Jane Brewerton

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Happy to be a Housewife

Honey blonde JANE BREWERTON has recently got married.

Notwithstanding all that permissive talk which floats carelessly about, Jane wasn't interested in anything but the old-fashioned way of doing things. In white, in church and in June she was married.

Dental receptionist and glamour model, Jane is still happy to be a housewife, and is settling down so well to being a lovely one that hubby is going around murmuring, "Fantastic—why didn't we think of this before?"

And he doesn't just say that because of her delicious Continental cooking, you know.

Rosanne Stuart

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Soccer Fan

Soccer fans are in several different categories these days.

There are the berserk.

There are the faithful.

There are the lovely.

One of the lovely ones is ROZ STUART. And her favourite footballers are fans of hers just as much as she's a fan of theirs. The trouble is, as the centre-forward said, how does a feller keep his mind on football when Roz is sitting in a favoured position on the trainer's bench and wearing a sweater as well?

It's a nice problem.

Penny Lane

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How To Be Happy

If you believe the permissive fraternity, one way of not being happy is being married. All it means is that the people who can’t make a go of it themselves think it’s beyond everyone else as well. They make the most noise about it, but a lot of yap is only a lot of yap, it’s not necessarily worth listening to.

PENNY LANE is very happily married, thank you. Her zest for making the most of life includes tackling the job of rescuing a kitten from a high tree. We got there far too late to photograph Penny climbing up and climbing down, but we did get some lovely leggy shots of mini-skirted Penny around the house. Lovely is right all right.

Tamie Scott

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Secretary On The Go

Life isn't necessarily a matter of waiting around for things to happen. Fred was all right as long as he stayed in bed, but being all by himself it got inexorably dull.

So, he got up and went out in search of a happening. It was a windy day, the washing got blown off the line of No. 63 Planet Avenue and suddenly there was Fred with stockings and frillies and things wrapped around his neck. And there was also a blushing young housewife calling, "Stop, thief." Fred nearly got arrested.

Fortunately, a girl whizzing by in her sports car had seen the happening and was able to testify that Fred had been an innocent victim of the breezes. Fred thought it was absolutely lovely of her and was about to ask her up for cocoa in token of his gratitude when she said, "Well, so long, old sport," and off she whizzed.

TAMIE SCOTT is like that. She's a secretary always on the go. She's nineteen and at that age who ever feels tired? It's different with Fred. He's got flat feet. Tamie has got curves and long lovely legs.

Sylvia Martin

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Well It Looks All Right

There’s nothing about a typewriter that isn’t familiar to SYLVIA MARTIN, for Sylvia has seen many of her friends tapping away on one. So, she bought one. She had an idea for the most fabulous novel. All about a girl who finds a formula for turning uranium into gold. So, while the idea was hot she began tapping. And you can see what froze the idea eventually. It was the backache she got. Isn’t she a doll?

Ruth Cavendish

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Highland Game

Up in the Scottish Highlands they play all those Scottish games, and one of our favourite pin-up girls, RUTH CAVENDISH, is quite good at tossing the caber, providing the caber is scaled down to the size of a walking-stick. "A girl," says Ruth, "should be noted for her charm and subtlety, not her muscles. Who wants muscles?" She was having a grand game doing the Highland Fling not far from the local loch, and then a Scottish terrier joined in and made off with most of her clothes, Ruth having taken them off to give herself more freedom of movement.

It was a new kind of game looking for that terrier, who was finding her terylene skirt tastier than a tin of dog meat. Still, Ruth made a lovely picture while it was all going on.

Susanne Kent

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Taking a Long Short Cut

What with the boss having one of those weeks—he'd lost a contract and his wife was beating him—secretary SUSANNE KENT couldn't get away from the office fast enough on Friday. On Saturday, she plunged into the heart of the country north-west of Glasgow, hoping to find all that fresh air everyone says is so good for you if you've had a trying week with sir.

Susanne took a short cut by climbing a wall. It was a long short cut because she got chased by an Ayrshire prize-winner. It thought she looked like a lady bullfighter. Susanne ran for miles. Still, she looked ever so cheeky with her dress hitched and her legs flashing, and the bull just hadn't got the heart to catch her up and toss her over a country castle.

It just kept following her. And in the end, it turned out to be Tony and Tiny McNutty, circus twins. Tony was the front legs, Tiny the back. They'd enjoyed the chase tremendously. Susanne had her own back. She set a couple of frisky cows on them. Front legs and back legs vanished in a panic over the horizon, the intrigued cows in determined pursuit.

Renate Usadel

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What Happened to You

Hello—yes?

What happened?

What, what?

Where did you get to?

I never went anywhere.

No, I mean last night.

Yes, I do too. I never went anywhere.

Oh, thanks very much, very complimentary I must say. I fix to meet you at Willi's Wunder Bar and you decide not to turn up. Well, at least you're not making excuses, at least you're giving it to me straight.

I am so glad you like it straight. When did we decide to meet at Willi’s?

When we were at Fritzi's.

Who is this I am talking to, please?

Otto. Don't say you've forgotten me already, Helga.

Alas, Otto, this is not Helga, this is Renate. I am sorry you have the wrong number but if you would like to make your request on a postcard I will send you an autographed photograph. Otto who?

Otto Ombert and I am now about to drop dead from mortification.

Have a nice funeral.

(Otto’s wrong number was RENATE USADEL, German model and starlet, and you couldn’t really blame him.)

Nancy Collins

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Real Frill

Just in case you thought it was papier mâché, NANCY COLLINS wants to emphasise her petticoat is genuine nylon, and every frill is guaranteed to billow.

Nicola Taylor

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Design For A Garden

If you don’t care about your garden and any old design will do, you can fill it with broken furniture and call it what you like. Funny thing is, people might fall over themselves to see it and then go away with the dazed look of those who have just seen the ultimate in horticultural architecture.

But if you care genuinely all you need to obtain to complete a garden design that will fill the beholder with delight is a garden seat containing NICOLA TAYLOR. For our money that’s the ultimate.

Molly Shannon

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Give Molly a ring

Around the fascinating street markets of London wander the seekers after the old and the ancient.

Among those with a keen eye for the genuine is MOLLY SHANNON. Whenever Molly can spare time from her job as a shorthand-typist she pops into the market throngs. Actually, Molly stands out in a throng. So, do most blue-eyed blondes with vitalistics of 36-24-37.

At seventeen she's already an expert on antique rings. She collects them and has bought the most fascinating ones for a song. So if you're dying to ingratiate yourself with her, and you'd be a hopeless case of fragility if you weren't, you couldn’t do better than give her a ring.

It has to be a ring of antique splendour, of course. Don't try and foist a fake on her. She'll never wear it.

Carol Ann Ledsam and Sandra Morris

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The Waiting Game

They were waiting for their passports to be stamped, CAROL ANN LEDSAM and SANDRA MORRIS. A woman poked her head out and said, "Get undressed.” The girls thought it a bit odd to get undressed for passport-stamping, but helped each other until they both looked very chic in their undies. And then they found they were on the wrong floor, and they were nearly pulled into a sauna bath instead of receiving their passports.

Sylvia Stuart

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What’s It All About?

Secretary SYLVIA STUART thought about going to the local fancy dress gala as a bird of the fifties. Well, her mum kept lots of well-preserved garments of that era in an old family chest, and Sylvia thought she could be utterly authentic if she borrowed some of them.

There was a recognisable bra—somewhat more to it than today's bras but a bra all the same—and there were also some quite wearable pairs of knicks.

"But, oh confusion," said Sylvia, when she put mum's old leg hose on, "how did mum keep them up? What's this, then?"

It was a genuine 1950 garter-belt, an utter mystery to Sylvia, who said she didn't know if it had to be worn around the neck or what. Mum came up and laughed her head off and then explained the intricacies.

Eventually, Sylvia looked lovely and old-fashioned, with everything properly done up and staying up.

Janet Neill

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The Wedding !

If you were to get an invitation from Janet to dine at your most exclusive local restaurant, you would no doubt, providing you could afford it, be there like a shot.

So too, was our photographer, but he sneaked along to Janet’s place even before she was ready. He’s pretty keen on Janet, if you know what we mean ! What a shock he got though when he found out he’d been invited to the wedding !

Helena Charles

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High in the Sky

In a penthouse flat in Ladbroke Grove, London, dwells one of the most popular girls as far as the balloon fanatics are concerned. We're talking about secretary HELENA CHARLES and what she looks like on a summer evening.

On a summer evening, you see, Helena sunbathes outside her penthouse. Her penthouse is much higher than the surrounding buildings and nobody can overlook her without using a fifty-foot periscope. Except the mad balloonists, who can sail to and fro with basket-swinging impunity and look down on Helena's form divine.

There's one feller in goggles and moustache who nearly swept her up and carried her off, and her without a stitch, by Venus. But at a critical moment his balloon fouled a television aerial and went pop. He sagged down into the street and Helena remained blithely untrammelled, if you know what we mean.