Living on the north side of London is a blonde dolly called VIKI HILL. Viki adores really geary clothes, like long leather boots, slinky nylons and eye-catching suspenders.
Other girls may go for draggy skirts reaching the ground and no make-up except lamp-black, but Viki likes to make the most of her shapely legs and her healthy figure.
What's a healthy figure?
Oh, something that measures up to 36-23-36.
To me, said Fred, that's cuddly.
Well, what's healthier than a cuddle?
Looking just a little bit cheeky is Hampshire girl JANET COOKE. Janet works in Bournemouth but is hoping to become a photographic model. She has a very trim and fashionable figure measuring 35-22-34, chestnut-gold hair and blue eyes.
Photographers, please note.
You've got to hand it to the young generation.
They're not a bit inhibited, and they're so natural they make the rest of us feel how wrong we were to accept that gooseberry bushes had another role beside that of producing gooseberries.
Look at young CAROLINE SPENCER, looking ever so uninhibited in the park. Of course, there was no one about. Just a little riot going on under the trees where fellers were duelling with each other and panting "Hop it, I saw her first."
Caroline just sat there and took no notice.
We sent one of our staff photographers out into Croydon and told him to bring back photographs of maxi-clad girls.
We don't think these dollies realise exactly how they look from behind in their ankle-length drapes, so we hope these shots will be a lesson to them.
Just by way of contrast our photographer also took photographs of mini-clad SUSAN DOUGLAS in the park. What the eye can see it can grieve about or delight in, and if anyone’s optics can't take in the object lesson of the contrast they must be all blurred and bloodshot.
Reaction of one maxi-clad office girl —
"Oh, that can’t be me—it makes me look like grandma, you rotter."
There comes a time in the life of the happy bachelor when he's willing to relinquish the wheel to a girl.
When Monty took off for a country inn with PATSY FRENCH, he realised he could only enjoy the view of the road. What he had in mind originally was a lunch of bread and cheese and pickles with Patsy, but halfway there he decided bread and cheese and pickles may be the staff of life but they don't represent absolute bliss.
Bliss absolute can be the Beatles or Tom Jones or Elvis Presley, or even a Chopin melody on a grand piano. To Monty it was a view of Patsy in the driving seat. So he stopped the car and gave her the wheel.
What a vision. What a driver.
It mattered not that she drove up hills in top gear, took corners on one wheel and parked the car so that he couldn't get out on his side. Patsy in the driving seat was absolute bliss and so were the pickles.
That's a nice occupation for a nice girl.
MARGARITA NOLAN works in a gown shop in a Worcestershire town, and if any customer wants to see just how attractively any of the wares can be worn, Margarita doesn't mind modelling them herself.
Lovely and trim she is for this. She's 35-23-36.
Looks delicious even when answering the phone.
There are a lot of nuts about who think nobody can be happy unless they're writing on walls or sleeping under railway arches. They're the ones who tell you that housewives are cabbages.
Well, we've featured scores of housewives and none of them look like that.
They're all so glamorous.
Here's our latest find, JENNY PIPER.
Jenny is a housewife from Farnborough, Hampshire, she's blonde, bewitching and bubbly.
She was a window dresser for a free-lance display group before she got married, and she worked mainly in the windows of Kensington and Oxford-street stores. It was warm work for Jenny but a treat for the passers-by. She looked a lot more vibrant than the dummies.
Now as a housewife she's a lovely cook and gorgeous to come home to.
During the war, there was an awful ding-dong going on in France, and Stanislaw Warsava was right in the thick of it, serving with a Free Polish unit. Still, there were far lovelier things to come. Off-duty behind the lines one day he met the most entrancing Polish girl who had escaped her suffering country and made her way through France.
They came to England, married and settled down in Carlisle. They had a lovely daughter later on. Here she is.
EVA WARSAVA, born of her happy Polish parents, can't help being addicted to Britain. She's eighteen now and lives in digs in Streatham in south-west London. She came to London to take up an office job but found it too monotonous. It was all biff-bang on a typewriter. The bell kept pinging.
Then she met a photographer. He said, "You'll do, you're a living doll." Eva thought he was trying to make impetuous headway, but he was only trying to tell her she was a natural as a photographic glamour girl. In the end Eva took his advice and became a model.
Wasn't it lucky her father-to-be met her mother-to-be in France? If he hadn't, Eva might never have happened. It makes one go all weak at the thought.
Final last fling before the camera before she went off to Australia resulted in more pics of VICKI ASHLEY, and these are some of them.
Very popular as a photographer's model in England, Vicki should do more than well in Australia. She'll show up more in all that hot, bright sunshine and there won't half be a rush for front seats.
What front seats?
On the quayside, we suppose.
But she's going to fly.
Okay, push a few chairs out onto the tarmac, only don't let the madly infatuated ones get in the way of the wheels. They make a mess of you.
Not long ago there was an awfully nice nurse in the local hospital around the corner. Her name was MANDY PETERS.
Then along came a patient who turned out to be a professional photographer, and all for the sake of his art he told Mandy what a lovely model she would make. At the time, she was a lovely nurse, about which all the other patients were indescribably content.
However, Mandy thought it would be a nice change of careers, so now she's given up nursing and has become a model.
She's a brown-eyed brunette, loves the countryside and, of course, looks absolutely saucy in a rural background.
There are any amount of Miss Smiths.
Some are sort of negative, some are quite divine.
Our Miss Smith is simply herself. Ravishing.
Full name? SARAH SMITH. She's a Glasgow girl with a lovely Scottish accent, she works as a secretary and models in her spare time. She wears mini-kilts in tartan recognition of her clan and the loveliest, briefest mini-dresses in delicious acknowledgement of her shapely legs.
She's whistled all the way to the office in the mornings and all the way home at night.
And what's fairer than that?
Country girl JULIE MARSDEN likes the rural life in the quiet, unspoilt environment of the Cotswolds. She's married to an American and neither she nor hubby yearn for the clash of trams, the howl of sirens and the creaking of high-rise concrete.
They like their country cottage, and enjoy walks down the lane to the whispering woodlands, where they first met. Julie was picking bluebells and he was wondering whether he was lost. It was mutual enchantment at first sight, like.
Some film stars can't stand it unless they've got six birds or six fellers always ready and willing, but Julie reckons romance isn't dead yet if you can appreciate the simple life.
There was Sir James in his deerstalking outfit and there at the gate was a beautiful bird. In his deerstalking gear Sir James naturally never went after birds, as it wasn't ethical except when he was wearing his grouse get-up.
However, any man would be a fool to commit himself to ethics as inelastic as that.
"Gad," he muttered, "a young dear is as good as an old doe any day, never mind if me suit is inappropriate."
He doffed his hat and bowed. The beautiful bird looked up, Sir James heard a swish of wings and there she was, flying away.
Some birds always fly away when aristocracy gets too close. You can't trust those pent-up deerstalkers. LOUISE BURTON is just such a bird, and Sir James didn't need his binoculars to see she was a beautiful one.
Louise lives in Brighton, spends the summers on the beach and her holidays in Spain. The matadors out there don't half give the bulls what for when Louise is around.
"Cor, what a life," panted Ferdinand, "I wish she'd go away."
Glasgow secretary JANE PAUL has always been our idea of a girl in form, and latterly she’s been just beautiful.
With vitalistics of 38-22-36, she’s a natural for stunning the eye of every man lucky enough to get her in focus. Some men get so eye-smitten they start falling about or lurching sideways. We men are so impressionable, you know, that sometimes we think corking charmers like Jane are unfair to us. Either they shouldn’t be so corking or they should dress in tents. We mean wear tents.
Even then, think how lovely Jane in a tent would be like on a camping site in Pogo-Pogo, wherever that is.
What's more Irish than Bridget?
And who's more Irish than BRIDGET McKENNA? Only the leprechauns.
Bridget emerged lustrous and dark-eyed from Dublin to make her way to Britain, where she'd heard they liked swinging shapes. And with her shape of 37-24-37, she felt pretty sure she wouldn't go unnoticed.
She was right. The photographers fell all over her in a manner of speaking. She's a glamour model now and shares an apartment in Islington with another model from Dublin, and this part of Islington has begun to sound just like old Ireland.
No, young Ireland.
