remained blithely untrammelled, if you know what we mean.
If you must know (said tall, willowy VANDA VANE-DOTSON who prefers riding a country horse to taking a town taxi) I’m on the wrong side and trying hard to ge* to the right side before it’s too late.
In some circumstances (said Vanda, who is our idea of a rural-loving debutante) either side can be the right side. It just so happens that the circumstances on this occasion were all bound up with the fact that there was a rather hefty-looking quadruped on my side and he had all the characteristics of a belligerent bull.
Therefore (said Vanda, who drives a whizz of a sports car with verve and application) I knew there was only one side of the fence I wanted to be and that was the other side. I didn’t actually fall flat on my face but I can’t say these tight mini-dresses give a girl maximum composure when she’s in the kind of hurry I was.
Willy Carmuckle, known locally as the village half-pint—he's only five feet four—looked around to see if there was a tractor in sight. He thought if he could find one and drive it around the cornfield in ever-increasing circles, it would take his mind off the distracting beauty of PAMELA GASTELL.
"You couldn't manage a tractor even if you found one," said his friend, who was more blase about beauty. (He worked in a lingerie factory).
"I could manage it better than I could manage Miss Gastell, she’s too blooming pom-pom for me," said Willy.
"What's pom-pom?"
"She makes my ears go ping," said Willy.
That's the trouble with only being five feet four. Pamela is five feet five and lives in Brighton. During sunny week-ends she rides over the Downs on her horse, and sometimes she gets off her horse and looks all picturesque, as she does here.
Would you like to live in Sussex and meet up occasionally with Pamela?
As a matter of fact, said Bighead, l’d like to live in Sussex and meet up frequently with her.
So would we.