It was a lovely day and JOAN PAUL found herself a lovely spot. Deep in the heart of Surrey, where the foxes still run. Far from the rushing, hissing, clanking noises of London.
“London is swingy,” said Joan, “but it’s lovely here. I could stay here all day, but foxhounds keep running over my feet and snapping at my feet. I didn’t realise everything was still so primitive. Gadzooks, here’s another bunch and they’re all drooly. James, fetch the car.”
Having returned home to Scotland from the sunny shores of the Mediterranean, cute SANDRA McPHERSON decided the first thing to do was to take an inventory of the pantry. Reluctant to completely divorce herself from the atmosphere of the Med, she put on her little short sun-skirt. The nylons are merely in acknowledgment of the somewhat colder breezes of Scotland, and they don’t completely black out her sun-tan. This was a beautiful golden brown and Sandra certainly does justice to that kind of tan.
Sandra’s main impression of Italy was the Italians—the way those Latin men sneak up and pinch a girl had to be felt to be believed.
It’s a fact, of course, that lots of girls who go to Italy return tanned from the sunshine and tender from the pinching. Sandra, we’re pleased to say, remains true to Scotland and the Scots.
One of our newest pin-up favourites is LOUISE BURTON, who lives in Brighton, Sussex. The Prince Regent would have invited Louise to all his festive occasions in the Pavilion.
Louise is a drama student. She's keen to go on the stage. We're keen to see her on the stage. Well, actually, we don't mind where we see her just as long as we do. Day by day Louise commutes to and from her drama school and she's so popular with the male students that if she misses a class they go all moody and start doing Hamlet.
Moody soliloquies, of course, are the life and breath of every male student in every drama school. That's better than jumping off a bridge.
It’s not always the view from the window that makes a room charming. Sometimes, as in this case, it’s the view of the occupant — especially if the occupant happens to be DENISE FLEMING, a dark-eyed Scot with long and lovely legs.
Once more the mini in its brevity strikes the eye with an impact that almost hurts.
The girl is MARRIANNE SAND, a blue-eyed blonde from London. She's twenty-three, a dancer and an absolute dream. She likes suntan, champagne and messing about with boats.
She wears her jeans when she's sailing. The only time she wore a mini all the competing yachtsmen fell overboard.
Outside of boats Marrianne is lovely to have around, because she's not just a pretty face, you know. She can cook, make conversation and pass an opinion.
In other words, if you've got a girl friend who is only a pretty face, try one who can activate your intelligence.
I don't want my intelligence activated, said Fred, I just want a pretty face.
There's no one who needs a pretty face more than you do, Fred.
Our Scottish photographer tells us that RUTH CAVENDISH is not only beautiful but highly intelligent and extremely cultured. It’s with confidence, then, that we exhort this lovely lady to put her best foot forward when alighting from her car, for she will do so far too intelligently to trip up and far too attractively not to make a perfect picture.
For those who like statistics as much as they like culture, Ruth is eighteen, and fits very nicely into a shapely silhouette of 38"-24"-38". Did you ever see any girl alight so prettily?
Ruth’s ambition is to become a fashion model, and certainly no fashion model we ever saw comes to the job more photo-genically than Ruth could. Of all the bonny Scots we have featured, Ruth is among the bonniest.
Whenever the laurels are awarded for shapely legs Ruth is among the enchanting recipients, and these shots leave us in no doubt she deserves every leaf.
It wasn’t our idea to get up and go. We were in one of those groovy night clubs full of sensationally-clad birds accompanied by all that’s brightest in the way of fashionable male escortage.
Fashionable male escortage—as far as London is concerned—is something made up of the grooviest young men circulating the scene. The scene, of course, is any place in town where these breath-taking birds and their laughing boys congregate.
We were right in the throes of an incurable infatuation for a girl called VICKY ASHLEY, who was having a dizzier effect on our eyes than the revolving light. Was she gorgeous or was she not? She was. We asked a waiter to take her our card.
“Hold it, priceless,” he growled, “do I look like a waiter in me Spanish shawl and me string beads? Like me toreador boot in yer eye, would yer?”
We made a jolly little riposte to show him all we wanted was to drink wine with Miss Ashley, at which he called over a couple of laughing boys. We had to make a move. We didn’t realise people could take such quick offence.
As we left. Miss Ashley was looking lovelier than ever, and no wonder—she’s the newest and most photogenic model in town.
If you want to be with it among the modern misses boots are a necessity these days—if you don’t wear a pair you’re a square. Well, we wouldn’t call PAMELA JOHNSON square under any circumstances, not when she has those curvaceous statistics of 35-22-36.
Pamela hails from Rotherham and we must say she looks an absolute peach in her long black boots—but so she does, anyway.
Pamela at the moment works in an office but has hopes and ambitions to become a model. All we can do is advise her to put her best leg forward and step out
What a life. All hot sun, green links and a perishing little white ball. Right, thought BARBARA WELSH, this is it, then. I did a 94 on the first hole last week, and if I can take eighteen putts today instead of twenty I'll do a 92.
And with that she hauled her clubs out of the car boot and went and attacked everything in sight — tees, bunkers, natural hazards and that perishing little white ball. In her mini she looked a marvel.
Barbara has never been a girl to let anything beat her, although there was one time when she got wrapped around by a wayward garden hose and flung into the asparagus bed.
She isn't going to let the frustrations of golf mess her about. But she could improve her grip a bit. For a right-handed girl she's got the most complicated left-handed grip.
This is Barbara lining up her putt. Why don't more girls in minis play golf?
Because, said Barbara, that perishing little white ball makes all girls want to scream.
Incidentally, she's eighteen and an ex-Tiller girl, and even if her golf could be improved, she still looks a lovely marvel at the game.
There's nothing wrong with the great outdoors that you can't cure by staying indoors. Cor, what a draught.
But sometimes circumstances force you out and keep you there. Like when TV personality ANNE SCOTT took an outdoor modelling assignment and couldn't ethically back out. And when she found she was modelling lingerie in a temperature that called for a fur coat, she knew what outdoor hazards really were.
Talk about how to look glamorous with shivers rocketing up and down your spine. What a petrifying carry-on.
"I think I'd rather be a non-combatant mercenary,” said Anne.
"What's a non-combatant mercenary?” asked Fred.
"Well,” said Anne, "you get a fabulous wage but you don't have to do any fighting. You sit in the lady officers' mess drinking hot soup and looking terribly cute in a pretty uniform.”
"Mini-skirted?” asked Fred.
"Naturally," said Anne.
"Okay," said Fred, "I'll join the same lot and sit in the lady officers' mess with you.”
"But bring your own soup," said Anne.
How do we do what?
How do we find such adorable girls? Fellers keep on asking us that. They suspect we go out with a kind of adorable-girl divining rod, and that if we'd only lend them this rod for a week-end they wouldn't half be grateful.
It's all done by kindness, really. Adorable girls ring us up and make enquiries about modelling and we're so kind to them that they can't resist coming along to sit for us.
Like PATSY ROWLANDS, for instance. Our photographer was ever so nice to her. What a sweetie, thought Patsy. Actually, Patsy is so sweet herself she can't help looking for the best in others. She's another girl who works in an office, but most of her spare time is spent painting, sketching and horse-riding.
She's eighteen, is five feet six and measures 36-23-36.
Mad about tennis—and pretty hot at it, too—is HELEN BAXTER, lively and lovely Scots lass. Here Helen swings a nifty racquet to keep in trim, and Helen is a girl who looks good when she's in trim, for that adds up to the curvaceous outline of 39"-24"-38". And it doesn't alter whether she's playing a backhand or a forehand.
That dream of a shot sent the ball over the bank, and a climb over the bank is easier in shorts than frills—but you wouldn’t get a better picture. Helen is twenty-two and is all set to beat up her opponents in her local club tournaments.
In the mixed doubles we’d rather be with her than agin her—some guy is going to be lucky. But we’re sorry for those on the wrong side of the net.
Well, Helen is delightfully feminine, but if you stopped one of her overhead smashes between the teeth, your dentist would have one heck of a time putting your molars back in again. Isn’t the girl the bonniest lass?
“Take your time,” said the examiner in a hearty, friendly voice, “get yourself comfortable and then start her up.”
And ANNETTE RIDGEWAY LE GREASLEY (pronounced “Graylee” by the way) gave a nervous smile, murmured “Oh dear, well here goes,” and started off on her third driving examination. Poor Annette had failed on the first two occasions and two failures don’t exactly help your confidence at the third attempt.
Praying she’d miss all the lamp-posts and not mount any pavements, she concentrated hard. She was so delighted when the examiner passed her as okay, that on the way back she parked the car and bought herself a new hat. She didn’t need one but it was that kind of occasion. A carnival queen and a great favourite in beauty contests, Annette looked lovely in her new hat. Emerging from the shop she found a traffic warden taking her number.
“Cor,” he said when he saw her.
“Are you giving me a ticket?” asked Annette.
“That was my unshakeable resolve, dear lady,” said the traffic warden, “but I’ve come all over irresolute. All right, nip off while the going’s good. How much did they rush you for the chapeau?”
“I didn’t ask,” said Annette, “they’re sending the bill to my husband.” And when her husband got the bill he sent the hat back and the bill as well. Otherwise we’d have shown you what a lovely hat it really was.
Some models go off and get married, others get new jobs abroad and don't come back, and a few give everything up in favour of farming.
A very select minority keep at it and get better and better.
Like NICOLA TAYLOR, an always beautiful Hampshire model. Nicola gets better and better all the time. Don’t ask us how she does it so that you can pass the hints on to your wives or girlfriends, as it must be Nicola's own secret and probably wouldn't work with Nellie, anyway.
Now that summer's here you'll frequently find Nicola sunning herself on a beach at Bournemouth and getting a lovely golden tan nearly all over.
It's scintillating modern dollies like PAULINE HAZEL who add up to the reason why life is so fantastically eye-catching for fellers.
Pauline is a secretary who likes to model a little in her spare time, and does she look corking or doesn't she as a pin-up ?
She does.
Pauline is twenty. She's all symmetrical at 36-23-36 and she's got gorgeous legs as well. And she's a high-flier. Literally. She takes flying lessons at week-ends, and is currently the girl we'd most like to be up in the clouds with.
And her ambition is to eventually own and fly her own plane.
Marvellous.
To think that a few years ago you'd give a girl a ball of wool and tell her to knit tea-cosies — if she wanted something to do. It's different today. Try it on with any of them now and next thing you know you're having to fight a duel with her — using knitting needles. After she's poked you six times in the pinny you give in.
It gets nice and friendly then.
It's the reason why the world goes round.
