When the good old Windmill closed its doors and its nonstop revue disappeared into the pages of exotic history, one of its youngest girls decided she wasn't going to queue up at the agencies to find similar work.
Not a bit of it. JILL MILLWARD decided on a complete change of occupation. Know what she is now? A children's nurse. Gad, those lucky children. Wonder if they realise how good life is to them?
Span No 167 - July 1968
Susanne Kent’s set from Span No 144 was most certainly shot on the intake to Mugdock Reservoir.
The set was taken in 1966, with the final picture showing the location much as it is now. The trees have grown a lot over the years, but it is quite obviously the same place.
Thanks goes to David for researching this.
The Kent sisters, Susanne and Madeline, did a photo shoot here in 1965. These pictures, though, never appeared in a magazine, as far as I am aware. Louise Crawford was also a regular visitor at the tennis club. The final picture of this set shows the clubhouse as it is now; still the original building with its distinctive double pitch roof. It is reasonably well overlooked, but I suppose you would have had to look quite hard to notice from a distance that the girls had shorts on with their stockings and suspenders on show.
Thanks again to David for his research.
Once a girl has been a nurse, she always retains some compassion for suffering humanity, so CAROLE-ANNE BLAKE is just the girl to hold your hand when you've got toothache. Carole-Anne used to be a dental nurse; you see.
She comes from the North of England and is now modelling in London. She keeps quiet about her dental nursing qualifications because she found that any new friend who got to know about her former job wanted her to look at his teeth. "You can see one molar too many when you're dining out," she said.
Spick No 189 - August 1969
All those majestic maples and all those gorgeous outdoor gals you can't wonder we all want to emigrate from the U.K. Look at LISA LINNETTE from Vancouver, for instance. Hold on, Bert, don't go without your hat - in fact, don't go at all-Lisa's paying a visit to Europe this year.
Span No 125 - January 1965
JAN KERRIE came to London from Ireland some months ago, thought she'd stay a few weeks to see how unspeakable the English were and then return.
That was six months ago.
Jan is still with us. It's a divil of a blow to the I.R.A., so it is.
Beautiful Britons No 122 - January 1966
Well, it had to come, even to a girl as trendy as ROSANNE STUART, the adored pin-up of many a British Army unit.
Rosanne was all for the mini, naturally. The mini, naturally, was all for the best when it came to proving that the gracefully sleek look of Rosanne's legs was all her own. It's not a fundamental immodesty for a girl to be proud of her legs. It's good for her.
And it's lovely for us.
Then along came the midi. Rosanne gave a stifled cry of horror, but what can a girl do in the face of cruel fashion? She could only buy one and try one. "Great disasters," said her bus conductor the day after, "where have your legs gone?"
Ah, where indeed? No, they're still there, as you can see. These pics are just for the record in case they do disappear completely.
Spick No 210 - May 1971
Making our cover look colourful and fetching this month - at least, that was our intention - is Bournemouth boutique girl MARILYN WARD. Marilyn was a model before she took over her boutique.
We usually buy our clothes from Ernest's in the High Street not far from here, but if Marilyn would only stock bowler hats and pin-stripes we'd give up going to Ernest's.
Ernest is quite nice and always very polite. Nothing is too much trouble when he's explaining and illustrating the merits of a forty-guinea waistcoat.
"Look, we don't wear waistcoats."
"Then sir is losing the opportunity to become utterly ravishing, sir." "Look, we bet Marilyn Ward wouldn't try to sell us forty-guinea waistcoats when all we want is a pair of socks with a red stripe.' "Sir is joking, of course. Sir is vainly resisting. Hold him, Montgomery, hold him, Lancelot. There. Now what does sir think of himself? Sir looks beautiful. How can sir think of mere socks when sir is adorned in a waistcoat like that?"
"All right, you win. We'll have it on the never-never. Put it in some brown paper and deliver it. We're off to Bournemouth to buy a pair of socks."
Beautiful Britons No 155 - October 1968
JILL LUCIENNE is a girl with many talents, but roller skating is not one of them. Don't let this upset you - a girl can't have everything, particularly when she's so well endowed by Nature.
As you can see, Jill isn't taking it at all seriously, although she has every reason to look less happy about it - than she should, considering you can't hit the deck on roller skates without shaking every bone in your body.
Jill trying to get the better of roller skates reminds us of the blonde who refused to be intimidated by the closing doors of tube trains - you can't win without extra-sensory perception. One summer evening the blonde, refusing to be perturbed by the threatening swish of the closing doors, unhurriedly and gracefully alighted at a station that shall be nameless.
Span Extra No 10 - Summer 1960
When HELENE DU BOIS decided to move from a provincial town to London, she thought she was taking quite a chance.
But London received Helene with open arms, and the photographers, who suffer from headaches in their continual search for true beauty, threw away their aspirins and loaded their cameras with light and revelation. Every one's ever so nice, said Helene.
Who couldn't be?
Spick No 179 - October 1968
Girl who can't resist all the joys of listening to pop groups is CLEO SIMMONS. She's an undeviating fan of the Beatles and had a terrible week when George Harrison got married.
Beautiful Britons - No 137 April 1967
MARIA ASSIN had no idea where to find the car jack, and she wasn't even sure what a car jack was like.
Still, she did find a thingumabob that fitted over the nuts.
There was that other Jack. Jack Puddinglass. But he went off with his fishing rod as soon as they arrived.
You can't be more useless than that.
Still. Maria looked ever so nice in her bikini-style ensemble of delicate white and you can't say fairer than that.
Span No 167 - July 1968
Secretary SANDRA NORVIC really is quite delightful. With brown eyes that can melt the iron resolution of a Muscovite and lovely legs that can make you realise how she adds to the look of a garden swing, Sandra is just the girl we'd like to share our luncheon voucher with.
Not a bit like Chrissie Moreweather. When she sat on our garden swing she bent it, and when she met her first Muscovite, she put her glasses on and talked politics with him.
Sandra is essentially feminine. Politics send her to sleep. She likes pop music, pop art and exotic cooking. She looks heavenly in a kitchen, and fascinating over a hot stove. She thinks men are delicious. Some are so delicious she could eat them. Anyone like to be cooked in a hot oven?
Spick No 179 - October 1968
Whether indoors, outdoors, or down in the cellar holding up a ladder, HAZEL SHAW is photogenically whizz-oh.
Unless you're a perfectionist backgrounds don't matter. It's the subject that counts. Hazel is the most entrancing of subjects. She's a blonde Scot and representative of why impressionable young men wander in a daze all over the Highlands.
One look at Hazel and they've lost their way.
Can't wonder at it, really. World is full of unimpressive things, like concrete bridges, council garbage trucks and telephone wires. When people jump off concrete bridges it's not always because of some complicated Freudian problem, it's often because concrete bridges send them bonkers. They're the aesthetic types. Far better to fall in love with a vision like Hazel and wander dizzily and happily around the Scottish Highlands. They've got some lovely scenery up there.
Including Miss Shaw.
Beautiful Britons No 155 - October 1968
Dreamy indeed is ANGELA JONES, popular young model from the Midlands. Angela is a busy model, but there is always time to dream. She can do it in between poses or when her boyfriend is talking soccer to her.
