Melt

There are some things that, regardless of where you are from, are quintessentially British.

Roast dinners
A "nice" cup of tea
Cricket on the village green
Pimm's o'clock
Fish & Chips
Wimbledon
Scones & clotted cream
Auntie Beeb
Talking about the weather
Last Night of the Proms
And Ice Cream Vans

Iced treats have existed almost since time begun: a quick internet search will satisfy any yearning you have to establish who, how, when & where in the world the discovery that mixing sweet with cold resulted in a resounding mmmmm. King Tang of Shang, the Ancient Greeks, Nero, The Achaemenid Empire of Persia - I'll leave you to explore further if you so desire, for I am here today to discuss nay reminisce the humble Ice Cream Van.

It's without doubt that ever since taste buds were tickled centuries back, mobile purveyors of frozen delights have existed in some shape or form, be it handcart, horse drawn, bicycle or trike, depending which era of history we visit. The modern ice cream van as we know it evolved from its predecessors as motorised transportation took hold in our lives, and first came to the streets of the UK in the late 1950s. Now even I am not that old to remember the shiny new Commer Karrier or Bedford CF vans rolling off the production lines out onto the streets of our towns and villages, but I am fairly sure all of us of a certain age will have a memory or two of the ice cream vans from our childhood, please do share yours in the comments below.

Growing up in the family home alongside a major trunk road into West London, the closest the ice cream ever got to us was the estate opposite and getting your hands on one before he jingled away was no mean feat. Picture if you will a 1970s version of that Saturday night 90s TV show Gladiators, only dicing with death against a London Transport double decker bus, a Corona delivery lorry and a myriad of Austin 1800s, Ford Cortinas & Vauxhall Vivas pushing 40mph in all lanes, rather than Jet, Hunter & Wolf. Surviving the challenge, triumphantly gripping your prized trophy aloft, part 2 now beckoned: the return journey and hoping for a gap in the traffic to make it quickly & safely back home before the afternoon sun had melted your lemonade lolly away to forlorn bare stick.

Picture now a more serene scene, a village cocooned in the bossom of the West Sussex countryside. A field dotted with a rainbow of coloured tents, a gloriously warm summer's afternoon, tired families drifting back from a day at the beach. The
peace & solitude enjoyed earlier in the day by non beach-goers and the coo-cooing wood pigeons, about to be shattered as swimsuited boys & girls, bodies streaked white by the salt of the sea, squabble over whom is going to shower first. The sighs of weary parents go unheard as ears are all pricked by the distant familiar tinkling chime of the ice cream van. He's inbound!

The wait was excruciating. How. Long. Can. It. Take. To. Get. To. Our. End. Of. The. Camp. Site? The thoughts ringing through the mind of every child battling their excitement, "But per-lease Mum! I promise to be good!" as beleaguered parents scraped their purses and pockets for enough loose change to quench their child's demands, desperate to prolong the peace a while longer. Cash secured tightly in their palm, the children now face an anxious albeit short wait,  pacing up and down knowing the exact spot that the van would come to rest. And as the tinkling somewhat off-key notes of Greensleeves grew louder, they know to stand still, form an orderly Great British style queue, smiles growing as the baby blue mobile ice cream dream machine came to a halt in front of them and a cheery greets them with a "What can I getchya kids?"

Now you'd think that given the time they'd had to contemplate their iced treat of choice, that decisions had been well and truly made and, for the most, they had, but there'd always be one that wasn't sure, spending an age deliberating and then just as a mass hoorah went out when they decided finally on a Strawberry Mivvi, they change their mind last minute when they see that Gary has a Screwball - which they were only allowed if they gave the little ball of bubblegum that sat in the far depths of the plastic conical cone, to one of the older children.

As Greensleeves began where it had left off,accompanying Tony on his merry way, parents were now bushing the shrieks and screams of children battling an incoming battalion of wasps, desperate for their own sweet treat. Poor Jenny, inconsolable as she tripped and lost the top of her Mr Softee 99 (with flake) as it landed with a thud on the ground, where next doors spaniel Bouncer had it cleared away at the speed of light!

Fast forward four decades to more recent years camping in that same field and my own daughter eagerly awaiting the arrival of that day's 'Tony'. The tune was now O Sole Mio but the baby blue van was reminiscent of years gone by and, apart from some modern additions to his stock, identified by brightly coloured window stickers, it might just have been 1975 again. Despite the usual need to take out a second mortgage for even a basic 99 these days, this Tony had somehow managed to hold on to late 20th Century prices. Patient wait over, her place at the front of the queue came & daughter appeared from behind the windbreak with an iced delight nearly the size of her! The Witches Hat, famous in them parts, consisted of a 99 with the addition of an upturned Rocket iced lolly carefully who we in the top - all that for the princely sum of one Great British Pound!

And these memories, stirred recently by the dulcet tones of our own 2020 Tony or Toni, our neighbourhood iced goods vendor. Beckoning us all with his wonderful Match of the Day ding-a-ling chime. I might just treat myself to a Strawberry Mivvi for old time's sake. Or maybe a Screwball....

Mind that child!