It's a very fine difference, indeed, between one fashion and another. In floating skirt and frills, TONI SEARLE deliciously illustrates how fine is yesterday's fashion.
Looking extremely summery, Toni matched the colourful environment of the countryside near her home in Kent. If Kent is the garden of England, Toni is one of its more enchanting blooms.
Weekdays she's a typist. Weekends she's a dream.
Joe Binglewood is so lucky he ought to be prohibited. He was coming out of the shop eating his fish and chips when he stepped on the foot of a tall picturesque dolly who was in the ravishing category.
Which is to say she was all long legs and curves. Joe was full of chips and it took him six swallows before he could start apologising.
"It's quite all right," said KIM SCOTT, "it's only my foot and I'm sure the numbness will have gone by next week"
Joe had never trodden on the foot of such a lovely bird as Kim, which just shows how lucky he really is. Kim is an air stewardess with the most vibrant personality. It sort of makes you quiver, unless you go in for bicycles and your mother won't let you meet girls. In which case the pleasure of flying tonight with a girl like Kim and having her top up your coffee cup, is something you ought to talk seriously about to your mum.
Kim is our idea of how to fly from London to Pompala in transported fragility. The more you see of her the weaker you get.
Where's Pompala, by the way?
Who cares?
Ravishing dolly CHRISTINE PORTER thought it was never going to happen, the date with her boyfriend. He hadn't rung or sent a note or anything. Then a boy on a bike arrived and said Handsome asked could she make the Knights' Castle at ten o'clock. The Knights' Castle is ah Arthurian disco.
"Ten o'clock? That's late," said Christine.
"Yes, well, he went down a pothole," said the boy, "and took a long time coming up."
"I'll kill him," said Christine, and spent an hour at her dressing table making herself look absolutely beautiful. That's enough to slay any feller, especially one on a late date.
If you're over forty, you'll no doubt have acquired experience, sophistication and an ability to recognise a door-to-door salesman who's offering you a bargain and one who's having you on.
Even so, you'll not be the girl you were at twenty. You may look more beautiful—having captured that undeniably curvaceous look which no true woman likes to be without, but some of the spring will have gone. And you're gladder each day to get your corset off each night, if we may coin the phrase.
Therefore, vigorous physical jerks are not for you. They're much more for young housewives like LESLIE PETERS and JANE RENNIE, pictured here in a vibrating skipping routine that went slightly haywire.
Jane is the one who fell flat on her back. Leslie is the one still on her feet. They're both extremely modern housewives with such an extremely modern urge to keep slim, trim and vital that falling about all over the place all seems a repercussive part of their dynamic physical jerks.
Well, that’s what the efficiency experts tell you. But efficiency experts are all bred from computers and know nothing of the pleasures of a filing system that is all haywire or the joys of flinging papers this way and that as you rip the cabinet to pieces looking for last year’s price list.
But complementary to this is a shorthand-typist who remains cool, calm and collected all through the rainstorm of carbon copies and brings you a chocolate biscuit with your coffee.
Shorthand-typist looking very cool on a humid day is MARGARET COATES who works in a Cardiff office. She doesn’t always look like this, of course, unless she’s got the place to herself. She just knows that on a humid day there's an obvious way of remaining cool, calm and collected.
It makes a change from other days when chaos prevails and she finds a near-demented boss has put her into the filing cabinet with all the other impedimenta.
No model has hit the glamour headlines with greater impact than lovely JUNE PALMER, one of our consistent top pops. June is the perfect answer to the fallacy that gentlemen prefer blondes.
June, a London girl, is a full-time model and loves every minute she spends in front of a camera. She is, in fact, a perfect pin-up in every way.
It was like the man next door who left his house to catch his train to work. He looked absolutely dapper, as he always did, in his single-breasted, narrow-lapelled charcoal grey suit, complete with buttonhole. But he was still wearing his carpet slippers and when he reached the station the only thing the friendly porter could do was to lend him a pair of railway boots.
The day was a ridiculous one for him, he spent it noisily clumping round the office, making the typists quiver and inciting the boss to send out orders demanding the removal of some road-breaking machine that had been smuggled into the building.
Well, it didn’t get as ridiculous as that for BRITT HAMPSHIRE. She only forgot her gloves. She had everything else needed to make a girl look well-dressed and glamorous and gloves hardly mattered. It was just that a finishing touch, like neat gloves or cute hat, completes a girl’s look to her own satisfaction.
Sometimes when a girl feels gloves are a must, such as on the occasion of being a guest at a well-dressed wedding, and she finds she’s either forgotten them or misplaced them, the event is absolutely ruined for her.
She feels quite undressed.
West German student ANGELIKA FAKELBERG is having a very intense time at the moment, swotting for nothing but exams.
It's all reference books and brain work.
You wouldn't think, would you, that anyone as pretty as Angelika would need to worry about brains, but the world being what it is a girl these days needs them as she's never needed them before.
That's what comes of equality and having to show men you're as good as they are. It's not enough now to have intuition and the beguiling aptitude for making men go on their knees when they offer diamond bracelets, you've got to beat them to their knees in other ways.
It’s getting awful
It was a lovely wedding and the bride looked sumptuous. The honeymoon was memorable, of course, and then SHERIDAN WELLS settled down to looking after her home and her man.
But what with the cost of living rocketing at week-ends, Sheridan found the budget hardly allowed for a Sunday joint. So, she went out and did some modelling in her spare time.
"Thanks," she said when the agency paid her, "every little helps.”
"That's not little," said the agency, counting it out again.
"That's what you think,' said Sheridan, "haven't you seen the price of tomatoes?"
"We're off tomatoes, they give us the pip."
To be a really good model, you not only have to be a pretty type — you have to be a pretty tough type. That’s what MAUREEN HUCKER found when a recent assignment took her out into the country and it began to rain.
"Do we stop?” she asked the cameraman, and the cameraman, all wrapped up in raincoat, hat and umbrella, thought she was fooling. "Stop?” he said. “What for?”
“Because it’s raining and I’m wet,” said Maureen, and the cameraman said I’m all right, Jack, why should I worry?
“Oh, gosh," said Maureen, “these pictures could be called Girl and a Shower, and you,” she added under her breath, “are the shower, you rotter.”
If the sixties are remembered for anything, it'll be for the emergence of the mini-skirted dollies.
Girls have always played a characteristically confusing part in the lives of boys. Boys find no complications up to the age of about 15. Up to that age the girls are around but the boys ignore them.
This makes the girls furious. So, when the boys reach 16 and upwards, when they then become aware there's something corkingly fascinating about girls, the girls pay them out by making life so confusing and complicated for them that life is never quite the same again for the muscular sex.
The emergence of the mini-skirted dollies really put the lid on the traumatic effects. Many a boy just reeled about mumbling, "Oh, my grandmother, I can't even put my head out of the window without losing my eyesight."
SARA WOLFE is a brilliant example of a London dolly making life chronically traumatic for highly susceptible boys. She works in an advertising agency. She wears the loveliest minis.
But now that the midi and the maxi are gradually taking over, where will all our dishy dollies go to? Girls in midis or maxis aren't dollies anymore, they're just followers of undolly fashion. Perhaps the boys won't get such eyestrain, but oh, woe.
It goes without saying that Sara in a maxi would be a different girl. You'd never see her legs and young boys would wonder if she'd got any.
According to her fans, NICOLA TAYLOR turns them all on, and there's hardly a day goes by without some entirely susceptible Charley boy doesn't spin round until he drops.
Nicola is a Hampshire girl with her own way of looking lovely. She simply remains herself.
There was a sensitive baby elephant which spent all its growing years trying to look like a bunch of flowers. It didn't create any real impact, and one day when it emerged from the river looking exactly like a growing baby elephant, an American lady tourist said, "Oh, how cute, can I buy that one?"
The baby elephant was happy ever after.
There you are, then. If you're lovely in your own way, be like Nicola and the baby elephant. Just remain yourself and don't grow a beard.
Those finishing schools in Switzerland are all very popular, of course, and when they turn a girl out—if you’ll pardon the phrase—she is usually perfectly equipped to cope with all the trials and tribulations of hard, practical life.
But mostly the first thing the girls want to know about concerns parties.
There were parties for SUSANNE KENT, naturally, and all bang-up and on the ball. There was the future to consider, of course, but that was something to be thought about tomorrow or the day after.
And what else does any ambitious girl want to do except modelling? She has to give the matter no thought at all—it just comes naturally.
If you can’t be a model, you can be a secretary. After that, there’s just nothing. Hardly any girl wants to be a film star these days. Of course, there are those who like to see their pictures up outside cinemas, but it’s not the same as it used to be.
Susanne went for modelling and we’re happy to report that in this sphere she’s coming along nicely.
That was the day.
Down the steps from the airliner they came, polished, gleaming and pointing. Encased in them were the shapely legs of NANCY SINATRA, and by the time they reached ground level the photographers were already putting their elbows in the other feller's eye. Word having got around that Nancy had arrived in London, loud were the cries of “Come on, Nancy, walk right over me, baby—I want to show your boot marks to my best friends
Ooh-oh.
Serve the fool right. He should have known it was going to hurt.
Nancy took it all in her stride. What a girl. What boots.
Ooh-oh.
There's a saying that if you wear a sprig of heather it will bring you luck. If you wear a sprig of Scottish heather, it's said you'll never have the misfortune to fall into Loch Ness and be eaten by the monster.
Now then. HEATHER BROWN was on holiday in Scotland and she and her boyfriend were out in a boat. He was wearing a sprig of local heather. He fell in. Heather rescued him. "There you are," he panted wetly, "what luck, it didn't eat me."
"It wasn't there," said Heather, "this is Loch Lomond."
"Never mind," he said, "you're my best bit of real luck, if you hadn't been around you couldn't have pulled me out."
Heather giggled.
