Beauty queen and film starlet is TINA RYATT, Welsh girl and just about as easy on the eye as a mink coat.
You can have your ton-up bikes, your first-night tickets, your new cooker, your fragile stomach.
Give us a mink coat.
If you could arrange for Tina to be wrapped up in it we’d be all over indescribable gratitude.
All the way from Mexico came a dream.
After the excitement of the Olympic Games there, MARIA MONTEZ couldn't settle to her work in a dress shop in Mexico City, so she came to Europe to participate in the happenings.
She finished up in London. The happenings in Paris and Rome were extremely Continental. Being pinched all the time was blush-making.
"And by perfect strangers, no doubt," said Sir Harry.
"Perfect? Senor," she said, "how can you say perfect when you mean naughty?"
"Ah, a good question," said Sir Harry.
"I do not mind a pinch here and there," said Maria, "but not by naughty men."
"I used to be naughty. I've grown out of it now," said Sir Harry.
It's neither amazing nor sensational now.
The topless look.
Girls are revelling in freedom from bras and corsets. Bosoms are out, like. But honestly, you don't know where to look at a party, do you? Be terrifying if the craze took on a blase, everyday phase. You know how one gets crammed up in a tube train. What on earth could you say to CAROLINE FORD if you found she had suddenly become your bosom friend on the rush hour Inner Circle line?
"What lovely weather. Miss Er—Um."
"I'm not Miss Er—Um, and would you mind not hanging your umbrella on me?"
"Oh, dreadfully sorry—"
"Now you've dropped something, you silly man."
"Oh, just my eyeballs."
Simply revelling in all that freedom is Caroline.
The dark girl is JUTTA SRIPPIPATANA and the blonde who came to join her is INGRID STENGERT, and they’re both models in West Berlin.
Girl who wants to know how the modern equivalent of Amelia Bloomer’s reach-me-downs look on her is our inimitable SUSAN DOUGLAS.
We don’t want to publicise our own bias in the matter.
We leave it to you.
You say.
No, it wasn't that HELENE GIBBS was taken with a desire to get away from the pressures of London life. She's doing very well as a model, thank you, and is enjoying herself.
It just happened that when she was modelling stockings and suspenders in an outdoor location, some entranced cowboy from Texas became riveted.
"Well, I ain't seen a better looking filly since Thanksgiving," he said to the cameraman, "I reckon I'd trade a ranch for her to come home and cook for me."
"Do me a favour, eh ?" said the cameraman. "Shove off, eh?"
Texas swiped him with his stetson. He was that keen not to have any interruptions. Seeing how keen he was Helene got lost in the undergrowth, getting away from the prospects of slaving over a hot stove in Texas.
"I don't even like cooking," she said to a gooseberry bush.
For the traditional modern look, which is a kind of lovingly irreverent regard for sartorial non-conformity whatever that may mean we recommend BRENDA NORTH. She’s long-legged, black-sweatered, rain-coated and really as sweet as you can wish.
For the happily-married look, which is a kind of I’m-tickled-to-death-I-did-it look, who is a better example to set before you than JANE RENNIE who was wedded some months ago and still thinks everything’s absolutely divine? She may seem more interested in her long underwear, but strictly on the level her main hobby now is hubby.
Brenda has no thoughts of getting married herself yet. Well, at just eighteen everything, even time, is on her side, and there is the world to discover and all its excitements to explore. Who wants to get married? (It’s absolutely stinking the way that boy next door dives under his car whenever he sees me, he knows I’d love to help him change his tyre).
For that hap-hap-happy look, how about Jane, our dimpled delight.
Like any housewife, ROZ BARNWELL can always find time for a chat on the phone. It's nice to have friends who ring you up.
Roz is a pretty busy housewife, and a young mother too. Not only does she look after home, hubby and infant, she also holds down a secretarial job. And about once a week she does a modelling assignment. That just about makes her so versatile that she's almost a lovely miracle.
Other wives might buckle at the knees and start growing wrinkles and grey hairs, but Roz remains not just young but a delight to have around. She still likes the glamour of wearing stockings and suspenders, and if it weren't for the fact that the milkman has all his empties to look after he'd like to deliver four times a day to Roz's house. It's just joy to the eyes when she opens the door to take in her daily pint.
Ah, Cyprus. Island of rich wine and hot sun, sparkling jewel of Ancient Greece set in the wine-dark sea of Homer.
Of course, it's changed a bit since all those heroic Greeks chased the maidens from coast to coast.
The maidens are still enchanting but they get chased by tourists now.
Lovely SACHA MICHAELIDES used to work as a receptionist in a Cyprus hotel. There she took a great liking to tourists from Britain, especially the young and crazy buckeroos, and in the end decided to come to London. Now she's working in the offices of Cyprus sherry importers and has made the place intoxicating for the male staff.
It's no wonder those Ancient Greek heroes were always leaving Athens and rowing to Cyprus.
It was nice and quiet until the phone rang in the conservatory. It was a call for LYNN PALMER. There was a loud voice at the other end wanting to know what had happened to the fish, had it been shot to death and when Lynn, a window-dresser, had no idea what the idiot was on about and said so.
'Look here' said the idiot. "you're not trying to tell me you're dead ignorant about fish are you? You're Mavis Palmer, known as Underwater Lulu aren't you? You catch fish and sell them, don't you? Well, come round to my place and look at this skate you sold me. It's gone green."
"You've got the wrong person. I'm Lynn Palmer and I've never caught a fish in my life."
"Oh. really?" said the nut. "Well, stay there. I'll be right round and we'll go angling together
In a sort of slinky gym vest and black tights JANE MILLER went out for a gambol with her jump-ball.
Very sporty bird is Jane. Loves games and all that. Along came a walking-stick case, an old gent with gout. He took one look at Jane, a secretary in Kingston, Surrey, threw away his walking-stick and galloped gamely towards her.
Inevitably he fell flat on his face.
Jane picked him up, gave him back his stick and helped him into a wheelbarrow. As the gamekeeper wheeled him away she said farewell with a smile and a wave. It cheered him up no end.
Nobody ever thought there was such a phenomenon as a shy Swede, but we found one in London last summer. KIRSTEN VETA.
She was over from Stockholm and was staying in Hampstead, where our photographer buttonholed her in his endearing way and persuaded her to leave some charming mementoes of herself before she went back home. Mementoes in the form of photographs.
Kirsten giggled, turned pink, turned around, turned pinker and so on. And there you are.
Young and golden secretary ANN WILLIAMS was on a Highland fling, staying in a cottage with a view of a wide, green glen.
She was getting lots of fresh air and making friends with Highland steers. There was one called Angus. Solid as a house he was and as gentle as a baby calf as long as you didn't ride a motorbike all over his pasture. Ann wanted to take him home with her.
So she rang her mother. Her mother said well, you'll have to keep him in the garden, they couldn't possibly have him indoors. So she went out and measured the garden and Ann went out and measured Angus.
Then they returned to the phone and compared measurements and found that Angus was twice as big as the garden.
So Ann brought home a mini-kilt instead.
“Hi,” said the man in the green jacket, “I can’t see any pheasants, but I’ve lost interest since I spotted you. Would you like to stay there while I go and change my gun for a camera?”
“I shan’t be here all day,” said JOAN PAUL, “so if you want to snap me, you’d better start running.”
So, the man in the green jacket went off at a trot, but he couldn’t find anyone with a camera who wanted to exchange it for a gun, and there was no alternative in the end but to go and buy one. By the time he returned to photograph the rural view with Joan in the foreground, Joan had gone home. There are other things to do in life besides waiting for a man to go and acquire a camera.
In Rome at the moment is INGRID SCHOELLER, film actress.
She isn’t the only one converted to the Italian line.
Beautiful girls from all over the world confess they are fascinated by the Italian line as soon as they arrive in Rome. Some also confess they are a little confused by it, especially Southern belles arriving from Atlanta, Georgia, where the men never pinch a girl, however luscious she is.
The Italian line has nothing whatever to do with coy reserve. If the Romans like the look of a flower of the Orient or a damsel from Denmark, they don’t believe in hiding their feelings.
They like Ingrid Schoeller very much. And Ingrid in turn is not without affection for Rome. As well as the Romans there are also all those lovely ancient monuments, which are extremely stimulating to any girl with an interest in old masonry.
Old masonry in the shadows of a Rome moon can be quite romantic.
