In modern parlance, the phrase they’d use for RUTH CAVENDISH would be real cool, because Ruth is representative of all the eye-catching characteristics for which our modern chicks are justly famous.
In case you don’t know, Ruth is a chief cashier at a Glasgow store, which is a cue for us to say she’s good at figures. Her statistics also count for something they add up to 38"-24"-38".
And she’s tops as a pin-up favourite.
If you’re thinking of a classically typical German girl, then you’ve probably got your mind on a blue-eyed blonde.
Built very attractively in this classical mould is West Berlin secretary SUSANNE BERGER. You might also have a weakness for a dark-haired, flashing-eyed Italian girl, in which case your weakness embraces the best Europe can offer.
We can’t give you Susanne’s telephone number, but anytime you’re going to West Berlin you know what to look for. Golden hair, deep blue eyes and a lovely way of getting into a taxi. So, keep your eyes open for taxis and watch the fares and you never know your luck. Carry a bunch of flowers as Susanne dotes on bouquets.
But mind you don’t get a punch in the eye from her boyfriend. He’s got biceps of iron
Muriel is a girl who tries hard to be domesticated, but when it comes to knitting Oh! what a mess! No matter how much of a tangle Muriel gets into, however, she’ certainly first class for our money.
Despite her problem, Muriel still flashes that charming smile.
After this, I’ll take up something easier, like bricklaying ` says Muriel.
Ah, we thought when we saw LIZ MOORE, we bet she's a girl who’s a rave in films, we bet she’s graced many a controversial screen epic where breath-taking psychological problems have only been made bearable by her scintillating presence.
The fact is; however, Liz is a sculptor. Nothing to do with films at all, even though we bumped into her at Shepperton Studios. Well, nothing to do with appearing in them. She works behind the scenes, doing her sculpting for screen sets with inspired talent and making a good job of it at the same time.
How would you like her to come up and sculpt a mermaid for your garden pond?
Did you read what that lady feature writer said about our girls during our last heat-wave? She said that when it’s warm we suddenly become a nation of strippers on the female side. Juxta-positioned with her article was an announcement that when the weather’s warm our influx of tourists goes up umpteen per cent.
There’s a rapid conclusion to be drawn.
It must all be to do with lovely girls like DAWN WILLIAMS, for when it got very warm Dawn felt she just didn’t need a topcoat. Picture of a sudden increase in our influx of tourists popping quickly through the customs to see Dawn without her topcoat and so on.
Apart from ail the trivial side issues connected with weather, Dawn is a secretary who lives in London.
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.
In our companion magazine, SPICK, there are some real dolly pictures this month that depict what a lovely city Bristol is. They're pictures of a Bristol girl, JENNIFER APRIL ANN TAYLOR.
Well, you ought to see why it’s beautiful in Bristol too. It’s all because of Jennifer, the swingiest and most delicious dolly of the golden West (when it's raining and not so golden, who cares?).
Long-legged, with long, dark lustrous hair, Jennifer looks like every man’s dream of paradise, with sumptuous cooking thrown in. She looks gorgeous whether she's boarding a bus or sunning herself on the back lawn. Well, as a matter of fact, when she's boarding a bus in her mini she's an eye-stunning rhapsody. And when she's sunning herself on the back lawn all the young husbands come around to borrow the watering-can or something.
Jennifer, in fact, is a beautiful dream, and we wouldn't half like it if we lived next door to her.
You can wear a pencil-line suit and carry a handbag to match your shoes, and be a girl from almost any Western country. You can wear a pair of casuals and a tan sports shirt and be a man from London or Birmingham or Washington or anywhere.
But wear a kilt and you can only be from Scotland. And wear a kilt as JUNE GORDON wears it and you’re a lovely, leggy pin-up—if you’re June Gordon. June is a secretary, loves the open-air, thinks Scottish men virile and irresistible and is pretty irresistible herself.
She’s just our idea of the girl we’d most like to get lost in the heather with.
You don’t have to dress up in one of those bunny outfits with a pom-pom tail to be a bunny girl, you only need to be fond of rabbits.
You keep them in a nice dry hutch and feed them lettuce. MARIA ASSIN was out the other day looking for some cute baby bunnies to take home, and as we were out looking for conkers we bumped heads with her round a tree.
“What I don’t understand,’’ said Maria as she posed for us, “is why you need a camera when you’re looking for conkers.”
“Well, we snap them first to see if they’re photogenic.”
“I’ve never heard of photogenic conkers,” said Maria.
“They’re the ones that come out well in close-up.”
“I hope you know what you’re talking about,” said Maria.
Cute girl, Maria. She’s a charge clerk, nineteen years old, with statistics of 36 "-24 "-36".
No, nothing to do with making your girlfriend pay for her own cinema seat—how could you, in fact, and her only making 18 quid a week as a secretary? for this treat from Holland is HELENA BORLAND, short story writer, linguistic and lovely.
All set to go on a long tramp through the Highlands is Ayrshire girl LOUISE CRAWFORD.
A sturdy pair of denim jeans, a serviceable top and a pair of clumping walking boots were the stated requirements. When Louise got them on she said, "Help, I look like a female navy."
So, she undid a button or two just to let people know she was a real, live, curvy girl and not a navy, and everyone said that was the nicest walking outfit on record. She was ever so popular on the hike. All the fellers took turns to carry her rucksack.
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.
Cobblers means codswallop. Codswallop means my eye and Betty Martin. Or drivel. What it all boils down to is that it’s a lot of jazz and junk to imply being aristocratic is indivisible from a pink hat and an Ascot sunshade.
For us ANNE DUKE looks aristocratic all over. Elegant, bewitching and self-assured. Maybe self-designated aristocrats have a butler to help them over a gate to ensure they don’t have trouble with their skirts, but you can’t say an elegant, bewitching and self-assured look doesn’t have an aristocratic aura to it—even when there’s a gate trying to sabotage the elegance.
Anne is Welsh. We don’t know if she can sing but she isn’t half lovely to look at. The man who lives round the next corner to her has gone off his cornflakes and gone on to carrots. He wants to sharpen up his eyesight. “What for?” asked his wife. “Oh, just to make sure I won’t miss anything,” he said.
“What’s anything?” she said. “Oh, you know, birds and flying saucers,” he said.
