'I began as a Lucy Clayton girl.' The woman was in her eighties, sharply dressed, hair in a sixties style. 'Deportment. That slight swivel walk. Getting in and out of cars. What blank expression to wear while a man lit your cigarette. How to eat your first mussel with a fork, and all subsequent mussels with the shell of that first one. Riveting and fully essential. You probably can’t believe I went in for modelling.' No, I assured her, I fully did. 'My jaw really only does this nutcracker business because I get such bad depression.
‘I did shop modelling at Fortnum's. Also, Fenwick's. Oh - now, then - also later on at the Co-Op. Their slogan being: Shop at the Co-Op and be Happy. I had to provide the clothes for that one. That didn’t make me happy. The canteen at Fortnum's was a cut above. We all loved it, our four-girl runway show. One of the four, Chrissie, was a bridesmaid at my wedding. In the order of service was a photo of my husband at twelve leading six-year-old me on a pony.
‘I had a too small head for most of the hats; they would fall down. Though I wasn't otherwise the twig or shrimp...you know? My best friend Felicity was. From Paris. Five foot nine, the lucky cow. And so skinny. I remember her bringing me the most superior chocolate cake. Jesus and the Devil in the wilderness weren't in it. And I remember a Duchess who always asked, “Which of anything I'm seeing might be pure silk?” This was after rationing stopped and there was a bit of a brawn-boom. The Duchess had convinced herself being draped in layers would slim her down again. Perhaps the shop powers that be could have helped by not sending up all the gorgeous treats during the shows. That Duchess was quite a shoveller-downer. And short.
‘I got tutted at in Moscow by babushkas for my miniskirts. And we weren't allowed to wear sunglasses as the Soviets didn't think they constituted pure modelling. We'd have ten thousand at a British Clothing Association show there, clapping and throwing roses at the end of each tableau.
‘Then Beirut. All these huge Cadillacs. And fireworks at the end of the shows. Too many in the audience so they put seating on the stage last minute. And, shunting myself too far back, I got trapped behind the curtains. Brian Redman, male model, gorgeous and very polite - Conservative - was my stage partner on those tours. I could hear him going 'psst...psst...' in the dark as “The Blue Danube” started. He was only just in time finding me for the usual - boy lead girl to front, turn right, then back.
‘In Beirut, we were back doing the bikini section, dropped in Russia so as not to offend the babushkas. Well, you couldn't imagine any of them frolicking in the surf. One girl - Suki - showed herself up asking must we take care not to jiggle in our bikinis, as it was a Moslem country? She’d found out Moslem women mustn’t let anything jiggle under the hijab in front of anyone other than their husbands. Which must really require some forethought.
‘Suki had done the plastique palaver at Murray's. A club in St John’s Square, WC1, where Christine Keeler and Mandy Rice-Davies performed. They were allowed to be naked doing the plastique but must keep absolutely still. The management used to open the door backstage to the street for the draft, or let mice loose.
‘I did some TV adverts. Ryking. Sherry. Tea. Cigarettes. The male model who was meant to offer me a cigarette as we loitered in Trafalgar Square couldn't lever it out of the pack first time. He had to loosen them. But then you could see in close up the supposedly new pack - which it must be: to show the consumer experience - had been infiltrated. We went back and forth trying to get this to look right. No chance, of course, the woman might have cigarettes of her own.
‘Going shopping, in another advert, crossing the Seine to one of the big stores, with two little buggers as my children, running ahead and keeping running, I couldn't call them back, no useful French.
‘Oh, and get me - on the train on the way back I sat and chatted to the most gorgeous woman imaginable. French, but with excellent English. We discussed our pets, washing smalls in hotel bathrooms and funeral hats. I'll never forget. She was Brigitte Bardot.’
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