Part 1
The Ice Cream Girls?!
What happened next?!
Posted by: Nia Burkinshaw 3 Comments
Last updated: 12 January
Does anyone remember the so-called Ice Cream Girls? They were accused of killing their teacher? They were having an affair with him? Does anyone remember that?! My mum has been asking me for ages if I can find out about them on the internet and ask you all on here.
Most of you would have been too young, like me, but Mum really remembers them and thinks about them all the time. Apparently they treated him really badly and then they killed him at his house. Their names were Serena Gorringe and Poppy Carlisle. They were in London and this was in the eighties. Do you remember this picture of them? The one in the polka-dot bikini is Serena, the one in the blue one-piece is Poppy.
Mum says the trial seemed to go on for ever but only Poppy went to prison. Serena got away with it. They both kind of ghosted everyone until a few years ago when Poppy came out of prison (I was only six!! then). Mum says she thinks she heard that Poppy might have ended up in Brighton because that’s where the other Carlisles had moved to. Mum also says that everyone at the time thought Serena changed her name? I’ve had a look and I think the Gorringes all still live in London but there’s no mention of Serena anywhere.
Mum would be really interested to hear if anyone knows what happened to them?? She was really, really fascinated by the story, because they were like the evil superstars of her time and it kind of just ended when Poppy went to prison. Mum also says she thought when Poppy got out again that she might find Serena and they’d go on a murderous hunt together again, but nothing. (BTW – Mum said that, not me!!)
If you could ask your mums and dads about it on the off-chance that someone might have heard or seen anything, that’d be well cool. DM me, or drop me a line or leave a comment below. Kisses.
#TheIceCreamGirls #PoppyCarlisle #SerenaGorringe #London #Brighton #murder #teacher
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3 comments
Kat Allen 14 January at 09.45 a.m.
I think I’m probably your mum’s age because I remember them! Every now and again I wonder what happened and where they ended up. Be fascinating to find out.
Lucie Craft 15 January at 11.45 p.m.
Just read up on this story! I’m in between your age and your mum’s but I think I remember this. It is brilliant. Love to find out more.
Elenee G 16 January at 10.38 p.m.
I’m your mum’s age, also. One of them looks so much like a woman whose daughter used to go to my son’s school. The Serena Ice Cream Girl. Her daughter was called something like Variety or Verity, something like that. She had a son, too – I can’t remember his name. Wouldn’t it be a mad coincidence if it was her? I’m sure she was called Serena or something beginning with S. Her surname definitely began with a G because ours does and they were near each other on the register. I’ll ask my son when I speak to him next if he remembers them. Will keep you updated.
verity
Now
‘Well, look and see who is here,’ he says right beside me.
Frowning because I’m not sure how it’s possible for him to be here right now, I turn towards the sound of his voice. I can’t believe it! ‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, unable to hide my delight.
Automatically, I look around to check there’s no one to see us together. Then I glance down at my phone in my hand, check its screen is black and it hasn’t accidentally dialled anyone or isn’t live-streaming this chance meeting. Just to be sure, I press the side button and wait for my phone to ask if I’m sure I want to turn it off. Yes, yes, I’m sure, I think. I don’t want you telling on me.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask him again.
‘I’ve come to visit my freaky toys,’ he replies.
We’re standing in the entrance of the Hove Museum. On the first floor of this historic building in the posh part of Hove, there is a toy museum full of the creepiest things I’ve ever seen. Porcelain dolls with chipped and peeling faces sit in glass cabinets with threadbare, faded teddy bears resting beside them, all of them staring out at us humans as though begging to be released. Along a narrow corridor, which is flanked on each side with cases of other old, spooky toys that I’m still convinced come to life when you’re not looking, is a slightly larger area with dilapidated games and odd books that you’re allowed to touch. As if to add to the creep factor, from a speaker that sounds like it’s attached to an ancient wind-up gramophone, a story is read over and over about someone who doesn’t want to go to school. I love this place. Since I was tiny this and Hove Library were the two places I always begged my mum to bring me to visit.
‘Are you really here to visit the freaky toys?’ I ask him.
‘Yeah, of course! They’re like my best friends. When I was little, I would go on and on at my mother until she brought me here. What about you?’
‘Same. I used to pretend they were actually my toys that were being stored in this attic in a haunted house—’
‘—where time’s stood still,’ he finishes with a laugh. ‘I can’t believe there’s another person on Earth who understands the true beauty of this place.’
‘Me, too! How come we’ve never talked about this?’
‘Yeah, not the sort of thing I tell people, to be honest.’ He glances around, checking again there is no one watching us, no one who would recognise us and tell the wrong person they’ve seen us together. ‘I can honestly say until this moment I’ve never met anyone who has understood it. Until you. And speaking honestly now, I’ve always been a bit dubious about you cos you’re a bit on the dodgy side, but this discovery has shown me that you have real potential, little one, real potential.’
‘I can’t believe the amount of cheek that just came out of your mouth. I’m not sure I’ll be able to forgive it.’
‘Oh, shush. Come on, are you going up? We can do the tour properly. I’ve never been around with someone who appreciates it before.’
‘Me neither.’
Without saying anything, I hold up my phone, double-check he’s turned his off, too. He fishes his out of his back pocket and shows me that, yes, it’s off and no one will be finding out about us that way.
‘Freaky dolls first?’ he asks as we walk single file down the narrow corridor to the clunky old lift.
‘No, ghost mirror first.’
‘Ghost mirror it is.’
The moment the lift doors shut we’re all over each other, kissing as though we haven’t seen each other in years, necking like we’re not going to see each other in just a few hours. We step apart the moment the lift bumps itself onto the first floor, then fix our faces and straighten our clothing as the doors clunk open.
‘I love you, Verity Gillmare,’ he whispers into my hair before I step out into the corridor.
‘And I love you, Logan Carlisle.’