i look like cilla in this

anonymous asked:

I'm not sure if you know this person but Sophia Smith (Liam Paynes ex girlfriend) low-key looks a little like Cilla in more recent pictures. Just a similarity!

I can see it with her eyebrows and pretty eyes :)

Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it // A Lily Evans Playlist

↳ Home by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros – you’re the apple of my eye, I never loved one like you // Fight Song by Rachel Platton – my power’s turned on, starting right now I’ll be strong // The Power of Love by Gabrielle Aplin – love is the light scaring darkness away // When I Grow Up by Tim Minchin – I will be brave enough to fight that creatures that you have to fight beneath the bed // If I Die Young by The Band Perry – the sharp knife of a short life, I’ve had just enough time // Beautiful Girls Are The Loneliest by McBusted – look around, look around, look around, she’s one of a kind // Anyone Who Had A Heart by Cilla Black – loving you the way I do, I take you back, without you I’d die, dear // Ain’t No Mountain High Enough by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell – if you need me call me, no matter where you are, no matter how far // We Remain by Christina Aguilera – yeah we know it, it hasn’t been for nothing, ‘cause we’ll never let it slow us down

{ l i s t e n }

I ran up the stairs and easily found Elvis’s bedroom. How different it was from his ordinary-looking quarters in Germany. I never imagined him living in such luxury–thick carpets, exquisite furnishings–but the room had a welcoming, lived-in feeling. And then my eyes fell on the king-size bed in the middle of the room. I immediately thought of how many women might have slept there…whose bodies he had embraced and fondled….and even worse, whose lips had passionately pressed his and driven him to ecstasy. I couldn’t think about it anymore. I walked over to the French doors, which overlooked the driveway, and saw Elvis’s guests exchanging good-nights as they got into their cars. Knowing he’d probably be coming up soon, I rushed into the large adjoining bathroom. Within ten minutes, I had jumped in and out of the bathtub, combed my hair, brushed my teeth, and dusted my entire body with some powder I’d found in the medicine cabinet. I put on my favorite blue pajamas and stood motionless before the door leading to the bedroom. This was the moment I had both longed for and feared. I sat down on a chair and remembered that when I’d been fourteen, Elvis had said that I was “too young.” Now that I was sixteen I tried to imagine just what this new Elvis, whom I hardly knew at all, might be expecting of me. About fifteen minutes later, I heard him as he opened the bedroom door, yelling down to his cousin, Billy Smith, who also worked for him: “Don’t let me sleep later than three tomorrow, Billy.” Then I heard him close the door, lock it, and call out, “Where are you, Baby?”
“I’m in the bathroom,” I shouted. “I’ll be just a few more minutes.”
“Don’t take too long. I want to see my girl.”
I still couldn’t move. He called again: “What are you doing in there, Cilla? No one takes this long to get ready for bed.” It was the moment of truth: Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and walked out. Elvis was lying on the bed, facing me. I walked slowly toward him, climbed into bed and lay down next to him. Our faces were only inches apart. It was an unexpected moment of tenderness that I was mesmerized looking into his eyes. We lay there for what seemed like a long time, staring at each other until our eyes filled with tears. Elvis softly touched my face. “God,” he whispered. “You don’t know how much I’ve missed you. You’ve been an inspiration to me. Don’t ask my why, but I haven’t been able to put you out of my mind since I left you in Germany. It’s been the one thing that’s kept me going.” I couldn’t hold back any longer: Tears streamed down my face. Elvis look me in his arms and held me close, but I couldn’t get close enough. If I could have gotten inside him, I would have. “It’s gonna be all right, Baby. I promise you. You’re here now and that’s all that matters. We’ll have a good time and not think about you going back.” As we lay in the dim light, he soon discovered that I was still as untouched as he’d left me two years before. Relived and pleased, he told me how much this meant to him. It was as if every feeling I had as a woman began to emerge, and I began kissing him passionately. I wanted him–I was ready to submit entirely to him. He returned my passion. Then, abruptly, he stopped. “Wait a minute, Baby,” he said, speaking softly. “This can get out of hand.” “Is there anything wrong?” I was fearful that I wasn’t pleasing him. He shook his head, kissed me again, then gently put my hand on him. I could feel for myself just how much he desired me, emotionally and physically. He pressed his body to mine and it felt wonderful. “Elvis, I want you.” He put his fingers to my lips and whispered, “Not yet, not now. We have a lot to look forward to. I’m not going to spoil you. I just want to keep you the the way you are for now. There’ll be a right time and place, and when the moment comes, I’ll know it.” Although confused, I wasn’t about to argue. He made it clear that this was what he wanted. He made it sound so romantic, and, in a strange way, it was something to look forward to–just as he had said. Later that night he told me that I had to stay with friends of his, George and Shirley Barris. Although I protested, Elvis said, “I don’t want to go back on my promise to your father. Besides, if he found out you were staying with me, he’d make you go right home.” It didn’t make any sense. but I got out of bed and Elvis had Joe drive me over to the Barrises’ house, where I would spend the night. Reluctantly. Later I found out through one of the wives whom I had befriended the reason for my spending that first night with George and Shirley. Apparently Anita had been sent back to Memphis the day before, and Elvis was taking precautions to avoid any awkward situations for himself that might have resulted from late-night phone calls.
—  Excerpt from Elvis and Me; Elvis and Priscilla’s first night together after a two-year interlude. 

Pattie Boyd, George Harrison, Cilla Black and Brian Epstein on Cilla’s 21st birthday, 27 May 1964. Photo © Mirrorpix.

“George [Harrison] I know best of all. He talks all the time - non-stop! And the way he drinks tea! By the bucket!” - Cilla Black, The Beatles Book [x]

“I remember it took the public longest to get to know Ringo [Starr] because they thought he was the quiet one at the back who got ignored. But George [Harrison] was the quiet serious one as far as his music was concerned. He was the one who spent the longest time tuning up, for the others as well if he had to, and he was the one who really got concerned about sound balance and things like that. Musically he was always the technician in the Beatles. I think the most marvelous thing about George is the way he has emerged as such a stylish songwriter. He got overshadowed by the Lennon-McCartney team for a few years but the stuff he has been putting down recently is fantastic.” - Cilla Black, Record Mirror, 1 January 1972 [x]

“‘I knew about a week before George died that it wasn’t looking good,’ [Cilla Black] says. ‘But when I got the call it was a very bad day. It brought it all back for me from when Bobby died. Like Paul McCartney, George was someone with whom I could pick up on our friendship as if we’d only left off yesterday.

'The last time I’d heard from him was when Bobby died. He’d sent me a book and a mantra. It was a rather personal mantra, so I’d rather not say what it was, but he suggested I say this to myself during the funeral to comfort me. I must admit, it got me through the day. He also put a note in with the book saying, “From your old mate George” and in brackets he’d added “Harrison”. Which was rather funny - as if I might not know it was from him!’

One comfort to her was the knowledge that George’s deep spiritual beliefs had helped him to prepare for his death.

'It makes me feel better to know that he knew exactly where he was going. My Bobby was agnostic, he believed that when you died that was that,’ says Cilla, who was married for almost 40 years. 'I wish he’d had something to believe in. I could then think that some day I’d see him again. I still haven’t forgiven God for his death. I was brought up a staunch Catholic, but I have abandoned my faith for now - maybe that’s a bridge I’ll cross in time.

'I used to think I might be coming to terms with my grief, but now I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s never going to go away. I’ve just got to accept it. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that it will always be there and I’ll never know when it’s going to hit me. When it does, I just need to be alone.’” - Interview conducted by Angela Hagan, The Mirror, 15 December 2001 [x]

anonymous asked:

Hey, lately I've been wondering what Priscilla would look like if she didn't do anything to her face? Like is it just me that wonders?? Also I've noticed how big the cilla fandom is getting, not just in her but instagram too!

I think many have wondered.  Personally, I feel that she would have still looked beautiful.  I’m not crazy about drastic facial work, and I feel bad that she was so insecure that she felt compelled to go through with so much of it.  Her fanbase has absolutely grown over the past few years.  It’s great. :)

Pattie Boyd, George Harrison, Cilla Black and Brian Epstein (1964)

Although today she is all smiles and jokes, Cilla is putting a brave face on things. She is still reeling from another painful personal blow - the loss of her old friend George Harrison, who died of cancer on November 29, aged 58. They had been close since their days on the lively Merseybeat scene in Liverpool during the 1960s, when pop singer Cilla and The Beatles shared a manager in Brian Epstein. She even recorded and had hits with the unused Beatles songs, Love Of The Loved, It’s For You and Step Inside Love. 

“I knew about a week before George died that it wasn’t looking good,” she says. “But when I got the call it was a very bad day. It brought it all back for me from when Bobby died. Like Paul McCartney, George was someone with whom I could pick up on our friendship as if we’d only left off yesterday. 

"The last time I’d heard from him was when Bobby died. He’d sent me a book and a mantra. It was a rather personal mantra, so I’d rather not say what it was, but he suggested I say this to myself during the funeral to comfort me. I must admit, it got me through the day. He also put a note in with the book saying, `From your old mate George’ and in brackets he’d added `Harrison’. Which was rather funny - as if I might not know it was from him!" 

One comfort to her was the knowledge that George’s deep spiritual beliefs had helped him to prepare for his death. 

"It makes me feel better to know that he knew exactly where he was going." 

- The Mirror (15 Dec. 2001) 

It was August 16, 1977, overcast and dreary, not a typical Southern California day. When I walked outside, there was a stillness, an unnatural calm in the air that I have not experienced since. I almost went back into the house, unable to shake my uneasiness. I had a meeting that morning and by noon I was racing to meet my sister, Michelle. On my way into Hollywood I noticed the atmosphere had not changed. It still seemed unusually silent and depressing and it had begun to drizzle. As I drove down Melrose Avenue, I saw Michelle standing on the corner, a look of concern on her face. “Cilla, I just got a call from Dad,” she said as I pulled up. “Joe’s been trying to reach you. It’s something about Elvis in the hospital.” Joe Esposito was Elvis’ road manager and right-hand man. I froze. If he was trying to reach me, something must be terribly wrong. I told Michelle to take her car and quickly follow me home.
I made a U-turn in the middle of the street and raced back to the house like a madwoman. Every conceivable possibility went through my mind. Elvis had been in and out of the hospital all year; there were times when he wasn’t even sick that he’d check in for a rest, to get away from pressures, or just out of boredom. It had never been anything too serious.
I thought about our daughter, Lisa, who was visiting Elvis at Graceland and was supposed to come home that very day. Oh God, I prayed. Please let everything be all right. Don’t let anything happen, please, dear God.
I ran every red light and nearly hit a dozen cars. At last, I reached home, and as I swerved down the drive-way, I could hear the phone ringing from inside the house. Please don’t hang up, I prayed, jumping out of the car and running toward the door. “I’m coming,” I yelled. I tried to get my key in the lock, but my hand wouldn’t stop shaking.
Finally I got into the house, grabbed the receiver, and yelled, “Hello, hello?”
All I could hear was the hum of a long-distance line, then a stricken, faint voice, “Cilla. It’s Joe.”
“What happened, Joe?”
“It’s Elvis.”
“Oh, my God. Don’t tell me.”
“Cilla, he’s dead.”
“Joe, don’t tell me that. Please!”
“We’ve lost him.”
“No. NO!” I begged him to take back his words. Instead, he was silent. “We’ve lost him–” His voice broke and we both began to cry. “Joe, where’s Lisa?” I asked.
“She’s okay. She’s with Grandma.”
“Thank God. Joe, send a plane for me, please. And hurry. I want to come home.”
As I hung up, Michelle and Mother, who had just arrived, embraced me and we cried in each other’s arms. Within minutes the phone rang again. For a moment, I hoped for a miracle; they were calling me back to tell me that Elvis was still alive, that it was all right, that it had all been a bad dream.
But there were no miracles. “Mommy, Mommy,” Lisa was saying. “Something’s happened to Daddy.”
“I know, Baby,” I whispered. “I’ll be there soon. I’m waiting for the plane now.”
“Everybody’s crying, Mommy.”
I felt hopeless. What could I say to her? I couldn’t even find words to comfort myself. I feared what she would be hearing. She didn’t yet know that he had died. All I kept saying over and over was, “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Try to stay in Grandma’s room, away from everyone.” In the background I could hear a grief-stricken Vernon moaning in agony. “My son’s gone. Dear God, I’ve lost my son.”
Fortunately, a child’s innocence provides its own protection. Death was not yet a reality to her. She said she’d go out and play with Laura, her friend.
I hung up and walked around in a daze, still numb with shock. The news hit the media instantly. My phone did not stop ringing, with friends trying to cope with the shock, members of the family grasping for explanations and the press demanding statements. I locked myself in the bedroom and left instructions that I would not speak to anyone, that I wanted to be alone.
In fact, I wanted to die. Love is very deceiving. Though we were divorced, Elvis was still an essential part of my life. Over the last years we’d become good friends, admitting the mistakes we’d made in the past and just beginning to laugh at our shortcomings. I could not face the reality that I would never see him alive again. He had always been there for me. We had a bond; We’d become closer and had more understanding and patience for each other than in our married life. We had even talked of one day…And now he was gone.
I remember our last phone conversation, just a few days before. His mood had been good as he talked about the twelve-day tour he was about to begin. He even laughed when he told me that, as usual, the Colonel had papered the first city they were scheduled to hit with his posters and that his records were being played constantly in advance of his arrival.
“Good old Colonel,” Elvis had said. “We’ve come a long way. He’s still puttin’ out that same old stuff. It’s a wonder people are still buyin’ it.”
I loved hearing Elvis laugh, something he had been doing less and less. Just days before that last call, I’d heard that his spirits were down and he was contemplating breaking up with Ginger Alden, his girlfriend. I knew him well enough to realize that this was not an easy move for him to make. If only I’d known that would be the last time I’d talk to him, I’d have said so much more: things I wanted to say and never had, things I’d held inside me for so many years because the timing was always wrong.
He had been a part of my life for eighteen years. When we met, I had just turned fourteen. The first six months I spent with him were filled with tenderness and affection. Blinded by love, I saw none of his faults or weaknesses. He was to become the passion of my life. He taught me everything: how to dress, how to walk, how to apply makeup and wear my hair, how to behave, how to return love–his way. Over the years he became my father, husband, and very nearly God. Now he was gone and I felt more alone and afraid than ever in my life.
The hours went by slowly before Elvis’ private plane, the Lisa Marie, arrived. Behind closed doors I sat and waited, remembering our life together–the joy, the pain, the sadness, and the triumphs–from the very first time I heard his name.

Priscilla Presley, Elvis And Me


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I think it was a couple of months–six weeks–before we left Germany, and we were having a little party there at Elvis’ house, 14 Goethestrasse… I’ll always remember that. And, a guy from the Air Force that was a friend of ours brought this young lady over and there was Priscilla. She was fourteen years old at the time. And, Elvis, I think, was just dumbfounded. I mean, he didn’t hardly speak to anyone else the whole evening, he was just talking to her. And, when she left that evening, he called me over and he said, ‘Charlie, did you see the structure of her face? It’s almost like everything I’ve ever looked for in a woman.’ So, I think he decided that night that Priscilla was gonna be his wife. It’s a pretty good plan, because it worked out.
—  Charlie Hodge on Elvis meeting Priscilla Beaulieu