Mr Whippy (2)

Mr Whippy

Mr. Whippy was the ice-cream man and when I heard the sounds of Green Sleeves in the air all the clocks froze. I would pluck the rubber plug from beneath the paper mache elephant that kept the loose change and shake it like I was using a jackhammer.

I knew the best way to cut him off at the pass was to run diagonally through the park and meet him at the corner where the big tree dropped gumnuts around Mrs Purnell’s tin pink flamingo. She despised that and scolded you for it when you saw her, but that story is for a different time.

When he rounded the corner the wake of kids dancing on the street behind him reminded me that god never lived in church because he lived on wheels. His van always stopped exactly where I stood. It was a wheezy metal horse painted in pink and blue with hand painted illustrations of five sorts of ice-creams and I swear I could almost hear angels sing when that roller door clattered open. The smell of the vanilla and the diesel would weld me to the shimmering bitumen and he’d lean over the speckled bench with a smile.

“Whadda ya want mate?”

It was not easy glancing at the face of god so I’d look at his hairy arms instead and read the tattoo that said, “Annie”.

“I’ll have vanilla please.”

Watching him pull back the lever to see the contents fill the cone was hypnotic. The fantasy remains with me to this day where I’d squat beneath the nozzle of that machine and open my mouth to gorge from it.

Every Saturday afternoon it was the same. The kids would wander off with their prize, the roller door would shut and the music would start again as he wound his way down the streets whooping up his little disciples. He knew they’d come to him in swathes that the Pied Piper could never match and he was right. Then it all changed one Saturday.

I waited for Green Sleeves, and when the sun went crimson and dipped behind Mount Table I knew something was wrong. The next week I walked through the park and waited for him in the usual spot and Mrs Purnell came out of the house and cackled from behind her fly screen door.

“He’s gawn. They got ‘im so you better get yer ice-creams from the shops instead.”

For the next three Saturdays I waited at that corner for him. I ached to hear the sound of his van and I waited while the heat surrendered to longer shadows before it was time to leave. Dinner would be waiting for me at home and I asked about him.

“What happened to Mr. Whippy?”

Dad said, “He’s come a gutser mate. The papers say he’s been bad.” [1]

I heard Green Sleeves again and ran to my usual place but he was not there. I listened and knew he’d be at the end of the street around the corner at the top of the hill and I rushed there to make it in time to see the roller door open up.

A young woman looked down at me and asked me what I wanted. Who was this person who had flung god from the world?

“Where’s Mr Whippy?”

“Mate. He’s not coming back because I’m doing the rounds now.”

The van had new words on it that said, “Under new management” and the illustrations had been replaced with glossy enamel paint. They looked good but they were my traitors. I wanted no part of this and I stepped back while the other kids crowded around the bench holding up their coins.

A woman with a child in a papoose came to the window and smiled.

“Sorry about what happened Annie. I know it’s rubbish what they did.”

She looked back at her and her eyes were broken with pain.

“It’s rubbish alright, and it’s rubbish what they say about dad. He’s always got kids around him on the rounds. So how could he ever get one in here without any of them seeing?”


Image © 2013 by Dr. F

About Dr. F (Ian Williams)

Ian Williams artist and author from Australia is enjoying watching the ideology of feminism dying. He adores these times where he sees it beginning to lose traction, and for him, the atrophying of that muscle is proof positive that word is getting out and it's questioning its answers. The magician tricks of feminism are understood by him, and in the front row seat he delights in putting up his hand, "Hey. I can see the secret wire".Short stories from his forthcoming book Kidscapes are published on AVfM every week.

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  • Troy

    Stellar piece, though I have to say it left a pretty sizable knot in my stomach.
    I can’t believe things like this happen.

  • reyeko

    ah fiction, capable of saying things that factual analysis of society/culture never will.
    wonderful piece Dr. F

    • Shrek6

      Ain’t no fiction in this tale, I can assure you!

  • Grumpy Old Man

    So much to taste I had to take a second and third bite. Masterful.

  • feeriker

    BEAUTIFUL, Dr. F. A follow-up, dare we hope?

  • aimeemcgee

    Can so see that story in real life…and so true that these hard working men are targets for hysteria

  • Peter Wright (Tawil)

    Ahh, the memories come flooding back – Mr. Whippy on a hot summer’s afternoon. The chilling end of this story explains why I no longer see any Mr. Whippys roaming our streets….. like all men they have been pushed out of frontline interaction with children and society.

    PS. Love the artwork, it has a dreamlike quality fitting for a reminisce of times past.

  • Paul Elam

    When I read this earlier it was difficult to say the least. All the hoopla over bad men that erase the innocence of children. And ya, some of it true.

    But this is the great untold story of lost innocence; of childhood crashing into the brick wall of insane adulthood — and never being the same again.


  • Shrek6

    Dr F, thanks for this memory Mate. Sweet, but filled with utter bitterness!

    My story was a little similar. We had a Mr. Whippy living down the road from us. And yes, he suffered the same fate with innuendo and lies told about him and his apparent liking for children.

    My God, I hate what feminists and the gutless, brainless, senseless 98% of women in Australia have done to wonderful men who would do anything for a child.
    We still have men at school cross walks being targeted and attacked by the filthy bitch brigade, because they give all the kids ‘high fives’ as they walk past. They have been sacked or stood down.

    Now, all you see are women in all the roles men had, whenever it has anything to do with young children. And if you ask me, life has turned to crap because of it.

    I would hate to be a kid today. Can you just imagine going to Pre-School and the teacher Miss Nice, is only nice for a week or so, then one morning she comes in and behaves like a depraved angry bitch and stays that way for weeks, before going back to being Miss Nice again for just another week.
    Then when you think about it, you have the next 12 years of school to look forward to putting up with this roller coaster ride of bitchiness from women who can’t control themselves when they are on the rags.

    Yep, life was so much more emotionally and psychologically stable when men were running the show. Life was simple and sweet. But not any more!

    • feeriker

      It really IS maddening, especially where the indoctrin, er, education field is concerned. Men are needed in that field now more than ever, especially as teachers of the younger age groups, if for no other reason than to counteract the feminization of boys that is rampant everywhere due to the femdominance of the field. The problem is that any man today who would put himself in a position where he has to be in constant daily contact with children is either insane or an 18-karat moron. He is painting a bright red target on himself. He is begging for trouble. Feeriker, being the cynical asshole that he is, just cannot help but suspect that the status quo (i.e., the Stalinist atmosphere of persecution in which male teachers are constantly at risk of being accused of sex offenses) is a deliberate tactic by the feminist “education” establishment to purge the field of those few men intrepid enough to enter or remain in it in order clear the way for unobstructed imposition of the feminist agenda.

      As I tell my peers, relatives, neighbors, and anyone else here in Amerika who has school age kids: sending your kids, especially your sons, to a government “school” under current conditions is the ultimate form of child abuse and endangerment.

  • Shrek6

    Whoops, the spam filter is working overtime again!

  • Dr. F (Ian Williams)

    Thank you for kind words guys.

    Mr Whippy was my hero and I am so grateful I met him before he “died” at the shovel of political correctness. When I was a kid I didn’t want money and this bloke had the goods and it was an arrangement that suited everybody.

    We know already that feminists hate music, laughter and trees, but is it possible that they hate ice cream too?

  • Dean Esmay

    Well it was a man accused and you know men around children there’s something wrong with them right?

    I don’t know, maybe he was a bad man. But honestly… how quick are we to just accept rumors?

  • Xevaster

    Come on people, don’t you know that any man that loves and cares about children is nothing more than a raging, salivating pedophile. Acting like the nice guy so that he can abuse some poor innocent child. / end sarcasm,

    You must remember to be afraid of everything and look to mother government/feminism to protect you and keep you safe. As long as feminism can instill fear, they can control. Instead of teaching children to be careful and aware of what is going on around them feminism wants everyone shaking in their boots. Frightened people are easy to control.

  • Booyah

    Great story as always Dr. F.
    I was reminded of the Tip Top bread man that always gave the 4 kids in my family a bread roll and birthday wish on any of our birthdays. Would seem he has disappeared from the streets of society too. Another kind man removed from the children he was so liked by.

  • Allan

    What a sad story.

    Speaking of an “untold story of lost innocence”

    I have really mixed feelings reading the comments here….because I was molested during two periods in childhood by men, and my older brother told me 40 years later, later matter of factly, “yeap, everybody knew Doc liked boys”. And absolutely nobody said a word to me. Or did anything to protect me as a 9 year old. That’s the way it was, and often still is. Just look the other way. Don’t think about it. And it really messed with my sexuality, trust in men (no mentors at work for me) a lot of things that few know anything about because they don’t give a fucking damn. Least of all a lot of feminists. For 30 years. No chance to be a father or have a relationship with a woman.

    And I’m not promoting the permanent victim mentality either. Yes, it happened, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time with someone who terribly betrayed me, it probably shaped my life, yet, it ultimately hurts me to make it a part of an identity. That’s not denial. It’s the little bit of choice I can have in the matter. Which is better than none. Which is kind of the human condition. Make the best of it and don’t fixate on what you’ll never have, how unfair life is (because, yes it’s damn unfair sometimes).

    And I’m attacked by lots of people for various reasons speaking out. But I care equally weather a boy looses his father to false accusations or his father molesting a child. Both are evil. Both happen.

    People are too hostile to the truth, whatever it is and unfortunately, the problem is often there is very little evidence for “truth” in child sexual abuse. Or “stories”. Or it’s difficult to find. And made difficult to find, by our own attitudes (i.e. accepting rumors). You’re right there’s enormous disproportionate suspicion on men that’s just so, so harmful now. Totally agree. Without a shred of evidence. Nor interest in looking for evidence. And many too know nothing of the signs of sexual abuse, nor have any interest in investigating that possibility. Because there are patterns and signs that these situations show repeatedly.

    “Another kind man removed from the children he was so liked by.” True. And maybe a kind man like Jerry Sandusky who was also kind to children. Or not.

    “I can’t believe things like this happen.” But what happened? What do you think you “know”?

    “I don’t know, maybe he was a bad man. But honestly… how quick are we to just accept rumors?” How true. I don’t know about him either. You’d have to get interested in clear evidence.

    “the great untold story of lost innocence; of childhood crashing into the brick wall of insane adulthood — and never being the same again.” Yeah, the current situation really does merit “insane”.

  • Andy Bob

    Wonderful piece, Dr F.

    For many Australians our age, Mr Whippy symbolizes the carefree innocence of childhood. The faintest sound of ‘Green Sleeves’ meant drop everything, scrounge for that 5 cents and run like the Dickens along with the other kids in the neighbourhood for a few minutes of shared bliss – all problems forgotten and put into perspective.

    Feminism spawned the false accusation industry that infected even this tiny oasis of joy. Would Ms Whippey have been spared their wrath? We’ll never know.

    Loved the art work too.

    • Dr. F (Ian Williams)

      AndyBob thanks for the post you resident ex-pat.

      Ms. Whippy? Yes. I believe there are plans for her, and the van she will be driving will be decked out in flashing purple neon with a large plastic clump of brussels sprout nestled in a bed of alfalfa on the roof.

      A buck for a gob of it on a plate with melted goat’s cheese for the girls and two fifty for the boys. The prices are locked in and the gap will be sent to the coffers at Breast Cancer Awareness Week or “B’CAW as it is known. (Chickens?)

      Kid’s will know of her approach with the strains of “I am Woman hear Me roar” through 150 DB speakers and adult males are requested to stand way back when the kids cluster around the van.

      Methinks the kids will be not be dabbling in the festivities but kudos to the thinkers at Fem-Central for their lateral thinking anyway.

      • Andy Bob

        “…brussels sprout nestled in a bed of alfalfa on the roof.”

        Don’t forget the Flakes guiltily stashed behind her Dworkin Omnibus. Mate, you have to write more stories like this. You managed to say about the contagion of feminism in this deceptively simple piece than most people could in a novelette.

        You are one talented little Vegemite, my friend.

  • Dr. F (Ian Williams)

    Ah well you are not to go empty handed.

    Once a week I will be writing vinaigrettes like these, and Mr Finly will not be making his presence heard on those threads.

    I can assure you of that trust with an absolute accuracy that falls no less than seventy percent.