Entertainment

Game of Cones: Inside Dublin's Ice Cream Turf Wars

Unlike the infamous Glasgow ice cream wars, they're not fighting over drug turf, they're fighting over... ice cream.
pinky's ice cream van dublin
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Pinky is the self-declared "king of the ice cream men".

For decades, the stalwart cone seller has been serving up ice lollies and 99s to kids on Dublin estates out of his bright pink van – and for much of that time has witnessed a campaign of harassment, intimidation and even violence, as the result of a 20-year ice cream van turf war.

The Glasgow ice cream wars of the 1980s are well publicised – but those involved gangs selling drugs and stolen goods from the vans, so all the violence and intimidation makes a little more sense. In Dublin, the ice cream vans are selling what you'd expect them to: ice cream.

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Film director Ross Killeen heard about these territorial spats through his wife's driving instructor, himself an ex-cone slinger. Killeen was intrigued, and was soon introduced to Pinky – real name, Mark Jenkinson – then to Mr Softy, then to Mr Chico (neither of whom are rivals of Pinky), and so on.

pinky's ice cream dublin

Pinky's ice cream van.

"In my head, it was going to be like Reservoir Dogs," says Killeen of his vision for making a documentary film about this world. Instead, he eventually decided to focus only on Pinky, and made the short film 99 Problems about him. It went to multiple festivals, including Tribeca and Sheffield Doc/Fest, and won the audience award at Dublin International Film Festival.

The film is now available to watch in full online, so I caught up with Killeen and Pinky to talk van wars.

"It can get a little bit hairy," says Pinky, before reeling off a list of threats and moments of intimidation he's faced over the years. He remembers it going all the way back to his childhood: his dad – a businessman who opened up one of the first video shops in Ireland – was also in the ice cream business, and Pinky remembers sitting in the back of his van while being followed home by other ice cream vans. "We try to get on with each other, but there's one family over the last 20 years that has just been out to get rid of me," he says. "They've tried everything."

Killeen fell in love with the idea of there being something of a dark underbelly to this seemingly clean-cut world. "Back in the day, all the van drivers got around a table to divvy up Dublin, like The Sopranos or something," he says. "The ice cream business is completely unregulated, so there's nothing to stop anyone going into other people's turf. Nobody has an official right to operate in a single area, so some people take the law into their own hands."

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pink ice cream van dublin

Pinky in his van

One of the reasons Pinky has lasted so long is his resilience – he won't budge an inch for anyone. He's also a trim guy who spends hours every day pounding boxing bags in the gym. "Nobody is going to intimidate me where I live," he says – which isn't to say people haven't tried: "I've had cars burnt out, I've had people parked outside my house when my kids were at home, I've had people linking me with the IRA, my throat was threatened to be cut and I've been followed constantly for years."

Things are quiet at the moment – there's something of an unspoken peace pact in play – but for years it were full on. "At one stage, when I went out to work, there wasn't a 15-minute stretch of the day that went by that I didn't see another van," says Pinky. "All from the same family."

So why the intense, decades-long run of intimidation? "They want to get me off this patch," Pinky offers. "But I think I also got under their skin."

What that translates to is: one day, a member of the rival family lost his temper with Pinky and got out of his van to start on him – but Pinky, according to Pinky, flattened him. "He went running back to daddy," recalls Pinky of the incident. "So his daddy backed him with vans and drivers to just sit outside my house at night or follow me and block me in."

You'd think there would be a hefty amount of ice cream cash going for all the effort put into this feud, but there's really not. Understandably, Pinky remains baffled by the effort this family have gone to to drive him out. "They cover a fairly big area and had about six vans at one stage," he says. "If I had that many vans I wouldn't even bother with me. I'd divide up Dublin and think, 'Forget that little lunatic in the pink van covering a tiny little area.' They have to be losing money doing it."

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Some incidents went way beyond intimidation. One day, Pinky was chased down the street, before a rival van driver smashed out his van windows one-by-one in broad daylight. "There were about 20 witnesses around and I could not believe what he was doing," recalls Pinky of the incident – and he's not the only victim. "There was one girl on the other side of Dublin, and they were doing to her exactly what they’d been doing to me," he says. "They did all sorts to this poor girl and they drove her mad. I don't think she even lasted one full summer."

The ice cream trade, it turns out, is one you need to be tough to deal with, Pinky says: "I'm a very hard person. Whatever you do to me, if you put your hand on me, I'm going to do it back to you. If you come out and have a dig, I'm going to give you two digs."

Still, Pinky's not giving up: the job is a great source of pride, and he loves the kids and the community he serves.

"The van has been doing this area since about 1968," he says. "I bought it in 1992 and I have a special attachment to it – it's really part of me now, at this stage. I try to carry the legacy on. Everyone has a right to make a living. I just want an easy life, and I'm hoping things will keep quiet."

@DanielDylanWray