What I can’t understand (said elegant beautician ADRIENNE HOUSTON to her friend, Maggie) is that every time I go out to look my best for SPICK, I seem to get as involved as a cross-country runner and how my nylons and frillies survive it all is a miracle.
Miss Houston, worry not, you look delightful.
"Please, may I look through your files?" asked DAGMAR KELLER of the basement library clerk.
"How can I say no?" replied the clerk faintly. "The only thing is I'm dead mortified I can't stay and help, only it's me lunch break and I've got a chick to share me hardboiled eggs with."
Off he went. It was hot and stuffy, so Dagmar shed a few things and with a fascinating searching look went in discovery of something we're a bit vague about ourselves.
It was all part of her secretarial duties.
The boss rang down from the sixth floor and said don't take all day. Miss Dagmar. He asked her if she wanted any assistance.
"No thanks, I'm not dressed for it” said Dagmar blushingly.
"What's she talking about?" muttered the boss as he hung up.
This file was interesting. It was all about a consignment of desert island concubines who got seasick on the way back to Palmtree Paradise.
Search over. Dagmar cooling off.
In came the library clerk full of hardboiled eggs to fall flat on his face.
So, would anyone.
This is another fairy story.
No matter how much television plays seek to befuddle you into believing there’s no such thing as a happy ending and that life for everybody is a lot of old boots, the fact is nice things do happen to people.
Princes and fairy queens and old harpies on broomsticks don’t play such impressive parts as they used to, but nevertheless, take the story off PINKY SANDS.
There she was, sitting home most nights and wondering what to do about life. Nothing fantastic ever seemed to happen and she couldn’t find a great deal of glamour in her typewriter, especially when it came to changing the ribbon.
Then a man who was photographing the bridesmaids at a wedding saw her looking long-legged and lovely among the guests and said, taking his eye off the bridesmaids so that they came out with their heads cut off, “You look like you ought to be a model, go and apply to an agency.”
So Pinky did just that and the agency said what a willowy wonder she was, and now Pinky rents a cosy little flat in town and is long-leggedly engaged in the glamour world of modelling. No wonder she’s perky.
A most photogenic asset to the office is TRUDI JACKSON, who works in Bournemouth. She is the personal secretary of a high-class businessman there, and, yes, he does know how lucky he is.
Whenever another businessman calls, he makes Trudi hide herself, because he has a kind of quivering certainty that friends and rivals alike would not hesitate to grab this deliciously efficient wonder girl for themselves. Trudi is an absolute dream of efficiency at every secretarial chore, and when you add all that to her sex appeal, you've got yourself an asset indispensable to the sweet flow of business life.
If you're looking for someone nice to have around the home, you could consider wooing Scottish dolly SUSANNE FERRIER.
Susanne is a dream girl when it comes to being lovely to look at and useful to know. Not only is she bonny and bouncy, she's a naturally inventive and accomplished cook. And you do like your food, don't you?
"Well, yes, I do rather," said the first feller to knock, "and am I to take it that Miss Ferrier is eligible?"
Eligible for what?
"For taking home to meet mother and then to the altar."
You'll be lucky. She's already engaged. She's got a lovely feller and he's six feet tall.
"Oh, well, count me out, but I thought I'd ask."
Of course. We did say wooing Susanne could be considered. It just can't come to anything, that's all.
It was Frank on the phone. SARA JAMES, Kensington dolly bird, was trying to sell him off the idea of becoming an elephant trainer. She thought he was too eligible to spend all his time with elephants.
"Okay, "said Frank, "listen. I'll try the trapeze, I often feel like flying about after a day selling insurance."
"No, don't do that," said Sara, "you'll only fall off."
"Tell you what," said Frank, "if I do fall off I'll pack it up and we’ll do a safari from London to Istanbul, how about that?"
"Lovely," said Sara.
"Agreed,” said Frank, "see you at the circus, then."
So, they met at the circus and the management let Frank try his trapeze potential. He fell off as soon as he got on. He was still dizzy when they went off on safari to Istanbul and after a whole day's travelling they were still going around Piccadilly Circus.
Sara got off at midnight and went to a club with Nigel.
A girl can only stand so much.
Percy Blake and his wife Dolores were fanatical about bingo, they never missed a session at the village hall. And, bingo, they regularly came up for a couple of quid here and a couple of quid there.
Then a lovely and absolutely delightful girl came to live nearby, the sort any man just can't ignore. Percy went all agog the first time he saw her, and from then on, he was hardly ever out of a kind of trance-like goggle-ment.
You couldn’t blame him. The girl was ANNE DUKE, a Welsh beauty queen, with vitalistics of 36'-23'-36", and Dolores had never looked anything like that.
So, Percy went off bingo. He sat on his front doorstep waiting for Anne to walk by. Dolores didn’t go off bingo. She still went. And she continued to coin the bingo lolly and Percy continued to goggle. It was always a real pleasure to see Anne walk by. He didn’t ever try to date her. Well, what good is it when she’s twenty and he‘s eighty-four?
They play that hurling game in Ireland. Everything flies about.
"Did that one hurt, Paddy?" asks O'Reilly.
"Me ears is still ringing, yer dirty scoundrel."
"Hard luck, me boyo."
Well, hard luck is what you get in that kind of game. But there are compensations, all to do with how things look after the game.
They look lovely. Ireland is full of colleens.
Here's one of them. JANE DIXON. Many a Paddy will walk ten miles to call on her and still be full of blarney when he arrives. Men of other nations could only ask hoarsely for water.
Jane, of course, recognises blarney as soon as she hears it. Many a Paddy, calling with a bunch of flowers and an invitation to the horse show, has had his foot caught excruciatingly in the door as Jane closes it.
"Oh, me foot!"
"Does it hurt, Paddy?" calls Jane through the mail-box.
"Like the devil himself, me darling."
"Hard luck, me boyo."
Even in Ireland you can't win them all.
Girls all over the world are cute simply because they’re born that way, and you naturally allow for a few unholy errors or terrors. High in the rankings appertaining to those who are the cutest come the Canadian girls. Living as they do in that great, wild, untamed, pine scented, maple endowed land of forests and lakes, they’ve got something you can’t get in the atmosphere of the Mersey Tunnel, say.
There's LISA LINETTE, for instance.
Lisa is a dancer from Vancouver and besides being cuter is also much more fascinating than any of those engagingly playful bears that pop out at you from trees all over Canada. No, the Canadian bears are darlings, really, and breathtakingly huggable, but show us any grizzly who looks as cute as Lisa when doing up its garter, and we still wouldn’t believe you.
Lisa will be over in Europe in 1965, where she’ll dance her way round the old-fashioned capitals, and if you want to know what sort of shape to look for Lisa comes very curvily in a size of 36"-22"-36". Oh, and if you want to make any kind of a hit with her, remember that her hobbies are golf, ice-skating and music.
You wouldn’t think this trim, slim charmer was a cross-country champ, would you—or would you? Her name is JULIE MARSDEN and she’s won any number of trophies running miles and miles over the countryside in all weathers, without looking anything but engagingly feminine. In fact, Julie is very feminine and when she isn’t in her track suit she likes to wear all the frills that the ultra-feminine girls do wear.
We caught up with Julie when she was out surveying the route for one more cross-country run. She was picking her way over the roughest ground and looking delightfully leggy about it. It was a sure way of proving with our camera that our girl athletes don’t look like Amazons but just like the pretty girls next door.
It’s a fact that SALLY RANDALL not only looks absolutely delightful in black lingerie, and that she can not only cook, she can also dance.
Sally, it happens, is a dancer of no mean merit. We accept that information with pleasure. We’ll settle anytime that’s convenient for the cooking.
When ELAINE STEPHENS was a leggy schoolgirl she used to find that the noisy boys wanted to tweak her pigtails and the nice boys wanted to carry her books. The barbarous ones only ever wanted to kiss her.
Elaine, all grown-up now. still has her pigtails—but no one pulls them anymore, and no one carries her books.
The barbarous boys who have grown into barbarous men are the ones who have remained in the picture, of course.
"The trouble is." says Elaine, "they still think Sunday afternoons are the time for them to come around and kiss me in the summer-house. What sauce!
When I was a schoolgirl. I’ll admit I did get kissed in the summer-house, but I never ever go in there now— except on Sunday afternoons."
It's ANNE MATTINGLEY who’s getting herself into a lather over the household chores
Actually, Anne was doing very well until she slipped on the soap and ended up exactly where it most hurts. And where it was most wet.
All soaped up. Anne decided she might as well give her skirt its weekly tub.
Anne, a London typist, has more than one skirt, however. That doesn't mean she's rich, only well-equipped.
We like both skirts. So, does the milkman who spotted them on his way round to deliver the midday milk
Dear Rosemary,
Letter No. 77 by Escort caused quite an argument in our private club the other evening. It was mentioned that he had said that directoire knickers were only worn nowadays by schoolgirls and old maids. Several of the girls present heatedly denied this and were led in their arguments by Helen, who is about as glamorous a girl as anyone could wish to meet. She agreed that some directoire knickers, and especially those of the 1920’s were too full and didn’t emphasize the figure sufficiently, but maintained that modern knickers, if tastefully chosen, could be equally glamorous as the French type. She said that they were much more comfortable and warmer on cold winter days because of the elastic around the legs, and that she herself wore them frequently. The majority of us replied, that, although we certainly couldn’t accuse her of being either an old maid or a schoolgirl, we thought that the flowing lines of the French type were much more glamorous. Helen grew quite excited about the subject and declared that she was wearing directoire knickers at that moment, and that if one of the girls who was wearing the French variety would volunteer to help, she would show us her own and let us decide on the spot. After some hesitation among the girls, Jean blushingly promised to help her out.
Read MoreTalking about geary goers, as we were some pages back, how about 18-year-old LINDA CLEMENES of Portsmouth down in lovely Hampshire?
Linda is such a goer that nothing less than a motorbike suits her desire to get up and go at speed. Her motorbike is her great love. There are boyfriends, of course, but mostly they take a back seat on the pillion.
Linda works for her local paper, she has dark brown hair that is fascinatingly ruffled and windswept, and brown eyes that often look browner through her goggles.
Her vitalistics are 37-25-36, and her long legs look extremely geary in her motorcycle boots. Don't get in the way if you see her coming, you'll get caught in her slipstream.
