When you look back on growing up in Leeds, some places pop up time after time. I can still wander around Kirkgate Market and smell flowers, fresh fruit (especially when bright red strawberries come into season). I can see sunshine breaking through the magic windows in the roof. I can hear the calls of traders’ - ‘Morning gathered mushrooms’; ‘Bananas - I’ll weigh any hand you like’ - and the man who sold hankies out of a suitcase ‘Fancy borders, not fancy prices.’

And so the Italians started making ice cream. Each one had bought, and kept secret, their own recipe. On the floor of an unused mill, the families shared a space where they could make fresh ice cream and bake fresh wafers. You might know some of the family names - Guanaria, Mazza, Lusardi (my family), or perhaps Brizzolara. All these names weren’t doing us any good, so the families got thinking and asked themselves ‘is there an Italian name that will be easy for Leeds people to say and remember?’ and ‘is there a sort of Italian name that sounds English’. Frank Granelli was born. My Aunty Granelli was happy and my family were happy as we had enough Frankies to fill a van.

Proudly selling under the same banner, the families went to the places where people were having fun and would enjoy a cornet, a sandwich or the speciality - a twist. This little cone was handmade with a crispy ginger wafer. Grandad told me that he didn’t like the job because it burned his fingers.

Just like now, you could find my relatives selling ice cream at fair grounds (especially Woodhouse Moor Feast), Post Hill Motorbike Scrambles in Pudsey, and of course, up and down the street where you lived.

The big event of the year was Children’s Day at Roundhay Park. We would get there very early, long before the trams brought excited families from all over the city. We would set up stalls around the park (2 stalls on Hill 60) and we would say a little prayer ‘Please God, no rain this year.’