Nice picture of Nicola Taylor dressed in an interesting selection of mismatched clothes: white boots, white lacy stockings, a shiny metallic-looking bra, and a fur-collared anorak. It's good for me, though. Scanned from an original print.
Yorkshire bird GLORIA GENE is well in trim for what makes a feller turn his head, even if he's out with his wife.
Yup, Gloria is well in trim with vitalistics of 37-24-36, and those kind of inches mean curves that will stop the seaward traffic on any beach. Well, who wants to mess about with all that water when one can lie around and look at Gloria?
We couldn't get her on a beach because of the weather, but we did get her out of her Leeds office to shoot a couple of shots of her in the tea-room. How about that, then?
Span No 243 - November 1974
Well, first of all the sun was a flaming gold and secondly, I was in the park. Exuberantly I jumped the low, fancy railing and bounded exhilaratedly over the grass. And then what happened? I'll tell you. A man with a peaked cap and a corkscrew outlook came and read me an Act of Parliament. It was all about how I could be taken to Tower Hill and shot out of a cannon for walking on the grass. "Blow yer into a thousand bits of meat, it would," he said, "so hoppit."
There was no sense in arguing—| had an appointment with someone a lot more acceptable than he was. I found her sitting under her parasol on the park wall. London salesgirl JANET DE BOLLET. I mentioned how I'd nearly been executed.
"I've seen those cannon," said Janet, "you could have been shot all the way over Tower Bridge. Still, all that lovely grass—you were just a little bit naughty, weren't you?"
I never thought a nice girl like Janet would side with a man wearing a peaked cap and a twisted nervous system. But it's the unexpected quality of feminine reactions that makes girls so interlocutorily interesting, especially when, like Janet, they're of French extraction.
Anyway, she made room on the wall for me, and we watched London go by as we shared a packet of crisps. Janet glowed in the sunshine, and I forgot all about the man with a peaked cap and a sense of umbrage. It was our kind of day. Lots of occasions are made to remember, don't you think?
Do you remember those happy days when a blushing girl hurriedly fixing a slipped suspender by a bus stop made an exhilarating start to your day? Well, it's not a completely obsolete contretemps, you'll be pleased to know. "If it's all right with you," said the blushing Miss de Bollet sarcastically, "it's all right with me, of course."
Span No 186 - February 1970
I can't imagine a more enticing way to kick off the month than with a collection of captivating pictures featuring the incredibly alluring Jennifer Taylor.
There's nothing quite like the healthy virility of girls who run a mile round the farm before breakfast each morning. Into the farmhouse kitchen they leap at the end of it, all glowing and flushed and ready to eat a horse.
"So that's what happened to poor old Dobbin," said JENNIFER TAYLOR, our newest girl on the go. (She's a Go- Go girl, actually, and you can't be more on the go than that).
"Just don't think about it," we said, "then it won't hurt.'
We didn't want anything to put Jennifer off looking beautiful. She had just finished a lovely run round the Gloucester farm herself and was all glowing and rosy in her eye-catching undies.
"I'm starving," she said. So would anyone be after all that exercise and being so young and vital and all.
"All right, Go and enjoy your breakfast, then."
What, at one o'clock in the afternoon?" said Jennifer, ever so entrancingly shapely at 39-25-36. "You've gone cuckoo or something." We've gone cuckoo for sure. So will you when you see all these lovely shots of Jennifer around the farm.
Beautiful Britons No 181 - December 1970
Fascinating, those Eskimoes.
They eat decomposed fish, you know, and it gives them a lovely complexion. They wear huge boots and thick furs, and they always look as if they're expecting the weather to be considerably parky.
ANGELA SHAW isn't an Eskimo, but she does have a beautiful igloo look in her white fur ensemble. All the fish Angela eats has to be fresh, and as her complexion is lovely too, we're not sure if we've proved anything or tossed an argument into the arena.
You work it out. We're going to find an igloo.
Beautiful Britons No 138 - May 1967
Those stretch tights are all very utilitarian when considered in conjunction with the mini, but what do they really do for a dolly?
What a flash of lightning it is to find there are still some dollies who like the old stocking-tops. Can't whack tops, you know. Do wonders for a lovely pair of legs.
Do marvels for the lovely legs of blonde INGRID NORSMAN and brunette LOWRA BRUNI. Ingrid is a Sussex girl, Lowra is an Italian girl living in Sussex.
They're both delicious.
They look scintillating in tops.
Beautiful Britons No 205 - December 1972
Amongst this collection of negatives this sleeve had written across the top nothing more than "The Girl Who Stole My Painting," naturally, I had to have a look at her. Great boots.
One thing which can often make a visit to the doctor or the dentist a happening of unexpected pleasure, is the right kind of receptionist.
Mostly it's enough if she's terribly sympathetic and ravishingly pretty, and an eye-catching miniskirt helps as well.
Very ravishing is receptionist GWEN MORLEY, who lives in the Midlands and is absolutely just what the doctor ordered to make any male patient feel that if she won't go to a dinner-dance with him he'll shoot himself. Well, something on those lines. A sort of revitalising antidote that'll at least make the patient forget his earache.
Gwen is five feet six and measures 37-24-36, and as you can see from the following pics, is indeed any man's dream of all that he ever wanted.
Spick No 212 - July 1971
Up in Scotland the place is full of lovely Macs.
White-booted, long-legged, mini-skirted FIONA McKAY is one of the really eye-catching residents, and if ever a mini made a Mac look like the best view in the glen, this is the one.
In Victorian and Edwardian times, the most popular Scottish pictures were all based on highland stags at bay.
Bonny dollies like Fiona have changed all that. Tourists flock over the border to photograph the Loch Ness monster and return with colour snaps of mini-Macs.
Can you think of anything nicer to show the folks back home in Arkansas?
Mini-skirts may not be the ideal garments in which to climb about, but if Fiona isn't bothered, why should you be?
If you have any girls in your office like Fiona, treat them nicely. They're valuable. They make the office look vital and vibrant, and it doesn't half impress the overseas clients.
Span No 177 - May 1969
Last month we were extremely good to all our impressionable male readers. We introduced JENNIFER APRIL ANN TAYLOR of Bristol to them and all those who couldn't wait sent us heavily underlined letters asking for more. They said if they didn't get more they'd die or something.
So, all right, here are more scintillating pics of Jennifer and anyone who is suffering from excruciating love at first sight can come and join us on our steamed fish diet. Apparently, if love hits you as excruciatingly as that, steamed fish three times a day brings you back to cool, man. We're so infatuated with Jennifer ourselves that we're not eating at all. We're just drinking apple juice. For your information, all it does is make you feel like a windfall. Dear lovely Jennifer, when can we go to the moon with you?
Span No 207 - November 1971
Not only was Hampshire housewife BECKY GOLD determined to stick to her minis, but in an absolutely scintillating gesture of defiant loyalty she went around in her micro models.
With her long legs, her white boots and her cheeky knicks gallantly illustrating and advertising her loyalty, Becky gave all the fellers a fair old treat in her local high street.
Having spent a rotten time recently, in deep mourning for the departed mini, those fellers perked up no end when Becky glided in and out of the shops and wafted over the pavement.
"What a darling," said one feller.
"What an inspiration," said another, "why isn't she Prime Minister?"
Very vital is housewife MARIE GRAHAM. She belongs to a keep-fit class, a tennis club, a boomerang learners' cycle-
Hold on, wait a moment, what's a boomerang learners' cycle?
You know about Australia, don't you, thickhead?
Yeh, and about boomerangs, but I don't know about boomerang learners.
In that case, shut up, yes, and not only is Marie learning how to hurl a boomerang and dodge it on the way back, but she's also doing car maintenance and athletics.
Ye gods, that's enough, I'm all-over racked nerves.
So, you should be at your age.
"I can't come now," said MARIE GRAHAM, Hampshire secretary, "I'm all tied up."
"It's only the milkman, anyway," said EVE LAW, ditto, "and he's nobody."
It was all in aid of some amateur dramatics, and Eve was dedicated to making it all look brilliantly authentic. This included getting Marie all tied up and then tickling her foot.
"This is hysterical," said Marie.
"That's right," said Eve, "just shriek your head off kind of lifelike."
Marie thought it was all very well to be kind of lifelike, but there's a point when too much reality turns into how to go bonkers on an overdose of giggling heebie-jeebies.
At which point it's time to suggest a break for coffee
Well, we'll leave it at that and bring you more of the girls next month. Don't get too worked up waiting.
The phone had been replaced a long time ago, the date for dinner at a lamplit bistro in Chelsea had been fixed and all SANDRA MORRELL had to do was to gild and dress the lily and get there.
She being the lily, of course.
"Hurry up," said her flat mate, "you'll be late.' "Any moment now," said Sandra, "I'II be ready."
Sandra is a girl who can't be hurried under any circs. She likes to be absolutely sure that when she is dated, she looks impeccable. Charlie Greyduck thought that impeccable was something to do with nuts roasted in an iron pan, over an open fire, but dead ignorance keeps Charlie where he is, right at the back.
Anyway, by the time Sandra was ready she did look impeccable and lovely beyond anything. Except that as she came down the stairs her flat mate, Henrietta, said, "Not in that mini, you are silly, you'll have to change it for a maxi. Or put stretch tights on."
"Oh sorry," blushed Sandra, "I forgot."
She shouldn't have worried. Chelsea would have looked and loved. You don't have to be conformist to be impeccable. Not in Chelsea, anyway.
