Born twenty years ago in Yugoslavia, VESALINKA STEVANOVICH is now domiciled in England. She works in Bristol and now has her eye on a modelling career. Her vital statistics are 36-24-36 and you can see what a charming outdoor vista she makes.
In the Portobello Road, site of the famous London market, you can find BETTINE PARMENTIER helping her mother at their antiques stall. Bettine isn't just a pretty face—
"All right, don't be superfluous," said Fred.
Bettine is a real help. Her knowledge of antiques would hold any collector spellbound, especially if he liked girls as well as old doorknockers.
When she's not at the stall, Bettine is travelling around the country looking for bargains, and many an old gentleman owning a Boer War assegai has been induced to discuss a sale over a cup of country tea.
"Tell her to come round and see me," said Fred, "I don't have no assegai but I don't half make intoxicating tea."
We were having a lovely chat with that corking Scottish fashion model HELEN MILLIGAN. It was before cricket and baseball had started and girls were still wearing something warm. We said what a famous looking sweater she had on.
“I knitted it myself,” said Helen.
“No, did you really?”
“Don’t I look as if I can knit?” she said.
“You look spectacular and any implication we made to the contrary was all to do with wonderment at your all-round capabilities.”
“I don’t like the way you said that,” said Helen, “it makes me sound like a computer.”
We were equal to that. We said, “Any computer which looks as corking as you do in a hand-knitted sweater deserves to get nominated for a technological Oscar.”
“That might mean something,” said Helen, “only I bet you say it to all the girls.”
“Only to those who knit their own sweaters and look as—”
“Don’t keep on,” said Helen, “just go and find the boat and row me back to a pot of tea and a plate of hot scones.”
In fact, the look this year to catch the eye that belongs to favourite pin-up JANETTE GOODMAN, with just that extra air of glamour we all find so irresistible.
It was our lucky day when we discovered that acme of secretarial elegance, PATRICIA GARLAND of Kent. Or did Pat discover us? She came into our office to ask us if we thought she would make a passable pin-up model. Passable was putting it mildly. Pat's a perfect pin-up pet—she has a happy smile and long, long legs. We don’t ask for a better pin-up picture than Pat makes, and if we had to switch secretaries at all we’d indent for a switch just like Pat.
In black lingerie, which she models with natural elegance —to say nothing of an air of bewitching femininity—Pat only needs a white stole to produce a finishing touch effective enough to catch any eye that might otherwise wander.
And if you aren't sure what this beguiling look adds to the picture, have the answer on us—for we aren't sure, either. Except we feel kinda sent.
Pat is one of our most attractive 1961 discoveries, and we hope to present her in various pin-up moods in coming months.
When a couple of gay girls set out for a ramble in the country, and when those gay girls negotiate the old brick wall on their way, you can’t help thinking of the days when you were young too and sweet Rosie Bessing-woodhampton skipped o’er the dales with just the same charm as now skip ANNETTE FRENCH and JANE RENNIE.
Brick walls and wooden fences have a way of catching at the frills, so there’s no answer to that except to pin those frills back for with frills pinned back a girl is leg-free and all set to jump a five-barred fence (if she’s dumb enough to try!) In case you don’t know, it’s Annette on the left—the one just getting ready to take off for an un-boosted orbit—and Jane on the right. Jane’s the one ready to help the landing be less of a bump than it might.
It was only a short time ago that fascinating CARMEN DENE decided to give up office work and try her luck in show biz. Now she’s really with it, a gorgeous, glamorous starlet and model for whom the most susceptible of us will willingly stand on our heads.
Carmen has loads of talent and a big-eyed, bubbly look, and she can run the gamut of expressionism from whizzbang vitality to “My hat, whose topper am I sitting on ?”
The bright lights of TV and film lots await the arrival of Carmen in a part that sizzles, and it won’t be long before this gay, infectious glamour girl hits it high and handsome.
"Where did you get that hat?"
"It was Boat Race night in Piccadilly," said KIM SCOTT, " and it fell off a dressed-up Cambridge man. How do I look in it?"
"You look like a fair cop, you delicious girl."
"It's only an imitation one," said Kim and did a little giggle. "I don't really think I'd make a good policeman, I just couldn't stand being an arm of the law and telling people to move on.
"All right, we'll stay to tea, and won't move until you insist."
But Kim had a date with someone tall, dark and dishy, because lovely girls like her always do have such dates. She's an air stewardess and the girl we'd most like to get lost in the clouds with.
She lives in Middlesex, not far from London Airport. The fellers say that wherever Kim lives it's spring all the year round.
Advertising assistant TONI TOWNSEND is, of course, the girl we’d most like to get immersed in a marketing survey on a desert island with. If that sounds all mixed-up and disjointed, put it down to our natural aptitude for getting a buzz in our ears when confronted by an absolutely corking mini-dress. Toni is twenty-two, she designs and makes all her own clothes. We can’t help it, we still get the buzz. In fact, if she designs even lovelier outfits the buzz will turn into a roaring noise. A roaring noise is something that makes you fall off the top of a tall building. Your only hope is to bounce like a bad cheque and land in the lap of a ravishing advertising assistant.
Toni, by the way, is a Bournemouth girl, so if you're fond of the seaside trot down there on a summer’s day and you might find Toni in a bikini of her own design. We strictly feel that Toni is fundamentally eye-catching in any outfit. In outfits which bear the mark of her own inspiration she is gilding the gingerbread. Gilded gingerbread is too good to be true, but not in this case.
Relevant to the fashion of rubberised rainwear, here's SUSAN SMITH looking very mod in her own mac. You can't look better than Susan does in her style, but if you can, then you can count yourself in the category of the ultra-mods.
There's something tickling RUTH CAVENDISH, but we're not sure if it's a feather or because the photographer is being bitten by a frisky pup. Perhaps it doesn't matter when the effect on Ruth is to make her as gay as this, for the look of this lovely lady is what we're most concerned with.
Ruth is eighteen and won the title of “Miss Arbroath” when she was only fourteen.
Without what?
Without MARION ALEXANDER. Well, she’s only got one husband and she’s rather fond of him, they live in south-east London, and she makes a lovely cup of tea and cooks delicious dinners.
I daresay she does (said Henry Hopkins), but I couldn't live if I couldn’t marry her myself. She’s my idea of how to live in superlative domestic bliss, and I haven't even met her yet.
But when we asked Marion about Henry Hopkins she said she was very sorry and all that, but all she could give him was an aspirin. She said as an extra her husband would give him a thick ear.
Henry said there was nothing for it but to shoot himself. But we haven’t heard any bang yet.
Unanimously established as the kind of girl you’d most like to take out for dinner with no expense spared, as long as she doesn’t ask for oysters at four quid a dozen, is of course SUSAN DOUGLAS. Always elegant, always eye-catching always your dream girl.
We feel the same way about her.
