I was entranced. It was everything I’d hoped for and more. I’d been gone 25 years, so I savored the sights, the smells, the sounds of old Glasgow’s flea market, called “the Barras,” with the deliberation of a gourmet at a feast.

Lost in reverie over half-remembered vendors and bargains from a quarter-century ago, I turned to enter one of the outdoor antique stalls and suddenly froze dead in my tracks. There on the ground in front of me leaning against a dirty cardboard box full of bric-a-brac wrapped in newsprint, was this Scottie collector’s treasure to die for! I leaped for it instantly, only to be cut off by half a dozen Glasgow “fish wives” who swooped onto the box elbowing each other for first peek at the contents. It was hopeless. They were regulars who knew exactly what bargains they were looking for. One of them shouted, “What price on the wee doggies?”and I strained to get close enough for a look. My hunch was right. She held up a glorious pair of bronze and marble Scottie bookends. I knew I had to get to that box quickly or my treasure would be gone!

We were in Glasgow on the first leg of our trip for Great Scots Magazine to re-trace the journey of Captain W.W. Mackie, the father of the modern Scottish Terrier, who, in the 1870s made an historically important trek through the western Highlands of Scotland in search of prime breeding stock of the dogs known as the “Scotch Terrier.” It was in Glasgow at “the Barras” on a bonnie Saturday morning before we left for the Highlands that I experienced the collectibles adventure recounted here, and where I discovered an 85 year-old Scottie named, ‘Glen,’ who taught me once again the reason behind it all-- the reason why I’m a Scottie collector in the first place, and publisher of Great Scots Magazine.

The romance of my adventure at “the Barras” was far deeper than the quest for rare collectibles. Scotland was my home for seven years in the 1970s and this was my first trip back. Through the years I always cornered anyone who recently visited Glasgow for first-hand reports on the cultural renaisance I’d heard was sweeping the city. I knew Glasgow was winning accolades from Europe, receiving the coveted ‘City of Culture’ award in 1990 for its architecture and exemplary renovations. I wanted Glasgow to prosper, of course, but I selfishly didn’t want it to change. For it was the old Dickensian Glasgow I remembered so fondly-- a great city of 2 million Scots with the sootie face of a chimney sweep, the strong hands of a pipe fitter, the bawdiness of a dancehall tart, and the heart of a highland chieftan.

I feared my old romanticised Glasgow was gone. That’s why for me that trip to “the Barras” in the oldest part of Glasgow was more than a quest for Scottie treasures. I was chasing a dream, seeking reconnection with an idealized place made larger than life by 25 years of nostalgia. I knew Glasgow had undergone profound changes, just as I knew my own life and soul were radically different today. Being there again was like meeting an old lover, and, while I was eager to close the gap on those 25 years, I dreaded disillusionment.

But Tom Wolfe was wrong-- you can ‘go home again!’ At least I did. It is all there as I had dreamed, just spiffed up and renewed and better than ever! More energy. More vitality. More of the earthy ‘can-do’ attitude that made Glasgow home for me in the first place. In the old town the charming faces of ancient buildings are still there as I remembered them, only sandblasted clean. But everything back of the facades is being gutted and modernized! Glasgow is re-making herself, while preserving her look and charm! I didn’t care that I was the gawking visitor walking open-mouthed through the old town. It was homecoming for this adopted son and my heart was on my sleeve. Even the sun smiled with singular Scottish brilliance that Saturday morning, as if to say, “Welcome home, Old Son! It’s been a long time! Ach! Aye, it’s good to see you!”

So there was romance in this lover’s heart as I roamed “the Barras” in search of Scottie collectibles that day. Without consciously thinking of it I was doing what my son describes as “calling good things” to happen. That’s when I turned into the outdoor booth and spotted my Scottie treasure on the ground leaning against the box. Instantly I knew this was something very special indeed. But it was only after fighting my way through the crowd to my prize and after close inspection that I discovered how truly special this Scottie collectible is. I had indeed “called good things” to happen!

My prized portrait of a late-Victorian Scottish Terrier named, Glen, found in a stall at the Glasgow Flea Market in May, 1998.

My treasure turned out to be a 1915 framed photograph of a Scottie named “Glen.” But it was what was on the back of the picture that made my heart race. Affixed to the back of the frame written in elegant Victorian script on paper weathered and worn, is a dated inscription, and a small envelope. The inscription reads: “GLEN, the second. Born 20 April 1913. Bought by Kelly October 1913. Killed (instantaneously) at Kirse Gate by motorcar 18 November 1915. MUCH LAMENTED.” The small envelope, however, is the Victorian era prize. It once held ashes or keepsakes of the “much lamented” Glen.

The inscription and momento-envelope on the backside of the framed portrait of Glen (the Second).

I don’t know the hand that lovingly inscribed this photo of Glen, but I know the bonds of Scottie love they shared. I know the joy and the grief. I know what that photo and that envelope meant to them 85 years ago. I know, as they knew, what it is to be owned by a Scottie. And that, I was reminded, is why I’m a collector and publisher of a Scottie magazine. ‘Glen, The Second,’ whose cherished Scottie-love is memorialized in that old picture, brought it home to me with great force-- it’s not acquisition of ‘things’ I’m after, but what they stand for. Scottie ‘things’ are icons of the heart pointing me to heart-days-and-nights profoundly enriched by Scottie companionship. They point to ‘Glens’ in my own life much lamented and celebrated. My collectibles, in other words, are symbols, not of my ownership, but of the Scotties who own my heart.

The old photograph of Glen now hangs prominently in my GSM office near Albuquerque, NM. And, yes, I did manage to bring home that fine pair of Scottie bookends, too. But it’s the picture and the lamentation of a dog named Glen, “killed by a motorcar” in 1915, which is my special treasure from “the Barras.” On our tour we saw, of course, many scenic glens and natural wonders in the western Highlands of Scotland. But for this Scottie lover none were as magic as the unique “Glen” discovered in old Glasgow. For that Glen showed me all over again the source of true enchantment-- whether of cities or of “Scottie crazies.” It’s not things or treasures. Enchantment is the reward of loving with all your heart!

©1999 Tartan Scottie. Reprinted from Great Scots Magazine, Vol 4 No 4 (July/August) 1999. All Rights Reserved.

Part Four

"Angels-- A Christmas Wish"

Fiction Inspired by the Portrait of Glen