24/08/2026
🐝 THE PEOPLE WHO CAME BEFORE ME…
A LITTLE WILLIAMS, SMITH & ROEBUCK FAMILY HISTORY — AND THE WOMAN AT THE HEART OF IT ALL. ❤️
If you walk down Shudehill today, surrounded by buses, traffic, glass buildings and a Manchester that never seems to stop changing, there is an old-fashioned bookshop that thousands of people probably pass without giving it a second thought.
I can't.
Because when I look at Paramount Books, I don't simply see shelves, bricks and an old shopfront.
I see my family.
I see generations.
I see Germany.
I see Manchester.
I see Salford.
I see market stalls.
I see childhood homes.
I see people scattered today across England, Spain and Thailand.
I see people who are still here.
I see people I would give anything to see again.
And standing right at the centre of all of it…
I see my nana, Maria. ❤️
Because although this is the story of the Williams, Smith and Roebuck families…
for me, this is really her story too.
Her parents.
Her brothers and sister.
Her children.
Her husband.
Her family.
Her Manchester.
Her Salford.
Her memories.
Her life.
And eventually…
her grandson.
Me.
The older I get, the more I understand something that I couldn't possibly have understood as a child.
You can inherit somebody's surname.
You can inherit their eyes.
Their smile.
Their stubbornness.
Their sense of humour.
But sometimes somebody leaves you something far greater.
My nana taught me unconditional love.
Not the kind of love that disappears when life becomes difficult.
Not the kind that keeps score.
Not love that asks what it's getting back.
I mean real unconditional love.
The type that somehow makes a child feel that whatever happens outside those four walls…
there is still somewhere in the world they belong.
That was Nana to me.
She was my world.
And this is the world that made her.
❤️ BEFORE MARIA… THERE WAS OMIE
Before Paramount.
Before Salford Precinct.
Before Nana's house.
Before any of the memories I personally knew…
there was Great Nana Omie. ❤️
Omie was German.
Her life became intertwined with that of my great-grandad, Leslie Smith, and their story reaches back into the wartime generation.
There are parts of what happened during those years that are deeply personal and sacred to our family.
They belong to Leslie and Omie.
Some stories deserve to be protected rather than turned into entertainment.
But what I grew up knowing is that Leslie lived through the war, and that somehow a German woman named Omie became part of the Smith family story that would eventually continue through Manchester and Salford.
Just think about that.
Two people living through one of the most turbulent periods human beings have ever experienced…
with absolutely no idea what would eventually come from their lives.
They couldn't have seen Salford Precinct.
They couldn't have seen Paramount decades later.
They couldn't have known the grandchildren and great-grandchildren who would one day carry their story.
But from Leslie and Omie came a family.
And amongst their children was the woman who would become my nana.
Maria. ❤️
But Maria wasn't alone.
She had her own brothers and sister.
Her own childhood relationships.
Her own family stories long before I ever arrived.
And those people matter enormously to me because…
they were Nana's people.
❤️ THE SMITH FAMILY — NANA'S FAMILY
My nana's sister is Janine Smith. ❤️
Janine now lives in Spain.
And with that part of our family are my cousins Sonia, Balinda and Stevie, along with their dad Femine. ❤️
Miles might separate people.
Countries might separate people.
Life might take one branch of a family tree to Manchester, another to Spain and another thousands of miles further away.
But geography doesn't erase where we came from.
And it certainly doesn't erase love.
I love them all.
Because when I look at Janine, I don't only see my nana's sister.
I see somebody who knew Maria in a way I never could.
She knew the Maria who existed before she became my nana.
She knew her as a sister.
They shared parents.
A home.
A childhood.
Family memories.
Arguments probably. 😂
Secrets.
Laughter.
All the strange little things brothers and sisters remember about each other that grandchildren never get to witness.
And I think that's incredibly special.
Because there was once a whole life belonging to Nana before I existed.
Before she ever picked me up.
Before I ever stood beside her market stall.
Before I ever ran through her house.
Janine knew that Maria. ❤️
And that makes her part of something incredibly precious to me.
Then there is my nana's brother, Paul Smith. ❤️
Uncle Paul remains connected to one of the biggest surviving physical pieces of our family history…
Paramount Books.
And another of Nana's brothers, Leslie Smith, now lives in Thailand. ❤️
Different countries.
Different lives.
Different roads.
But the same roots.
When I think about Janine in Spain…
Leslie in Thailand…
Paul still connected to Paramount in Manchester…
I realise something.
My nana's family may now be spread across thousands of miles…
but once upon a time they were simply brothers and sisters growing up within the same family.
Omie's children.
Leslie's children.
And one of those children was my nana Maria.
That matters to me enormously.
Because this isn't just genealogy.
These aren't names I'm collecting for a family tree.
This was Nana's life.
These were her people.
Her sister.
Her brothers.
The people who could remember a version of her that existed before she became Nana to me.
And I love them for that.
❤️
Then we move to Manchester.
1965.
📚 PARAMOUNT BOOK EXCHANGE
My great-grandad Leslie Smith founded Paramount Book Exchange — what people today know as Paramount Books.
Imagine Manchester then.
Different buildings.
Different cars.
Different clothes.
Different music.
A completely different skyline.
And amongst it all…
my great-grandad opened a bookshop.
For years, I simply knew that as part of our family history.
Then recently I went digging.
And something happened that genuinely stopped me.
I found newspaper and music-industry archives from 1979 and 1980 naming Leslie Smith as the owner and proprietor of Paramount Book Exchange, Manchester.
There was his name.
In black and white.
Nearly half a century later.
For a moment, history stopped feeling distant.
Because that's the thing about losing older generations.
Eventually they can start becoming stories.
A photograph.
A sentence somebody remembers.
A name you've heard all your life.
Then suddenly you find proof written while that person was actually living their life.
And they're real again.
There was Leslie.
Running a business.
Building something.
Living his Manchester life.
And here's what makes that story even more remarkable.
PARAMOUNT IS STILL THERE.
More than sixty years later.
Think about how much Manchester has changed since 1965.
Buildings demolished.
Neighbourhoods transformed.
Businesses gone.
Vinyl became cassettes.
Cassettes became CDs.
CDs became streaming.
Fashion changed.
Music changed.
Generations changed.
Manchester reinvented itself over and over again.
Yet somehow…
that shop remained.
And Nana's brother, Uncle Paul, still works there at weekends today.
Think about that.
Leslie starts something in 1965.
Decades pass.
And his son can still walk through those doors.
That's not simply family history.
That's living family history. ❤️
But whenever I follow these branches backwards…
eventually my heart comes back to one person.
❤️ MARIA — MY NANA, MY WORLD
How do you explain somebody who meant that much?
"Grandmother" doesn't cover it.
"Nana" almost doesn't cover it.
Because Maria wasn't simply somebody I visited.
She was part of the foundation of my life.
She taught me what it feels like to be loved without conditions attached.
Real unconditional love.
That's probably one of the greatest gifts one human being can ever give another.
And Nana gave me that.
She didn't need some grand speech.
She didn't need to sit me down and explain the meaning of love.
She showed me.
In ordinary life.
In being there.
In familiarity.
In knowing there was somebody in this world whose love I didn't have to earn.
As I've grown older, I've realised how rare and powerful that actually is.
And when I remember her now…
the memories don't arrive like dates.
They arrive like film scenes.
Suddenly…
I'm back on Salford Precinct.
Nana has her toy stall.
There are books from the family shop.
People are coming and going.
Money changing hands.
Market traders shouting.
Customers haggling.
Toys piled around us.
Books everywhere.
People laughing.
Somebody arguing over fifty pence. 😂
That beautiful old-school market madness.
And somewhere in the middle of it all…
there she is.
My nana.
And there I am.
A kid beside her.
Completely unaware that decades later I would give almost anything to stand in that exact ordinary moment again.
That's the cruel beauty of childhood.
You never know you're standing inside something priceless.
At the time…
it's just Tuesday.
If somebody offered me one day back with Nana now, I wouldn't ask for some giant family celebration.
I wouldn't ask for Christmas.
I wouldn't ask for a birthday.
I wouldn't ask for anything spectacular.
Give me one normal day.
Put me back beside that stall.
Let Salford Precinct make all its noise around us.
Let people walk past.
Let Nana talk.
Let me hear her voice exactly as it was.
Let me watch her face.
Let me notice the things children don't realise they're going to forget.
I'd probably annoy her with questions until she told me to give it a rest. 😂❤️
But I'd know this time.
I'd know exactly how precious those hours were.
Because nobody warns you when you're experiencing something for the final time.
Nobody taps you on the shoulder and says:
"Remember this properly. You're going to miss it."
❤️
And then there was my step-grandad.
Christopher Dobson. 😂
Christopher had a china and pottery stall.
Earrings in both ears.
LOUD.
A proper old-school salesman.
You didn't need Google Maps to find Christopher.
You followed the noise. 😂
His voice could probably travel from one end of Salford Precinct to the other.
And characters like Christopher are exactly why I love these memories.
Because the real history of Manchester and Salford isn't only famous buildings and famous names.
It's people.
The characters.
Market traders.
Shopkeepers.
Families.
People who worked six days a week and somehow still found time to laugh.
People whose voices become part of the soundtrack of your childhood.
❤️ THE ROEBUCK SIDE
Then comes another enormous branch of who I am.
My dad, Barry Roebuck. ❤️
And his father…
my grandad, Barry Roebuck. ❤️
My grandad moved to Wales many years ago for personal reasons.
Life doesn't give every family a neat storyline.
People separate.
People move.
Relationships change.
Mistakes happen.
Years disappear.
But love doesn't always obey geography.
And I have massive unconditional love and respect for my grandad Barry.
Always.
Because one thing Nana taught me was that loving somebody doesn't require pretending they're perfect.
Real love can acknowledge everything and still love.
That's unconditional love.
Distance doesn't erase blood.
Time doesn't erase history.
Whatever roads members of our family travelled…
those roads eventually became part of mine.
And my dad…
Dad is part of me forever. ❤️
His name belongs here.
His memories belong here.
He is one of the links in the chain that led to the next generation.
And family isn't only made from blood either.
Sometimes somebody enters your life through another person…
and ends up earning their own permanent place in your heart.
❤️ AUNTY DEE BLACKBURN & JAMIE
That's exactly how I feel about Aunty Dee Blackburn. ❤️
Dee was my dad's brother's partner and she is my cousin Jamie's mum.
But that description doesn't remotely explain what she means to me.
To me…
she is simply Aunty Dee.
Always has been.
Always will be.
There are things in our lives that would not have happened without that woman.
Things that wouldn't have been possible.
Moments that only existed because somebody helped make them happen.
And the older I become, the more I recognise that.
Sometimes the people who make the biggest difference aren't standing there making speeches about it.
They're just doing things.
Giving you a lift.
Opening a door.
Helping when things go wrong.
Showing up.
Making something possible.
Keeping part of a family moving when life gets difficult.
At the time, everyone is too busy living to understand what those actions will mean twenty or thirty years later.
Now I understand.
And I will always hold deep love and gratitude for Aunty Dee. ❤️
Relationships change.
Circumstances change.
Life carries everybody forward.
But gratitude shouldn't disappear just because time passes.
So she'll always be Aunty Dee to me.
And Jamie will always be my cousin. ❤️
They belong in this story because they were there.
Because they are part of the memories.
Because they are family.
❤️ CLIFFE GRANGE — THE HOUSE THAT STILL EXISTS IN MY HEAD
Then there's Nana's old home at Cliffe Grange in Salford.
Even writing those words does something to me.
Because when I was little…
it wasn't family history.
It wasn't heritage.
It wasn't a treasured location.
It was simply…
Nana's house.
You opened the door.
Walked inside.
You knew the rooms.
You knew the sounds.
You knew where things belonged.
You never thought to memorise everything because children assume the places they love will always be there waiting for them.
Most importantly…
Nana was there. ❤️
Then you grow up.
Life moves.
People move.
Houses change hands.
Doors get replaced.
Rooms get decorated differently.
Somebody else's photographs appear on walls where your family's used to hang.
Another child might now run through rooms where you once ran.
And the world doesn't stop to ask permission.
But inside my head…
Cliffe Grange hasn't changed.
I can still walk through it.
Memory lets me open that door.
Memory lets me see the rooms.
Memory lets me be that kid again.
The only thing memory can't really give me…
is Nana standing there waiting for me.
And maybe that's why Paramount hits differently.
Because Paramount survived.
I can actually walk down Shudehill.
I can look across the road.
And there it is.
One surviving doorway into the world Nana came from.
When I see that shop…
I see my great-grandad Leslie.
I think of Great Nana Omie.
I think of their children.
Maria. ❤️
Janine in Spain. ❤️
Paul in Manchester. ❤️
Leslie in Thailand. ❤️
I think of Sonia, Balinda, Stevie and Femine. ❤️
I think of Salford Precinct.
I hear Christopher shouting across the market. 😂
I think of my dad Barry. ❤️
Grandad Barry. ❤️
Aunty Dee. ❤️
Jamie. ❤️
The Smiths.
The Roebucks.
The Williams family.
People now spread across countries and continents…
who once all belonged to the same unfolding story.
And that's when something hits me.
None of us begin with ourselves.
Behind every one of us are hundreds of decisions we never made.
People meeting.
People moving countries.
People falling in love.
People separating.
People surviving wars.
People opening businesses.
People having children.
People helping other people.
One tiny change anywhere in that chain…
and perhaps none of us exist exactly as we do today.
That's why I care about knowing where I came from.
It's not about living in the past.
It's about respecting the people who carried life far enough for us to reach the present.
And Nana taught me that better than anybody.
She taught me that love doesn't need perfect circumstances.
She taught me that family can be complicated and still be family.
She taught me that somebody can leave this world and still influence how you live in it.
And most importantly…
she taught me real unconditional love.
That lesson is still alive.
Every time I forgive somebody.
Every time I remember somebody with love instead of bitterness.
Every time I try to help somebody without asking what I'll get back.
Every time I look at my own children and understand that the greatest thing I can give them isn't money or possessions…
it's knowing that they are loved.
That's Nana still teaching me. ❤️
And that might be the greatest legacy she left behind.
Not something made of bricks.
Not something written in a newspaper.
Something inside another human being.
❤️
That's why I'm writing all of this.
Because somewhere in Manchester…
Salford…
Spain…
Thailand…
Wales…
or anywhere else this post travels…
somebody may hold another little piece of our story.
So I'm asking you.
👇
📸 DIG THROUGH THOSE OLD PHOTO ALBUMS.
The boxes in the loft.
The old biscuit tins.
Your parents' photographs.
Your grandparents' photographs.
That drawer nobody has opened since 1997. 😂
If you remember Paramount Book Exchange / Paramount Books on Shudehill…
If you remember Leslie Smith…
Great Nana Omie…
Maria Smith… ❤️
Janine Smith…
Paul Smith…
Leslie Smith…
Christopher Dobson…
Barry Roebuck…
Dee Blackburn…
Jamie…
or those old Salford Precinct market days…
tell me.
Tell me everything.
Tell me the funny stories.
Tell me about the characters.
Tell me something nobody bothered writing down.
And especially…
show me the photographs.
Because somewhere in somebody's drawer could be an ordinary picture taken forty or fifty years ago.
Maybe it's Paramount.
Maybe it's a market stall.
Maybe it's Salford Precinct.
Maybe somebody wasn't even trying to photograph my family.
But in the background…
there could be my nana.
And imagine what that would mean to me.
To somebody else it might be a random old photograph.
To me…
it could be another five seconds with her. ❤️
That's why local history matters.
Our memories overlap.
Your ordinary afternoon can be somebody else's most treasured piece of childhood.
Your old photograph can contain somebody else's dad.
Somebody else's mum.
Somebody else's nana.
Somebody they haven't seen for decades.
Our buildings tell stories.
Our streets remember footsteps.
But people are the history.
And every time somebody looks at an old face and says…
"Bloody hell… I remember them."
For one tiny moment…
they're back.
❤️
So if you're ever walking down Shudehill and you see Paramount sitting there amongst modern Manchester…
stop for a second.
Look again.
Because you're not simply looking at an old bookshop.
You're looking at something my great-grandad Leslie Smith began in 1965.
You're looking at something that survived while Manchester transformed around it.
You're looking at somewhere still connected to his son Paul more than sixty years later.
You're looking at a physical piece of the world that produced my nana.
And when I look at it…
I don't see one shop.
I see generations.
Omie.
Leslie.
Their children.
Janine.
Paul.
Leslie.
And my beautiful Nana Maria.
Then all the lives that came afterwards.
Until eventually…
there was me.
❤️
And Nana…
if somehow you could read this…
there is something I understand now that maybe I didn't understand enough when you were here.
You didn't just give me childhood memories.
You taught me how to love.
You taught me what it meant to know somebody was there.
You taught me what unconditional really meant.
And I carry that lesson every single day.
I haven't forgotten Great Nana Omie.
I haven't forgotten Leslie.
I haven't forgotten your sister Janine.
I haven't forgotten your brothers Paul and Leslie.
I haven't forgotten our family in Spain or Thailand.
I haven't forgotten the stall.
I haven't forgotten Christopher.
I haven't forgotten Cliffe Grange.
I haven't forgotten Dad. ❤️
I haven't forgotten Grandad Barry.
I haven't forgotten Aunty Dee and Jamie.
I haven't forgotten the people who helped us.
I haven't forgotten where we came from.
But more than anything…
Nana, I've never forgotten you. ❤️
You were my world when I was that kid standing beside you on Salford Precinct.
And you're still part of the man I am today.
I can't physically go back.
I can't reopen Nana's door and find everything exactly as it once was.
I can't turn the clock backwards.
But I can do something.
I can keep saying your name.
I can tell my children about you.
I can remember the people you loved.
I can find the photographs.
I can keep your stories alive.
And most importantly…
I can try to give other people the same kind of unconditional love you gave me.
Because maybe that's how people really live forever.
Not because death never comes.
But because the love somebody puts into this world keeps travelling through the people they leave behind.
Your love is still travelling, Nana. ❤️
Through me.
Through our family.
And hopefully through the generations that come after us.
🐝 DON'T FEAR WHEN CALLUM'S HERE.
We'll keep digging.
We'll keep asking questions.
We'll keep finding old photographs.
We'll keep laughing at the characters.
We'll keep remembering the difficult chapters as well as the beautiful ones.
We'll keep saying the names of the people who came before us.
We'll love the family who are still here — whether they're in Manchester, Spain, Thailand, Wales or anywhere else life has taken them.
And while we build whatever comes next…
we'll never forget the people whose lives made ours possible.
Manchester made us.
Salford shaped us.
Our families gave us the memories.
My Nana taught me unconditional love. ❤️
And it's our job to make sure none of it is forgotten. ❤️🐝
