Annette Carter (Crystal Farmer)

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My Word

The man with the rent book looked up as the door opened and tenant ANNETTE CARTER appeared.

“My word” said the fascinated rent collector.

“Oh, help” blushed Annette, a secretary and a doll.

"What a charming hat," said he.

"I thought you were Christabel," gasped Annette, "I'm not dressed to receive anyone else." And she retreated rapidly, trying to hide herself behind the curtain, but it was much too short.

"I'll come back later, shall I?" said the rent collector.

"Well, don't let's argue about it," said Annette, looking delicious in the palest pink knicks, "that would suit me fine."

And when he came back later, she pushed the rent under the door and he didn't even get another look at her hat.

Mary Collins

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Your Kind Of Daily

There's a lot to be said for one of those splendidly reliable dailies who pops into char around the flat for you and make it nice for you to come home to.

This kind of daily - motherly, warmhearted and a miraculous disposer of fag-ends, beer cans and old socks - is an asset no bachelor of any standing should be without.

Generally speaking, however, the kind of daily you all secretly yearn for outside the utilitarian world of domestic help, is someone like MARY COLLINS.

That's Mary in the centre of the trio. She's just been declared the winner of the competition run by the Daily Girl Club in West Berlin. The Daily Dollies of this club equate with Bunnies.

The competition was to find the most attractive Miss Bosom. And Mary, an eighteen-year-old London lovely, was declared that much in front of all other contestants. How nice to come home to.

Vicky Durrant

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V For Vicky

A bunch of eggheads gathered for an intellectual protest march in the center of London. It was something to do with demanding free French literature. Well, everyone else seemed to be wanting something for nothing, and the eggheads weren't too intellectual to miss the bandwagon.

Then VICKY DURRANT walked by in her boots and her mini.

The eggheads dumped their banners into the arms of the bystanders and found a new cause. Vicky for Prime Minister. They had new banners made, emblazoned with 'V for Vicky'.

Vicky emigrated to the Isle of Wight for a fortnight. She didn't want to be Prime Minister. Who does?

Well, there's You Know Who.

Nina Swallow

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Crossing the Line

There wasn't much danger of being hit by an express as NINA SWALLOW crossed the line down in the woods. It was only an old track once used to trundle wagons to and from the old quarry and Nina was just kicking around in her new boots.

Nina lives in Ealing, West London, and one of her outdoor recreations is walking. She likes old byways and country lanes and has a glamorous job as a house model to a firm of coat manufacturers.

All the products, look gorgeous on Nina, whose vitalistics are 37-24-36, and she keeps her shape in good, unvarying trim by her long walks.

Updates to some personal details on Nina’s home page.

Odette Nutter

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Order Of The Yorkshire Boot

Looking every inch, a potential centre-forward for Leeds is ODETTE NUTTER, who lives near Kippax in Yorkshire.

But it could be she's just given the order of the boot to some geezer she caught bending. Poor old devil.

Odette is a golden blonde with lovely legs and a nice line in suede boots, and if Yorkshire blokes keep their eyes open often enough, they might spot her one day.

Well, Odette doesn't keep herself shut away, you know.

Helen Milligan

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Gee Up!

But despite all loud yells of “Gee up, you four-legged loafer!" it was obvious that Rufus was far more interested in the elegant footwear of fashion model HELEN MILLIGAN than in getting himself attached to an old farm plough.

Rufus has as much appreciation of graceful-limbed Helen as we have.

Kathy Field

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Mustang No 9

Remember This Name

Kathy’s pictured here on a Sunday afternoon, because Sunday is her only day off. Business is so good, it keeps her busy - too busy, almost. And this is why she wore her elegant wig for these pictures. It’s a matter of disguise - we couldn’t have all our readers stampeding down to King’s Road, in search of Kathy, now could we. We reckon she gets besieged enough as it is!

But really, getting back to reality, if you want to know who she is we 'll give you her Who’s Who entry, which we’ve compiled ready for the day when Kathy gets more popular than Ursula Undress. Born: 1947. Brothers and sisters: none. Early interest in needlework and fashion later coupled with father’s capital to start Kathy’s own King’s Road, Chelsea dressmaking enterprise. Successful within two months. Besieged by customers and orders.

Then, strangers in the street will stop and cry to one another, “Kathy Field!" Our offices will be submerged with letters pleading for Kathy’s address. Kathy herself will be moved to some place of safety; maybe Buckingham Palace, because that’s about the only place we can think of where even a student demonstrator might think twice before invading!

Kathy Field. No, we’re not referring to where she is. It’s who she is. We suppose it’s possible to get confused like that, if you’ve never heard of Kathy Field before. But soon, such confusion will be im¬possible. Everyone will know who Kathy is, some day; the day when Mustang has got so popular that every man in the land reads it . . .

Jean Walker

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Micro Mini

If there's one thing JEAN WALKER likes for a table decoration, it's a bowl of Cornish wildflowers.

Jean, who lives in that county, is a golden-haired peaches-and-cream girl. It's what comes naturally when you're out of the smog and away from the concrete. And with her long legs Jean looks fascinatingly healthy in a micro-mini. Jeans are acceptable if she's painting her cottage, but out and about she believes with the boys that legs are to be seen if you want to

Make life look like springtime.

Jean does have a trouser suit and jeans, but they don't quite do for her what a micro-mini does.

Samantha Bond

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Samantha

A girl of today is SAMANTHA BOND, a lover of pop music and everything else that makes life a lovely giddy whirl of fun and fantasy.

Not for Samantha are the prophets of gloom. She's only got to give one of them that flashing smile of hers and he's a changed prophet.

"Ye gods," he'll say, "those ivory-white teeth, darling, are they the result of being so healthy and happy ?"

"No, just that extra-special double-mint whiteness that comes from using Crystal- Foam toothpaste with formula WGYF added," says Samantha.

"What's WGYF?" asks the entranced prophet.

"We've Got You Fooled," says Samantha.

Pinky Sands

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Treed

That reminds me, said Parsons during the directors’ lunch break, did I ever tell you about the time I went on a tiger hunt? I was after a fireside rug for Emily, she’d been nagging me about it ever since

Mrs. Gonk next door had knitted herself one. Well, there I was in the jungle with elephants all round me waiting to charge me and squash me flat as soon as I showed the top of my topee. The gun I had could lay a tiger flat but not an elephant, so what did I do? I popped up from the jungle grass like a champagne cork, and a big elephant on my right and a bigger one on my left immediately charged. Just as they reached me I sidestepped, the lumbering brutes met head-on and conked themselves stupid. Aroused by the noise, up trotted a tiger to sniff at me while I stood there all numb and hysterical. Would you believe it, just as the tiger was about to bite me in half a lady tiger whistled, the man tiger turned its head and I clouted it with all I’d got. Emily was ever so pleased. I don’t know what PINKY SANDS is doing up that tree, by the way. She looks absolutely ravishing, but it’s no way to catch a tiger and make a rug.

Mary Connor

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Porterhouse, Please

For the guys who don’t think they’ve had a meal unless there’s been a steak on the plate we recommend eating at a high-class restaurant in London. With any luck you’ll find yourself being waited on by MARY CONNOR. When Mary isn’t serving porter house steaks she’s taking long walks in the country. Any guy want to go in training?

Cherry Lennox

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This Is So Silly

It’s regrettable to turn up at the wrong party and unfortunate if you kiss the wrong girl, but these things do happen and all you need to lightly pass them off is the right amount of aplomb. Aplomb is the ability to laugh lightly as the muscular bloke punches a hole in your head after catching you pinching his heart’s desire in a crowded discotheque. Then there’s that feeling of something quite silly happening to you as when you lean gracefully on the mantelpiece and the whole thing, including the marble clock, crashes into the fireplace.

Or like CHERRY LENNOX, university student, you can be strolling through the rural scene with your mind concentrating hard on your economics paper, and something really silly happens.

“Well, I mean,’’ said Cherry, “I wasn’t even doing anything and then swish, this twiggy thing sprang out and tried to use my skirt as an umbrella and it wasn’t even raining.”

“I didn’t know what to say except ‘oops’. I just felt silly. I mean, supposing it had been on the campus? I don’t know what I’d have done for aplomb, it’s not one of my subjects.”

“I fell over a skipping-rope once, but this is just too silly.”

Marrilyn Ward

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Kicking Around

This is nothing to do with people who’ve got wanderlust and kick around the world in restless pursuit of they know not what.

This is to do with local kicking around. To kick around it’s wiser to wear boots, then you can kick footballs, brown-paper parcels and bandits who try to snatch your bag in the supermarket.

Our lovely MARILYN WARD has just bought a pair. She bought them for their geary, modern look. She had no thought of using them to boot footballs into the air. Still, When she saw one in the garden she had a go. How did she get on?

“I missed it,” said Marilyn, “and fell flat on my back.”

Crystal Farmer

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Crystal Clear

As sparkling as clear champagne is CRYSTAL FARMER, secretary and glamour girl.

It's a pity fellers can't win beautiful brides like Crystal in a decent competition, where if you can think of a suitable slogan for hot chestnuts, and send it in with three coupons, you stand a fair chance of winning.

Of course, you can't put birds in a lottery, it would send Women's Libbers raving bonkers— and cross as well—but if you could and if you did, who'd bother about football pools?

No one, if they stood a chance of winning a bride as gorgeously set-up as our Crystal.

Helene Gibbs

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Getting Away

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.