Speaking of France, secretary VALERIE PETERS was going there for a holiday this year, but what with the currency restrictions and her feeling that the General doesn’t like her, she said “Non,” to the idea in the end. She’s going to Cornwall instead so look out for her skimming the white horses on her surf board.
Housewife LAURA ST. JOHN was on the phone ordering some groceries when some burk managed to cross the line and Laura found herself talking to the grocer and the burk at the same time.
The burk was trying to sell insurance and Laura ended up with a pound of bacon and a dozen eggs covered against dying of heart failure while in the frying-pan.
The premium was a tin of mustard a month.
Repeatedly the recipient of readers’ eulogies is bonny MARY GRAHAM, lovely young lady from Ayrshire. One of our most popular Scottish models, Mary comes up looking better every time she appears, and if this is because she probably has the shapeliest legs North of the Border we wouldn’t be surprised.
Along with the attractiveness of Mary’s pretty legs goes Mary’s sunny smile.
These pictures of Mary should either prove the point for doubting judges or confirm it for those in no doubt at all.
We hope to see more and more of Mary in 1963, in which case these should be the first of 1963 's many.
HELENE GIBBS, arrived in London some several months ago. She didn't expect to make her fortune overnight, but did hope she'd be able to earn enough lolly to pay the rent of her little flat in Camden Town and keep her in food and clothing.
A dancer, Helene thought London's theatres and night clubs wouldn't actually be short of scintillating exponents of this art, and it was with surprise and delight that she found her talents accepted.
Now she's dancing nightly in cabaret. The lolly is lovely, so are the audiences.
At five feet six, with measurements of 37-24-36, Helene is lovely too, especially when photographed in the environs of leafy Hampstead.
It’s not the parasol that counts, it’s the girl. The girl is ANNETTE WILSON, the parasol is just some little thing she bought in a Local store when they were selling off during the summer rain. The truth is, in rain or shine, with or without parasol, Annette is a curvy, shapely pin-up, and if you met her on the beach or on a foggy day in London you’d find the day would look suddenly brighter. There are girls and girls—most of them undeniably attractive (for such is the way the modern misses are growing up these days)—and of many girls Annette can be counted among the tops. She’s a honey-blonde and measures 36"-23"-36".
Annette is a Scot and once she played the bagpipes. Some nearby Irishman complained so Annette hasn’t played them since.
Annette likes dancing, theatres, horse-riding. She is a dancer herself and has the long, graceful legs that make the best dancers so efficient and so eye-catching.
Annette also likes food. Growing girls mostly do. She favours no particular kind of cooking and can enjoy French, Italian, Spanish or Scottish dishes with equal relish. With a palate as cosmopolitan as that the capitals of Europe— and she’s been to most of them—can offer her all their own particular recipes with happy confidence that she’ll do them justice.
The farmer's boy came whistling over the fields. He was carrying a haystack. He was a strong lad. Then he saw GAIL JOHNSON, an absolutely ravishing, blue-eyed blonde.
Gail thought she was all alone. She did wonder why a distant haystack looked as if it was moving about, but not being an agriculturalist she put it out of her mind.
It was a hot day and just right for gambolling about in undies. Then the haystack stopped moving and a face came out from under it. The face of the farmer's boy. Gail gave him one warning.
"Don't you dare look or I'll fire six rounds into you."
The farmer's boy couldn't help looking. Corks, what a peach, he thought. So, Gail fired six rounds. They thudded into the haystack. The farmer's boy was ever so relieved, any one of those rounds might have injured his appetite and he was looking forward to pork pie for supper.
"Missed me," he said.
Gail reloaded.
The farmer's boy knew when he was well off. He picked up the haystack and ran. He tripped over a furrow and the haystack fell on him.
"Serve him right," said Gail, "shouldn't have such goggle eyes."
What didn’t we know before? Before what? Eh? Wake up, the milkman’s here. What milkman? My word.
My word nothing, that’s no milkman, that’s FRANCESCA YOUNG, currently catalogued as the cutest, curviest kitten the photographic glamour world has turned its lens on.
Oh, good, so now we know.
Two peaches make an adorable pair. Especially two peaches like NICOLA TAYLOR and JOANNA YOUNG, happy housewives of Bournemouth who still believe in the mini. From left to right, Nicola is the first peach, Joanna the second.
First Peach: "I don't know what I'm going to do if the midi does take over. It'll cost me a fortune."
Second Peach: "Me too. And the bus conductors are going to be ever so gloomy."
First Peach: "Especially the one on the No. 42. He hasn't looked at my face for ages."
Second Peach: "Nor mine. When I came down the stairs.”
First Peach: Yesterday he said he liked me best in the frilly pink ones I was wearing the day before." "Well, when Mary Pipkin came down the stairs last week he rang the bell six times and fell off the bus."
Second Peach: "Isn't he a giggle?"
First Peach: "You mean goggle, darling."
Second Peach: "Don't look now but here comes the park-keeper wearing his binoculars."
Well that’s what Maggie McCully said when she fell half way down the stairs. It's not so much a matter of stripes as of legs, really, but as Maggie's sweater is just as eye-catching as her legs, who cares to define the difference?
Just to confirm how cute is the sweater, here are a couple of shots of Maggie’s stripes in close-up. These indicate that if Maggie has anything in common with a zebra, it’s nothing that makes us prefer the latter.
Stripes apart, these pictures tell you exactly why Maggie wins every leg competition she enters—and you can say that again and mean it.
Anytime you spot a picture on the stairs which is as good as any picture of Maggie on the stairs, we’d like to know about it. We’d hate to miss any picture as good as Maggie makes.
It was Frank on the phone. SARA JAMES, Kensington dolly bird, was trying to sell him off the idea of becoming an elephant trainer. She thought he was too eligible to spend all his time with elephants.
"Okay, "said Frank, "listen. I'll try the trapeze, I often feel like flying about after a day selling insurance."
"No, don't do that," said Sara, "you'll only fall off."
"Tell you what," said Frank, "if I do fall off I'll pack it up and we’ll do a safari from London to Istanbul, how about that?"
"Lovely," said Sara.
"Agreed,” said Frank, "see you at the circus, then."
So, they met at the circus and the management let Frank try his trapeze potential. He fell off as soon as he got on. He was still dizzy when they went off on safari to Istanbul and after a whole day's travelling they were still going around Piccadilly Circus.
Sara got off at midnight and went to a club with Nigel.
A girl can only stand so much.
Girls all over the world are cute simply because they’re born that way, and you naturally allow for a few unholy errors or terrors. High in the rankings appertaining to those who are the cutest come the Canadian girls. Living as they do in that great, wild, untamed, pine scented, maple endowed land of forests and lakes, they’ve got something you can’t get in the atmosphere of the Mersey Tunnel, say.
There's LISA LINETTE, for instance.
Lisa is a dancer from Vancouver and besides being cuter is also much more fascinating than any of those engagingly playful bears that pop out at you from trees all over Canada. No, the Canadian bears are darlings, really, and breathtakingly huggable, but show us any grizzly who looks as cute as Lisa when doing up its garter, and we still wouldn’t believe you.
Lisa will be over in Europe in 1965, where she’ll dance her way round the old-fashioned capitals, and if you want to know what sort of shape to look for Lisa comes very curvily in a size of 36"-22"-36". Oh, and if you want to make any kind of a hit with her, remember that her hobbies are golf, ice-skating and music.
You wouldn’t think this trim, slim charmer was a cross-country champ, would you—or would you? Her name is JULIE MARSDEN and she’s won any number of trophies running miles and miles over the countryside in all weathers, without looking anything but engagingly feminine. In fact, Julie is very feminine and when she isn’t in her track suit she likes to wear all the frills that the ultra-feminine girls do wear.
We caught up with Julie when she was out surveying the route for one more cross-country run. She was picking her way over the roughest ground and looking delightfully leggy about it. It was a sure way of proving with our camera that our girl athletes don’t look like Amazons but just like the pretty girls next door.
It’s a fact that SALLY RANDALL not only looks absolutely delightful in black lingerie, and that she can not only cook, she can also dance.
Sally, it happens, is a dancer of no mean merit. We accept that information with pleasure. We’ll settle anytime that’s convenient for the cooking.
The fact is, sultry NORMA GORDON, Scottish beauty queen, was in the Highlands one day and over the border the next. Reason? She had a date with a handsome Yank—the kind of date she just couldn’t miss. The day before we took these photographs he proposed and the day after Norma went and married him. She kept it so dark we didn't even have time to buy her a blue garter to wear.
We should have guessed something big was cooking, for Norma was so absent-minded at this sitting she fell off the sofa twice. The fact that she came up smiling on each occasion should have given us an added clue. This whirling pirouette she executed for the sheer joy of it, and we still didn't realise why.
We presume that was because we’re not currently madly in love ourselves. Oh, youth—oh, springtime—oh, vanished vitality and aching backs. Oh, that lucky Yank.
It was night. Well, it was all dark, anyway, and Fred was in bed. And solidly immersed in a dream about fishing boats.
When Fred is solidly immersed his mind is totally unimaginative.
Far removed from boats and fish is our kind of dream. Her name is JAN NEWMAN. She lives on the South Coast and is a sun worshipper. If, when you are deep in sleep, you can dream about a dream like Jan, then you'll have a far more sublime period of floating sub-consciousness than silly old Fred.
Don't ask us how.
Perhaps it's just a matter of artistic concentration and the right kind of night-cap.
Jan is a secretary, a richly corn-coloured blonde with the loveliest legs. If you like elegance, you whistle. If you like dumplings, go home to mother.
Sometimes even elegance takes a tumble. Still, it was entirely involuntary. Jan thought there was a chair there. Never mind, it does prove our point, that she really does have the loveliest legs.
