The Ice Cream Job: The Tech Guy – Dr Al
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Note from the Editor:
This article was kindly written for the SDC by member Alan G.
Having just returned from a last trip to the UK I was very much reminded of a lot of the towns and villages I visited in Sussex when I had a job as an ice cream salesman on a Mr Softee van.
The history of soft ice cream dates back to the mid 1930’s – the invention was claimed by both the Carvel company and Dairy Queen in the United States. It wasn’t until 1958 when Mr Whippy (an offshoot of Wall’s ice cream) started selling soft-service ice cream in the UK. Mr Softee (Lions Maid) started their operation in early April 1959 in South West London.
After that there were many other brands that sprung up: Tonibell and Hi Hat were a couple I can remember.
Like the Mr Whippy vans, the Mr Softee vans had a separate engine at the back that was only used to run the freezer and the associated mechanism to produce the soft-serve cone. The fuel used for this was tractor vaporising oil, or ‘TVO’, like paraffin (Kerosene in Australia). This was cheaper than petrol because it was untaxed, and the engine had to be slightly modified by fitting a thicker gasket on the cylinder head. The engine always had to be started on petrol and run for about 5 minutes before turning a tap to keep it running on TVO, and at the end of the day, turned back over to petrol for a short time before stopping. We had to remember to turn from one fuel to the other. If we forgot, we stood a good chance of running out of petrol before the day was out!
I got the job initially when I was waiting for my university exam results in 1964, having previously worked for a week selling ice cream from a small Lions Maid van. Ice cream vans like the little Lions Maid van used ice cream cut from rectangular blocks, and wafers were supplied to hold the small blocks sold to the customer. My favourite of these was Cassata. Yum!
The Downs Ice Cream Company in Lancing, where I worked, was run by Frank Wilkinson, who later became a prominent member of the local Council for some years before he died. During power cuts, he used to volunteer the use of at least one of his vans to supply hospitals with emergency power with a cable running from the back engine.
There were about six people working for him as employees and one young entrepreneurial chap, Julian, as a sub-contractor. We had a steady wage of around £30 a week (a ‘normal’ job would bring in around £12), and the ‘takings’ would vary from about £30 a day in summer to £8 in the winter. The ice cream mix was supplied in gallon cans – about 4 litres – and for each 15 shilling can we had to return 45 shillings. The mix was poured into a large hopper in the van, and the freezing process started. The hopper employed a slowly rotating stirrer, and when the soft serve ice cream was to be dispensed, one simply lifted a lever on the front of the machine, and it would be pumped out into a wafer cone or sundae cup. It was, therefore, up to the operator how large or small the ice cream was – too large, and the ‘can average’ would fall below the required amount, and vice versa. At the end of the day, we had to make sure our ‘can average’ was about right. Ice blocks (we called ice lollies in the UK) and the like had a much lower profit margin, and crushed nuts and fruit were not charged to the customer. We could eat as much ice cream as we liked, but like workers in a chocolate factory, after a very short time, one would prefer not to eat away the profits and settle to (say) one sundae a day.
The hoppers all had to be cleaned out regularly and sanitised using the correct products for foodstuffs. The Health Department carried out ‘spot checks’ every now and then to make sure there were no contaminants in the ice cream mix. They would give us a ‘rating’ from ‘A’ to ‘C’. Luckily, I always got an ‘A’. There were heavy fines for non-compliance.
The vans would follow a set route with set stops so that people would be used to the time and place the ‘ice cream man’ would call. The little jingle – unique to the brand - could only legally be played while moving. I think Mr Whippy used ‘Greensleeves’ as a jingle, and Tonibell and Hi Hat had their own distinctive call sign. The mechanism was simply an amplified music box with a small cylinder run by a clockwork motor! The vendor had to keep winding it during the day.
After a brief training period I was ‘let out on my own’ and found that I had no problem in memorising other people’s routes as well. I would simply write it all down in a sort of short-hand: ‘2nd lamp-post, turn right, Eddy Ave, 1st lamp-post….’ And so on. Later I was able to use this technique when I was given the job of ‘back-up driver’ for anybody that was on holiday. It was actually on a run in Brighton when I was standing in for another driver who had about a 4-week holiday, I think, that I met my future wife – but that’s a whole other story!
There was always some excitement when driving an ice cream van. At one stage the ‘Hi Hat’ driver parked behind me and came up to the counter, threw my box of ice cream cones across the van, and accused me of encroaching on his route! He was really angry and warned me in no uncertain terms of dire consequences if it happened again. The following day the store man, Percy, followed me in the spare van (so the customers had two Mr Softees that day!), and when the Hi Hat guy inevitably pulled up behind me, Percy pulled in behind him and said something like: ‘We have the resources to keep doing this as long as you like. We were here before you came and will be here after you’re out of business. Your choice.’ We never saw Hi Hat again on that run.
Of course, there were punctures, engine breakdowns, forgetting to switch the fuel to TVO and running out of petrol, and so on, but overall, I really enjoyed the job. I had no ‘boss’ who was pushing me, and the customers were generally very good to me. One little boy had a withered hand with only one finger, as I recall. Once in a while, he would turn up to the van and could just about reach up to the counter, proferring a single shilling or something like that. His little voice, ‘Can I have an ice cream, Mister?’ would melt anybody’s heart, and I was truly a Mister Softee! I would make him a showboat – three large swirls of ice cream, fruit and nuts and a couple of wafers on top! I could imagine the family looking through their curtains to make sure he got their ice cream for them. I didn’t mind at all!
Of course, in the winter-time, takings were way down. Despite the English weather though, it was amazing how many people would come out in the snow to buy ice creams. One had to make sure that the summer-time bonuses compensated for that. We would often have two vans at a show and had to send away for more supplies while we were there.
Of course, it wasn’t all plain sailing. Poor Julian, the sub-contractor who owned his own van, decided to buy another van. Unfortunately, the bloke he hired to run it only lasted until the weekend. He and the van simply disappeared. It was three days before they found the van, with the ice cream hopper swarming with maggots, apparently, and all the ice blocks melted. The driver had just run off with the day’s takings.
I must admit, I really do miss those times. There’s no Mr Softee in the south of England any more and I haven’t been able to find any of the lovely little group we had. Working as an ice cream man allowed me to meet so many people and after a very happy marriage that’s lasted for over 57 years, I really think I made the right choice – and it was all down to my ice cream job!
About the author: Having spent three years living in Australia in his youth, Alan returned to Australia in 1969 with his wife and young child. Holding a Bachelor of Engineering degree and a Doctor of Science Education degree, Alan has experience in flight simulations, Einsteinian physics, and inventing an ‘eye blink’ device that allows cerebral palsy patients to communicate. He even took a turn at acting, starring in a TV advert and landing supporting and lead roles in his local dramatic society plays. His short stories have been published in WA’s The Gingin Buzz for ten years, and his novel The Magic Hourglass is a work in progress. He and his wife have a lovely life in Brisbane and regularly visit their two children in Sydney’s West. You can read Alan’s full-length bio here.
Note from the Editor:
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This article was kindly written for the SDC by member Alan G.
Having just returned from a last trip to the UK I was very much reminded of a lot of the towns and villages I visited in Sussex when I had a job as an ice cream salesman on a Mr Softee van.
The history of soft ice cream dates back to the mid 1930’s – the invention was claimed by both the Carvel company and Dairy Queen in the United States. It wasn’t until 1958 when Mr Whippy (an offshoot of Wall’s ice cream) started selling soft-service ice cream in the UK. Mr Softee (Lions Maid) started their operation in early April 1959 in South West London.
After that there were many other brands that sprung up: Tonibell and Hi Hat were a couple I can remember.
Like the Mr Whippy vans, the Mr Softee vans had a separate engine at the back that was only used to run the freezer and the associated mechanism to produce the soft-serve cone. The fuel used for this was tractor vaporising oil, or ‘TVO’, like paraffin (Kerosene in Australia). This was cheaper than petrol because it was untaxed, and the engine had to be slightly modified by fitting a thicker gasket on the cylinder head. The engine always had to be started on petrol and run for about 5 minutes before turning a tap to keep it running on TVO, and at the end of the day, turned back over to petrol for a short time before stopping. We had to remember to turn from one fuel to the other. If we forgot, we stood a good chance of running out of petrol before the day was out!
I got the job initially when I was waiting for my university exam results in 1964, having previously worked for a week selling ice cream from a small Lions Maid van. Ice cream vans like the little Lions Maid van used ice cream cut from rectangular blocks, and wafers were supplied to hold the small blocks sold to the customer. My favourite of these was Cassata. Yum!
Frank Wilkinson, me and the lads at Eastbourne Ice Cream Convention 1966. Image: Alan G.
The Downs Ice Cream Company in Lancing, where I worked, was run by Frank Wilkinson, who later became a prominent member of the local Council for some years before he died. During power cuts, he used to volunteer the use of at least one of his vans to supply hospitals with emergency power with a cable running from the back engine.
There were about six people working for him as employees and one young entrepreneurial chap, Julian, as a sub-contractor. We had a steady wage of around £30 a week (a ‘normal’ job would bring in around £12), and the ‘takings’ would vary from about £30 a day in summer to £8 in the winter. The ice cream mix was supplied in gallon cans – about 4 litres – and for each 15 shilling can we had to return 45 shillings. The mix was poured into a large hopper in the van, and the freezing process started. The hopper employed a slowly rotating stirrer, and when the soft serve ice cream was to be dispensed, one simply lifted a lever on the front of the machine, and it would be pumped out into a wafer cone or sundae cup. It was, therefore, up to the operator how large or small the ice cream was – too large, and the ‘can average’ would fall below the required amount, and vice versa. At the end of the day, we had to make sure our ‘can average’ was about right. Ice blocks (we called ice lollies in the UK) and the like had a much lower profit margin, and crushed nuts and fruit were not charged to the customer. We could eat as much ice cream as we liked, but like workers in a chocolate factory, after a very short time, one would prefer not to eat away the profits and settle to (say) one sundae a day.
The hoppers all had to be cleaned out regularly and sanitised using the correct products for foodstuffs. The Health Department carried out ‘spot checks’ every now and then to make sure there were no contaminants in the ice cream mix. They would give us a ‘rating’ from ‘A’ to ‘C’. Luckily, I always got an ‘A’. There were heavy fines for non-compliance.
The vans would follow a set route with set stops so that people would be used to the time and place the ‘ice cream man’ would call. The little jingle – unique to the brand - could only legally be played while moving. I think Mr Whippy used ‘Greensleeves’ as a jingle, and Tonibell and Hi Hat had their own distinctive call sign. The mechanism was simply an amplified music box with a small cylinder run by a clockwork motor! The vendor had to keep winding it during the day.
After a brief training period I was ‘let out on my own’ and found that I had no problem in memorising other people’s routes as well. I would simply write it all down in a sort of short-hand: ‘2nd lamp-post, turn right, Eddy Ave, 1st lamp-post….’ And so on. Later I was able to use this technique when I was given the job of ‘back-up driver’ for anybody that was on holiday. It was actually on a run in Brighton when I was standing in for another driver who had about a 4-week holiday, I think, that I met my future wife – but that’s a whole other story!
There was always some excitement when driving an ice cream van. At one stage the ‘Hi Hat’ driver parked behind me and came up to the counter, threw my box of ice cream cones across the van, and accused me of encroaching on his route! He was really angry and warned me in no uncertain terms of dire consequences if it happened again. The following day the store man, Percy, followed me in the spare van (so the customers had two Mr Softees that day!), and when the Hi Hat guy inevitably pulled up behind me, Percy pulled in behind him and said something like: ‘We have the resources to keep doing this as long as you like. We were here before you came and will be here after you’re out of business. Your choice.’ We never saw Hi Hat again on that run.
Terry on my van, 1966. Image: Alan G.
Of course, there were punctures, engine breakdowns, forgetting to switch the fuel to TVO and running out of petrol, and so on, but overall, I really enjoyed the job. I had no ‘boss’ who was pushing me, and the customers were generally very good to me. One little boy had a withered hand with only one finger, as I recall. Once in a while, he would turn up to the van and could just about reach up to the counter, proferring a single shilling or something like that. His little voice, ‘Can I have an ice cream, Mister?’ would melt anybody’s heart, and I was truly a Mister Softee! I would make him a showboat – three large swirls of ice cream, fruit and nuts and a couple of wafers on top! I could imagine the family looking through their curtains to make sure he got their ice cream for them. I didn’t mind at all!
Of course, in the winter-time, takings were way down. Despite the English weather though, it was amazing how many people would come out in the snow to buy ice creams. One had to make sure that the summer-time bonuses compensated for that. We would often have two vans at a show and had to send away for more supplies while we were there.
Of course, it wasn’t all plain sailing. Poor Julian, the sub-contractor who owned his own van, decided to buy another van. Unfortunately, the bloke he hired to run it only lasted until the weekend. He and the van simply disappeared. It was three days before they found the van, with the ice cream hopper swarming with maggots, apparently, and all the ice blocks melted. The driver had just run off with the day’s takings.
I must admit, I really do miss those times. There’s no Mr Softee in the south of England any more and I haven’t been able to find any of the lovely little group we had. Working as an ice cream man allowed me to meet so many people and after a very happy marriage that’s lasted for over 57 years, I really think I made the right choice – and it was all down to my ice cream job!
About the author: Having spent three years living in Australia in his youth, Alan returned to Australia in 1969 with his wife and young child. Holding a Bachelor of Engineering degree and a Doctor of Science Education degree, Alan has experience in flight simulations, Einsteinian physics, and inventing an ‘eye blink’ device that allows cerebral palsy patients to communicate. He even took a turn at acting, starring in a TV advert and landing supporting and lead roles in his local dramatic society plays. His short stories have been published in WA’s The Gingin Buzz for ten years, and his novel The Magic Hourglass is a work in progress. He and his wife have a lovely life in Brisbane and regularly visit their two children in Sydney’s West. You can read Alan’s full-length bio here.
Note from the Editor:
Love Alan’s writing and want to read more? You might also like to read:
- Bluetooth Anti-Theft Adapter: Enhance your home security for under $20
- Finding a Part-Time Job
- My First Love Affair
- Alan G.’s Member Spotlight: ‘Almost Famous’
- Alan G.’s Investment Scam Saga
We were only able to create this content because of the financial support of SDC Rewards members. If you'd like to see more of this (and a lot fewer ads!), please consider supporting us and signing up for SDC Rewards today—it starts at just 14 cents per day.
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